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Finally – my NaNoWriMo story sees the light of day! It was 98% finished in mid-January but that last 2% is always the killer.

I’ve said it before and it continues to be true: It takes a village … a very patient, hard working and understanding village – never just the person whose name happens to be after the “by” in the title – to produce a story. I might have written this story but without the hard work of two excellent Betas and even better Friends, no one would have ever read it. Or – trust me – wanted to read it. So – my extreme thanks to Beta 1 and Beta 2. They deserve your thanks as well for this story.

Comments, questions, complaints, issues, whatever - are all welcome

Enjoy!

Dash

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Seizing Opportunities

By Dash

2/27/2010

1731 – 2 Days Northeast of Jamaica

The ships creaked and jolted as their hulls scraped and bumped each other on the rising waves. The men on deck, long used to such noises and movements, ignored them and carried on with their assigned tasks, emptying one of the ship's hulls and transferring the items to the other ship. A line of seated prisoners watched silently as their ship was systematically stripped of everything of value.

Inside the Captain's quarters, a middle-aged gentleman with salt and pepper hair and beard, dressed slightly better then the men working on desk, reviewed the papers and charts he had found in the locked desk. A knock on the door caused him to look up, saying, "Yes?"

"Excuse me, Captain," a young man said, touching his hat as he entered the cabin, "Mr. William told me to inform you that we should be finished within the hour and you'll be pleased with the cargo."

Captain Alfred Wheeler smiled faintly and nodded, "Very good, thank you, Dickey." He glanced back down at the papers to dismiss the young man and then remembered another matter. "Did Mr. William find out the identity of the young man who slashed Mr. Edward? He was a brave one; I hope his injury was not too serious."

Dickey nodded. "Yes, sir. His name is Michael Bell."

"Bell?" the captain asked, looking up. "Is he related to the former Captain of this ship?"

Dickey glanced quickly over to the corner of the room where the former occupant lay in a heap of congealed blood before nodding. "Yes, sir. I believe the lad told Mr. William that Captain Bell was his father."

Captain Wheeler made a face and sighed. "I would have appreciated being given that information as soon as it was known." He stood up, gathering all the papers and charts into a large untidy pile. "I'll review these once we're back on the St. Matthew," he said. "Where is Mr. William now?"

"He's supervising the unloading of the hull, sir, with Mr. Henry."

The other man nodded. "All right then, thank you, Dickey. Please gather all the papers you can find in the cabin and put them into my oil bag and have them delivered to my cabin."

"Yes, sir," Dickey said, touching his hat again as his captain went past him into the small hall.

A moment later, Captain Wheeler cleared his throat to get the attention of the two young men supervising the transferring of goods.

One of them glanced up, immediately elbowing his friend to attention when he saw the look on their captain's face.

"A word with you please, Mr. William," the older man said. "I'm quite confident that Mr. Henry can deal with this matter alone." Without waiting to see if the young red haired man followed, he turned and headed toward an unoccupied section of ship rail.

"Yes, sir," William said, touching his hat and standing up straight.

"Dickey has just informed me that the former Captain's son is on board."

William nodded. "Yes, sir. He received a wound to his thigh from one of the men and gave Edward a nasty cut to his arm that Dr. Blackwell is treating back on the St. Matthew."

"And has the doctor also seen to this young man's wound?"

William shook his head slowly. "No sir, he's tied up in line with the other prisoners."

Captain Wheeler glared at William. "Is that how I taught you to treat important passengers Mr. William? Like the rest of the crew?" When the younger man shook his head silently, he continued, "I do hope that you've remembered your other lessons and given them all water and made sure they were out of the sun."

Nodding eagerly, grateful to be able to give one positive answer, William said, "Yes, sir. They've all been watered and are on the shaded side of the ship. Two of our crew are also keeping an eye on them and have instructions to fetch either Henry or me if there's a problem with them." He glanced up at the captain. "I'm sorry sir, but I didn't think that the boy was that important."

"Even after you found out he was the son of the captain?" Captain Wheeler asked in a disbelieving tone. Waving off William's explanation, he said, "Save your breath and plan on discussing the matter privately with me when we return home."

"Yes sir," William mumbled.

"Bring the boy to my cabin on the St. Matthew. I'll have Dr. Blackwell attend to his wound there and god knows I won't leave him aboard the ship when we cast off." Nodding to William, Captain Wheeler said, "That's all, you are dismissed, Mr. William."

"Yes sir, thank you sir," William said, touching his hat quickly before turning around and almost running to carry out his orders.

Watching him go, Captain Wheeler shook his head and allowed a small smile to grace his previously stern expression. William was growing into a fine sailor, but his age, just 16, and lack of experience still showed through his polished exterior at times.

Two hours later, the captain opened the door of his cabin on the St. Matthew, the Atlantic Bell now emptied of cargo and adrift behind them, and smiled at the young boy waiting for him. "Hello young sir, my name is Alfred Wheeler, Captain of this ship," he said, giving the boy a small bow and waiting a moment for an answer before turning to other man in the room. "And how is our young guest?"

The doctor nodded, "He'll be fine. It was a relatively minor gash that I've treated and bandaged. I'll check it again tonight, but it seemed clean and as long as it remains so, shouldn't be any trouble."

"Good," the captain said, nodding again as he sat down in his chair, motioning for the doctor to also sit down. "Now then," turning toward the boy who was seated in the window bay overlooking the back of the ship, "I'm sure you have some questions. Hopefully I'll be able to answer them and provide some comfort." When the boy didn't answer or move, just continued to sit there eyeing the two officers, Wheeler continued with a smile. "Well then, let me first assure you, young sir, that you're in no danger from either my crew or me. We are approximately two days from our home port and from there, if you wish, you can be transported to Kingston with enough money for passage back to your home, wherever that might be."

"London," the boy whispered softly.

Wheeler smiled at him, bowing his head again. "London then. If needed, we can arrange a traveling companion for you, so you have nothing to fear."

"I'm not afraid, I'm not a baby," the boy said in a slightly stronger voice. "And I don't need a nursemaid to look after me on a trip. I sailed from London to Kingston by myself last year and managed fine."

Biting back a laugh, well aware that young men did not take kindly to being laughed at when they were trying to prove what men they were, the captain nodded. "Good, I'm glad to hear that you're not a child. It makes our conversation much easier if I can speak to you as a young man instead of a little boy. Can I trust you to continue to act as such?"

The boy nodded.

"Good, then stand up instead of sulking in the corner and make your introductions like a man." The words came out firmly but without anger in a voice that allowed little room for disagreement.

Scrambling to his feet, wincing a bit as he stood straight, the young man straightened his shoulders and bowed slightly. "Excuse my poor manners, Captain. My name is Michael Roger Preston Bell of London and I thank you for your hospitality and kindness in seeing to the treatment of my wounds. I also hope that your fine man that I wounded will make a full recovery." He bowed again and straightened back up, eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

Blackwell smiled at Wheeler as he struggled not to laugh at the boy's performance.

"Thank you Mr. Bell," the captain said. "Please sit back down and allow me to explain what is happening and what will happen over the next few days."

Looking uncertainty between his previous seat in the window and at the table with the two men, he hesitated.

"At the table please, Mr. Bell," Blackwell said kindly, pushing out a chair with his foot.

"As I said before, my name is Captain Wheeler and you are aboard the ship the St. Matthew and while you are not a prisoner, you are now my responsibility."

"Are you pirates?" Michael asked, interrupting.

The doctor laughed before catching himself as Wheeler shot him a glare.

"We are opportunists," Wheeler corrected him. "As I was saying, while you are not a prisoner, you should consider yourself--"

"What does an opportunist do?" the boy asked, interrupting again.

"It means that we look for opportunities and capitalize on them," Blackwell began, before catching Wheeler's eye again and falling silent.

"It means that we are free agents, not working for any government or church and will consider any worthwhile and profitable opportunity presented to us," the captain explained. "For the next few days you should consider yourself our guest and you will be treated with all the respect and courtesy that you deserve. But do not," Wheeler cautioned, "take that to mean you have free run of the ship. This is a working vessel and can be a dangerous place for young men not accustomed to that life. You will be quartered in a private cabin next door and should remain there unless Mr. Blackwell or I fetch you. Meals will be taken here with myself and my officers and if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. Several of our junior officers, as you know, are close to your age and I will see that a change of clothing is provided. You look to be around 11. Is that correct?"

The boy shook his head. "I'm 12 as of last month."

"Close enough then." He eyed the boy for a moment before asking, "Can you also read and write?"

"Yes sir," Michael said quietly, eyes fixed on the table.

"I'll see that several books are provided then to help pass the time."

"In what language, sir?" he asked softly as he looked up. He raised an eyebrow slightly as his shoulders squared. "I can read, write and speak French and Latin in addition to English."

Captain Wheeler laughed. "I'm sure we'll be able to accommodate you."

"Are all the crew of the ship I was on also on board?" Michael asked, suddenly quieter.

The captain shook his head. "No, it is our policy to leave the crew on board the ship. We are only interested in material cargo, not the human kind. The men were loosely tied and, assuming they have any bit of self-reliance, should have no problem freeing themselves within a few hours and getting back under sail." He paused again before deciding that a straightforward approach was best. "I do regret to inform you though that your father was killed during the attack. He fought bravely to ward off our boarders and to defend his ship." It was never an easy task delivering news such as this and they had hosted numerous passengers over the years and there was never any predicting how they would react. Some burst into tears, some sat silent and some rejoiced. "It was an unavoidable incident and I can assure you that he did not suffer and we take no pleasure in his death."

Michael nodded once before swallowing and saying in a quiet voice, "I feel I must be honest with you, sir. The man you killed, Captain Bell, was my step-father. I hold no great allegiance to him and am sure that his soul is now burning where it belongs. He would have had no qualms about killing your men and I dare say he would have taken pleasure in such an act."

While certainly not the worst he had heard, Captain Wheeler was still a bit shocked to hear such disdain and hatred coming from a child. Feeling that the boy needed some time alone to absorb the news and come to terms with his own feelings, he stood up. "It's been a long day for you and we'll have plenty of time to talk over the next few days. Dr. Blackwell, would you please show Mr. Bell his cabin and make sure he is settled in properly?"

"Yes, sir," the doctor said as he stood up. A moment later, he opened the door to a small cabin next to the captain's cabin. "It's small, but I think you'll be comfortable," he explained as the boy followed him into the room. It was sparsely furnished with only a built-in bunk, a stool in front of a small flip-down table attached to the wall and several hooks for clothing.

"Thank you, Dr. Blackwell," Michael said as he looked around and then sat on the stool. Looking out the small window which was open to catch the ocean breeze, he nodded. "It's much more comfortable than my berth on my stepfather's ship."

The doctor smiled. "I'll let you get settled then. It's been an exciting day and I'm sure you'll value some quiet time for reflection or prayer. My cabin is on the other side and I will be working in there until dinner. Please knock on the wall if you need anything. One of the other boys will be around shortly with a change of clothing, water so you can freshen up before dinner and a bit of food."

Sitting down on the bunk, Michael nodded almost automatically. His face was drawn and he suddenly looked much younger than he had in the captain's cabin, his earlier bravado deserting him.

"It'll be OK," Blackwell said kindly, walking over and stroking the boy's hair for a moment. "Just a few days with us and you'll be back in Kingston heading toward home and this will seem naught but a dream."

"Why am I here?" Michael asked softly. Looking up, his eyes were wide and scared, but his face was determined. "Are you going to do... things to me? In books, pirates rape and torture their captives or hold them for ransom. I can assure you, sir, that no one would be willing to pay a pound for me." He gave a nervous laugh and smiled slightly. "In fact, my stepfather's family might be willing to pay more if you keep me."

Blackwell smiled and said evenly, "Well, it's a good thing we're not pirates then." He patted the boy's back for a moment, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Don't worry, no one is going to bother you and you'll be home soon enough. The only reason you're here is for your own safety, no other reason, I assure you."

"Safety from what?"

Blackwell eyed the boy, silently debating how honest he should be before speaking. "The Captain of your ship was killed. When that happens on a merchant vessel like yours, there is often a struggle for power and command of the ship. Your personal safety may have been in jeopardy if some of the men realized their claim to the ship would be much stronger if you were not with them."

Michael looked at him and nodded silently. "I understand that."

As the door to the cabin closed, Michael flopped back onto the bunk and closed his eyes, struggling against the waves of fear and sadness threatening to overcome him.

His only visitor in the next five hours was another boy about his age who introduced himself as Henry and came bearing a fresh change of clothes and two books. The clothes were clean if a bit worn with several repairs. But they fit well enough and Michael changed into them gratefully. When Dr. Blackwell appeared for dinner, the company and the thought of food was enough to override any lingering fears about his shipmates.

"Ah," Captain Wheeler said as they stepped into his cabin, now transformed into a dining room, "so glad you could join us." He motioned toward an empty seat along one side. "Please sit between Mr. William and Mr. Henry, Michael."

Dinner was a loud but well-mannered event with several conversations going at once and simple but filling food being passed around in china bowls and distributed on plain porcelain plates. Michael was content to quietly sit there and allow the conversation to flow around him. It was clear that every man at the table respected the Captain and considered him their leader but it was equally clear that they did not fear him. The respect was earned through ability and personality and proven leadership, not through brutality.

"Had you sailed with your stepfather for very long, Michael?" the Captain asked during a pause in the conversations.

Michael swallowed the mouthful of fish stew he had taken and shook his head, noticing that the other conversations had also stopped and he was the center of attention. "Not for very long, sir. My mother died last year and he sent for me then. This was the third voyage I had been on."

"And did you enjoy it?" the Captain asked.

"I very much enjoy boats and being on the ocean, sir. But my stepfather ran a very tight ship and had little time or patience to show me much. He had talked about buying me a commission in the Royal Navy and allowing them to train me, but I believe felt the amount was too high. He was a simple man who had made his own way in the world through hard work." He shrugged and gave a small smile. "He felt I should be able to do the same, especially since I wasn't really his son."

Dr. Blackwell smiled. "But he must have cared some. You are certainly well educated."

The boy gave an embarrassed shrug. "That was my mother's wishes, sir. And, I thought, my stepfather's too, until the first bill was presented to him. At that, he ordered me out of the school in London and sent to him. The truth be told, I believe he placed more value on me being gone then he did on any education. I'm sure he felt it would be much easier to create a new family with my mother if she didn't have her old one sitting across the table every night."

"Men are too often obsessed with antiquated customs and beliefs to recognize the excellent opportunities given to them," Captain Wheeler said, before turning his attention to Henry and quizzing the younger man on the ship's course.

Grateful that the table's attention had turned from him, Michael allowed himself to relax a bit. He had never been particularly shy or timid, seven years of public schooling would cure any boy of that curse, but this situation was completely foreign to him and the unfamiliarity made him uneasy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the doctor studying him. Looking up, Michael gave him a small smile as he took another spoonful of stew.

Dr. Blackwell smiled back, giving him an approving nod.

"So what do you think of our young guest?" the captain asked two days later.

Blackwell leaned on the deck railing and looked at the three boys leaning over the side of the ship watching a school of dolphins play in the wake. "He seems like a nice boy. Obviously smart, seems resourceful and like he has a good head on his shoulders. He's getting along well with the others and they seem to like him. He's young though and as much as he's trying to hide it, scared. I heard him crying again last night."

"Why?"

Blackwell rolled his eyes at his friend. "Because he's barely 12, Alfred. His stepfather was just murdered and he's now living with the men who did it. In the last year he's lost his mother, been uprooted from the main home he's known, been shipped half way around the world to live with an almost stranger who seemed to dislike him. He's been through a lot and may simply be at his breaking point. He's certainly not the first."

"No," the captain agreed with a shake of his head. "You're right, of course. You and James are much better handling these boys than I am."

The other man laughed. "I wouldn't agree with that. You fill a vital role for them, it is simply different than the one I fill for them or James does. Like any good family, we all have our parts to play."

Turning around, the captain raised his voice to be heard over the noise of the sails and men manning them. "Our course, Mr. Edward, if you please."

Above them on the quarter deck, the younger man quickly turned the wheel over to a deck hand and stepped to the railing. "We are proceeding due east, sir and I estimate that we should be within sight of home within the hour. We've caught a good wind and are making very fast time."

Giving a dismissive nod, the captain turned back to once again stare off over the waves in the direction of home. "So we've got a few hours to decide what to do with Mr. Michael."

The doctor looked at him and nodded. "Are you contemplating his joining the family? He's not another society reject like William or Steven…"

"No, but he is an orphan like Henry, Edward and Martin."

"But, given the extent of his education and his stepfather's ship, he is not without resources," the doctor argued. "It's highly likely that, assuming there is money, he would be re-enrolled in his school by the courts until majority. Or possibly, as he seemed to indicate was a potential, a commission could be bought for him into the Royal Navy."

Nodding, Captain Wheeler said, "You are right on all of those counts. I just can't help but think that to send such a smart and spirited young man back into either one of those institutions would be a mistake and the death of his spirit. He's smart and funny and seems to have a genial personality that will not be appreciated in the Royal Navy or in most public schools."

"This is true," Dr. Blackwell said, studying the younger man.

"And even if he was able to secure a commission, what exactly does that secure him? A life indebted to the Government to do their bidding, regardless of morality; risking life and limb only to be discarded when they are used up? You know the pension provided, when it is even provided in the first place." The captain shook his head contemptuously. "It's a hard life that should never be forced onto any boy who has other options."

"And you propose that we become his other option." Blackwell's voice was low compared to the sounds of the waves and snapping sails and the long silence that followed almost made him repeat his statement.

"Yes," the captain said firmly. "If James is willing to accept another one and if Michael is willing to join the crew and family, I think he would be a wonderful addition."

Four hours later, with the St. Matthew safely anchored in the sheltering cove of a small private island with a small army of men swarming over her decks to unload and sort the pilfered cargo into the waiting warehouses, Michael found himself seated next to the three other boys from the ship in the back of a wagon carrying the captain and doctor away from the dock area.

Twisting around in his seat and looking behind, the doctor shouted slightly to make himself heard over the clatter of wheels on the cobblestone, "We're heading up to the main village, Michael, where we live. After a week or so to rest and to give the men time to sort the cargo, we'll be transporting it to Kingston. From there, we'll arrange transport to London for you."

Michael nodded and gave a weak smile.

"You'll love the house," Henry said as he leaned in closer next to Michael. "After we get settled and have some dinner, Edward and I will show you around if you want." He grinned, "There's a huge tower at the top of the house and from there you can see in all directions across the whole ocean. There are even telescopes up there and you can sometimes see ships on the horizon that are over a day away."

Michael turned to William, "Do you want to come too?"

William shook his head. "I've got other business this afternoon, I'm afraid." He smiled, adding, "But maybe tomorrow. When we get back, Mrs. Blackwell often gives us a day off before starting lessons again." He leaned forward so he could look at his two friends. "We could take horses down to the caves and maybe bring back lobster for dinner. Captain Montgomery loves lobster."

"Who is that?" Michael asked, looking between William, Henry and Edward.

"Captain Montgomery owns the St. Matthew and St. Luke and St. Mark with Captain Wheeler," William explained. "They're partners and both live in the main house. Dr. Blackwell and his wife and their daughter, when she's home from school, live next door. We," he said, pointing to the two other boys, "and Martin, who is out at sea right now on the St. Mark, live in the annex, which is a sort of dormitory attached to the main house."

His head spinning from all the new facts and the heat of the sun despite the shade, his stomach aching slightly from hunger, Michael simply nodded and watched the scenery pass. The wagon had left the cobbled road of the dock area and was now passing over a dirt road that wound its way uphill through a lush tropical forest. Every now and then, through a break in the trees, he could catch a glimpse of the dock, with the ocean shimmering a brilliant blue in the sun.

"I'm sure they saw our arrival," Dr. Blackwell said, twisting around in his seat again, "and will have dinner ready for us."

Captain Wheeler turned and nodded toward William. "Have your supper, boy, and then come straight to the office so we can discuss the matter of two days ago."

Giving a nervous nod, young William slumped slightly against the back of the wagon with his eyes downcast.

The rest of the ride passed quietly until the wagon broke from the trees into a sunny open area and the housing compound came into view. Low walls separated and protected the courtyard from the encroachment of the jungle and provided a clear division of space. Passing through an open gate, the wagon followed the circular driveway past three smaller cottages and stopped in front of the large two story whitewashed home that was the courtyard's focal point.

Jumping out, Henry waved to a woman coming from one of the smaller buildings on the other side. "That's Mrs. Blackwell," he explained to Michael, "and she and the doctor live in the first house we passed, right next to the wall. Steven lives in the one next to them and the third is empty right now but William will probably move in there when he turns 18 in a couple of years." He grinned. "Then we'll start work on homes for Edward and me on the other side of the courtyard."

Exiting the wagon in a more dignified manner, Captain Wheeler smiled toward the approaching woman before turning to the other man. "Go greet your wife, Doctor. You can join us in the house later. I'm sure that Captain Montgomery will be interested in your opinion concerning the matter we discussed earlier."

Blackwell smiled. "I'll be there in an hour or so."

Slapping him on the back, the captain laughed. "As if after two weeks at sea, you'll be able to last five minutes alone with the lovely Agnes." Then, turning toward the boys, he said, "Come along lads. Dinner is waiting, I'm sure and we don't want Cook to be mad at us for spoiling her hard work with our tardiness."

Quietly following the others up the wide steps to the shaded front porch of the house, Michael was shocked to step inside and find the house much cooler than the air outside. The house's thick walls and deep covered porches protected the windows from the harsh sun, making the air that came through the open windows cooler in comparison. The foyer was open, with a wide central stairwell for ventilation and a matching door at the back of the house that could be opened, allowing fresh breezes to flow into the whole home. Four doors opened off the foyer and through one, he could see a long table casually set for dinner.

Captain Wheeler nodded in the direction of the dining room, "Go on boys. Wash up please and have your dinner. I'll eat with Captain Montgomery in the office. Please join us when you're through, William. Michael, please stay in the dining room until Dr. Blackwell comes to fetch you. I'm sure Edward and Henry will keep you company."

"Yes, sir," William said softly, giving a short bow before ducking into the dining room.

Giving Michael an encouraging smile, the captain said, "Go on, Michael. It's excellent food and I'm sure you're hungry. Everything will be all right, I assure you."

