“I’ve no intention of marrying.”
Lark let out a frustrated grunt. “I’m afraid I do not have that liberty. Nor do I relish having to explain to my future wife that I will be sleeping at my male lover’s house.”
“Is that really any different from telling her about your female lover. And I know you’ve had a few of those, too.”
“Consider a gently bred woman of theton. A pretty little virgin debutante like my mother wants for me. She barely knows what men and women do in the bedroom, how will she begin to comprehend what men like you and I do?”
“Why would you tell her? Plenty of married men have lovers they do not tell their wives about.”
“That doesn’t seem dishonest to you?”
Anthony shrugged. “This is why I don’t intend to marry.”
“So you would just let the Beresford title die with you?”
“It’ll pass to my cousin.” Anthony yawned. “You have had female lovers, yes?”
“Yes.” Lark liked sharing his bed with both men and women. He’d ended an affair a few months before he started spending time with Anthony; she was an older widow who knew her way around men’s bodies and had no interest in marrying again. The trick in all of these affairs, though, was to keep his heart from getting ensnared. He’d ended things with his widow when the emotional attachment had made it too difficult to leave her side, and he suspected that was becoming the case here, too. “What does that matter?”
“I’d feel jealous, but you are here with me and not one of them, so I’m afraid I only feel gratitude that I’m the one you keep coming back to.”
“You make it sound like this is some lengthy love affair.”
“We had an affair at Eton, did we not?”
“I highly doubt a bit of groping when we were boys constitutes an affair. And as I recall, your attentions were not limited to just me.”
“No, but your enthusiasm always made you my favorite.”
“Enthusiasm?”
Anthony stroked the side of Lark’s face. “Let us just say that some of the boys I groped, as you so delicately put it, merely wanted their cocks stroked. You actually wantedme. You still do.”
Lark didn’t say anything, even though it was true.
“I am glad that your enthusiasm has translated into some actual skill and technique over the years.”
Lark lay on his back for a long moment and then looked around for a clock. A large, ornate one stood in the corner. Lark had to squint to read the time but saw that it was still quite early in the morning. He had time to go home, change clothes, drop by the Swynford home to speak with the duchess, and then collect Owen and Fletcher at the appointed time. He sighed.
“Mentally going through your calendar for the day?” asked Anthony.
“Yes. I have several personal errands to attend to today.”
“Do any of them have anything to do with the Duke of Swynford?”
Lark knew that if he said nothing, Anthony would interpret his answer as the affirmative.
“Should I be jealous?” asked Anthony.
“Never, and Swynford is missing, which I assume you know because your devotion to the scandal sheets is greater than mine. I discovered something yesterday and I want to follow up on it, that is all.”
“So you don’t think he’s dead?”
“No, I don’t. But I do think foul play is involved. And I see your expression, so I will just say that I do not know how or who and that is all I will say about it.”
“Very well. I just hope you do not show Swynford the same enthusiasm you show me.”
And this was the real reason why Anthony would only ever be a diversion. He reveled too much in his own nonsense. “I have never, and Swynford is only interested in women. Besides which, you have no right to be jealous.”
