Regency Rogues Box Set -- 4 Gay Historical Romance Stories in 1

by Ruby Moone

  “Well, I shan’t be making that mistake,” Harry said with a laugh.

  Charles gathered up the crockery and cutlery and put it on the tray to move everything out of the way.

  “Charlie likes order,” Harry said to Julian as Charlie put the tray outside the door and closed it.

  Charles turned to face them both. He didn’t know what to say. They both looked well fed and happy, despite Julian’s bruises. They boy’s eyes shone as he looked at Harry and in the warmth of the fire with a belly full of food Charlie was sure that they would survive. The fact of the matter was; they didn’t need him anymore.

  “I will pay for the rooms to be held for you for as long as you think you need them. For as long as it takes you to find work.” The words tumbled out. He vaguely registered Harry’s shocked face and he was fairly sure that Julian kicked Harry on the leg.

  “I should leave you now,” he said and nodded. He turned, but as he got to the door Harry was beside him.

  “Julian, I need to speak to Charlie,” he said and pulled the door open. “Your room.”

  Charles walked the short distance to his door and let Harry follow him in.

  “You can’t leave now,” Harry said, pacing the room and dragging his hands through his hair. “You can’t.”

  “I…why?”

  “Didn’t it mean anything to you?” Harry demanded. His eyes were a little wild.

  “Didn’t what…”

  “Us.” Harry pulled him close and kissed him. Kissed him hard and Charles sank into him with a groan and when those hard, wiry arms imprisoned him, Charles let go and kissed him back. He sank his fingers into his dark curls and ground himself against Harry. He moaned when Harry lifted him off his feet and pushed him against the door. And then they were rutting against each other frantically. Charles wrapped one leg around Harry, kissing him all the while, but within moments he had to drag his mouth away as he spent so hard it robbed him of breath and thought. Harry made a strangled sound, buried his face in Charles’ neck, and followed.

  They clung to each other as the waves subsided and then Charles moved to adjust himself in the rapidly cooling puddle of mess in his breeches.

  Harry stepped away an inch, but pressed their mouths together in a soft kiss. “I don’t want you to go,” Harry said against his mouth. “I don’t want you to leave.” He kissed him again.

  “I can’t stay forever,” Charles said.

  “I know, but you don’t have to return today. You could stay tonight. It’s Christmas. An angel shouldn’t be alone at Christmas.” Harry nuzzled his ear and Charles eyes drifted closed. “What if we need you to protect us again,” he said and kissed his neck.

  “I told you, I’m not that kind of angel.”

  “Well, you did a damned good job of protecting us today. We’d both be bound and gagged and headed for London were it not for you.” Harry’s voice had gone from cajoling to serious. Charles pulled back to look at him.

  “Charlie, I…I don’t want to lose you yet. Stay tonight? Please?” Those dark eyes locked with his and were filled with longing.

  “Very well. I’ll stay,” Charlie whispered.

  Harry leaned his forehead against his and, closing his eyes, sighed. “Thank you.”

  Charlie put his arms around him and held on tight. What were they to do? Were Harry a woman he would be begging for his hand. Rushing him back to his home to make him his forever. But Harry was a man.

  He was shocked to feel tears prick his eyes. It was so unfair. So damned unfair.

  Chapter 15

  Charlie stayed. Harry held him in his arms all night long. They didn’t make love because they decided that Julian should be in the room with them to keep him safe, so the three of them talked until the small hours, and then, when Julian fell asleep, Harry held Charlie tight. He seemed to like that. They held each other with an edge of desperation that went beyond passion, and when sunrise edged the darkness away Harry lay and watched it paint the room in pinks and oranges as Charlie lay sleeping. He didn’t want to move; didn’t want the moment to go. Didn’t want the day to begin because he knew it would take Charlie from him. Christmas was over.

  * * * *

  Eventually, Charlie stirred, his fair hair tickling Harry’s chest and his hand stroked his stomach, edging downwards. Harry smiled and caught it before it went any further and Charlie dragged his head up, blinking at him sleepily. Harry nodded to the truckle bed where Julian was snoring softly. Charlie smiled. Harry watched him yawn and stretch, then rub the sleep from his eyes. He wanted to absorb every moment. Charlie rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, flinging one arm above his head. Neither spoke. Harry put his hand on Charlie’s thigh, and Charlie put his hand over Harry’s. They simply lay together.