"Yes, sir," Michael said, echoing the other boy, before turning and following them into the dining room.

Watching him for a second, Captain Wheeler turned and made his way down the foyer to the partially closed door on the right. He stopped just on the threshold and drank in the sight of another man, a few years older, with a brown, weathered face and short black hair that was defying nature and refusing to get more then the barest hint of gray. "Hello, James," he whispered with a smile, stepping into the study and shutting the door behind him.

Captain James Montgomery looked up from the leather bound ledger he had been writing in, a broad smile instantly taking ten years off his face. Standing up, he walked stiffly around the desk and met the other man in the middle of the room, hugging him tightly and kissing him deeply. Pulling back several long minutes later, he sighed, running a hand down the other man's hair and back before coming to rest on his butt. "God I've missed you, Al. These last two weeks without you have been hellish and I was worried."

Alfred laughed, leaning in and embracing James again, head resting on his shoulder, "I missed you too. Frances is nice company but he's not you and I needed you."

The other man patted his butt twice in quick succession, adding a bit of strength behind the swats with a raised eyebrow. "Struggling with something, love?"

Trying to shift out of the way of James' hand, Alfred shook his head. "No, but I missed you and knowing you were around." He sighed and gave a shrug, "It's just getting toward the end of a long season, I think. I'll be very happy to have several months off and at home."

James leaned in and kissed him again, tongue briefly pushing inside to tease and tempt before breaking off. "I am too, love. I am too." He frowned as a quiet knock on the door interrupted them. "Come," he ordered sharply, pulling away so they were once again standing a respectable distance apart. Their relationship was not a secret, in a house full of servants the fact that only one master bedroom was used would have been impossible to hide, but neither men saw a reason to be too open, either.

A young slave opened the door to the study, a large tray balanced on one hand while he maneuvered into the room. "Cook sent your dinner, sirs," he said quietly.

"Put it on the table please, Jim," Alfred said easily. He winked at his lover who was glowering at the younger man, blaming him for the interruption. "Thank you, Jim," he said as the slave backed out of the room and closed the door behind him. Breaking into a laugh, he shook his head, "James, you almost scared him to death. He was just doing as he was told and bringing us dinner. Aren't you hungry?"

Reaching out and pulling Alfred toward him, James laughed as his hand dropped down and gently stroked the younger man's cock with his thumb, making it jump in response. "I'm starving," he said in a low voice. "Absolutely famished."

Alfred moaned softly, closing his eyes as he felt his cock begin to respond and his own desires come rushing through him. "God, I know," he said softly as he sighed, spreading his legs slightly as James's other hand came around to his butt and began to knead the flesh. "But we can't, just yet," he said regretfully. "I'm hungry…."

"So I've noticed," the other man said with a low chuckle, stroking the hardening cock again.

Alfred laughed, reluctantly pulling back, "You're bad, James. I'm starving for that, but I'm also hungry for food and I've got to fill you in on the voyage and a guest we have with us."

Sighing, James nodded and moved toward the table where dinner had been laid out. "All right, but I expect all business matters to be wrapped up within two hours. After that, you're mine and mine alone."

Alfred smiled. "Gladly." Sitting down at the table, he spread a crisp linen napkin across his lap, pausing just a moment to admire the food before beginning his tale as James served them both. "First, the short story. We came across a merchant ship and took the opportunity to avail ourselves of its weakened condition and lack of protection."

"Good," James said as he sat back down and began to eat. "It's always nice to run across such an opportunity in one of the last voyages for the season."

"The captain of the vessel put up a strong fight after we had boarded her though and was, unfortunately, killed." Cutting off a small bite of chicken, Alfred moaned softly in pleasure as the fresh citrus taste filled his mouth. "God, this is wonderful. After two weeks of fish, hard tack and more fish, I was craving this."

James laughed. "It is it unfortunate for the other captain that he was killed, but it does make our job a bit easier." He nodded. "Go on though, I have a feeling there's much more to this story."

"The owner's 12 year old son or actually, step-son," Alfred corrected, "was on board the ship. William has earned himself a thrashing for not bringing the matter to my attention and for putting the boy in with the other crew. If the boy hadn't been brave enough or lucky enough to take part in the fight and give Edward a slight wound, taking one himself, he probably would have been set adrift with the rest of the crew."

James shook his head. "And probably now shark food if the other crew had their way." He sighed. "I'm surprised at William, though. He knows better, or at least I thought he did."

Alfred shrugged, taking another bite of food. "I suspect he got caught up in the action and the excitement and maybe potentially didn't care about the boy's fate since he had injured Edward."

"I take it Edward is fine?"

"Yes, a minor scratch that Frances took care of without any difficulty."

"Good, and excitement and revenge are no excuse. You're right in that William has earned his thrashing fairly and I trust that you'll do a sound job at making both our displeasure known to him." James glanced at the clock. "Go on with the rest of your story. I suspect that he'll be joining us to face his fate sooner rather than later." Taking another bite of his own dinner he added, "Would I be correct in assuming our guest is the deceased captain's step-son?"

Alfred smiled. "You would."

"And would I be correct in assuming you would like this young man to become a member of the household?"

Alfred laughed and nodded his head. "He doesn't have any where else to go, James. His mother is dead this last year, his stepfather took him out of school to work him on the ship and now he's dead. He has no other family which means either one of two things. If he has any inheritance, the courts might possibly use it to buy him a commission in the Royal Navy or to send him back to school. Or, if there is no money for that, he'll be sent to a work house or orphanage."

James took a last bite of his chicken before pushing the empty plate away and chewing slowly. "And you consider a respectable career in the Royal Navy a horrible fate? A bought commission, which we could always do if he has no money, is something that many men yearn for, families sacrifice for."

"You know I do," Alfred said softly, with a small shudder. "He's too smart, too sweet a child and too full of life to condemn to such a fate. I would almost rather see him in a work house or orphanage. I know that this opinion comes as no surprise to you."

"Well," James said evenly, "if that's the case, why are we even discussing it? He can be turned over to the authorities in Kingston or sent back to wherever his home is and let them deal with him – with no one to speak up or claim him, I'm sure he'll be sent to one of those places immediately."

Not taking the obvious bait, the other man remained silent, simply looking at his partner.

"All right," James said, putting down his napkin, "we can ask him. But, we must offer him the choice of a bought commission and legal representation on claiming any inheritance as well. I don't mind the pounds spent if it's what he wants." He held up a hand at the start of the other man's protest, "It must be his choice, Al. You can either keep your mouth shut on the matter and your opinions to yourself or I will simply dismiss you from the room. The boy …"

"Michael."

James nodded in acknowledgment. "Michael is old enough to have a say in his own fate and I won't force him into anything." He leveled an eye at his lover. "Is that clear?"

"Yes," Alfred said reluctantly.

"If it's not, or if you don't feel that you can keep your opinions to yourself, you would do best to remove yourself from the discussion, Alfred," James warned. "My plans tonight for your butt do not presently include warming it with a paddle, but I won't hesitate if you disobey me on this."

Alfred nodded. "I know." Frowning, he glanced at the table, but before he could say anything another quiet and rather reluctant knock came at the door.

"Come in, William," James said sharply.

The young man stepped inside the room and bowed slightly. "Captain, Captain."

"William," Captain Wheeler said, standing up. "I was just filling Captain Montgomery in on our adventures."

"It sounds like you had a wonderful voyage," Captain Montgomery said, also standing up. "With the exception of one problem, Captain Wheeler said you did a wonderful job."

Despite his nervousness, William smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"But we do have that one problem to address, do we not?"

"Yes, sir."

Captain Wheeler nodded toward the desk. "Then, unless you have any questions or wish to discuss the situation further, please bend over the desk and let's get this over with. You've already had to wait too long in my opinion and I'm sure you're anxious to put it behind you."

William smiled faintly. "Maybe not anxious, sir, but it will be good to be done with it instead of waiting."

"Good boy." Captain Wheeler patted William on the back as he crossed to a small built in drawer and removed a leather strap.

1749 – London

The need was almost overwhelming and Philip could feel his skin twitch in anticipation. The last few weeks had been hellish and he was unsure how he had actually managed to get through them without disgracing himself by rutting with one of the boys in the stable or, worse, exploding with frustration at his fiancee. Lady Henrietta Bloomington was a quiet, demure young lady now basking in the triumph of her Season and enjoying all of the attention her engagement to him was lavishing on her. Her mother was basking in her own triumph of managing to secure such a good match. While his title was not especially old--he was only the 4th Earl of Devonshire--his money and holdings made him extremely wealthy. Countess Bloomington had weighed the amount of his gold against the prestige of a more established name and he had come out the winner. The winner though was not how he saw himself. More a condemned prisoner with four months left to wait until his march down to the gallows in June. But until that time, he was going to enjoy every moment of his freedom.

The carriage rattled to a stop outside a large townhouse that had been converted to a private club years earlier. The Greek Debating Society was discreetly carved into a marble plaque at the base of the stairs leading toward the front door. In a city filled with private clubs, there was nothing to draw anyone's interest or curiosity to this one. It was simply yet another club, with dark paneled rooms, quiet servants waiting on members while they discussed the current topics of the day and made their own business deals. Its anonymous facade and name though were exactly what Philip and the other men who made up its membership cherished about their club. Getting out of the carriage, he nodded toward his driver. "No need to wait for me, Perkins. I don't know how long I'll be tonight."

"Yes, sir," the driver said, long used to his employer dismissing him after he was dropped off at his club and grateful not to be out any longer then necessary in the chilly, damp February evening.

Walking up the stone steps, Philip could feel the tension of the past few weeks begin to drain out of him. He smiled as the door was opened and felt more at home than he did in his own cold townhouse a mile away.

"Sir," the butler said with a bow, standing aside to let him into the brightly lit foyer.

"Philip," another gentleman said as he spied him through the open doorway, rising from his seat in one of the drawing rooms and making his excuses to his previous companions. Shaking hands, the other gentleman smiled. "So good to see you again. It's been several weeks since you've joined us and I was starting to think you had found another club."

Philip laughed, shaking his head as he nodded to several other men he knew in the room, absently taking off his cloak and handing it in the direction of the butler. "My fiancee was in town with her mother …" He shuddered as his voice trailed off. "It has been a very long three weeks, but luckily, she won't be back for several months and I am once again a free man, Louis."

The other man chuckled. "I do trust though that you'll continue to find time for us once your fiancee becomes your wife."

Philip nodded. "Of course, there's no doubt of that. A man must have his freedom and his own interest. But right now, while we are trapped in the courtship rituals, being watched over by her mother and my own mother and sister, I feel it's best that I am more discreet."

Louis smiled understandingly. He had run The Greek Debating Society for the last decade and had heard similar complaints from other members. "Mothers," he said quietly, "will be the death of all unmarried men." He motioned around the room. "Care to join us? Robert Fitzwilliam -- do you know him?-- is just returned from a trip to his holdings in the Jamaican Islands and has brought back a chap who grew up sailing in that area. They were just about to tell us about it. Or I believe there are several games going in the card room if you're feeling lucky."

Philip laughed and shook his head. "Actually Louis, I feel as if I would be much better company after I take advantage of your upstairs services." He winked at his friend, adding, "It has been a very long three weeks."

The club owner laughed. "Of course, of course. It's early enough in the evening that you have your pick. Go on upstairs and have your fun. But when you're done, I expect to see you back down here so we can catch up. Plus, there are several new men here tonight that you might enjoy meeting as well. Robert's friend is especially interesting."

Philip laughed again and nodded as he headed toward the ornate staircase leading upstairs. "I look forward to it. I'm a free man for several months and plan to take full advantage of my time." Walking quickly up the stairs, he felt himself begin to grow hard in anticipation.

"Sir," another butler said with a slight bow, rising from his seat at the top of the stairs. "Both Nicholas and Charles are free this evening and you've enjoyed each of them in the past. Would you like to visit one of them again or would you prefer someone new?"

Philip smiled. "Nicholas, please." The young shop owner was a favorite who could always be counted on to satisfy all of his needs and make the experience one of mutual respect and desire instead of a service arrangement.

Unlike many other similar private clubs, the men who served upstairs were full members themselves, but of a more middle-class social and economic standing than some of the other members. Their dues were paid in part through their service several times a month performing upstairs.

"Phil," Nicholas said with a smile, looking up from the desk he was working at as the upstairs butler knocked discreetly and then opened the door. "It's wonderful to see you again; I thought you had forgotten all about us." Closing the ledger he had been writing in, he got up and walked over to the other man, kissing him on the lips as the door was closed. "It's wonderful to see you," he repeated in a whisper, his hand dropping to the other man's crotch. His smile widened, "I take it you're happy to be here, too."

"Hi, Nick," Philip whispered as he kissed him back. "I am happy to be here and even happier that you're here tonight." He groaned as his crotch was again stroked through the material of his trousers.

"With this weighing you down," Nicholas said softly, "I'm surprised you made it up the stairs." His fingers caressed the bulge, "Would you like me to take care of it for you?"

Closing his eyes, Philip kissed him, grinding his cock into the other man's hand. "If you don't do something soon, I'm afraid I shall ruin my trousers."

Nicholas laughed. "And we can't have that. It's much too school-boyish for a gentleman like yourself." Leading Philip over to the bed, he gently pushed him down. "How would you like me tonight, sir?" he asked with a grin, his hands hovering over the other man's buttons.

"Your mouth, please," Philip said softly, sitting up on the bed to pull off his boots.

With a smile, Nicholas sank to his knees and slid the boots off, taking the opportunity to slowly caress each foot.

A few moments later, Philip lay back on the bed, bare except for his long white linen undershirt. Spreading his legs wide, he closed his eyes as he felt Nicholas's hair brush against his belly, his hands roughly pushing the shirt out of the way of the throbbing cock.

"I take it that this has been lonely for several weeks," Nicholas whispered as he kissed the tip of the cock, allowing his tongue to gently glide over the shaft. "Trust me; I'll give it all the attention it wants."

Philip groaned as the warm mouth engulfed him and he shuddered at the sensation and skilled movements. Spreading his legs wider, he reached down and petted Nicholas's hair, moaning slightly and squirming under the assault.

Nicholas grinned at Philip's reaction and chuckled deep in his throat, the vibration coursing through the cock in his mouth. Moving one hand from its position on the bed, he brought it between them and tickled the sensitive area that ran from Philip's cock to his opening.

Philip moaned and instinctually spread his legs wider, almost pulling them apart and allowing the curious fingers full access to his body. He groaned as a gentle finger, slick with spit and cum was pushed slightly inside before his mind rebelled and pulled him back from the brink of the wonderful sensations. "No," he croaked out, pushing away the finger exploring him and trying to close his legs again. A small spasm of panic began to creep into the edges of his mind, but receded as quickly as the finger was withdrawn and his legs were once again together, cutting off that part of his body from further exploration.

"Sorry," Nicholas mumbled as he looked up, "I thought you wanted it."

"It's all right," Philip said hoarsely. "Just get on with it, please." Then, afraid that he had offended the other man, he added gently, "Your mouth is more then enough stimulation." A few moments later, he came hard and fast into Nicholas's mouth. His whole body relaxed with the sensation and he felt the peace he had been aching for.

Opening his eyes twenty minutes later, Philip lay still, enjoying the lingering sensation of Nicholas's mouth around his cock and the joy of his release. The moment was spoiled as a moment later, he remembered his near panic as the tip of the other man's finger pressed inside him. It was an act he wondered about, almost craved, yet also feared immensely.

It wasn't that he was some blushing virgin, a novice to the act. He had been enjoying the act for years now, but always as the invader, not the one face down on the bed or spread wide to be taken. He blushed slightly and squirmed as he remembered the last night he had been here, in this actual room with Nicolas. Nicholas had willingly bent over the desk he was now writing at, spread his legs and calmly allowed Philip to enter him. It had been rough, almost primal, with the knowledge that the coming release would have to last Philip through the upcoming weeks of torture with his fiancee and family. Nicolas had cried out as he had been entered again and again, each thrust getting harder and harder, until Philip pressed in deeply, coming hard inside.

But despite the last experience, he also knew that the act could be loving and soft and gentle and had experienced those emotions, too. Looks, touches, kisses, all leading to a slow and almost graceful joining, with him sliding into the other man as their mouths locked and tongues echoed the actions of his cock.

Logically, even as Philip lay in the bed, he knew that having sex with another man was not that much different than having sex with a woman. Sometimes it was hard, other times slow and loving and still other times it was simply an act meant to bring quick release and pleasure to the participants. But for all of that, the thought of being entered in such a way, serving as the portal for another's cock, made him feel ashamed and embarrassed about his desire for the sensation.

Rolling out of bed, Philip walked over to the desk where Nicholas sat, again going over his books, and kissed his neck. "You were wonderful, just what I needed."

The other man bent his neck almost absent mindedly, giving further access, and laughed. "Considering how long it had been, I tend to believe that even Grimmes could have met your needs." Grimmes was the club's ancient butler, now retired, but still living on the premises as a reward for his years of service.

Philip laughed. "That's not true at all."

Nicholas shrugged, but remained silent.

Kissing him again, Philip said, "Why don't you come downstairs and have a drink? We can get caught up and then maybe come back up here a little later and enjoy the rest of the evening."

"Can't, sorry," Nicholas said in a stiff voice. "I'm pulling duty up here tonight and really shouldn't be going downstairs to socialize, plus I need to finish these books." Turning around slightly, shaking off Philip's hand, he gave dismissive shrug, "Some of us have to work, you know. My shop and its books are handled by me and me alone. I don't have someone to manage it for me. If I don't do it, then they aren't done." He nodded toward the door. "Go on, socialize and have fun catching up with some of your friends. If you get bored and I'm free, you can join me later tonight."

A bit taken aback by the other man's tone and sudden change of attitude, Philip frowned. "I didn't mean anything by it, Nicholas. It's been awhile since I've been here and we've had a chance to talk and catch up. I just thought it would be nice to have a drink."

Nicholas glanced up and gave a small smile. "I'm not upset Philip. I am simply telling you the facts. I'm working tonight, both for the club and on my own affairs. Unlike you, I have financial responsibilities that can't be ignored." Tilting his head slightly in a semi-formal bow, he continued, "You of all people should understand roles and places and the importance of remembering one's own."

"What does that mean?" Philip asked, annoyance and puzzlement mixed in his voice.

"You know exactly what I mean," Nicholas shot back angrily. "You made it quite clear that while I am good enough to be fucked by you, I should never dare even hint at that action with you." He turned back to his ledger, saying, "As I said, it's all about understanding and remembering one's role and place. I forgot briefly and it's a mistake I won't make again. From your lofty position, there must appear to be no roles and you can delude yourself into thinking everyone is equal, but those of us in my position know that it is quite different. I have responsibilities and expectations that you can never understand."

Philip stared at him and shook his head. "It's not that at all, Nicholas. Not at all." He could feel the color and anger rising in his cheeks. "I have plenty of responsibilities and hundreds of people dependent on me. If I fail, I take down scores of families, not just myself. That's something you certainly can't understand."

"Go back downstairs, Philip," Nicholas ordered. "Enjoy your drinks, enjoy the stories and enjoy the fellowship you've been missing these last weeks. Maybe in a few days we too will have a chance to get caught up."

Feeling as clearly and soundly dismissed as school boy by his teacher, Philip quickly dressed and slipped out of the room. As he made his way back downstairs, he silently cursed the other man's lack of understanding and simplistic view of the world. Stepping into one of the occupied drawing rooms, he tried to force a smile as he was quickly greeted by some of the other club members. Within fifteen minutes, he had settled into the old familiar pattern of chatting, laughing and joking with men he had had for friends and more often than not, lovers, for the last few years.

"You put on a very good show."

Philip spun around, surprised at the voice, both its appearance when he thought he was alone on the cold terrace and the tone. "Excuse me?" He had stepped outside ten minutes earlier for air and to give his swimming head a break from the smoke and endless talking that had been swirling around him all evening. It was late and men were gradually beginning to break off into smaller intimate groups in darkened corners or retire in pairs upstairs. Despite several invitations, he had so far turned them down and was left, instead, feeling bored and restless. His reaction to Nicholas's advances and his own thoughts hung heavy in his mind as he leaned on the terrace railing looking across the empty park in front of the house.

The other man stepped into the light of the torches that lined the terrace railing and smiled, bowing his head as he spoke. "I said, you put on a very good show. All the laughing and smiling and flirting when you're really not remotely interested. It's a very good act and I bet I'm the only one in there who can tell."

Philip stiffened, straightening up and leveling his gaze at the other man. "Excuse me sir, but I don't know what you are referring to. I can assure you that what you witnessed tonight was no act. I am having a very good evening enjoying the company of friends and acquaintances." Studying the stranger, he shook his head. "And as for you having such insight into my true feelings, I can only assume that we are on intimate terms, but I don't know you at all."

The other man stepped closer. "And I don't really know you either. I'm just very good at reading people, a skill that's often handy in a professional sense." Putting out a hand, he smiled. "Michael Preston and you are Philip Ashton, the 4th Earl of Devonshire, and the third second oldest son to hold the title. It would seem that your family has a bit of a curse on the first born."

Philip took the extended hand automatically. "Edward died when I was eleven and he was fifteen; the small pox epidemic ten years ago."

Michael smiled slightly and nodded. "I also lost my Edward too soon."

Interest piqued and struggling not to show it, Philip shifted against the railing. "And now that you've proven to know my name and a little bit about my family, would you care to share how you know?" He studied him and was fairly certain the man before him had never been a lover or at the club before. "I don't believe that I've seen you here before. Are you a member?"

The other man shook his head. "No, not yet but I'll be in London for at least several more months and I think I will join. I came with a friend of mine, Robert Fitzwilliam, and he's a member. My family and partners in our shipping company are looking at establishing a physical presence here and I volunteered for the task, change of scenery and all."

"Ah yes, you're the friend from Jamaica. Louis mentioned that you both were holding court with your tales of wild adventure when I came this evening. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to hear them; I've only been to the islands once, about six months ago to check on my family holdings near Kingston. It was pure business, legal matters to settle after my father passed, and I didn't have a chance to explore on my own."

