Page 5 of Measure of a Man

“All right then, you little wretch, if you don’t believe me, put your hand on me and feel it. For a crack at those sixty thousand pounds? The man with the biggest manhood wins the right to court Miss Douglas, and the other man agrees to stand aside even if the winner fails to secure her hand.”

Virtue nearly stopped breathing. He’d never heard of anything so audacious. His gut quivered. The bet had him in a bind. It was brilliant and horrid, and he wished he’d thought of it first, because only the man who offered the wager could walk away with his pride intact if the other declined to take part.

But there was the possibility that he could win…

…and winning only meant the other man had to stand aside. Exeter technically had not said the winner had to then court her, only that they had the ‘right’. In theory, he could call on her and then spend the entire time talking to her brother instead, but he would have exercised his right and Exeter would be free from a hasty match to a woman who while perfectly amiable, attractive, and monied…he was sure had been more attentive towards him. It was that, he reasoned with all the might of the guilty, that stopped him from being a reprehensible creature devoid of morality in the event of his winning.

And…she just didn’t know Exeter. No-one did as well as Virtue.

They were friends and sometimes rivals in the way that some friendships can be. If truth be told, it felt like he was wearing Exeter under his skin. Circling around each until they were locked at not quite loggerheads but something else…

They’d spent the past four years in friendly competition. Who could drink the most wine and still walk in a straight line? Exeter. Who could purposefully sing off-key the longest at a recital before people stopped clapping? Virtue. Who was better at fencing, horse riding, and carriage driving? Virtue. Who could dance with the most girls at Almack’s? Exeter. Who could get their hands lower on their partner’s back during the waltz, both egging each other on over their partner’s shoulders. Exeter. Virtue’s throat had been awfully dry staring at Exeter’s gloved hand sliding further south to rest just above the lady’s backside.

The betting book at White’s was full of their exploits, pitting themselves against one another. They weren’t at the level of inveterate gamblers like Alvanley and the odious Sir Vincent, staking fortunes on the path of raindrops. But for Virtue, it didn’t matter how stupid the ask was, just as long as Exeter noticed him.

What’s more, he had nothing to hide; he knew from unstudious comparisons that he was on the larger end of the scale to most men, but the thought of sharing that intimacy with Exeter, even if it was only to tell each other the digits, made him feel an odd way, like his stomach had knitted itself together.

And if he were to acknowledge the thing he was not allowed to, Virtue’s cock was hard in his trousers. Achingly hard. The thought of seeing Exeter’s cock, just as much as Exeter seeing his, filled him with a giddy dread, but an appalling need to see the deed through.

Exeter, of course, was entirely unaffected by Virtue’s crisis; he even inclined his hat to the neighbouring box as the ladies in it rose to depart. He looked utterly relaxed, while Virtue sat with the colour drained from his face, clenching the playbill.

When Exeter finally noticed how pinched Virtue’s face was, he said with some glee, “Oh, come now, Julian. Don’t look so serious. There’s no dishonour in refusing my challenge. I’m sure you’re likely to be perfectly blessed downstairs, the same as you are at everything else in life.”

That decided it then. “Fine. I’ll take your bet, George.” He narrowed his eyes in challenge.

Exeter looked thrown off guard. Then, a moment later, a smile split across his face. “Shall we close the curtains to the box then?”

“Now?”

“I don’t see why not? We have the box to ourselves.”

“You can’t be serious! Not at the theatre. Half of society is here! Anybody could walk in to greet us. No, no. We’ll end up in some ghastly rag, and my father really would cut me off then!”

And more than that, if he unbuttoned his falls, Exeter would know the whole debacle had him painfully aroused. He shifted in his seat as best to hide it. For his own safety, the bet needed to be carried out with scientific rigour and in the least arousing manner possible.

Pleased with his new idea, he continued, “We should do it properly. Put it in White’s betting book, leave out Miss Douglas and the sixty thousand of course, and we’ll organise our tailors to submit an affidavit concerning our size.”

“Affidavit?” Exeter scoffed. “I’m not having you pay off your tailor! For sixty thousand pounds, I want to see it and be in the room when it’s measured.”

“Bit keen on seeing my cock, aren’t you?”

Exeter raised one golden eyebrow. “For sixty thousand of His Majesty’s finest pounds? Absolutely. The only way for both of us to know there’s no cheating or unfair advantages involved is to be measured at the same time. If not by each other, then by the same man.”

Virtue’s pulse skittered, but he scoffed out, “Well, I’ve never cheated on anything before, so I don’t see why I’d start now. And as to unfair advantages, I don’t see how that could happen? Unless—” and he laughed at the absurdity of it all—“you mean that you would go on a bitterly cold morning to get measured and I wait till the sun’s warmed my prick up.”

“Yes, and in any event, we’d both need a full cockstand to ensure parity.”

The playbill slipped from Virtue’s grip. Hell.

He snatched it back up just in time to cover his lap with it. “Surely we can measure the lion passant rather than the lion rampant.”

“My dear Virtue, given that you can’t even say cockstand, it has me rather convinced I’m going to win. But I suppose it is rather more gentlemanly to take it as the land lies and not the full salute.”

“All right. I’ll accept your terms.”

It was a foolish gambit, but Virtue was quietly confident. The ace up his sleeve, or perhaps down his trousers, as it were, was that he was considerably large. There was a chance that Exeter had him beaten, and if that was true, he’d like to see it for himself.

CHAPTER 3