Page 16 of My Lord, Lady, and Gentleman

“They’re gone, Clayton.”

He didn’t turn at Joseph’s soft-spoken words, surprisingly close behind him. “Humblest apologies, my lord. I didn’t invite them. I never would. Lady Onslow must have rushed on winged feet to tell them about our trip to the theater. The Irvings and I don’t get along, as you saw.”

“Because they are small-minded and afraid. They couldn’t even dream of talent like yours, so they want to strip it from you and mold you into the milk and water they understand. I’m sure they hate you earning an income from painting because then they can’t bend you to their will with money. Your brilliance is defeating them, and they can’t stand it.”

A boulder settled in his throat at the kind understanding, the sensual musicality of an unchecked Irish accent caressing the air. “I should be used to it.”

“I doubt we ever get used to hatred and bigotry,” said Joseph quietly.

Seconds later, a warm, firm hand settled lightly on his back, and Clayton shuddered. At last, Joseph was touching him. The Fates were cruel, giving him something he’d wanted for the longest time but twisting it into goddamned pity. “D-don’t.”

The hand didn’t lift away. Instead, it began moving in gentle, wonderfully soothing circles. Fuck. If this continued he would break down. Show exactly how weak he was.

“I said don’t,” he snarled, and pivoting on his heel, he gripped Joseph by the cravat and slammed him up against the music room wall. Joseph’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he gasped, and guilt surged through Clayton so intensely it was several moments before he could bring himself to meet the baron’s gaze.

But when he finally did, what he saw froze him in place.

For it wasn’t fear in Joseph’s eyes, but tenderness, compassion…

And pure, unvarnished lust.

* * *

He’d known touching Clayton would be a risk. And yet after what he’d heard from the man’s vile family, seen the silent agony that had screamed from every square inch of him as he stared out the music room window, his head bowed and shoulders stiff, Joseph hadn’t been able to stop himself.

Now Clayton was ready to strangle him for the audacity. Or perhaps rearrange his face. And warped fool that he was, all he could concentrate on was the strength in that grip. The broadness of his shoulders. The scent of sandalwood and the oil that Clayton used to scrub the charcoal stains from his fingers. Christ, he wanted to kiss him. To hold him close and stroke his hair. To sink down, open Clayton’s trouser flap, and suck that mouthwatering cock down his throat. Taste his come just as Susanna had. His knees actually trembled with the need.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, instead. “So sorry.”

Clayton’s hold tightened. “For what?”

“They caused you terrible pain. And not for the first time.”

Emerald eyes seared into his soul. “What did you hear, my lord?”

Far more than I should have. Unthinkable cruelty from a man and woman utterly unworthy of being your father and mother. Also words that gave me hope and courage for what I am about to say.

“That they want you to stop painting and instead become a vicar,” he said. “So I know they don’t understand you at all. Or care about what you cherish. And…”

“Yes?” Clayton growled, practically emanating with rage and a bone-deep pain.

Joseph swallowed hard. “That you were beaten and starved and doused with icy water to cure your, ah…attraction to gentlemen.”

“Ha! Tis indeed true, I fuck men as well as women. Are you going to report me, my lord? Have me arrested? You hold such power now, life and death even. My parents have kept my wicked secret because they know they would be tainted by the scandal. But you could reveal the entire conversation. Unless, of course, you have a wicked secret of your own…”

And there it was. The moment he’d waited for since stepping onto English soil, an opportunity to share his dark past with someone who might just understand. Who might be able to provide an answer to the question he’d never been able to wrap his mind around: how he could possibly have the desire to bed both men and women.

Exhaling heavily, his gaze not leaving Clayton’s, Joseph lifted his hand until it brushed the other man’s. His skin was cool and soft, like a fine satin. “It is always surprising how much you see. Yes, I have a secret. You aren’t the only man who craves both quim…and cock. But I’d wager my past is far more scandalous than yours. Definitely more sordid.”

Clayton’s grip loosened. “You have taken a man as a lover in the past. I did wonder when you got hard looking at my sketches. And took your cock out in front of me so Susanna could suck it.”

Joseph laughed bitterly, and the harsh truth began to tumble from his lips. “Not a man, many men. And I wouldn’t call them lovers exactly. More…customers. Five men who each had an allocated day, and made me suck their cock, or bend over and take it however they wanted.”

“They forced you?” His eyes glittered dangerously.

“No. They were well-paid, consensual arrangements,” he replied, as the all-too-familiar shame and hurt and lust coiled together inside him, and he bowed his head. “I liked being fucked by men. Needed it. And yet I hated it, too. We never shared a bed or ate a meal together. Never kissed or spoke of the world outside that small, shabby room. Afterward I would crawl into my cold bed alone and make myself come. Just once, I wished we could have kissed until our lips ached. That a man would take my cock in his hand as he fucked me, we would climax together, and in the morning wake up wrapped around each other to watch the sun rise and talk ourselves hoarse. Do you know, that day we both spilled on Susanna’s breasts is the closest I’ve gotten to pleasure with a man? Watching you take her while she sucked me…Christ. I was in heaven…and hell…”

“Oh?”