Michael smiled and bowed. "And that actually is how I knew of you. Your family's property borders on the northern edge with mine and we met briefly on that visit - a party at the Governor's House. It was large and I don't think we had a chance to actually talk, just polite introductions. But you caught my eye then and I was disappointed when you disappeared. I had hoped to get to know you better."

Philip smiled. "Yes, I remember the party vaguely. I don't think I stayed very long though." One of the governor's staff had proven a wonderful distraction in an empty parlor, if memory served him correctly. "It had been a long trip, you know."

"Of course," Michael said with a nod. "I'm sure you couldn't wait to take to your bed." His lips twitched as he struggled not to smile before continuing his explanation. "Last month during Robert's visit, we were out riding one day around my property, I mentioned the encounter and he said that he knew you from his … special club." His smiled widened a bit. "I was thrilled at the chance to see you again. My only wish was that you were still as handsome in person as you were in my dreams. His property is along a small part of the western border of mine, but he confessed that yours is much longer."

Philip smiled at the compliment and was unable to resist the opening, especially when it seemed a deliberate invitation. It had been several hours since Nicholas's mouth had brought relief and he could feel his blood stirring again at the sight of this man. Michael was handsome and clean shaven and carried himself with confidence. He could make a very satisfying companion for the evening, a bit of uncomplicated fun to remove the bad taste of Nicholas's comments. Philip felt himself glancing at the other man's large hands, wondering if they were calloused or soft and which would feel better wrapped around his cock and what the other man's cock would be like. "I always knew my land was larger than Robert's, good of him to man up to that fact. And it tops yours?" he asked with a smile and a slight emphasis of the word ‘top'.

Michael chuckled, picking up on the emphasis and shook his head slightly. Learning closer so he could whisper into Philip's ear, he said, "No. Actually, young man, mine thrusts deeply inside yours multiple times. Over and over and over again. Penetrating multiple times over the entire length until the sea finally spills out, separating it."

Philip blushed deep, taking a step back and bumping into the railing. He could feel his cock harden and instantly cursed himself for reacting in such a way. "I'm not that young," he corrected, struggling to regain his footing. "I'm twenty … five actually." He willed his voice to stay confident even as the lie came out. Stepping away from the railing, he met the other man's gaze, saw his mouth twitch and knew instantly that he wasn't fooled.

Michael chuckled deeply and shook his head. "Oh, if only you belonged to me already." Then, reaching out, he pulled Phillip closer and hugged him tight, kissing him on the mouth quickly as his hand ran down his back and rested on his butt. Giving it two quick swats, he kissed Philip's nose and whispered, "You're lucky you don't yet, my dear little Earl. Otherwise, these very expensive trousers would be pooled around your ankles while you lay face down over my knees as I spanked you for telling me such a stupid little lie."

Philip gasped in shock and tried to push away. "Excuse me, sir. There seems to have been some misunderstanding of who exactly I am and my intentions."

Michael laughed again, cutting off the protest with another kiss. "Don't worry. By the time that happens, you'll be more than happy to accept any and all such actions as my right and something you welcome."

Pushing away and bumping back into the railing at his back, Philip glared and shook his head. "There is no doubt in my mind, sir, that it will never happen."

"Never is a long time, even in lives as short as ours," Michael said, stepping forward and pinning Philip against the rail. Reaching out, he caressed the blushing face in front of him and leaned forward, gently kissing him.

Philip resisted for a moment before giving a small cry as Michael's tongue pushed its way inside. The possessive invasion of his own body made him moan again as he held his own, matching kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust as he began to grind himself against the older man, urged on by Michael's hand kneading and stroking his butt through the soft wool of his pants.

"That's right," Michael urged in a whisper, breaking the kiss for a moment to focus on Philip's neck and ear, leaving fairy bites along his path back toward the waiting mouth. "You know you want someone like me, you just never could ask. With me, I promise, you'll never have to ask." Bring his other hand down from Philip's waist he plunged it between them and stroked Philip's cock. "Yes, I can tell how much you want this." He took Philip's hand and put it on his own cock. "I want you just as much. I want to be inside of you."

The contact and feel of Michael's cock startled Philip and he gasped, jerking his hand away as he shook himself, as if suddenly aware of what they had been doing. "Wait, I can't, I'm sorry," he gasped, jerking away from the other man. Stepping aside, he coughed, trying to compose himself and straighten his clothes as he backed toward the doors leading into the house. "If you'll excuse me, I've had quite enough air and company for this evening." Turning around, he fled back to the safely of the light.

In the darkness, Michael smiled and shook his head with a small laugh.

Slamming the terrace door behind him, Philip's hand hovered over the key lock. It would do no good, he knew in trapping Michael outside because of the numerous doors, but would provide a very satisfying bit of revenge for his rude and very forward comments. With a satisfied smile, Philip quickly and silently turned the key, locking the door. Spying an acquaintance sitting by the fire in the next room, he made his way over. "Mind if I join you?"

Upton St. John looked up and smiled. "Of course not, Philip. Please, have a seat and tell me how preparations for your upcoming nuptials are coming. My wife was very disappointed; I think she had her eye on you for our eldest in a couple of years."

Ordering his own brandy, Philip relaxed and began to fill the other man in on the details that he knew. Fifteen minutes later, he gave a small choke at the sight of Michael Preston standing in the doorway. Forcing himself not to look, it took all his effort to focus on Upton's detailed description of an upcoming tour of Italy. Two minutes later, a small cough instinctively turned Philip's head back to the doorway and he saw Michael still standing there, casually leaning against the doorway. Their eyes meet and Philip felt a blush rise up on his checks and his cock twitch.

Across the room, Michael shook his head and made an almost silent tsking noise. Shaking his finger, he mouthed, "Just wait." A smile broke his stern expression as he saw Philip glance down, shifting in his seat, face flushing. He disappeared back into the hallway.

Thirty minutes later, Philip settled back into the seat of one of the club's carriages. He had given up on the evening, unwilling to risk another encounter with the annoying Michael, but also unable to concentrate on anyone else when he heard his voice or laugh drift in from one of the other rooms. The sight of Michael casually watching him from the doorway, the slightly threatening air about what he would do, what he had promised to do on the terrace, made him blush and squirm in embarrassment even now.

The next morning, through bleary eyes from a restless and too short night, Philip struggled to open a letter that had been delivered the afternoon before from his fiancee. He had made a face when he saw the thick pale blue envelope waiting for him on the silver tray by his breakfast dishes. The woman had been gone less than 24 hours and was already writing him. In fact, she must have written this before they left and had it sent by one of the houseboys as they were departing for the country, taking advance of the clear weather of the last few days. Henrietta had been adamant about being married in the small house chapel of her family's ancestral home and her mother, realizing that Philip would be paying for all improvements deemed necessary, had joined in the request. For his own part, Philip saw it as the perfect excuse to be rid of both of them and considered the hundreds of pounds a small price to pay.

Now, the envelope finally open, Philip realized that he made the right decision. In elaborate swirls and flourishes, the young girl's handwriting filled every inch of two sheets of the expensive paper. Skimming quickly, he made a face and dropped it back onto the tray, unable to face her, even in letter form, so early in the morning and on an empty stomach. Pouring a cup of tea, he drank deeply, laying his head back against the chair and willing his stomach to stop dancing.

Henrietta was, in reality, a lovely girl. Sweet and funny, she was kind and would make an excellent wife and hostess. Her parents had seen that she was well educated and could discuss literature, philosophy and current events with him as easily as she could discuss the latest fashions with her female friends. Despite her understandable enthusiasm, she really wasn't overly demanding of his time or attention. Her father had several mistresses and she had three half, semi-acknowledged, siblings. Her mother had, undoubtedly, taught her well how to look the other way when it came to men's outside needs. He knew deep down that he had made the right decision and that she was his perfect match. It was just reaching that deep occasionally caused him problems.

In fact, in a moment of sheer lunacy, he had suggested to her last week that they call off the whole production and have a simple ceremony there as soon as the banns could be posted and read. What she had blushingly and excitedly seen as true love and desire was in fact more fear that he would be unable to go through with it when the time came if given four long months to stew and worry. Fate had stepped in though in the form of practicality. Both of their mothers were afraid that a quick marriage after such a short engagement would set tongues wagging and eyes watching the young woman's waistline for a growing bulge.

Now, he was forced to confront his fears head on. At least, he thought to himself as he started in on his soft boiled egg, she was safely in the country and there was always hope that the conventional wisdom of absence and the growth of the heart would actually come true.

"Come," he called, as a knock sounded on his door ten minutes later.

One of the young footmen silently stepped inside carrying a smaller silver tray with a dark gray envelope. Eyes downcast slightly, he bowed and said softly, "This was just delivered by a boy, sir. He's waiting for a reply, if you are so inclined."

Taking the offered envelope in puzzlement, not recognizing the paper or the green embossed seal on the outside, Philip slit the thick paper and glanced at the signature. "No, there will be no reply," he said immediately. "You can send him away with a coin for his service." Dropping the note unread next to the food, he watched the footman disappear back into the hall, closing the door behind him. "Wait!" he called out, eyes fixed on the bold handwriting on the snowy white interior.

"Sir?" the servant asked, reopening the door and stepping just inside with a small bow.

"There will be a reply after all. Give the boy some breakfast while he waits and I'll ring when it's ready," Philip said firmly, struggling to control his beating heart and grateful that he was seated as the sudden thought of hands and lips from the previous night flooded his brain and sent blood coursing southward. Taking a deep breath and mentally cursing himself for his foolishness, he forced himself to take a sip of tea before picking up the note and reading it.

"My dearest little Earl," it started, and he could hear Michael's voice from last night, the simple handwriting exactly matching the man's straight forward attitude. "I owe you my deepest apologies for my presumption and forwardness last night. I can only offer the simple explanation that I was overcome by the excitement of seeing you again and knowing, now, after a month of wishes, confirmation with my own eyes that you too are a fan of Greek debates. I thought as much when we first meet many months ago, but was unsure if that was intuition or simply hopeful wishes fueled by several years without committed companionship of a similar nature. When Mr. Fitzwilliam said he knew of you, I wrestled daily between joy and the fear of disappointment if the man he knew of and the man I dreamed of were not the same. I would be most pleased if you would allow me to reintroduce myself to you and begin afresh tomorrow. I will be visiting the estate of the late Viscount of Rockford, Robert Delareece, at mid-morning, just outside the city, and would enjoy having your company while I examine the house and its contents for possible purchase. His agent has informed the small staff of my arrival and I plan to make a day of it to explore the house and lands. Your presence will turn a boring business function into a pleasant social outing where hopefully I may redeem myself in your estimation. Please send your reply and if it is in the affirmative, my carriage will call on you at nine tomorrow morning."

Multiple thoughts flooded Philip's brain as he dropped the note back onto the table in front of him. The feel of the other man's hands kneading him through the thin layer of wool, the taste of his tongue pushing inside as their lips joined, the arrogant smirk and threat and forward assumption that there would be a welcomed bodily invasion and that he, not Philip, would be the invader when that occurred, as if the other way was beyond thought. Shifting in his seat, Philip leaned his head back and closed his eyes, hand drifting to the bulge of his growing cock beneath the buttons of his trousers. "Sweet Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head with a quick laugh a second later at the idea of a sodomite like himself appealing to God in such a matter. Jerking his hand away, he straightened up and grabbed a sheaf of his personalized notepaper. It was creamy white with his family's crest embossed in navy on the outside. Plucking a quill from a jar, he dipped it in ink and scrawled his answer.

"Captain Preston, I too regret our unfortunate meeting and crossed words of yesterday. It was poor form to expect a man such as yourself, new to this land and unfamiliar with our customs, to behave as a proper Englishman. Please accept my apologies for my words and actions. I also must send my sincerest regrets that I will be unable to join you tomorrow as I have business elsewhere." Signing it with his initials, he smiled and sealed the card with wax. Twisting around, he pulled a small silken cord behind him and waited for the footman to appear. The card was heavy in his hand and he felt his stomach twist as his eyes flickered between it and Michael's note, memories once again invading his thoughts.

"Sir?" the footman said, stepping into the room.

"Is the boy still waiting for a reply?" Philip asked, eyes still locked on the card in his hand.

Stepping forward to receive the card, the footman nodded. "Yes, sir, as you instructed."

He dropped the note back on the desk and reached for a new piece of notepaper. "Good, I won't be a moment then. No sense allowing him to dawdle all day bothering the kitchen staff when they have things to do and I'm sure his employer is looking for him."

"Yes, sir," the footman said, clearly confused. "Shall I wait here or shall you call me when the reply is ready?"

Philip waved a hand. "You may wait; this will just take a moment." Dipping the quill into the ink pot again, he wrote quickly before he could once again change his mind, "I look forward to a new beginning tomorrow morning, free of all assumptions made last night." Signing as Philip, Earl of Devonshire, he quickly sealed the note and thrust it at the waiting footman. "Here, take it and be off."

Three hours later, a small, wrapped package arrived for him. Once the footman who delivered it left, Philip opened the dark gray card attached.

"A book from my library on Greek Debates. I hope that, once we begin again, we may spend hours discussing the pros and cons of these articles."

The book inside was bound in dark leather devoid of any gilt or embossing. Nothing to call attention to itself or invite a curious browser to open it up. Philip felt his face flush hot and his cock stir as he flipped it open and saw the detailed drawings of men with talking the furthest thing from their minds. He had seen, of course, pornography books in the private rooms of men for years. They had always been the common household type: men and women, usually dressed as maids or actresses, in various poses that more often than not, left much to the imagination. The club though had several books similar to this one that featured all men and the rooms upstairs were decorated with discreet works of art designed to provide inspiration to its inhabitants. The idea of owning such a book though both excited and embarrassed him. Owning, possessing such a thing in this house was proof of his two world meeting and joining in a way he had never wanted, or at least conceived. This book was devoted entirely to men receiving pleasure from another man, or more in several of the images, in every conceivable position and in explicit detail. Three particular pages in the slim book were marked with green ribbon and he turned to the first one.

On the page, a small scrap of the now familiar gray note paper was tucked into the page. "This position will be perfect for the first time you and I are together." The highly detailed drawing showed two men, one nestled onto of the other so they faced each other, kissing deeply. The bottom man's legs were spread wide, plainly showing the upper man's cock embedded almost fully inside him while his own cock stood hard between them. The artist had perfectly captured a look of joy on both of the faces. They were both clearly men with short hair and muscles. Unlike some of the books at the club, there was no attempt by the artist to make one appear more feminine than the other.

With a mixture of embarrassment and excitement, Philip flipped to the other marked pages and found similar pictures and notes with promises that he would love this position or that position and how amazing he would look at all times. Closing the book firmly, he glanced around as if suddenly afraid that one of the servants had entered his private office without him being aware. He took several deep, cleansing breaths and stood up, glad to see that his cock was mostly behaving itself. Holding the book tightly, the notes tucked securely inside, he made his way up the stairs to his own suite of rooms.

"Sir?"

Years of training kept Philip from jumping and his voice even as he turned to face Hutchinson, his valet, who had stepped from the dressing room. "I'm going to be escorting my mother to the opera tonight. Please see that my things are ready. Until then, I don't want to be disturbed for any reason."

Hutchinson bowed slightly. "Of course."

Shutting the door behind him firmly, Philip debated for a moment before quietly turning the lock. The book was burning in his hand and he was afraid that if he spent another moment with someone who knew him so well, the guilt would be easily readable on his face. It was only after he quietly turned the lock that he felt himself relax slightly. Putting the book carefully on the chaise longue, he opened the curtains, letting in the pale winter sunlight. His rooms overlooked the small gardens from the third floor, allowing plenty of privacy and quiet from the bustle of the street. The feelings of shame began to flutter in his stomach again as he slowly undressed, carefully arranging his clothes on their forms in case he needed to dress again in a hurry. Luckily, he wore only a simple outfit since he had not planned on going out and it only took a few minutes. Lying down naked on the chaise longue, he took a deep breath and spread his legs slightly as he reached for the book. Deliberately avoiding the pages marked by Michael, he flipped to another drawing and allowed his other hand to began the familiar rhythm of teasing, stroking and caressing. Several minutes later, the picture seared into his head, he closed his eyes and laid his head back against the cushion, slipping into his fantasy.

The opera was torture and his temper was short as his mind constantly replayed the previous evening with Michael, the book and the possibilities that tomorrow was going to bring. It was a constant struggle to keep his mind focused on his surroundings and not allow it to wander and betray him. His cock ached, begging for release and all he wanted to do was return home and repeat the afternoon's activities. Luckily, his mother easily bought the excuse that he was in an ill temper because of Henrietta's departure.

"Clarissa tells me that Lady Henrietta sent you a note already," his mother remarked as the carriage pulled away from an after party they had made an appearance at. Clarissa, his mother's personal maid, was the sister of one the footmen of his own household.

Inwardly cursing the intertwined network of family servants, Philip nodded. "Yes, mother."

The Dowager nodded. "Do be careful though, Philip. She is young and impressionable. You should begin to establish boundaries and rules with her now. She should not be so forward and impose herself on you and instead should wait for you to contact her. The girl has been gone for less than two days, what could she possibly have to say already?"

Feeling the need to protect his fiancee, he replied firmly, "Her note and its contents are between me and her. As an engaged couple, it is perfectly proper to exchange notes while apart and I saw nothing wrong with it."

The older woman sniffed next to him, but did not say anything.

After several long minutes of silence, Philip said, "I am riding out to the country tomorrow with a friend. He and his family are looking at buying the Delareece estate."

"That's nice, but I'm not sure why you are telling me, since you certainly don't need or welcome my opinion," she said icily. "I was only trying to help, to give you some advice from my years of experience, both personal and from what I've seen other friends deal with."

Working hard, he ignored the knee jerk reaction to apologize for his earlier words, to make it up to her and assure that he did indeed want and welcome her advice and counsel, to do or say anything to make her smile at him. Instead he gave her a tight smile and remained silent. His resolve lasted for ten long, icy minutes before he finally said in a quiet voice, "I'm sorry, mother. I do value your opinion. I'm in a rare temper tonight. My head is splitting and Henrietta's note made me realize that is it a long time until we will be together again."

She gave him a dazzling smile and patted his knee, instantly forgetting her bad mood. "And that is why I wish she had not written you. She'll be here soon enough. Why don't you spend the night at my home and I'll have Cook brew you some tea to help your head. It's always seemed silly to me that you insisted on opening your own home before you were married. You could have lived with me until the wedding. It just seems like a waste of money these last two years to be maintaining both my home and yours. I'm not even sure that it's proper for your sister and me to be living alone like we do. People might talk and I'm not sure that we're safe living alone in the city."

Philip smiled, suppressing his inward shudder at the thought of sharing a house with his mother and sister again, but shook his head as the carriage came to a stop. "No, I think I'm unfit for any company but my own," he said, ignoring the rest of her common complaint. "The country air will do me good tomorrow and help clear my head." When she looked as if she was going to argue further, he added, "I'll pick you and Julia up for church on Sunday and if the weather is clear, maybe we can go ice skating at the Howard's pond on their property. They have set up a pavilion there and have been after me for weeks to come and bring both of you. I believe their son Frederick has his eye on Julia."

Mollified, she nodded and gave him another smile. "All right then, until Sunday. And, Philip, please don't encourage the Howard boy; I'm sure Julia can do better."

"He would be a very good husband," he countered. "He owns a large estate that does very well with sheep." Seeing the look on her face and knowing that once her daughter was safely wed, she would have to come up with another excuse to stay in London, he nodded. "As you wish. Good night, Mother."

Locking the door again after Hutchinson had helped him undress and banked the fire, Philip slipped into bed, the book in hand. He had hidden it on his bookshelf before he left, lying sideways along the backs of other books on the bottom shelf. When he was younger, before Edward had died and when he was still only the second son, he had come across a drawing of two naked men simply lying together and had made the mistake of hiding it inside another book on his night table. One of the servants found it two weeks later and his father had given him a severe caning for it, ranting and threatening to send him to be educated in a monastery in Scotland. Only after a trembling Philip claimed not to understand why the men were lying together had his father calmed down and the threats stopped.

He closed his eyes and allowed the book to fall open where it would. Glancing down at the picture, he felt the familiar blush instantly rise to his cheeks and his breath catch in his throat. One man knelt with his arms on the bed so that he was bent at the waist, his butt high in the air, his legs spread. The other man held a large dildo that he pushed inside the kneeling man. Unlike the other pictures, this one showed the kneeling man with his mouth open and eyes closed, an unreadable expression on his face. Studying the picture for several long moments, Philip couldn't decide if the man was crying out in pleasure or in pain. The second man's expression was equally unreadable and simply looked firm and set to his task.

Feeling slightly foolish, but unable to resist the craving, he rolled over and imitated the first man's position. Spreading his legs, he rested his head on his arms on the mattress, opening himself up wide. His cock pulsed and grew harder as his imagination filled in the blanks of the picture, putting himself there while some nameless man penetrated his most sacred area with a large, hard dildo. It would burn, he thought, shifting so that he could stroke his cock as he imagined it slipping inside him, filling and stretching him. He imagined his own mouth opening at the mixture of the pleasure of being so filled and the pain and humiliation of it. Would he cry or beg for it to stop as the object slid inside him, or would he simply be quiet, except for the same moans he made as Michael kissed him last night.

The faceless man suddenly morphed into Michael, firm hands stroking his butt as he pushed the dildo inside, teasing him with kisses and words as he readied him for his own cock later. His mouth trailed kissed along his bare skin as the dildo slid completely inside, to both their delight.

Philip gave a soft moan, mouth biting into the blankets, legs jerking as he pumped faster, and came hard into his hand a second later. He could feel his butt clench, spasming slightly as though it was reacting to the thoughts of being so filled and stretched.

The next morning was clear, with no wind to make the crisp air colder than it was. A layer of frost coated the windows, but there was no snow on the ground.

Hutchinson dressed him in woolen and silk undergarments before helping him into wool trousers, shirt, vest and jacket. Giving an impatient tug away from his valet, Philip said in an effort to appear casual, "That's fine, fine, I'm just going out with a friend to look at property out in the countryside. It's not that important." In truth, he was anxious and being fussed over only made it worse. His skin felt too sensitive, thin and twitchy with every nerve ending jumping. He had not slept well, his thoughts going again and again to Michael and the book, replaying their first meeting and imagining this next one. Would the other man be different than that night? Less forward and more open to discussions on each's role, or were the pretty words on paper only a trick to lure him out to a remote estate where the arrogant man would resurface and make demands that Philip knew he could not--would not--grant. He was the 4th Earl of Devonshire. He was not to be used or treated like a common whore by some provincial sea captain.

Sipping at his tea while standing at the window, ignoring Hutchinson's silent movements straightening the bed chamber, he tried not to listen for the door. As the clock struck nine, he heard movement in the hall and a knock on his outer door. Forcing himself to remain calm and collected, as he would on any normal early morning outing for business, he simply nodded when the valet announced the carriage.

Five minutes later, the carriage rocked slightly as Philip climbed inside and settled opposite his host, the carriage's sole occupant. The thin wall of resolve he had built that morning crumbled as Michael smiled at him and held out his hand.

"Captain Michael Preston." Michael bowed his head slightly over Philip's hand. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Lordship." His mouth twitched as he struggled to remain serious and not smile. "Thank you for joining me on this errand; I hope you'll find the trip as enjoyable as I will."

Meeting the other man's eyes, Philip nodded, "Thank you, Captain, I'm sure that I will."

Unable to resist any longer, Michael laughed. "Good." He pulled out a leather-wrapped jug and two thick china mugs from the basket strapped to the wall and poured steaming tea into each. Handing one to the other man, he nodded. "To fresh introductions."

"Free of assumptions," Philip countered, raising his mug in a toast.

Michael winked as his mouth twitched. "Yes, even if the first ones are often right." He took a sip and settled back into the seat. "In order to make the correct assumptions this time, I feel I need to know more about you. I admit, I don't know anything about you but what I've observed, and you insist that my observations are faulty."

"They were," Philip said, feeling his defenses rise. "Completely wrong."

Michael laughed again. "And I look forward to hearing how. But first, did you get the book I sent you?"

Philip nodded. "I'm sorry, I should have thanked you immediately or sent a note upon its arrival. It was …" His voice faltered as he searched for the right word to convey his feelings. "It was a surprise."

Michael's mouth twitched again as he held back a smile. "Is that all it was?" His voice grew softer as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

Given the slightest shake of his head, Philip felt a flush rise on his cheeks. "It was very interesting as well," he finally choked out. "Especially your comments." Cursing himself for acting like a simpering virgin, he took a deep breath and tried to regain the detached air he had managed in his bedroom while waiting for the coach to arrive. "It reminded me of some I had looked at in the club."

"Good," Michael said simply, "I'm glad you enjoyed it." He sat back and moved over into a corner, patting the bench next to him. "Why don't you move over here and you can tell me all about yourself."

Philip smiled. "I'm very comfortable here, but thank you." Slipping his cloak off his shoulders, he settled back into his own seat and stretched out his legs. "What would you like to know? I'm as curious about you as you are about me."

"Well then, my little earl," Michael said, "why don't we just trade questions? You may go first and ask me anything you'd like to know." He smiled. "I'm an open book and very honest about who I am and what I want."

His emphasis on "what" made Philip squirm and glance at the floor. "All right then. You said you're looking at this property for your family. Who is your family?"

"Do you mean my family name and background or the members of?"

Philip laughed at the directness. "How about just the members of, for right now." He winced slightly as the carriage hit a large rut and he bounced, sliding forward almost off the seat.

Reaching out, Michael put a restraining arm on his leg, bracing him. "Careful there, I'm sure you don't want to get hurt."

Feeling suddenly bold, Philip smiled. "No, that would mean we'd have to go back and it would ruin the day."

Giving the leg a gentle squeeze, Michael sat back. "My family... let's see...consists of four other brothers – I'm the fifth – three sisters-in-law, two nieces and one nephew."

"No sisters?"

"No, just boys," Michael confirmed.

"Your mother must have felt extremely outnumbered. Mine always said that my sister gave her wonderful companionship after my father died. What are your brothers' names?"

Michael smiled. "William, who is married to Elizabeth, Harry, who is married to another Elizabeth, who goes by Liz, thank god, to avoid any more confusion, Steven, who is married to Marie, and Martin, who enjoys men, but hasn't settled on a particular one yet."

The straightforward comment took Philip by surprise. He was unable to imagine a family or a sibling relationship where such an easy admission was possible and normal. "Do your other brothers know?" His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Yes, of course. And so do their wives. Lizzie used to tease Martin that if he didn't settle down soon, she would send for her uncle, who her father always claimed was a dandy, and be done with it. Elizabeth and Marie are a bit more reserved about it, but they like Martin – both of us actually – and knew the situation before they were married." He gave a small shrug. "They accept, if not actually approve. But what are they going to do? I'm sure Harry and Steven were both honest with them and there's no doubt in my mind that they would brook no disrespect from their wives toward Martin or me."

Philip smiled. "I'm surprised he didn't come with you on this trip. He could become a member of the club and maybe meet someone."

Michael nodded. "Next time perhaps." He took a sip of tea before giving another nod. "Speaking of the club, when did you join?"

Not expecting that question, Philip stalled for time with a long sip of his own drink. "About 4 yrs ago …"

"When you were 17," Michael said with a smile. "Let's not revisit the gray and murky waters of how old you are again."

Having the good manners to blush at his lie, Philip gave a quick nod of his head. "Yes, when I was 17. A friend's father caught me looking at a book of classical drawings in his library." The blush deepened as he took another sip of tea. "They weren't as … detailed as your book, but detailed enough. I could have brushed it off as simply being interested in art, but … I was 17 and …" His voice trailed off.

"Natural reactions to seeing what interests you?" Michael said, filling in the blanks.

Philip laughed. "That's a very good way to put it. My friend's father was similarly inclined and a gentleman. He never took advantage and instead simply arranged an introduction. He watched out for me the first few months until I found my bearings. We never spoke about it; the worlds were completely separate." Glancing out the window, he pulled back the leather curtain to watch the scenery bounce past, shocked at how much he had said. He had never told a soul and no one had ever asked. A large bump in the road jolted him out of his silent contemplation and he yelped, almost sliding off the seat before he could catch himself.

Michael smiled and glanced again at the space next to himself deliberately. "It's wider and because you're facing forward, any bump will throw you against the seat back, not forward. You'll be much more comfortable."

Bracing himself again, Philip shook his head. "I'm fine here, thank you."

Michael laughed and shook his head. "Are you always this stubborn, or are you just determined to prove to me completely wrong in all aspects of yourself, even to the detriment of your own comfort?"

Summoning his reserved calm again, Philip shook his head. "We're taking turns. It's my turn to ask a question, not yours." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he silently cursed himself. Instead of sounding cool and adult, he sounded like a petulant child sulking. "I'm not being stubborn, I'm just comfortable here."

"How about we make a deal, my little earl," Michael said with a smile. "If you slide around again, you come sit next to me, give up this silly little pretense and allow me to kiss you again. If you don't, I'll admit I was wrong, admit that you're right and we'll kiss again only when you approach me."

Philip nodded, a faint blush tinting his checks. "All right and since I have no intention of kissing you again, that should be easy." He shifted again so that he was firmly braced in the corner, one leg firmly planted on the floorboard, the other against the solid footstool in the center of the carriage. "Why is your family looking at buying this house?" he asked, determined to move the conversation along and back onto an equal footing.

Michael smiled, allowing the conversation to resume its earlier flow. "Oh, several reasons really. Steven's wife Marie is from here and I believes she hates the heat of Jamaica, misses her family and seems to pretty much detest the idea of her husband having four brothers and the closeness that means." He laughed, "They met while Steve was here for business, a whirlwind romance, and while they seem happy enough, the rest of us think it was a huge mistake. Elizabeth won't be sad to see her go, that's for sure."

The tension eased as Philip laughed at Michael's description of typical family issues, magnified by a family business and five men all working at finding their place in it.

"We've been talking about setting up a permanent base here anyway. The family's owned a townhouse in the city for several years, but business often demands a more …" Michael paused, looking for the right word, "extensive place for entertaining clients, solidifying business connections, that sort of thing." Glancing out the window that Philip had pulled back the curtain on, he smiled. "About another 30 minutes, I think. More tea?" Unlatching the jug, he held it out.

"Yes, thank …" The sudden jar of the carriage's wheel hitting a deep rut cut off the rest of Philip's words and, in his unbalanced state, sent him and the cup tumbling forward. "Damnation!"

Michael's hand shot out, catching Philip before he could slide completely out of his seat. Without looking, Michael rehung the still capped jug and smiled at the other man. Wordlessly, he picked up the cup from where it had fallen on the floor and placed it next to his on the snug fitting shelf. "This carriage is a bit like a boat," Michael said, moving over on the seat. "If everything is stored in its proper place, nothing gets broken. And, like any good captain, I can tell the condition of the ride that I've taken several times now. I know where the shallows are, where the deep water is and certainly, where the rough parts are."

Philip glared at him. "That's not fair."

Michael laughed. "What's not fair? That you chose to bet me on a situation you knew nothing about?" Patting the seat next to him, he smiled. "Come on. I promise you'll be much more comfortable, plus it's safer." He grinned wolfishly. "Everything in its proper place, you know."

Meeting the other man's gaze for a long minute, Philip sighed and awkwardly stood up and crouched over in the carriage, stepped over the foot stool and warming box.

Michael reached up, grasped Philip's waist to hold him steady against the rocking motion, and smoothly pulled him down onto his lap.

Philip gasped as his butt made contact with the other man's hard thigh instead of expected padded bench. "What are you doing? Next to you did not mean this assault!"

"Shh," Michael said, holding him firmly in place, twisting slightly until they were both situated securely on the bench. "I do believe there's the second part of our bet to be paid first." Leaning in closer, he gently stroked the other man's cheek. "You weren't planning on whelching on your bet, were you, my little earl?"

"A kiss," Philip said, trying to jerk away from the caress. "That's it." Leaning in, he quickly kissed the other man's cheek. Jerking away, he tried to stand, but was caught as Michael's hands tightened on him.

Laughing, Michael shook his head. "That wasn't a kiss. That was a social obligation to an elderly aunt who smells like lavender and moth balls." He shifted, moving one hand back down to Michael's thigh. "Plus, the bet was I kiss you." Grasping Philip's head gently, he slowly kissed the small bit of exposed neck, nibbling slightly until Philip was squirming helplessly.

"Stop," Philip said, giving a half-hearted effort to wiggle free and then gasping as the hand resting on his thigh brushed against his cock.

"Shh," Michael repeated. "I've got you and you're only getting free when I let you go." While his hand lightly brushed against the wool-covered cock, his mouth more aggressively latched onto Philip's lips. Sliding his tongue inside, past unresisting lips, he smiled inwardly. For all Philip's verbal protests, his body told Michael that his instincts were exactly right.

Philip moaned softly, his hand coming up and grasping Michael's jacket, holding him in place as his legs closed around the exploring hand at his cock. The pressure and weight of the gently stroking fingers caused him to squirm as his brain struggled to process all the sensations.

"So good," Michael murmured, breaking free from the kiss minutes later as he shifted in his seat as his own cock grew in response. "I could do that all day, Philip."

Philip's eyes were closed, his hands still gripping Michael's jacket, as he struggled to catch his breath. Several moments later, he took a long shuddering breath and meet Michael's gaze, giving him a small smile. "That, sir, I believe was more than a kiss."

"Depends on your definition," Michael said with a smile. "Whatever you want to call it, it was very nice."

Leaning forward, Philip smiled and kissed Michael gently on the lips, his own tongue darting inside briefly before retreating as he pulled back with a laugh. "That is a kiss."

Michael laughed, pulling him closer so that their eyes met. "That was a tease," he corrected, moving closer and once again claiming the unresisting mouth in front of him.

Shaking slightly and once again out of breath, Philip moaned as Michael reluctantly broke contact minutes later as the carriage turned sharply, bouncing a couple of times as they pulled over the open gate supports that began the long drive toward the house. Blushing suddenly at his actions, he jerked free, almost tumbling into the seat across from Michael. With shaking fingers, he began to straighten his clothes, willing his cock to control itself.

Across the aisle, Michael laughed. "You can straighten your vest all you like, Philip, but you can't hide your expression, that excited blush to your cheeks and your wide turned-on eyes. But, trust me, no one will care."

Philip shot him a dark, murderous glare. "They will care and this is all your fault. They'll know what we were doing in here."

Michael shook his head, ignoring the glare. "It's just you and me, an agent and a couple of servants who are all so terrified of being sacked now that the house is changing hands, they won't dare make eye contact. They're too caught up in their own issues to wonder the slightest bit about us." He smiled. "Trust me." As the carriage turned again slightly, slowing down, he suddenly leaned forward , bracing his hands on either side of Philip. "Before this month is up, I promise, I'll get you to trust me, Philip," he repeated. Then quickly kissing him full on the lips, he smiled, laughing as Philip jerked back into the seat but was unable to escape. Standing up in a half crouch, Michael opened the door and stepped down as the driver held the horses steady while a house footman held the carriage door.

A well but conservatively dressed older man stood at the top of the stairs and called out as Michael stepped outside, "Welcome, Captain Preston, welcome to Holly Green."

Michael nodded and then peered inside the carriage, holding out his hand. "Coming, or are you trying to tempt me back inside with so we can continue our kiss?"

Inside the carriage, Philip glared at him for a moment before ignoring the hand and stepping outside on his own. "You're horrible," he whispered.

Laughing, he shut the door before winking quickly at Philip. "It's a long ride back home, don't worry." Then, turning back toward the agent, he motioned with his hand. "Mr. Blakely, please allow me to introduce you to a friend, Philip Ashton, Earl of Devonshire. Lord Devonshire and I share a common property line in Jamaica and had the good fortune to have mutual friends in London. Since he is much more familiar with these types of properties, I took the liberty of inviting him for this final look through."

The agent gave a small bow. "I'm honored, Lord Devonshire."

The tour lasted almost three hours, as Michael insisted on seeing every inch of the house. Starting at the bottom, he peered into every room, occasionally testing fireplaces and windows with a candle, looking for drafts or improperly drawing flues that would cause rooms to fill with smoke. Whenever possible, he spoke privately with the few remaining servants.

"If you want to know about a ship," he said quietly to Philip as they made their way down the narrow back stairs from the top of the house to the main floor, "you talk to the sailors. They know more about the issues than many captains."

Philip smiled, enjoying the random tutorial that Michael had privately been muttering to him throughout the day. It was nice to be taken into the other man's confidence and to been seen as smart enough to understand and care. Gently bumping his shoulder against Michael's, he smiled. "Does that include you, Captain Preston?"

Michael bumped him back and shook his head. "No, I had the good fortune to be taught by two very hands-on captains who started you from the bottom and worked you tirelessly until you knew and understood everything."

"So what do you think, Captain Preston?" the agent asked as they stepped onto the small landing just outside the butler's pantry. Pushing the door open, he stepped from the dim servants' stairwell into the brightly light kitchen corridor. "Can I show you anything else?"

Shaking his head, Michael glanced around once last time. "No, not in the house. But would you please give me a few moments with Lord Devonshire? I think a quick tour of the main gardens and a brief discussion and I'll be ready with my final decision." He smiled at the agent. "I don't believe it would be too forward of you to begin researching the house's paperwork to see which furniture stays and which goes with the sale."

The agent smiled and gave a small bow, all but licking his lips in anticipation of a large commission from the sale. "Of course, sir."

Following Michael outside onto the beautifully carved stone terrace overlooking the formal gardens, Philip couldn't help but smile. He was surprised that the agent didn't see the sparks between them, the small touches and brushes and looks that had been exchanged throughout the tour. He had initially resisted, trying to stay out of reach, but when that proved impossible, he gave up and began to slowly play at first. The smile of pure pleasure that flashed across Michael's face when he had reached out and quickly caressed his hand had thrilled Philip.

"God," Michael breathed out, turning suddenly half way down the long the steps and pulling Philip into him. "I thought I was going to simply forget my reputation and destroy yours if you touched me one more time." Leaning in, he kissed Philip deeply, hands roaming before coming to rest on his butt. "What do you think our honorable Mr. Blakely would think if I simply crushed you against the wall and had my way with you?"

Phillip laughed, pulling back and dancing away, "I do believe you're mistaken, sir. My touches were purely innocent and only following your lead. I do believe you were the first and certainly the most aggressive."

"Details, my little earl, simply unimportant details. What's more important and what we must find out immediately is if the wonderful silk chaise longue in the blue drawing room comes with the house or not."

Philip looked at Michael, puzzled at the sudden and strange turn of conversation. "Why?" he asked, cautiously.

Michael smiled, reaching out and pulling Philip back toward him. "Because it features prominently in my current fantasy surrounding you." Leaning down slightly, he resumed his interrupted assault on the unresisting mouth. "I can't wait to see you laid out on it."

Moments later, Philip pulled back, face flushing as he struggled free. "Stop," he said, glancing around the empty staircase. "You must stop. They'll wonder where we went and come looking. You might not mind that, Michael, but I would."

Reluctantly allowing Philip to pull himself free, Michael nodded. "You're right, of course." Swallowing, he held up a hand. "You have my word as a gentleman that I will leave you unmolested until we are safely back in the carriage." Heading down two steps of the stairs, he noticed that Philip hadn't moved. "Coming? Or," he said with a wolfish grin, "did you change your mind and I'm released from my word?"

Shaking his head, Philip laughed "I'm coming and I'm holding you to your word." Brushing past him on the stairs, he jumped as Michael's hand gently caressed his wool-covered butt.

Ten minutes later, walking through the start of the knot garden and making a quick circle of the well-stocked trout pond that was kept from freezing by an underground heated vent, Michael sighed, "I think I've seen enough of the gardens, Philip. Let's go."

"You don't want to look at any more? How about the fruit arbor or the kitchen gardens? If you want an area for entertainment, gardens are usually key to those sort of plans, not to mention supplying fresh food for the entire house. A well-organized garden can serve as the life blood of the house and all the tenants."

Waving off the comments, Michael said, "I'm sure you're right, but by all reports and what we've seen here, everything seems to be in order. I really don't know much about gardens and I'm not even sure what I'm looking at."

Philip smiled at him. "That's OK. I know enough, I can explain it to you."

"Oh, I'm sure you can. You know much more about this sort of estate than I do, I'm sure. But honestly," Michael admitted, "I'd rather go back to the carriage or I risk losing my standing as a gentleman and breaking my word to you."

"Oh."

"So, Captain Preston, does everything meet with your approval? Shall I begin to draw up the papers?" the agent asked as they stepped into the main foyer.

Michael nodded. "Yes, Mr. Blakely, please go ahead. I'll send word to my family that this is a fine property that will meet our needs. Would you also please send to my attention a complete inventory of the house and its contents that will be included in the purchase. I may need another visit if there are questions, but once the small details are settled, I anticipate no delays."

As Michael and the agent began discussing more details of the cost and financing of the purchase, Philip slipped away, feeling that these details were none of his business. Roaming into one of the front rooms, he looked around. This room seemed to have been designed with a more masculine feel than many of the other rooms. The walls were lined with light cherry panels and bookcases and the few pieces of remaining furniture were dark brown leather and wood. A large double desk dominated a spot near the windows. It was a beautiful room, unlike any in his own townhouse or his family home in the country. There, his mother's heavy hand had ruled over every decision and his father, not caring about such details, seemed to have given them little notice. That pattern had carried over into his own home, purchased several years ago prior to his father's death. Sinking down on one of the hard leather ottomans in the room, he looked over this room, not fully understanding what he was feeling. A moment later, as his eyes fell on the brightly colored carpeting on the floor, he was suddenly struck by a feeling of longing to have the same freedom that this room represented. The freedom to have something of his own, to his own taste, in his own home.

"You look deep in thought, Philip," Michael said softly, coming up and gently caressing his hair.

Philip nodded. "A bit, I guess."

Standing there, silently debating about what to say, what to do, Michael was undecided. His instinct called for him to fix whatever it was, make a joke, kiss, caress, anything to bring a smile back to Philip's face, but he didn't think that would actually solve whatever the problem was. So, instead, he simply remained quiet, allowing the silence of the house to settled over them.

"We should go," Philip said suddenly, standing up. "Are you and Mr. Blakely finished?"

Michael nodded. "For the time being. He'll send over some papers for my review and this matter will be finished in a few weeks. Our accounts here are in order and the money is ready to be forwarded whenever I give the word."

"You and your brothers must work very closely together," Philip said. "Is that nice?"

Walking back through the foyers and toward the front door, Michael nodded. "We're very close and trust each other without question. We were brought up that way, our parents felt that trust between us was crucial if our business was to survive and thrive. We are much stronger together than any part standing on its own."

They stepped out into the sunlight and were once again greeted by the agent and major domo of the house.

"Captain Preston," the agent said, "I thought you might meet Mr. Richardson. He's been with the house for ten years."

Michael bowed his head slightly toward the older man. "Mr. Richardson, I hope that we will be able to count on your continued service for another ten years."

The older man bowed lower. "Of course, sir. This is a wonderful house and I look forward to serving the new family."

"Very good," Michael said with a smile. Pulling a small gold case from his vest pocket, he extracted one of his calling cards. "If you have any information you'd like to share about the house, sir, or any questions concerning staff, please do not hesitate to contact me directly. I currently have only a small staff at my townhouse and would welcome any suggestions or recommendations you have for the staff here."

Mr. Richardson took the dark gray card with a solemn bow, "I will give the matter my utmost attention, sir."

Stepping back into the carriage, Philip glanced out the window toward the house as Michael and the agent discussed the last few details with the major domo. His thoughts went immediately to the masculine retreat and he shook himself, unwilling to touch on the raw feelings the room evoked.

The carriage rocked slightly as Michael stepped inside and settled himself on the bench across from Philip. As the carriage pulled away, he turned his attention to the other man. "What are you doing over there, Philip?"

He looked down at himself and then smiled innocently at Michael. "Sitting, Captain Preston. Really though, I'm surprised that a man such as yourself …" His words were cut off as he yelped and laughed out loud as Michael stood and pulled him up and over in one quick motion.

"Little earl," Michael said with mock exasperation as he sat back down on his own bench, Philip once again settled on his lap, "you try me."

Laughing, Philip looked down at him and squirmed against the hard thigh. "I know I tried you and I found you very much to my liking."

The meaning took Michael a moment to get, but as soon as he did, he laughed and leaned up. "I find you very much to my liking as well." Stroking Philip's leg he grinned as Philip shivered. "Do you know what I'd like to try next?" His hand drifted to the other man's cock and began to stroke it.

Shifting, Philip blushed as the rocking carriage and motion of Michael's hand brought him to painful attention. "Don't," he whispered, squirming to escape.

Moving his hand to the pale ivory buttons that ran down his hip, Michael teased them. "Shall I?"

Philip looked at him, their eyes meeting as his breath froze in his throat. "Michael …"

"Shall I, Philip? Do you want to feel my hand on you or shall we continue to be separated by this thin layer of wool and linen?" His hand moved back to its original position on Philip's cock and once again began to stroke it, teasing the rising bulge as it grew harder. "What do you want, Philip?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Philip could feel the growing hardness of Michael's own cock pressed up against his leg as he once again shifted. "I don't know," he said softly. "Stop, please."

"Are you sure?" The hand stilled for a minute, cupping him. "Is that what you want?"

"No."

Michael smiled. "All right then, my dear little earl, why don't we just resume our earlier actions?" His hand still cupping Philip's cock, he leaned up and gently kissed him.

Closing his eyes, Philip sighed and sank into the kiss, willingly opening his mouth and giving in to the gentle assault and once again pushing aside all feelings of confusion. "You must stop, Michael," he said hoarsely, pulling away as he felt his control slipping with every movement of the hand still cupping his cock. "Please."

Michael grinned wickedly, well aware of what was going on. "Of course," he said, moving his hand and quickly darting over to the side buttons. "This is what you want, isn't it?" he asked, deftly undoing the top three buttons and slipping his hand inside. "Yes, this is exactly what you want." Brushing past the silk drawers, he pushed through the front opening and smiled as his hand found hard flesh. "There's my prize," he said, leaning up and cutting off Philip's protests with his mouth.

"Please," Philip whispered again, his hands scrambling up Michael's arms before latching on to his shoulders. "Sweet lord," he groaned, half rising as his own hand went down, jerking the last three buttons free from their holes and giving Michael free access.

"Ahhh," Michael said, sliding Philip carefully off his thigh and onto the seat. Giving him one last kiss, he pulled away with a smile and sank to his knees on the carriage floor. "That's right, I've got you," he whispered as Philip groaned again and spread his legs at his urging. Pushing aside the material, Michael bent his head low and slowly licked the straining flesh.

"Michael!" Philip gasped, jerking, held in place by the other man's hands on his knees and the confines of the carriage.

"Don't try to control yourself, my dear little earl," Michael whispered, licking and sucking gently. "I promise you, no one can hear. Let me hear you scream my name." Bending his head again, he gently kissed the very tip and slowly began to take the entire cock into his mouth, humming softly.

"I'm going to lose control," Philip said a moment later, squirming hard. "Michael … Michael .. please …." He groaned again, bracing himself hard against the seat for a moment before leaning his head back and softly screaming, "Michael!"

Swallowing and slowly withdrawing the cock from his mouth, Michael gently licked and caressed Philip. He removed his hand briefly as he resumed his seat on the beach, "Come here, Philip," he said softly, turning the panting and pliable younger man around and with a bit of help settling him half on his lap, half on the seat.

From his new perch, back wedged against the padded carriage wall, legs draped over Michael's lap, Philip smiled as he closed his eyes. "Your wish is my command, sir," he said tiredly, laying his head against the wall.

Reluctantly giving the spent cock one last stroke, Michael tucked it back inside the silk and flipped the pants' front placard back in place. "I hope it was your wish too, Philip."

Without opening his eyes, Philip smiled. "Very much so."

Michael smiled as he watched the other man drift off to sleep. It had been years since he had sank to his knees and serviced another man. He and Edward had often switched roles, each receiving and giving often, but since his lover's death four years ago, he had always received. Until meeting this young man last night, he had had no interest in selflessly giving pleasure with no thought or concern about his own. Now, serving Philip had seemed as natural as breathing. Stroking one of the legs draped across his, he wondered about this young man. He was clearly intelligent and strong-willed to the point of willfulness. But there was also an air of restlessness about him and sadness. The expression on his face, sitting alone in the house's wood-paneled parlor had caught Michael by surprise. It had been so unguarded and so filled with confusion and longing that it had taken every ounce of will not pull Philip into his arms and hold him tight. Feelings that Michael had locked up tightly four years ago, that had been cracked open last night and today in the carriage, burst free. Now, in the quiet with Philip, he was sure that he wouldn't be able to simply lock them away again.

An hour later, as the carriage began the twists and turns back toward the inner city streets, Philip stirred awake. "Oh," he said quickly, jerking his legs back. "I am so sorry." He blushed, struggling to button his pants.

Michael laughed. "I'm not. It was a very pleasurable ride." He raised an eyebrow, adding, "Both of them."

The blush rising higher on his cheeks, Philip laughed and nodded. "For me as well, Michael." Satisfied that he was once again presentable, he leaned over and quickly kissed him on the lips. "Thank you."

Capturing one of his hands, Michael raised it to his lips and kissed it gently. "The pleasure, my dear little earl, was all mine. May I invite you to dine with me tonight? I look forward to continuing our ride."

Philip glanced out the window, pulling the curtain aside to peer outside. "Thank you, but I've infringed on your kindness enough."

"Kindness?" Michael asked. "It's you who was kind and gave up an entire day to help me take care of business. Dinner is the least I can do to repay you."

Philip shook his head, the blush creeping back up his neck. "No, not that."

Michael laughed. "Do you mean this afternoon, in the carriage? Bringing you relief?"

"Yes," Philip said softly, glancing out the window again in a vain attempt to avoid eye contact.

"Philip," Michael said gently, "look at me please." When Philip didn't turn from the window, Michael reached out and tugged firmly on his arm. "Philip," he repeated. "Look at me." The tone took on the sharp edge of an order and the younger man responded as Michael knew he would, even if it was for the briefest of seconds. "What I did wasn't done out of kindness or pity or sympathy or anything else you might be thinking. Taking you in my mouth, serving you and knowing that I could bring you release and hearing you scream my name was a pleasure for me. I did it because I wanted to, not because I felt I had to."

Shifting his gaze again, Philip briefly meet his eyes. "But how? It's so dirty. You're a gentleman, it's a degrading act for you to have to perform. It's .. sinful." The last word came out in a whisper.

Unsure how to respond for a moment, Michael decided simply to laugh. Pulling Philip closer, he kissed him deeply for a long minute. "It wasn't dirty, it wasn't degrading at all and I was proud to give you so much pleasure." He kissed him again. "And I can't wait to do it again and hear you scream my name as you find your release."

"But…."

"No," Michael said firmly, shifting and tugging until Philip was twisted around and leaning with his back against his chest, "no 'buts,' just us and our rules." Holding Philip close, his arms tight around him, Michael kissed his neck. "Nothing between us can be dirty or degrading or wrong and certainly not sinful."

Philip shifted a bit before giving up the chance of getting free and relaxing inside Michael's embrace. "I don't know," he said softly several minutes later. "That's not what I was taught."

Kissing him again, nibbling gently at his neck and then blowing on it, causing the younger man to shiver and laugh, Michael joined in. "Well, I promise, I'll be a much more through teacher than all of your tutors combined." Reaching down, he patted the other man's hip. "Also more strict, my little earl. I still haven't forgotten that silly lie you told me the first night we met." As Philip laughed and tried to pull away, Michael tightened his hold. "Should I go ahead and carry out my threat? Turn you over my knee, bare this adorable butt of yours and spank you until it's red and you're wetting the carpet with your tears?"

"You wouldn't dare," Philip countered, twisting so he was half turned around and facing the older man.

Michael patted his butt again. "No, not in the carriage, so I'll give you a pass this time. Next time though …" The threat hung in the air as Michael raised an eyebrow at the younger man and kissed him. "Next time you won't be so lucky. A peaceful house depends on loving but firm discipline."

"I'll remember that."

Pulling Philip back around so he was once against leaning against his chest, Michael held him tight. "See that you do, because I don't make ideal threats."

Fifteen minutes later, the carriage turned slowly onto the street of Philip's townhouse and the younger man sighed, pulling himself free. Straightening his clothes, he quickly moved to the other bench.

"Come," Michael said, holding out his hand, "let me entertain you this evening at my house."

Philip smiled, but shook his head. "No, I know what you mean by entertainment and I think we've done enough entertaining today. My prayers will be long enough this evening without any more debauched behavior."

Waving aside the excuse, Michael smiled, "All right, my little earl, but you must make it up to me and say that you'll join me for dinner tomorrow."

"I can't, I'm sorry," Philip said with a frown, "I have plans with my mother and sister already." He glanced out as the carriage stopped and saw a footman heading from the door. "I'll arrange to call on you soon, you have my word." With a final glance out the window, he stood up, his back to the open window and quickly leaned down and kissed Michael. "This kiss will have to keep you."

Sunday dawned clear but cold with frost glazing over the windows. Philip stretched as Hutchinson prepared his clothes and toilet. "Please tell Cook that after services this morning, I will be taking the Dowager Countess and Lady Julia out for the day and we won't need dinner served." He smiled, licking his lips as his mind flashed back to yesterday. Sitting down and leaning his head back, he discreetly

adjusted his robe as Hutchinson leaned close to begin his shave. "Do you know my schedule for tomorrow?"

"Yes, my Lord," the servant said, wiping the blade on a towel over his shoulder. "The estate manager for Ashton Hall is scheduled to meet with you to discuss the upcoming spring plantings at 11am and you have invited him to dinner. In the afternoon, if you are available, your presence, along with several others, was requested by Lord Avondale. He is recently returned from the colonies and wishes you to see some of his newest drawings of land available. When you accepted, you noted he was looking for investors. As far as I know, there are no supper plans as of yet."

"Excellent," Philip said with another smile, wondering if he had time to write to Michael before he left this morning and how impolite it would be if he invited himself to a late supper tomorrow evening. He could say that he had reconsidered the Captain's polite offer. Or he could invite him to dine here. Mulling over how much privacy they would have, he smiled again at the thought of what they could do to need privacy.

Hutchinson, taking advantage of his many years of service with the young earl, said quietly as he wiped the last of the soap from Philip's face, "You seem to be in a fine mood this morning, my Lord."

Philip's grin broadened. "I am and between you and me, it has nothing to do with the idea of church with my mother and skating on some small pond in the cold. It was very nice to get out of the city yesterday. I'm contemplating opening the Hall early and enjoying the countryside."

"It would be a nice change of scenery."

Mentally composing the note to Michael, and then translating Latin verbs to keep his mind off what they would do after supper, kept Philip occupied through-out the morning.

"You seem distracted," the Dowager sniffed on the ride to the Howard's estate. "I'm sure if you have more important things to do, Julia and I will still be welcome." She glanced around the carriage. "Assuming you allow us to still use your carriage. I don't know if mine is to be trusted on these roads."

His mother's voice jerked him back and he instantly shook his head. "No mother, I'm fine." Glancing across the aisle, he saw his sister hide her laugh behind a lace handkerchief. "I'm looking forward to this afternoon and skating."

The older woman stared at him for a long moment before saying, "It's very much appreciated, Philip. I know I can count on you. It's reassuring to know that, like your father, you care about those you're responsible for. I remember …"

Eager to turn the conversation away from himself, Philip interrupted, "So Julia, I've been casually approached by Howard. Do you know his son Frederick?" He grinned as his sister blushed and shot him a dirty look.

Their mother sighed. "I do hope you're not encouraging that boy, Julia. You can do much better. You're barely out and with your brother’s upcoming wedding, I just can't deal with one more thing."

"Yes, Mother," Julia said. "Mr. Howard does seem very nice though, I spoke with him two weeks ago at …"

"Really dear," her mother said, putting a hand to her head, "I simply can't deal with anything else and the idea of you settling for a second son is just too much." Turning to Philip, she said, "Surely Philip, with your contacts and friends, you can find someone suitable for your poor sister to marry? Is she going to be forced to settle and live in near-poverty? It's your responsibility after all to ensure that she's taken care of. I can't do everything." She sighed again. "If you feel as if you can't live up to your responsibilities though, please let me know. While I personally can't do anything, I'm sure I can ask Mr. Moore for his assistance. Your father always trusted his legal advice and while I'm not sure if he's ever been asked to help in such a delicate, private family matter, it's probably not that unusual. Other women who have no one they can count on must accept help where they can find it."

"I don't think--" Philip began.

Julia interrupted, "Fredrick is not poor, Mother, and I will not have a lawyer playing matchmaker for me."

"But if your brother--"

"Enough," Philip snapped, "I will take care of it." Closing his eyes, he tried to block out his sister and mother's voices, a headache building as tension circled his neck. He inwardly cringed as his mother reached over and patted his leg.

Sitting in the darkened parlor after super, Philip stared into the crackling fire. Another note from his fiancee had arrived by messenger and it lay unopened on the table next to him. He found he was simply unable to deal with Henrietta, even by note, this evening. His thoughts were filled with a replay of his mother's words. Trying to block them out, he began to shift through the planting proposal sent to him earlier by one of his estate managers. Feeling his stomach tighten around the simple supper he had eaten, he began to read. The estate had been prosperous for years, but the last year's harvest had been down and there were several changes the manager was suggesting they make. Each change though had its pros and cons and Philip couldn't help but think of the families depending on him to make the right decision about a matter he knew very little about.

"Damnation," he muttered into the quiet room, pushing the papers away from him. His breath caught in his throat as he spied the corner of a dark gray note card. Shifting through the paper, he picked up and brought it to his lips. The day before's activities flooded back to him, washing away all his worries as easily as water. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the leather chair and brought forth the feel of Michael again. Touching him, being caressed by him, being taken into his mouth and the firmness of their lips meeting, the simple ease of being with him. It felt warm and solid and very comfortable. But also very much the easy way out, away from responsibilities and the pull of a hundred needs. Instead, being with Michael simply fulfilled one need – his. As powerful as that need was, it was only one and a very small one when compared to the basic needs of many. The need to be touched was minor when compared to the need to eat and be warm during the winter. He didn't know what to do or how to reconcile everything. His cock twitched again as he shifted, wanting to be touched again as his mind pushed aside the hard questions and struggles and instead focused on the pleasant past.

He jerked his hand away from his cock as a soft knock on the door sounded through the room. "Yes," he called out impatiently, irritated with the interruption.

"Excuse me, my Lord," a footman said with a bow. "The messenger sent by Lady Bloomington asks if you still intend to send a reply tonight." The man's eyes darted to the still unopened pale blue envelope before resuming their respectful gaze at the carpet.

"No, of course not. Why is he still waiting? The damn woman is 60 miles away and we're not married for another four months. She's not entitled to my thoughts every moment of the day," Philip snapped.

The footman looked up briefly. "My apologies, my Lord. I was told you had asked for him to wait. Shall I ask him to return … tomorrow?"

Philip sighed in frustration. "No, you may simply send him away. When I wish to communicate with Lady Bloomington, I will call for a messenger at that time."

"Yes my Lord," the footman said, bowing again and backing out of the room.

Taking a deep breath, Philip glared into the fire. He craved Michael's touch again, his hands, his lips, the solid feel of his chest pressing against him while his arms held him securely. Licking his lips, he swore silently he could still taste Michael there. "Stop," he ordered himself. "This is unseemly. He is certainly not the first and yet you're behaving like a star-struck virgin. This must stop." Standing up quickly, he strode to the small writing desk against the far wall and jerked open several drawers until he found letterhead. Without pausing to think, afraid if he did he would change his mind, he wrote a brief but direct note. Signing his name, he sprinkled sand across the ink to dry it before folding it and sealing the edges with wax. Jerking one of the silken call cords, he waited impatiently for the footman to reappear.

"My Lord," the same man said, once again bowing low.

"Here," Philip said, thrusting the sealed paper in the man's direction, "have a boy send deliver this immediately to the house of Captain Michael Preston. We exchanged correspondence several times yesterday so I'm sure one of them knows where it is."

Taking the paper, the footman kept his eyes firmly on the carpet. The Earl was in a rare mood tonight and the least bit of provocation might set him off. It was a good job, an honorable house and he had no intention of being dismissed. "Shall the boy wait for an answer, my Lord?"

Philip waved his hand. "No, of course not. In fact, he may simple deliver it to the kitchen. It's late and I'm not sure if Captain Preston is home or not. It's not important that he see it immediately, just some information he asked me for during our inspection yesterday." Clamping his mouth shut, he cut off the stream of babble and glanced at the clock. "Please inform Hutchinson that I'll be retiring shortly. Please make my room ready, but I don't desire his assistance tonight."

"Yes, my Lord."

Ten minutes later, Philip pushed open the door to his bedroom and was pleased to see the fire burning brightly and a fresh pitcher of hot water waiting on the marble topped table and the attendant nowhere in sight. Tugging off his jacket, he tossed it carelessly on a chair, followed shortly by his vest. Moments later, he stood naked in front of the basin and splashed water on his face. His eyes fell to his cock and he immediately flashed back to his disgraceful loss of control in the carriage. Michael's mouth on him, his own screams and cries, how his hands gripped at the other man, urging him on and how he had drifted afterward. In his mind he imagined himself sinking to his knees to worship Michael the same way. Gripping the edge of the marble, he bowed his head, overcome with shame. It was one thing to use a man, mutual hands and touching and bringing mutual relief. Mounting some man such as Nicholas for relief, a good man, but never an equal, never someone to spend time with or even acknowledge the presence of outside of the club. At peace with his note, Philip made his way to the bed and slipped beneath the coverings with a tired sigh.

The next morning, a dark gray note card with the familiar green embossed seal arrived. On it was one word, as simple and straightforward as the man it belonged to: "No."

A dark shadow moved against the lighter darkness of his room causing Philip to blink, struggling to wakefulness. He jumped as the shadow moved closer and reached him. Lunging across the bed, his hand groped for the striker to ignite the candle at his bedside. He cried out as someone grabbed his outstretched hand, pushing him back onto the bed and away from the table.

"No need, my dear little earl," the figure said, settling down on the bed next to him. "I can see quite fine and you don't need to see."

Jerking his hand away, Philip scrambled to sit up. "Michael?" He startled as the hand came up and gently caressed his face.

"How many other men do you invite into your bedroom?" Michael asked with a low chuckle.

"None and I didn't invite you, either," Philip retorted. "How did you even get in here?"

Michael shrugged. "I gave you a week to come to your senses and then decided to simply come to you myself." He laughed. "I have to admit, this was not my original plan."

Despite himself and ignoring the internal voice to stop the conversation, Philip was curious and asked, "What was the original plan?"

"To kidnap you, toss you aboard my ship that's certainly tied in the harbor and take you away with me. Two months at sea should absolve you of any lingering doubt about how right we are for each other." Michael said the words as a simple statement of fact, with no doubt and no remorse. "Unfortunately, the ship's crew are currently scattered onto other ships, not expecting to return for at least two more months. It's a shame though; I would have loved to have carried out my plan. Instead, I must be content to play the dutiful suitor and woo you."

"I am not a maiden to be wooed," Philip shot back. "I have been with many, many others before you." Squirming free, his hands found the striker and after a moment lit a single candle. The light disappeared quickly in the large room, but cast enough light on the bed for him to see his would-be attacker.

Michael smiled in the light. "No, you are most certainly not a maiden, but I do think you want to be wooed." He leaned over and kissed Philip. "Shall I send you flowers? Letters of poetry?" Kissing him again, moving closer as his lips began to explore his bare chest, he suggested, "Or maybe another book of … Greek debates?"

Unwillingly, Philip's eyes darted to the table at the side of his bed where the slim novel lay tucked under a leather bound book of poems.

Michael laughed, following Philip's eyes and spying the book. "Has it been keeping you company and warming your nights while you've stubbornly denied yourself what you really want?"

"How did you get in here?" Philip asked, ignoring the question.

Michael laughed. "As if I would tell you, my little earl, just so you can bar my way in here?"

Philip shrugged. "The thought never crossed my mind."

Moving quickly, Michael reached out and tugged Philip from his safe nest under the covers. "Didn't I warn you what would happen if you kept telling those silly little lies?" Pulling Philip closer, Michael kissed him deeply, tongue plunging inside his mouth as his hand roamed down Philip's bare back until Philip began to respond, his own hands coming up to caress Michael's back. With a reluctant sigh, Michael pulled back, landing one more quick kiss on Philip's nose before quickly and efficiently laying him down face down on the bed, half way across his lap.

"Michael," Philip started to protest, trying to rise.

Raising his hand, Michael landed three hard, swift swats across Philip's bare butt, cutting off any further words. "Those silly little lies will get you in trouble, Philip, so I suggest you start being honest with me and, most importantly, yourself." Peppering the upturned butt with lighter but still very deliberate swats as he spoke, he covered the entire area quickly. He rested his hand on the warm and reddened flesh for a moment before asking quietly, "Do you understand?"

As soon as Michael stopped, Philip began to struggle, the reality of the situation sinking in. "Let me up," he ordered softly.

Raising his hand again, Michael landed another swat at the center of his butt. "No, not yet. Tell me you understand."

"I understand," Philip parroted in a sarcastic tone.

Michael swatted him twice more, causing Philip to gasp out loud, before once again resting his hand. "I don't believe you, but I think that's enough of a first lesson. I'm not even sure if you can be completely honest yet." As Philip struggled to rise, Michael held him down. "The first lesson might be over, but I'm enjoying this view quite well and think it's fitting for our discussion."

Twisting slightly, Philip glared over his shoulder. "What if I don't agree?"

Michael smiled, giving the bare flesh a loving pat. "Then I suggest you speak quickly, honestly, or as honestly as you can, and it'll be over sooner." Glancing at the small enameled clock on the table, he continued, "It's only 2:30, your house won't be awake for another three hours, we have plenty of time."

Summoning years of training and his status, Philip sniffed, "You may begin then." Holding himself stiffly, he struggled not to relax as Michael once again rested his hand on his butt, cupping it so that his fingers dipped slightly into the crease. The contact sent shivers through Philip's body, ending at his cock, instantly making him aware of his face down position.

Thinking for a long moment, Michael began softly, "I was distressed to receive your note." He patted the butt. "I will of course respect your wishes, if what you said in that note are truly your thoughts and wishes. But I don't think they were your words, I think they were the words of the 4th Earl of Devonshire, not Philip Ashton. I think the Earl came home, saw this house, the people waiting for him and emerged after being put smartly in his place for the day. The list and rules of Do's and Don'ts that Philip had successfully fought against and pushed aside during the bright light of the afternoon could not be ignored once the house settled into quiet darkness." Reaching out, he stroked Philip's hair, "It's hard to be alone after dark and I think you're afraid you will be if you don't follow the rules."

Philip sighed, relaxing into the bed. "You don't understand, Michael."

Michael rubbed small circles into his butt as he silently waited for Philip to continue.

"You don't," Philip repeated several long moments later. "Philip Ashton died a bit when Edward Ashton, the true Earl, died ten years ago. And then was completely killed last year as surely as if he was the one who was felled by an attack and not just my father. Philip was fearless and didn't care. He joined the club and... "

"But I've met Philip Ashton," Michael countered. "I've spoken to him, I've laughed with him." Bending low so his body covered the other man's so he could kiss him, he added, "And I've love him."

"You barely know him," Philip countered.

"But I want to know more, if I'm allowed to." Sitting back up, Michael patted Philip's butt again. "I want to spend hours and days and months and years learning more."

Philip sighed, rolling slightly so he could look at Michael. "I can give you until June."

"What happens in June?" Michael asked, well aware of the man's upcoming marriage, but that was a minor issue.

"Philip dies completely," Philip said softly. "He can't survive past June." Looking up, he met Michael's eyes. "Are there enough hours and days and months and years between now and June?" Reaching up, he tugged Michael down next to him.

"Yes," Michael said, allowing himself to be pulled down next to Philip, "as long as the words in your note weren't yours."

Philip smiled. "No, this is me." Reaching out, he began to undo the laces of Michael's white cotton shirt quickly before kneeling up to pull it off. Smiling, he eyed the now bared chest. "Very nice."

Tugging him back down, Michael rolled on top, hand darting between them to stroke Philip's cock. "This is also very nice."

Philip smiled, moving slightly as the emotions of the situation took over. This was familiar territory, well accepted between men at the club of all levels. "I'd enjoy, sir," he said with another laugh, his hand reaching down past Michael's industrious fingers and brushed the bulging front of his pants, "if I could also judge yours. You have me at a disadvantage though and I need your assistance"

Michael smiled, sitting up and sliding off the bed with a low bow. "But of course, your Lordship."

Kicking back the covers, Philip moved back up to the head of the bed as he watched Michael undress quickly. He nodded as the long-awaited cock appeared. "Yes, very, very nice."

With a low laugh, Michael rushed the bed, pushing himself back up and rolling into Philip in two swift movements. Hands resting on Philip's butt, he began to knead it as Philip greedily kissed him. Groaning, thrusting his tongue deep inside, his own senses were overloaded as Philip's hand found his cock and brought it quickly to attention.

"What about you?" Michael asked some time later, the room now in almost total darkness, the candle burning very low in its holder.

Philip stretched. He was lying half on top of Michael, holding tightly to his chest. Their legs were intertwined and he could feel the cool dampness of Michael's semen drying on his own stomach. His own cock was still half hard, but instead of being painful, simply made him feel alive. "This was better," he said sleepily. "It was amazing watching you come, the expressions and feel of you pulsing. I'm usually too caught up in my own feelings."

Michael grunted at the mention of others, not liking the idea, even though that was ridiculous on many levels. Reaching his hand down, he patted Philip's butt.

"You love doing that."

Michael noted that it was a simple statement and that Philip made no move to twist away from his hand. Carefully sliding out from underneath, allowing Philip to roll onto his stomach, he sat up. "I do." Reaching out, he stroked it again, feeling its warmth, not from the simple spanking he had administered earlier, but just from a healthy young man. Stilling his fingers for a moment, he cupped each cheek. "It fits perfectly in my hand, see? Like it was made to rest there, caress …"

"Swat," Philip said with a slight frown, leaning up on his elbows so he could look at Michael. "I didn't like that or appreciate it."

Leaning down, Michael kissed him quickly on the lips. "I didn't appreciate being lied to either." He sat back up and gave the butt another gentle pat, "Besides which, I was going to say, caress and spread gently apart for my pleasure and certainly yours." Dipping his hand inside the crease, he spread his fingers, opening Philip and exposing him.

Jerking back, Philip closed his legs, trying to dislodge Michael's hand. "No," he said sharply. "Certainly not and that would not be pleasurable."

Lying back down and pulling Philip closer, Michael fell quiet as Philip relaxed against him. He moved his hand and again rested it on Philip's butt. "Don't be so quick to dismiss the yet unexplored territory, Philip," Michael said softly. "This little bud has not yet been plucked and as yet is filled with all manner of unknown excitement, joy and treasures."

Still lying against Michael, Philip laughed. "All the pretty words in the world, Michael, won't convince me to allow you to do that to me. You may caress and cup all you like, you may even swat on occasion if you feel you must, but that's it. It shall remain unexplored territory."

Leaning down slightly, Michael kissed the top of his head. "We shall see, my dear little earl, we shall see. I have until June to explore all sorts of new and exciting territories with you." Closing his eyes, he relaxed, enjoying the weight of Philip resting against him.

Three hours later, as a few rays of sun were starting to come through the slats of the half closed shutters, Philip stirred and stretched in bed, the events of the night making him jerk fully awake. The room was light enough for him to see that it was empty. The only proof of the night's activities was the burnt down candle and mussed bedcovers. A moment later, he spied a third clue that the activities had not been a dream – a dark gray note card lay propped on the bed table. Sitting up, Philip smiled as he undid the card and read its simple message.

"As I took advantage of your hospitality, I look forward to serving as host to your visit today. Dinner is served at 1:00 with casual dress." A smaller postscript was added at the bottom in hastier handwriting, "No dress at all would preferred."

With a blush and embarrassed laugh, Philip slid out of bed, eagerly anticipating the upcoming dinner. Allowing his mind to drift back to the earlier activities, he focused on being touched and spread wide and his panic. It had been worse than two weeks earlier with Nicholas, where he had dismissed the idea as simply beneath him. Michael, while not exactly his equal in social standing, was close enough to be respectable and, if he had been a woman, a perfectly acceptable match. That act though was not one performed by equals; the thought of how the two participants could be seen in any sort of equal light eluded him. It was simply a sign of dominance, control and possession. Showing ownership over the other person as much as putting a collar on a dog or brand on cattle. He had instantly felt powerless when Michael had touched him, exposed him and feared that if pressed, if Michael had slipped his finger inside, he would have caved in to his emotions and begged Michael to possess him.

"Sir," Hutchinson said, tapping lightly on the still closed bedroom door.

"Yes, enter," Philip called out. As the door opened, admitting the older servant, Philip added, "I'm going out for dinner today at Captain Preston's, please inform the cook and have the carriage arranged." Settling back into the chair, he closed his eyes as the servant prepared his morning toiletries.

Philip was admitted into the simple parlor at 12:50. It was far less elaborate than his own front parlor, but still filled with rich materials and several beautiful pieces of art. A large fireplace crackled, giving off a warmth that filled the small room. Books lined two large bookcases and there was a large portrait of two older men standing proudly together with a fleet of ships in the distance. Looking at the portrait for a long moment, Philip tried to see Michael in either one of the men's faces.

"Regretfully, I see you ignored my postscript," a voice said from behind him.

Turning around, Philip smiled. "I thought that might be best left for our second dinner together."

Michael reached out and pulled him close, kissing him deeply. "This is our second dinner, my little earl," he muttered, reaching for the buttons on the other man's vest playfully.

Pulling free, Philip laughed, instantly glancing toward the parlor door, pleased to see no servant lurking in the hall. "Our previous dinner doesn't count, Captain Preston. It was eaten with Mr. Blakely and we discussed nothing but the countryside and homes." Eager to change the subject before a servant joined them and overhead something inappropriate, he asked, "Speaking of the house, have you made a decision?"

The other man smiled, "I sent word to Steven, he and Marie are visiting her parents for the month. He had already sent word to the family and with my second of his vote, the others will be satisfied. The account here needs two signatures to release the funds. My hope is that once he receives my message, he'll welcome the excuse to come back to London and we can take care of this matter quickly. I'm tired of this house."

Philip smiled, looking around, "But it's a very nice house. The area is fashionable, with a park nearby."

"Oh, it's not that so much as I dislike London. The noise, the dirt, I haven't lived here since I was 11 and had no plans of ever returning."

Looking at Michael with interest, Philip asked, "I didn't know you were originally from here?"

Michael smiled. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Philip."

A discreet clearing of throat caused Philip to step backward, suddenly aware of how close they were standing next to each other and how it might appear.

"Yes?" Michael asked the black servant standing in the door.

"Dinner, Captain," the man said in a casual voice, far different than the usual deferential tone.

"Excellent, thank you, Jose," Michael said, turning back to Philip. "Come, Cook has put out a feast, I'm sure. You're only the third guest I've had since my arrival and this is the first time that I've given her free rein." Reaching out, he touched Philip's hand as they walked toward the dining room. "I wanted to give you a true flavor of the foods I grew up with and a taste of my home. I wasn't sure how much you enjoyed during your short visit."

Suddenly touched by the intimacy of the confession, Philip smiled. It was such an honest comment, an open statement of wishes and wants, tinged with a touch of homesickness. "Very little," Philip said, "except for the heat and sun, it was like I was in almost any dining room here. So many import everything from their servants to their china, so that they don't feel so cut off from society."

The dining room, like the parlor, was small, but still beautifully appointed with rich wood and crystal. The table was set simply with two seats, the head for Michael and just to the right for Philip. A plain cream tablecloth was accented with bright red and orange embroidery that matched the red linen napkins. Several platters and covered dishes sat on the table, while another fireplace kept the room warm and cozy.

"Thank you, Jose," Michael said as the other man stepped forward to begin to serve. "Lord Ashton and I will take care of it. I'll call if I need help."

"Of course, Captain," the servant said with a small smile before disappearing behind the hall door.

"Has he been with the house long?" Philip asked as Michael began to serve him. The food smelled wonderful, warm and spicy. The meat had been grilled and covered with some sort of light yellow sauce, far different than the heavy cream gravies that tended to dominate most meat dishes.

Concentrating on not spilling as he served, Michael was silent for a moment. As he sat down, he said, "No, he came over with Steven. He's a freeman and usually serves either myself or one of my brothers on our boats where the rules are much more relaxed. It fits our lifestyle much better, even though the few English servants we've employed don't seem to appreciate the freedom."

Philip took a bite of the grilled chicken and almost moaned in pleasure. "Oh, this is wonderful. What is it?"

Michael smiled. "It's this small feathered animal called a chicken. Do you have them here?" He laughed at the look shot in his direction. "I'm sorry, but it's true. But it's been cooked over hot stones and wood chips soaked in cider, so it's smoked, and then the sauce …" Pausing, he tasted it again. "The sauce is made with some sort of orange and mint."

Dinner conversation flowed easily, moving from safe topics such as food to deeper ones such as the expectations of servants and their relationships.

"Do you have slaves?" Philip asked.

Michael nodded. "Yes, on some of the plantations the family owns, the bigger ones. There's simply no other way to run those estates. But my parents have gradually freed all the ones who work in the house and of course, there are never slaves on the ships. Many of the men are black or natives, like Jose, but they are all free and may leave at any time."

"I know my plantation has slaves as well," Philip said. "It's something I'm torn about, but like you, I see no way around the situation."

Michael smiled. "Then let's talk about something more pleasant. It's a situation we can't control and see no way around for the near future."

Eager to change the subject, Philip nodded. "That's a lovely portrait in the front parlor. Which one is your father? I assume the other man is an uncle?"

Michael looked at Philip for a long moment, clearly mulling over something. "Why don't we take this conversation someplace more comfortable? We can take dessert in the solarium and enjoy some of this beautiful weather."

Philip glanced out the room's windows and saw that, even though it was feeble, the sun had broken free from the clouds and was shining brightly. "Excellent idea."

They settled into two comfortable chairs overlooking the small bare gardens. The red brick walls were littered with dead-looking vines and the beds were mounded and covered with protective wood chips. The white stone paths though were swept clean and even in its dormant state, there was a certain orderliness to the gardens that didn't surprise Philip. Michael seemed like the sort of man long used to living in the confines of a ship where orderliness meant safety and that would have carried over to his private life.

"The two men in the portrait," Michael began directly, "are my fathers. Or at least my adoptive fathers. They worked together, lived together and were as much a couple as a man and woman."

"Oh," Philip said, somewhat startled. "They neither of them ever married?" He knew of one other male couple, but both had married and kept separate households from each other. They were rumored to have a small country house together, but that aspect was kept very much quiet. Their wives ignored all talk on the matter and each had produced several children.

Michael smiled. "Not to women. They exchanged vows, but they were blessed simply by each other."

"But you must have a mother?" Philip smiled, trying to absorb the news calmly and matter of factly. It was shocking, but as long as it was not well known, little problem. "Or did you spring forth like Venus from a clam shell?"

Michael laughed, relieved by his attitude. "No, I had a mother and a real father. Captain Alfred and Captain James, as I always called them, basically adopted me when I was 12. My father died when I was very young and my mother remarried, but she died when I was 11. Her new husband was also a captain of his own boat and reluctantly took me on board." He shook his head. "It was a miserable experience and one I wouldn't want to relive, but luckily, within a few months the boat I was on was attacked by," he paused, making eye contact with Philip, "opportunists. He was killed and I was set free."

Philip eyed him. "That's what you call yourself."

Michael laughed. "It's a good life."

"If opportunists attack boats and kill people, then they sound suspiciously like pirates."

The other man shrugged. "Well, I admit, it can be a bit of a fine line, but in their defense, they didn't plan to kill my stepfather. From what I understand and can certainly believe, he refused to surrender and give up his maps, attacking anyone who approached the cabin where he had made his stand."

"But surely, that's understandable?" Philip said, surprised at the ease with which this man talked about the death of his stepfather.

Michael shrugged again. "I don't know." He glanced out into the gardens for a minute before turning back to Philip. "What I do know is that it's well know that pirates rarely kill. They are only interested in material possessions and possibly men. They take what they want, any men who are interested in coming with them or are needed, and then leave the boat and passengers unmolested."

"But they killed him," Philip said.

"Because he fought them. He chose to engage in a fight that he could not win. He put himself and his crew, including myself, in danger because of his pride. He could have simply surrendered and all would have been well and done with in a matter of hours." Michael smiled. "I must confess, though I know it's a sin and one I've made peace with, I'm glad he fought, I'm glad he was killed and I'm glad that I was taken in by two loving, kind and generous men. I couldn't have asked for a better life."

Philip could hear the conviction in Michael's voice and knew the matter was no longer open to discussion. "Are you still an...opportunist?"

Michael smiled, "No. Well .." He paused for a moment, thinking as his smiled twisted into more of a bemused grin, "At least not the vast majority of the time. The family has moved on as the laws have gotten stricter and other, better opportunities have opened up in shipping, as the colonies have grown in size and needs. But... occasionally a ripe piece of fruit floats past and just begs to be plucked from the tree."

"But isn't that stealing, which is against the law?"

Michael shrugged again, still wearing a bemused smile. "Many things are against the law, Philip, and since I don't consider myself an Englishman or a subject of the crown, I feel no compulsion to follow England's laws."

"But it's still against the law," Philip protested.

"Do you follow the laws of all the countries of the earth?" Michael asked. "Do you pray five times a day as is law in Persia or go to Mass and Confession as is law in Italy?" He raised an eyebrow, "And even here, do you shun lying with man as with woman like the law says? You're an Englishman, yet you break English law willingly and often."

Philip glared at him. "That's different."

Standing up, Michael laughed. "No it's not. You just justify it." He held out his hand. "Come, my little earl. Let's walk; it's too nice a day to spend it in here discussing the philosophy of law. You are no better than I am, than all men. We all pick and choose what rules and laws we follow and which we don't. There's no sin or crime in that." Making eye contact with Philip, he smiled, "Come."

"It's still wrong to steal," Philip muttered, standing up.

Michael smiled and shook his head, reaching out and pulling Philip, to him. Wrapping his arms around him, he kissed him. "Many things in life are wrong, Philip. It is life but you have my promise, I will never steal from you." Kissing him again, he sighed as he felt Philip relax into him, mouth yielding tot the gentle assault. "Yes," he breathed as Philip's hand came up to caress his cock.

"No," Philip said, pulling away, breathing hard. "Not here, not now. Anyone could see." Walking toward the door that led eventually outside, he said, "The fresh air will do us both good and cool our blood."

With a shake of his head, Michael followed the younger man outside into the gardens. Ducking into a gazebo at the far end of the small garden, protected from the wind and prying eyes, he took Philip's hand. "Come live with me, Philip. You are so afraid of being seen, we shall spend the next four months stealing kisses and brief moments together. You said you had until June to live, to be with me, so come to me and let us really live together." Kissing his hand, trying to pull the resisting man closer, he said, "Even better, run away with me. We can leave in a month and sail to my home. The air is warm and the sun bright and no one cares what we do. The servants are all discreet and as long as I manage to avoid ravishing you at the dinner table, which will be hard, I admit, they won't care. My fathers gave up even keeping separate bedrooms years ago."

"You are mad," Philip said, jerking his hand away. "How could I possible live here with you? You drop these revelations on me, that you're not really a merchant, but some sort of blood thirty pirate. You had no parents, but were raised by two men who have somehow convinced you to believe that their lifestyle and yours will be accepted by society. I am suddenly supposed to be all right with that and simply move in with you like we're a couple playing house. And regardless of what you say or believe, your servants here are certain not discreet, neither are mine. Tongues will be waggling within days of me moving in here, regardless of the sleeping arrangements. Servants know everything, they will know the first time you grace my bed or I yours. My mother will hear about it within the week and how exactly do you propose that I explain that?" As Michael started to speak, Philip held up his hand. "I'm sorry Michael, but no. I was out of my mind last night – this morning – when we spoke. I was overcome with lust and not thinking. This is crazy." Turning, he hurried through the gardens toward the house.

Stepping to the doorway of the gazebo, Michael yelled after him, "I propose you simply inform her that you are an adult and your own man and thus, may make your own decisions without mama's permission!"

Philip turned briefly and with a glare flicked his fist, fingers outstretched and clenched together in the other man's direction.

"Yeah," Michael yelled again, surprised that the younger man knew such a crude gesture, "I'd like to if you weren't still clinging to the apron strings."

Stalking back into the house, Philip paid no attention to where he was going and promptly turned right instead of left back into the main house. As he charged into the darkened hallway, it took him a moment to register the darkness and the sound of the door's lock clicking behind him as it closed. "Damnation," he muttered, turning and trying the door. Stairs led up, which is where he didn't want to go, but he could see no other choice. It was clearly a seldom used back staircase, separate even from the main servants' areas, and dusty. Evenly spaced small windows gave just enough light to see by as he climbed the stairs. They came to a dead end at a large wooden door. Pulling and pushing, he cursed again, finding it locked. Cursing Michael, he started banging on the door. The house wasn't that large, there were at least some servants around, surely one of them would hear him. Ten minutes later, he heard a noise in the room. "Help!" he called, banging louder.

"Hello," a faint voice said. "Who's there?"

Philip banged louder. "It's Lord Devonshire, Philip Ashton; I'm a friend of Captain Preston!" Several long minutes later, thinking the person had gone away, he banged again. "Hello! Are you still there?"

"You say you're a friend of Captain Preston's?" a different voice asked.

Wonderful, Philip thought, I'm being rescued by an idiot. "Yes!" he called back. "I got lost coming back from the garden and would greatly appreciate it if you would let me out."

"How did you get lost coming in from the garden?"

Cursing to himself, Philip glanced back down the stairs. "I just did. I turned left instead of right, I think. I meant to come back through the solarium."

"Captain Preston didn't know the way?" the voice asked.

"He wasn't with me," Philip said loudly. "Are you able to open the door from here or should I return to the lower door?" he asked, trying to move the situation along.

"Why wasn't he with you?" the voice asked, then added, "Did you decide it was easier to walk off in a huff and go sulk in your house? Did his words hit too close to home?"

Philip glanced at the door, suspicion rising. Glancing at the small windows, he mentally gauged their width for a long moment.

"So what happened, my dear little earl? Are these words hitting too close to home as well?" the voice asked, persistently but not unkindly.

"Shut up," Philip said, stepping closer to the door. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Now let me out of here immediately, you bloody pirate."

On the other side of the door, Michael laughed. "How about trying to be a little bit more polite?"

"Please shut up, you bloody opportunist," Philip countered. He glared at the door, unsure what he would do if Michael didn't let him out. Instantly dismissing the idea, he opened his mouth to yell again when the door's lock was thrown and a small crack of light appeared.

Peering into the gloom, Michael's eyes meet his. "Shall we talk like civilized men or do you want to continue with your sulking and stalking off?"

"I don't even know where to begin," Philip countered. "Your morals are completely different from mine. You feel that stealing is acceptable, laws are to be obeyed only when they fit your desires, and as far as our relationship …" He shook his head. "That sort of thing should remain firmly inside the club walls. I was a fool for allowing it even a toe hold in my real life." Stepping forward, he met Michael's eyes. "Excuse me, sir, I'd like to leave."

Michael gave a short nod and stepped aside with a low bow and sweep of his arm. Watching Philip pass, he reached out and gently touched his arm. "Philip," he said softly.

"What do you want me to say," Philip countered, spinning around. "I've said everything I needed to say. I can't bear to see you again; you need to leave me alone."

"But why can't you bear to see me again?" Michael asked, softly.

Philip looked at him for a long moment before glancing away. Taking a deep breath, he said softly, "Because I cave into emotion. I can't control myself and I begin to soar high on the rush. I feel that anything is possible. You touch me, we kiss, you stroke me and I feel you stir under my own hand and suddenly, I feel alive and free. But that's not reality."

"But it can be reality," Michael countered. "Why can't it be? You said yourself, you have until June. Why not be alive until then? Come away with me, live until then."

Philip shook his head. "But how much would that hurt come June? I was fine enough three weeks ago, before we met."

"You were not fine," Michael countered. "When I saw you at the club, you were anything but fine. You were restless and bored, looking for something and not finding it. You didn't find it upstairs with your merchant plaything who probably gladly rolled over for you, you weren't going to find in the half-hearted cold hands of any of the other men there." He looked at Philip. "Tell me I'm lying. Tell me you were satisfied by their touches." Walking closer, he reached out and picked up the younger man's hand. "Tell me you shivered like this when your merchant or a fellow card player touched you and when you touched them."

"It was fine," Philip said, refusing to look up at Michael. "I was satisfied."

With a sudden movement, Michael turned him slightly and swatted him hard on the butt. "Didn't I warn you about those silly little lies, Philip?"

"I'm not lying!"

"Then look me at me and tell me you shivered when they touched you, that what they offered truly satisfied you. That they are enough to warm your blood in the cold evenings for the next thirty years of your life."

Philip shook his head silently, afraid to speak lest his voice tremble.

"Then trust me," Michael said softly. "I know what I'm asking, I don't dismiss your concerns lightly, but have faith in me." He pulled the younger man closer and led him to a small settee against the wall. Sitting down, he settled Philip on his lap, holding him tight as he squirmed. "Shh," he murmured. "The door is locked, it's just you and me."

Philip shook his head again. "How can I trust you after what you've told me about your family?"

Michael laughed. "I'm as moral as any merchant, my dear little earl. Men of wealth don't get that way by being pure of sin. You know that, you're smart enough to understand the way of the world, you just don't like to admit it." Resting his hand on Philip's thigh, he leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. "Plus I feel that's simply a distraction from the real issue at hand."

"Or at least your hand," Philip countered, trying to shift. Glancing over, he smiled quickly before turning more serious. "This is why I wanted to leave."

"Why?"

Philip sighed, feeling himself relax slightly as his thigh was gently stroked. "Because of this, my resolve caves and all reason is replaced by pure emotion. And my pure emotions scream and cry and rejoice at every touch."

"Then I shall simply have to keep my hands on you full time," Michael said, kissing him gently, tongue pushing its way inside the unresisting mouth briefly, teasing the lips. "Come away with me, escape with me, and I'll do exactly that."

Philip sighed again and then suddenly pushed free with a shake of his head. "I don't know." Standing up, he shook his head again, touching it briefly with his hand. "I don't know, Michael."

Michael stood up. "All right then, I shall simply make you a proposition."

"What?"

Pulling Philip closer, Michael held him tight against his chest, hands resting on the wool covered butt. "I will hurry things along on the country house. It will be settled in two weeks time. Two weeks from today, my carriage will call on you at 9 am. If you decide I am what you want, what you need, come out and we'll have no more of these silly indecisions. You will stay with me until I allow you to come back in May. If you decide that you're satisfied with life as it was before we met, simply ignore the carriage. It will wait for you for five minutes."

"What do you mean, 'allow me back'?" Philip demanded.

Michael laughed, kissing him again. "I think no matter what you resolve if you come with me, there will be times when you'll want to revert back to the safety of what you know. You'll regret it, of course, like you're doing now, swinging back and forth and feeling miserable. I'll simply not allow you to leave until the fear passes and you're happy again."

"That seems very much like kidnapping."

Michael kissed him, ignoring his statement and gently patting his butt. Picking up the conversation as if Philip had not said anything, he continued, "Until then, I will respect your privacy and not harass you. You will not see me. Go, enjoy your club, enjoy your evening activities and see how they taste to you." Kissing Philip again, Michael asked, "Does that give you the space and incentive you need to know?'

Mutely, Philip nodded, still holding onto Michael.

Kissing him again for the last time, Michael stepped back and bowed. "If you will follow me then, I shall show you the proper way outside, my lord."

An hour later, Michael finished the notes to the agent and his brothers. He meant to begin taking possession of the estate this week. It would be an easy matter, simply paperwork for the lawyers and officials to complete in a day or two. Pulling out another note card from his writing desk, he began another note and another set of plans, well taught by his fathers to never leave only one way of escape.

Philip smiled as his carriage pulled up to the familiar brick townhouse. Unlike the last time he had come, he felt a simple sense of contentment. There was none of the frustrated urgency that had filled him after the long engagement period with Henrietta. He was looking forward to the evening and an easy matching later in the evening, filled with just pleasure and none of the frustrations that came with his encounters with Michael. The butler opened the door as he approached and bowed, allowing him into the rich foyer.

The club's owner, Louis was just coming down the steps and smiled, saying happily, "Philip!"

Carelessly removing his cloak and hat and passing it in the direction of an attendant, Philip smiled. "How are you doing? Well, I hope."

"Yes, yes," Louis said. "Another visit from the pesky betrothed? It's been several weeks."

Philip smiled, walking with Louis toward the back rooms. "No, Lady Bloomington is still safely tucked away in the country with builders and designers. Spending a fortune, I'm sure."

Louis laughed. "Trust me, my friend, whatever the cost, it's a small one to pay for freedom. Once you're married, get her with child as soon as possible. I've found that nothing will fill her time as completely and with the least damage to your wallet." Gesturing toward three other men just settling at a table with cards, he said, "Care to join us?"

"Yes, exactly what I need tonight."

Another young man glanced up and smiled. "Greetings, Ashton, glad to see you around here again."

With a contented smile, Philip sat down. "Upton, I hope that you've asked your father for your allowance, I think you're going to need it tonight."

The easy banter continued for several hours, fueled by strong drinks and plates of food. The rooms around were filled with other men also enjoying easy conversation and games, with small pockets of more intimate gatherings.

Coming back from a trip to the privy, Philip glanced around and smile. This was exactly right, exactly what he needed and where he belonged. He knew at least half the men present, knew what to expect with them and how to act. It might be slightly boring, he admitted to himself as he sat back down, but it was also very comfortable and secure. Knowing one's place was the key to happiness and this club, with these men, was his place.

"Your deal," Upton said with a smile. Under the table, his foot brushed Philip's leg, "Unless you're tired and feel like a bit of fresh air."

Philip eyed him. Charles Upton was the third son, but thanks to his mother's fortune and his dark good looks, would have no problem finding a suitable wife once he decided to settle down and begin the search. Every Season, mothers wondered if this would be the year and so far, they had been disappointed. He smiled, brushing his own foot against Upton's. "Yes, I think a bit of air sounds like a wonderful idea. Clear my head a bit and have a chance to win back some of my fortune."

Ten minutes later, pressing hard against the other man, lips and tongues and hands vying for position, Philip pulled back and grinned. "Enough air for you?"

Upton smiled, glancing around the empty terrace. "More than enough." Reaching out, he touched Philip's vest, fingering the buttons. "Now I need something to warm me back up."

"I'm sure that we can figure out something appropriate," Philip said, kissing him again before heading toward the doors.

Upton laughed, following him. "I put my faith in you, my lord." Following Philip up the stairs, giving the briefest of nods to the attendant who pointed toward an empty room, he laughed as Philip struck the candle. "I feel warmer already."

Philip smiled. "Your faith is justified." Undoing his vest, he motioned toward Upton. "Now, let's see how quick you are at getting hot."

"Very quick, especially with a view such as that," Upton said, beginning to strip.

"Have you ever," Philip asked breathlessly ten minutes later, breaking apart from kissing the other man, their cocks rubbing against each other, "tasted another man?"

Upton pulled back slightly, looking at him. "No, of course not." He smiled wickedly, "Several of the house lads though have very good mouths if you're interested. One of our mutual friends, who shall remain nameless, and I shared this very nice boy a few months ago. He was on his hands and knees, tasting me and..."

"Never mind," Philip interrupted, regretting even asking the question.

Upton studied him for a moment. "Are you curious, is that what it is? Have you never been tasted by someone?"

"No, of course not," Philip said hurriedly. "I mean, I have been before, multiple times. I just …"

Rapidly losing interest in the conversation, Upton shrugged. "Well, I won't do it, if that's what you want tonight." He reached out and took hold of Philip's cock. "This will have to do." Slowly stroking it, he moved back into position and began to rub himself against Philip's hand to urge him to continue. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Philp said, settling into the task.

There was nothing bad about tonight's encounter, Philip thought to himself, as the carriage wound its way back to his home. He had found release, Upton had too and had looked very well satisfied when they eventually made their way back downstairs. But beyond the physical release, it had been rather forgettable. In fact, thinking back to six months earlier, Philip knew he had been with many of the men there, but with the exception of a few, would be hard pressed to remember exactly who or when. He was sure his memory wasn't unique and if he approached Upton in two months, Upton would probably only have the haziest memory of tonight's activities. It was simply too meaningless. Not that meaningless was bad, he told himself, stepping out of the carriage.

"Good evening, my lord," a footman said, bowing as he opened the door.

Nodding in greeting, Philip made his way into his library, still mulling over the evening's activities. Pouring himself a drink, he glanced at a silver tray left on his desk. On it was another pale blue envelope and a cream and navy note card. Brushing past the note from Henrietta, he reached for the cream card, not anxious to see what his mother had to say. Skimming it quickly, he cursed and made a face even as he pulled the footman's bell.

"Yes, my lord," the same footman said, coming into the room.

"How long was my mother here this evening?" Philip demanded irritably.

"The Dowager Countess arrived a few minutes after eight, my Lord. She waited in the parlor for approximately 30 minutes before departing. I believe she left a message."

Holding up the cream card, Philip nodded. "Yes, thank you." Instantly forgetting about the footman, he glanced at his desk and the calendar laid out on the edge. It had been three days since he last saw Michael, which meant another 11 until the carriage rolled to the front of his house and he was forced to make a decision. Skimming the note again, he tossed it onto his desk and quickly made his way upstairs.

Three nights later, Philip lay once again in a bed at the club with an older gentleman, Lord John White, listening to him pant and gasp as he came. They had started out kissing, but then when Philip reached for White's cock, his hand had been brushed away.

"I've got it," the older man said simply, studiously avoiding Philip's cock, half hard and pressing against his thigh. "Why don't we just take care of ourselves?" White explained, “Kissing has been enough contact for me since I was a randy lad still dallying with the horse boys. Much easier to explain and really, very much still in the gray areas of social acceptability."

Philip had to bite his tongue not to inquire exactly how did one explain being caught kissing another man with your pants around your ankles and cock out and hard and it not be considered a compromising position. In reality, he didn't care. The sounds of the older man finding release and the feel of his hands on his own chest did nothing for him and his cock stayed only half interested.

"That's OK," White said sympathetically, glancing down at Philip's uninterested cock. "Happens to the best of us from time to time. Lay off the drink next time and I'm sure you'll be ready to go in no time." Pushing himself off the bed, he reached down and picked up his pants. "I did enjoy you though. I'll be back on Friday, when I typically play whist," he said, looking up with a smile. Reaching out, he patted Philip's thigh. "Until then?"

Nodding silently, Philip stayed in the bed after the other man left. Rolling onto his side, he tried not to think of Michael and the decision that was fast approaching.

Flipping through papers the next morning, Philip sighed, suddenly tired. A message from one estate manager with an update, a request from his estate manager at the two properties in Jamaica and another note from Henrietta asking for his approval of paint samples cluttered the wooden tabletop and he found that he didn't care about any of it and he hated himself for not caring. A knock on the door jerked him out of his contemplation. "Yes," he barked sharply, sitting up.

A footman opened the door and said, bowing, "Excuse me, my lord, but the Dowager Countess is here. She's waiting in the front parlor and is anxious to see you."

Cursing, Philip glared at the poor messenger. "Did she announce she was coming?"

The footman shook his head, "I'm sorry, my lord, but I was not aware. Shall I ask the others and see …"

"No, don't bother," Philip said shortly, holding up his hand. He sighed again as he stood up. "It's certainly not your fault or anyone else's that my mother seems to have problems remembering that this is not her house, to come and go as she pleases." Walking past the footman, he said, "Please have Cook send tea and an assortment of refreshments to the parlor."

"Yes, my lord."

Filled with an irrational irritation at his mother, Philip took several deep breaths, trying to squash the feelings. Her presence had become more and more oppressive in the last month, as if his impending marriage made her realize that her influence might be waning, to be replaced by Henrietta. Soon his house would be their house and soon a new generation would fill it. Even though she was technically the Dowager Countess, there would soon be a new Countess of Devonshire, replacing her and potentially reducing her sphere of influence.

"There you are, Philip," the older woman said as he stepped into the parlor. "I was beginning to think you were no longer in residence. This is the third time …"

"Hello, Mother," Philip said, interrupting her. "If you sent word you'd like to visit, I would have made sure I was home." Walking over, he obediently leaned over to kiss her check. "You look well."

Making a face, she stiffened. "I wasn't aware that I now needed to make an appointment to see my own son. I would have thought I would have been welcome here at any time."

"You are welcome," he said sinking down into a hard chair. Squirming slightly, he tried to get comfortable before adding, "I was simply saying that I am not always home and if you expect to see me, you should let me know that you're coming. I go to my club, lectures, have supper with friends; I don't typically sit at home by the fire in the evenings. It would be helpful to you to send a boy the day before and tell me what time you're coming." Silently, he added to himself, "or ask when's a good time." Shifting again, he nodded as a serving girl paused in the doorway with a tray. After drinks were served, he asked, "So what brings you here today?"

The older woman took a small sip of tea before leaning back against the sofa. "Really Philip, I don't know why I bother. You're clearly not interested in my problems, running off here and there with all sorts of exciting people. Why don't you tell me all about the interesting lectures you're attending instead."

He looked at her for a long moment as she sat there primly sipping her tea, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to apologize and assure her that no, he did care, and convince her to tell him her problems. The words were on the tip of his tongue, as they had been so many times before, but he couldn't say them. Looking at her, he felt himself simply not caring. Whatever the problem was, she would tell him eventually. Instead he took a large bite of cheese tart and smiled. "It was about the theory of crop rotation. I went with a friend from my club, he owns a large estate out in Wales and is looking for some help. It was fascinating." As he continued to explain in great detail the previous day's lecture, he watched her face darken as she grew more annoyed and struggled to hide the fact. "Did you know that they are trying to introduce potatoes into the area, Mother?"

"No, I didn't," she said icily. "But then again, my friends tend to talk mostly about grandchildren and not farming. Speaking of grandchildren, Philip, I was thinking about …"

He glanced at the clock. "Oh, I'm sorry Mother, but I have an appointment in 30 minutes and must be going." Standing up, he held out his hand to assist her up. "I'm sorry we didn't get to chat longer."

"Oh," she said, surprised at the sudden dismissal. Standing up, she said, "Who are you meeting with?"

Shrugging, Philip smiled. "A new designer. I've never been fully satisfied with several of the rooms here and decided it was time to get them redone. Something more fitting my taste."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, dear? Won't Henrietta want some say in the style of her new home? If I were you, I'd wait. You can't possibly know what to pick out or what's stylish."

Taking a firm hold of her arm, he tucked his hand under her elbow and began to escort her back into the foyer. "It's fine, Mother, but thank you. I don't need to know what's stylish, I simply need to know what I want and what I like and have a designer to carry it through. Other than that, I don't care what anyone else thinks about it." Motioning to a footman, he said, "The Countess is leaving now; please assist her to the carriage." He leaned over and kissed her again quickly. "Thank you so much for stopping by. Next time, send word and we'll be able to visit longer."

"Philip…." she started.

He laughed. "Oh that's fine, don't apologize, I didn't take offense. I simply hate for you to waste your time coming to visit me when I don't have much time to spare." Watching her drive away, he waved merrily, wondering what she was thinking. As soon as she was gone, he felt his inner resolve begin to crumble. He shouldn't have teased her. He was a horrible son to have preyed on her fears. Just as his mind turned down that path, he mentally shook himself. He was an adult, with his own life, own home and own money. The days of jumping when she glanced in his direction were gone. A good son was not the same as a good servant and it was time she began to respect him. The only way that was going to happen was if he began to make his own decisions.

"My lord?" a voice asked, pulling him back to the present.

Philip blinked once and smiled at the butler. "Please have a boy ready, I have a quick message to send. Thank you, Franklin." Turning around, he returned to his study and pulled a clean sheet of paper from his writing desk. With a sharpened quill, he jotted a note to Louis at the club. If anyone could recommend a good, stylish designer, it was him.

Sometime during the night, tossing and turning in bed, Philip made his decision. He was miserable and with no improvement in sight except for this brass ring being brought on a carriage in four days' time. If he didn't grab it, it and everything it represented would be lost forever. Until that morning though, there was much to be taken care of. Fueled by a new sense of urgency and confidence in himself and his abilities, Philip began to put everything in order. Taking a note card from his desk, he penned a simple message to Michael, asking for the address of the country home.

Four hours later, a dark gray card arrived, simply stating the address: no salutation, no closing, just the address.

The next step was informing his mother. Despite his request, she had dropped by unannounced twice since that day and Philip had been unavailable one day and only had a few spare minutes the next time. As she left after each visit, he reiterated the need to send word, knowing it was falling on deaf ears.

As usual, they returned to his home after church on Sunday for supper and he felt that would be the perfect time to tell her he was going away.

Half way through the cold fish course, he said, "A good friend of mine, Captain Michael Preston …"

"Philip, dear," his mother said, interrupting, "have you had a moment to spare on behalf of your sister? You promised to think about possible suitable matches for her. With Easter fast approaching, I need to know which families to invite to your Easter brunch."

Ignoring the question, Philip turned to his sister. "Julia, you seemed very friendly with Frederick Howard when we were skating with his family, correct?"

Julia smiled. "Yes. I like him very much." Glancing at their mother, she added, "At least from what I've seen."

Waving her hand, their mother said firmly, "I've already told you, dear, that your brother will find someone more suitable for you than that boy."

"I'm going to be visiting a friend at his new country estate for a few weeks," Philip said without preamble. "He's just purchasing it and needs someone to help him evaluate the land, the set up, needs and overall property. Since our home is similar, I told him I'd be happy to help."

"Oh, how nice," Julia said quietly. "It would be so nice to be out of the city. I get sick of the slush and dirty snow."

The Dowager Countess starred at him for a long moment before sighing and putting down her fork. "Really, Phillip, I simply can't believe you and your selfishness. What are you sister and I to do without you in town? It's bad enough that we're forced to live in our own home, but now you won't even be in town. Why do you have to go gallivanting around like a boy in the country when you have responsibilities here?" She dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief for a long moment before continuing, "I guess we should also retire to the country. It's improper for us to continue to live here alone. What sort of friend could be more important than the responsibilities of your family? I'm surprised that the sheer impropriety of what you're suggesting I do doesn't shock you, that you would allow your sister and me to sink to such levels of disgrace."

"It's not improper, Mother," Philip protested. "You are the Dowager Countess of Devonshire living in the family home you shared with your husband, with my permission. There's nothing improper about it at all. The Dowager Duchess of Lancaster lives alone and so does …"

"That's their business," she shot back. "Plus, Lancaster doesn't have a son who is supposed to be leading the family. The title passed to her brother-in-law and one wouldn't expect the same sort of courtesy and care from him that would be expected if she had a son." Turning to her daughter, she said, "I'm sorry, Julia, but I don't think we have a choice but to also leave the city. Maybe Henrietta will allow us back once they're married, or at least you, so you can enjoy the fall season. I can stay in the country out of everyone's way."

Julia shrugged, "That's fine. I'm quite happy back in the country."

"Mother," Philip started and then stopped himself, knowing that nothing short of changing his mind would make her understand. Picking up his fork again, he nodded. "I'll make arrangements then for your house to be closed next week and my carriage to take you to the country estate. Shall we say next Friday?" Spearing a bite of salmon, he smiled. "This fish is excellent, don't you think?"

His mother stared at him for a long moment before beginning to eat.

Across the table from him, Julia smiled, taking a bite of her own fish. "Yes, excellent."

After supper as he helped his sister into her cloak, their mother still maintaining her silence, he said quietly, "If you would like, I'll be happy to tell Howard your plans. If he's so inclined, he can pass them along to his son. I can also start discussing a contract between the two of you. Maybe a fall wedding next year?"

Julia smiled at him. "I'd like that very much, Philip." Leaning up, she kissed him quickly on his cheek. "Thank you and don't let mother get to you. You're the best brother."

Watching the carriage pull away, Philip felt himself suddenly shiver. His mother was furious with him, there was no doubt. Not only had he disappointed her, he had also betrayed what she saw as their unspoken agreement that she would continue to be the head of the family and control his life. Her wishes would outweigh his and if there was a conflict, her way would win without doubt or discussion. Suddenly, that was no longer the case and he had called her bluff. She threatened to have to leave the city and instead of changing his plans as he would have a month ago, he had agreed with her – the last thing she wanted.

Back in his study, he penned a brief note to the major domo of his mother's home instructing the man to begin preparations to close the house the following week and for the Dowager House to be reopened for her arrival. If the Dowager Countess had questions, which she shouldn't since it had already been discussed, she should see him. He paused, quill hovering over the paper, before scratching out a postscript that a bonus should be paid to himself and all the servants if the work was completed in time. Signing his full title and name in bold letters, Philip left no room for questioning who was now in charge.

The next few days were filled with last minute notes, instructions and correspondence to settle various matters. A note to the Jamaica estates informed the managers he would be there in July to oversee and address the problems personally. Even though Henrietta had hinted boldly that Italy was her hoped for post-wedding trip, she would have to be satisfied with the islands. She would be their Countess by then and it was only proper she be familiar with the island properties as well.

It wasn't until the last night that fear and doubt once again crept into his mind. Several trunks were packed, ready for the additional cart that Michael would send, and Hutchinson had been informed that he would not be traveling with his master. A bonus had given him enough money to leave in a week to visit his own family for an extended vacation as well. Hutchinson was surprised, but grateful for the unexpected break.

Now, as he lay awake, the tendrils of What Ifs began to slowly creep into Philip's mind. What if Michael changed his mind? What if he didn't send the carriage? What if they were together for a week and the magic was lost? What if he was doing a highly irresponsible thing and bankrupted his family, taking down all the families that depended on him? What if June came and he found himself unable to bear the pain of losing what they shared? The thoughts ran through his mind all night until dawn finally broke and he slipped out of bed as one of the footmen came in to stoke the fire.

"Traveling clothes, my lord?" Hutchinson asked an hour later. "The weather is evil this morning."

"Yes," Philip said in a quiet voice, allowing the other man to dress him in plain dark tan slacks and a black woolen jacket. A heavy cloak would be added to keep the bitter wind and snow away from him. Coupled with carriage blankets and the heat boxes, it should be warm enough.

"The Dowager Countess has sent another note," Hutchinson said. "The messenger is waiting for a reply in the kitchen."

"Put the note with the other two," Philip said coolly, "and send him away with our thanks."

"No reply, my lord?"

"That is my reply," Philip said.

At 8:58, Philip heard a carriage clatter to the curb, the horses' hooves clicking on the cobblestones, and a small tendril of fear dissolved. Pushing aside his chair too quickly, he stood up, suddenly afraid of waiting too long and the carriage leaving without him. Giving a nod to the footman opening the door for him, he smiled as he saw the carriage curtain twitch slightly.

One of the carriage attendants stepped down and opened the door, bowing low. "My lord."

Giving the man a nod, Philip stepped up and, taking a deep breath, ducked inside.

Across the small aisle, Michael smiled at him, but said nothing as the door was shut and the carriage pulled away. As they turned off the side street, he held out his hand. "I believe you belong over here, Philip." The words were simple, straightforward and firm, allowing no room for argument.

Philip smiled, standing up in a crouch and stepping forward.

As soon as Philip had taken the first step, Michael reached out and pulled him down onto his lap, settling them both into the corner of the bench. Leaning over, Michael kissed him deeply, tongue plunging in as his hands began to roam down Philip's back, moaning softly as Philip's hands came up and began to unbutton his vest. "Philip," he breathed between kisses. "Oh god …"

"Shh," Philip ordered softly. "Don't talk, just …." The rest of his words were cut off as Michael kissed him again. Squirming, unwilling to break their connection for the slightest moment, Philip jerked at Michael's vest and at his shirt, bringing it free from his trousers.

Michael laughed, capturing the exploring hands running across his waist and tickling him. "Wait, wait, we have all the time we need. Let's see if we can possibly do this without ripping clothes." Giving Philip another quick kiss, he patted his leg, urging him to stand up. "Take these off," he said with a smile, patting his butt. He smiled again as he shucked off the already half-off vest.

"What sort of man do you think I am," Philip asked in mock horror, "to be stripping in a carriage in the middle of London?"

"Do it or I'll cut them off," Michael said with a grin, toeing off his own shoes.

Philip smiled. "Cut them off with what, Captain Preston? Are you telling me that you came to this happy reunion armed?"

"Oh, my dear little earl, I have no problem using my teeth if I have to."

Philip laughed, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. "I guess I'm that sort of man after all." Sitting back down on the opposite bench, he quickly began to strip.

"Much better," Michael said, eying Philip's now bare legs.

Philip smiled at him, nodding even as he kicked his hose and trousers into the corner. "What about you? Am I to be at a disadvantage here?" He eyed Michael for a moment before dropping to his knees in the cramped space. "Or maybe you'd like some help?" Their eyes meet for a brief moment before Philip blushed deeply, dropping his gaze to Michael's crotch. Taking a deep breath, he slowly began to unbutton the side flap.

"Philip…" Michael began, "you don't …."

"I want to," Philip said in a quiet voice as he brushed aside the material. "When you pleasured me this way, it was the most amazing gift and experience. Never … No one …" His voice faltered as the swollen cock came fully into view.

Reaching down, Michael stroked his hair. "Whatever you do, Philip, will be an amazing gift to me. Receiving your note earlier made me too afraid to hope and then seeing you come out the door is enough for today."

"No, I want to do this," Philip said, taking another deep breath and bending his head, gently nudging at the cock with his lips.

Keeping his hand resting gently on the other man's head, Michael stroked his hair, urging Philip on while making sure he didn't accidently pull his sleek hair. "God," Michael breathed, as half his cock disappeared under a broad sweep of Philip's tongue. "Yes, please, like that."

Philip braced himself against Michael's knees, the bumping of the carriage keeping him slightly off balance as he tried to concentrate. Pulling back, he glanced up at Michael and smiled. Michael's eyes were closed and there was a thin sheen of sweat across his upper lip. "Do you like this?" Philip asked softly.

"Oh yes," Michael said, "very much so."

Philip smiled. "Good, I wasn't sure if I was doing it right."

"You're doing it exactly right."

Taking a deep breath, Philip opened his mouth, bending low before taking Michael's cock half into his mouth, sucking hard. The carriage bounced, causing him to slip into Michael. Michael's entire cock pushed into Philip's mouth. Jerking back, Philip coughed, choking slightly as his gag reflex kicked in.

Michael sat up, holding him firmly. "It's OK. You're fine." Holding his arms firmly, he tugged Philip up and resettled him onto the bench, stroking his hair. "Take a deep breath," he ordered gently.

"Oh my god, Michael, I'm so sorry," Philip said, still coughing slightly as his eyes watered. His face flushed bright red as he tried to squirm away.

Michael laughed, shaking his head. "It's fine. We have all the time in the world."

Feeling his face still flushing red, Philip shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Michael said, reaching over and pulling him close. "It's hard."

Despite himself, at Michael's words, Philip laughed, glancing down at the still exposed cock. "Yeah, you're right."

Michael laughed out loud. "Yes, it is."

Philip took a deep breath. "Shall I try again? I want to if you're patient enough for me."

Leaning over, Michael kissed him quickly but deeply. "I'd love for you to try again, my dear little earl."

Philip nodded, slipping back onto the cramped floor. His self-consciousness had been replaced with a feeling of happiness, the tension gone from the situation as Michael still chuckled on the seat above him. Glancing up, Philip shot him a stern look. "Hush, I have to concentrate. I don't want to bite something I shouldn't."

"No, we don't want that," Michael laughed, closing his legs.

With an evil grin, Philip confidently pushed them apart again and settled between them. "Then you should hold still and let me concentrate on my work." His words and actions were more confident than he actually felt, but the ease with which Michael had handled his other mistake reassured him that nothing bad would happen.

Allowing his legs to be pushed apart, Michael leaned back, one hand once again stroking Philip's hair, the other used to brace himself on the seat as his cock stirred to life again.

"We're here," Michael said two hours later, kissing a dozing Philip curled up next to him.

Sitting fully up, Philip yawned, shivering slightly. The warming boxes had cooled and the inside of the carriage was now chilly to his bare legs. "I guess I should get dressed." Glancing down at Michael, he added, "You, too."

Michael reached out and stroked his bare thigh, the remains of his own semen dry on the skin, "Or I could get dressed and carry you bare assed over my shoulder as I storm into the house like an old Viking with his treasure. Toss you onto the hearth rug and plow you multiple times, making you call me master."

With a shake of his head, Philip moved over to the other bench and reached for his clothes. "You've given this too much thought, Michael." Slipping on his hose, he continued, "I think this little trip will be scandalous enough without any bare asses, Vikings or rug plowing."

Michael laughed. "Well, I intend for there to be many, many bare asses."

"Or at least two," Philip countered with a smile.

Laughing, Michael pulled back the carriage curtains to glance outside again, just in time to see the house come into view. He turned back to Philip, who was just doing up his pants buttons, and reached out his hand. "Philip," he said softly, seriously.

Philip looked up and saw the seriousness in Michael's eyes and smiled, taking hold of his outstretched hand. "Yes?"

"Thank you for coming out this morning," Michael said. "I don't say this easily, I'm not a great poet and will never be able to write you a sonnet, but I wanted to let you know how much it meant to me, how much fun I have with you …" His voice faltered for a moment as he swallowed. "I think we complement each other and I can't imagine how I was lucky enough to have found such a perfect match."

Philip smiled and squeezed his hand, suddenly embarrassed. "Michael .." he started.

"No, no," Michael said, waving his hand. "Let's not. I just wanted you to know." Turning back to the window he said suddenly, "Oh good, they've already re-rocked the drive."

Throwing on his cloak and pulling it tight against the winter's chill, Philip moved closer so he could also look out the same window. "It's such a beautiful house," he said as the large stone building came into clear view at the end of the drive. Without looking at Michael, he reached out his hand and captured Michael's, bringing it to his lips and kissing it gently before squeezing it again. As he watched the house come closer, he held the hand tightly, resting it between them.

A small group of servants, fifteen at the most, were lined up along the drive by the steps leading to the house by the time the carriage stopped in front, all watching curiously as their new master stepped down. Mr. Richardson, the major domo they had meet several weeks ago, stepped forward and bowed. His black suit was crisp and new, clearly his best, with a dark gray and green vest. "Welcome home, Captain Preston," he said with a bow. "Holly Green is proud to once again be occupied by such a distinguished family."

Michael gave a very short bow back toward the other man. "Thank you, Richardson." Motioning to Philip, who had just stepped onto the driveway, he continued, "I trust you remember my friend and consultant, Philip Ashton, Earl of Devonshire. He'll be staying here with me to help settle the house."

The older servant bowed lower, "Lord Devonshire, it's our pleasure."

"Richardson," Philip said with a short bow of his head.

"Please make your introductions," Michael said, starting his walk past the servants, who all bowed or curtsied as their positions were announced by the major domo.

Following at a discreet distance behind the other two men, Philip gave the occasional detached nod if a servant glanced in his direction. He eyed them, noting that all were wearing dark gray and white with touches of green instead of the traditional black. "Is the staff new?" he asked out loud as they came to the end of the review, before catching himself. It really wasn't his business, he decided silently a moment later, but he felt pleased when Michael smiled at him.

Richardson bowed, saying, "Yes, sir. Of the fifteen that are present, nine are new to the household. There are still six positions to fill in the house." Turning slightly so he included both men in the discussion, he continued, "The use you intend for the property, the staff you'll bring with you, Captain Preston, and of course your own staffing wishes, will determine how many of those positions need to be filled."

Michael nodded. "Yes, and staffing needs are something that Lord Devonshire and myself will be evaluating over the next month. This looks like an excellent start, thank you." Turning and stepping back so he could see everyone, he studied the staff, looking at each of them for a moment before saying in a loud clear voice, "Thank you for your warm welcome and for the display of family colors – the dark gray for the deep waters we sail and the green for the tropics where we're from. My family and I are all English men and women by birth, but have not lived in your fair country for a long time and thus you may find some of our requirements unusual and our way of running a household different from the previous homes you served. You may address me as Captain Preston. Mr. Richardson is in charge of the house and all questions and issues should be brought to his attention. If warranted, he will bring them to my attention. It should go without saying that my business and my family's business that is conducted in the house should stay in the house. Discretion is paramount and idle gossip will find you turned out without references." He smiled. "But based on Mr. Richardson's reports over the last two weeks, I do not anticipate any problems. New house rules will be posted within the week for your review. You will find that I am a firm master, but a very fair one, and I look forward to your service for many years to come."

Richardson bowed. "Thank you, Captain Preston, we look forward to serving you and your family." Giving a nod to the servants to dismiss them, he gestured with his hand toward the steps. "May I have the honor of escorting you through the house?"

Two hours later, Philip leaned back in one of the soft high backed chairs flanking the study’s fireplace and sipped at his warmed cider. "It's a beautiful house," he said after several minutes. "You've made an excellent decision."

Looking up from the inventory list he was examining, Michael smiled. "It is, isn't it? There are some things that need updating, some repairs of course, but the bones are certainly sound." He glanced around the parlor. "Like a good ship, the bones are the important things. Outdated furniture and a few loose timbers can be repaired."

"Richardson is a godsend. A house without a good major domo is chaos, no matter how good the owner is. The staff simply need one of their own to serve as go-between and to keep them in shape in day to day matters."

"Yes, he is," Michael agreed, turning back to the papers. "I came down two weeks ago, bluntly explained the situation to him and discussed staffing needs."

Philip sipped at his drink again, stretching his feet out toward the fire. "What situation?" he asked casually.

"Oh, about you and I," Michael said in a casual voice. Looking up as Philip began to cough, he reached over and slapped his back gently several times. "Don't choke on me now."

"What exactly do you mean when you say 'you and I'?" Philip's voice was still rough from coughing and he glared at him. "Damnation, Michael. What does he, and now the entire staff and probably half the county, now know?"

Michael laughed. "Philip, calm yourself. I wasn't going to spend the next few months with you here creeping around like thieves. We'll be discreet, of course, keep separate bedrooms, but you know as well as I do that there's no way to hide this situation. I felt it was better to be honest with the man and find out now if he was going to have an issue so he could be sacked. Servants talk when there's a mystery, if things are out in the open at least to some degree, it takes the gossip away." Putting down the papers, he sat forward in his chair, leaning close to Philip. "In addition, I was able to stress the need for discreet staff, those from outside the county, those who had worked in houses where discretion was valued."

"All servants gossip," Philip countered, remembering how many times his mother knew what was going on in his house as well as he did.

Michael shrugged. "No, not all. Those that began service in Catholic or Jewish households, for example, have learned the value of discretion. They are being offered excellent wages and will find that I run a very fair household. They will value that much more than passing time with the local butcher gossiping about the family."

Philip was silent, reluctant to admit that he had a point. "I don't like you telling anyone about us," he said quietly. "That's private."

Holding out his hand, Michael said in an equally quiet voice, "Come here, my dear little earl. Come sit with me and let's discuss it." Sitting back into his chair, he motioned with his hand again. "Come on, Philip. The door is shut and we won't be disturbed."

Reluctantly standing up, Philip held out his hand and allowed himself to be pulled onto Michael's lap. Squirming slightly, he settled himself against his chest and sighed as hands came up around his waist and held him close. "Are you sure the door is closed?"

"I shut it myself," Michael said quietly. "As I told Richardson, one of the household rules to be passed along immediately is that a closed door means that we are not to be disturbed under penalty of immediate sacking." Squeezing gently, he said, "No one will see anything, Philip."

Philip was silent for a long time, simply content to sit there in the warm and safe embrace, feeling Michael's breath on his neck. "This feels good," he said, "but I still don't like you telling anyone about us."

Kissing his neck, Michael said, "I won't apologize for doing what I feel was right, Philip. One thing you will need to learn about me is that I make decisions and do what I feel is in the best interest of everyone involved. I don't make decisions based on committee vote."

"I expect to be told though," Philip countered firmly, "when it involves me. If it involves me, it's my business as well."

"But I had agreed to no contact during these last two weeks," Michael said. "How would you have reacted if I had contacted you and asked permission?"

"I would have said no!"

Michael laughed. "I know you would have, but now that it's done and you're here, you see that we're both welcome here – no pitchforks and torches to greet us. As the weeks go by, I bet you'll admit that I was right."

Philip stayed stubbornly quiet, refusing to admit that Michael had a point. He would have immediately refused the idea, refused to even discuss such an idea, but now that the information was out and there was nothing for him to do about it, it was no longer an issue. It was done and nothing to worry about. "I want to be told when you do things that involve me, Michael," he repeated after a long moment. "I'm not your wife; I'm not your property." His voice was serious as he shifted, moving so he could look at Michael. "You might be right, I'm probably glad you told them, but I have a right to know."

"You know now," Michael countered.

Philip held his gaze. "Michael." His voice was soft, but firm. "I respect your right to make decisions and this isn't about that. This is about you being forthcoming with me. I don't like finding things out like this. It makes me worried about what else I'm going to find out about randomly when you decide to tell me."

Michael had the good manners to drop his gaze for a moment before looking back up. "You'll see I'm right, though."

"I'm sure I will, but that doesn't change things."

"I have to be able to react though, Philip. I can't – won't – go running off to you to ask permission every time I make a decision. If we're going to be together, there will be times when I make decisions without consulting you that will affect both of us." Michael's voice was firm as he held his ground. "If we're going to be together, you will have to accept that I'm the head of this household, the captain of this ship. My word is law as much to you as it would be if you were my wife or servant. A house can only have one master."

Jerking away, Philip stood up. "I am not your wife. I'm not some simpering woman ready to roll over and let you do whatever you want in exchange for being given an allowance and a home."

"No," Michael said, reaching out to pull Philip back even as he danced away, "I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh really? Then exactly how did you mean it?"

Michael shrugged slightly. "I don't know, but not like that. I was just thinking that …" His voice trailed off as he struggled for the right words. "I just meant that since I …"

Philip glared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. "Since you pictured me rolling over, spread out under you with you fucking away, that I would be the woman in this relationship? You've all but said so, Michael. Even though I told you I wasn't interested, you've ignored me because you've seen it as your right. That's exactly how you see me." His voice rose in anger as he balled his fists, arms and back tensed for a fight.

Standing up, Michael glared at him. "That's not true at all. Stop putting words in my mouth and stop acting like an injured, put upon virgin. No one has threatened your well defended inner sanctum and who's to say I'm even interested?" Even as the words were out of his mouth, he could see the look of disbelief on Philip's face. "All right," he said, correcting himself. "I do want to lay with you and take you, but not as a woman. I don't see you like that at all."

"Then don't treat me like that," Philip countered. "I'm not your property, I'm not some delicate flower to be protected from harsh news or from making a judgment or being told the truth. I'm a very capable man who deserves to be treated with the same respect you demand for yourself." Standing there, he waited for a moment for a response, but Michael remained silent. "Damnation," Philip muttered, turning and walking out of the room. Walking quickly up the main stairwell, he found his bedroom, which they had toured earlier. It was one of the two master bedrooms, each a mirror image of the other. They were connected via a common sitting room that was only accessible via the bedrooms and of course via the servants' passage that ran along some of the outside walls.

His trunks had been opened, but were still waiting to be completely unpacked. They had arrived on a separate wagon and the servants were still busy unpacking everything. Someone though had thoughtfully started fires in both his bedroom and sitting room's fireplaces and both rooms were comfortable warm. Standing in the middle of the room, Philip stared unseeing into the distance, replaying the fight with Michael and planning his next move. He had no desire to go back to his townhouse, having to explain why he had returned after ordering the house closed for a month. Worse, he had no desire to face his mother's wrath. She would be still be furious over his decision to send her back to the country. Sinking onto the lid of one of his still closed trunks, he stared into the fire. A knock on the servants' door jerked him from his thoughts and he glanced at the door, waiting for it to open. When it didn't, he remembered Michael's orders. "Come," he called out.

The door opened, admitting a young maid, who curtsied immediately. "Excuse me, my lord, the fire," she said quietly, nodding in its direction.

Gracing her with a brief smile, Philip said, "It's fine. Thank you."

"Yes my lord," she said, curtsying again and backing out of the room.

As she closed the door, he turned back toward the fire. Several minutes later, a knock came from the bedroom's door. Ignoring it, Philip continued to study the fire. The knocking resumed a moment later, setting his teeth on edge. Walking to the door, he jerked it open, expecting to see a footman or another maid with crossed signals checking the fire. "Oh," he said, as he saw Michael standing there. Making a face, he asked, "Why didn't you just come in? It's your home and you certainly don't have to ask my permission." Turning, he walked back into the room, resuming his earlier seat on the trunk.

"I'm sorry," Michael said from the doorway. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you immediately about my decision to let Richardson know that you were …" His voice faltered as he tried to find the word. "That our relationship was that of a couple. It was wrong and I'm sorry." When Philip didn't say anything, he continued, still standing in the doorway. "I'm used to simply doing, to making decisions, that's what I've done with others for the past several years. Edward was my only lover to insist that …" His voice faltered again, causing Philip to look at him. "Even though Edward accepted my authority over him, we were both equals. He wouldn't have it any other way. I forgot that part of being in a relationship after so many years of not being in one."

"That's a rather important part to forget," Philip countered, twisting on his seat to face the other man fully.

"I know and I'm sorry."

Philip looked at him for a long moment. "Why are you still standing in the doorway?"

Michael smiled. "Because you haven't invited me in. You're not my property and I can't simply demand things of you." Pausing for a minute, he added, "It won't happen again."

"It better not." Glancing back into the fire, Philip sat for a long minute, replaying Michael's words before slowly turning back to the doorway. Smiling a bit, he held out his hand. "Come."

Moving slowly, Michael came into the room, settling onto the trunk lid next to Philip. He picked up one of Philip's hands and kissed it. "Thank you."

Philip smiled. "Don't repeat past errors. I'm not so forgiving the second time." Giving a small laugh as his hand was kissed again, he tried to jerk it away. "That tickles."

"I'd like to do more than tickle you," Michael said softly, glancing behind them at one of the sofas in the room. "Did you notice what I had put in my bedroom?"

Thinking for a moment, Philip shook his head. "No, what?"

Michael leaned closer, whispering, "The blue silk chaise longue I saw when we were here last time together. I told you I couldn't wait to see you laid out on it. It's been the main feature in my dreams these last two weeks."

Holding perfectly still, Philip smiled. "I wouldn't have thought you lacked for imagination, sir. The same dream for two weeks …"

"It's a very, very good dream."

Philip swallowed, breaking the mood first and pulling back with a cough. He glanced out the windows on either side of the fireplace and suddenly stood up. "It's too beautiful a day to waste inside. Our tour of the gardens was cut short during our last visit. Let's finish it now."

Michael laughed, standing up. "All right my dear little earl. Let's go for a walk while the sun is out." Reaching out, he pulled Philip close, kissing him hard as his tongue briefly swept inside, claiming the other's mouth as his own. "Once the sun is gone, you're mine." He laughed as Philip shivered in his arms, dropping a hand and caressing his wool covered butt. "All mine."

"But the sun is still out, Captain Preston," Philip said softly, as he reluctantly pulled free. Walking over to the fireplace, he pulled a silken cord.

A moment later a knock sounded at the servants' entrance.

"Come," Philip said, sparing Michael a quick smile. "Captain Preston and I are going out into the gardens. Would you please have our cloaks fetched and warmed for us."

The young maid dropped a small curtsy, murmuring, "Yes, my lord."

"What shall we do in the meantime?" Michael asked, moving closer slowly as a smile spread across his lips. "There's much to be said for stolen moments."

Philip smiled, moving closer. "Yes, there is." He leaned in and kissed Michael quickly before jerking away with a laugh, dancing back so that he was out of reach. "There's also much to be said for patience and denial." Opening the door to his own bedroom, he asked, "Did you have anything special put in my bedroom or are all the best pieces for yours?"

Navigating the two clothes trunks opened in the bedroom, Michael followed Philip inside the spacious room. It was done in cream and dark navy, a large, dark wood bed dominating the far wall. "This was cream and yellow," he said. "I had it redone for you. I didn't think you'd like large cabbage roses."