  When Julian awoke and asked if it was breakfast time, Harry jumped up and threw logs on the fire to warm the room. They had managed to keep it going through the night, but the remaining embers did nothing to ward off the morning chill. They huddled under blankets until the fire roared and the chill subsided and then Charlie went back to his own room, leaving Harry and Julian sitting side by side on the bed.

  “Is he really going?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “Did you tell him how you feel?”

  Harry thought for a moment and then pulled a face. “Well, I didn’t say it but I think I showed him.”

  “Did he say anything to you or did he just ‘show’ you, too?”

  Harry frowned. Was that what they had done? Shown each other rather than say the words? If that was the case…

  Before he could wrap his head around the notion any further the door burst open and Charlie came in. His hair was awry and his cravat undone. He slammed the door behind him and both Harry and Julian jumped.

  “Charlie…”

  “Hush.” He held up a hand. “Just listen.”

  Harry and Julian exchanged a glance.

  He opened his mouth and then closed it, planting his hands on his hips. He closed his eyes momentarily, sucked in a breath, and then let it go.

  “I looked into the matter and I would be able to rent you a house for six months. A year. However long it took you to find work and get on your feet.”

  Harry was taken aback. “Ah, thank you.” Charlie looked a little wild and most unlike himself.

  “I will see to your bills and make sure that you are safe.”

  “Charlie, I…”

  He cleared his throat and held up a hand. Clearly he had more to say. “I thought that it was important that you have a choice. A genuine choice.”

  “That’s…very kind.” Harry frowned. “A choice in what?”

  Charlie closed his eyes. “What to do. You can make a life for you and Julian here, in Scarborough or…or you can…”

  Harry’s heart was hammering. He didn’t dare hope. “Or what, Charlie?” he whispered.

  “I don’t want to leave you. I want you to consider coming back with me.” He said it as though he didn’t imagine for a moment that Harry would say yes.

  “My housekeeper has been trying to persuade me to employ someone, a secretary or something, to live in with me because she is firmly convinced I am incapable of looking after myself, so it would not be a surprise to her or her husband.” He spoke fast; without pause, and then stopped to draw breath. “At all.”

  He cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t really be my secretary but it would serve as a reason for your presence in my home and if we take Julian and say he is my ward then you can also be his tutor. Or something. Anything. You could be my cousin if you prefer.” He seemed to run out of breath completely because he slumped a little, leaving Harry and Julian staring at him.

  Harry’s chest constricted as what Charlie had just said in that mad rush started to sink in, but Charlie took another breath and carried on.

  “Just think about it, please.” He cleared his throat. “I know you have only known me a day, and I am not an easy man to live with, I know I am…fussy and�
�”

  “Yes.”

  Charlie stopped and stared. “What?”

  Harry was grinning now from ear to ear and Julian had his hands over his mouth. “I said, yes. Yes. What do you think, Julian?”

  Julian held tight to his mouth and nodded but tears dripped from his eyelashes.

  Charlie was staring. “Yes to which part?” he whispered.

  “I want to come with you.”

  Harry watched the words register with Charlie; watched the surprise and then joy fill his face and then he threw his arms around him and held him tight. They clung together a moment and then pulled apart to draw Julian in and then they were all laughing, crying, and talking at once.

  Epilogue

  The clock struck twelve and Charles touched his champagne glass to Harry’s with a clink. “Happy New Year,” he said.

  Harry grinned and snuggled closer, his naked body warm and sated. “Happy New Year, my angel.”

  Charles shook his head, but Harry reached over and put a finger over his lips. “Don’t say it. You are exactly the right kind of angel. My angel.”

  Charles smiled and nipped at the finger on his lips. The odd thing was he didn’t feel like an imposter now. He still grieved and mourned the loss of his family; his men, and the pain was still there, but it didn’t crush him anymore and make him feel like he should have died, too. If he had died, he wouldn’t have been there to save Harry and Julian. His family.

  The Darnleys had taken both Harry and Julian to their hearts, and Julian was recovering nicely with the mothering that he got from Mrs. Darnley, to say nothing of the food and fussing. Even his cat had taken to them both and could often be found curled in Harry’s lap. They had decided that the best tale would be that Harry and Julian’s parents had been killed, leaving them in difficult circumstances, and Charles, as a distant cousin, had given them a home. The Darnleys seemed quite happy with the explanation that Julian and Harry were family and Charles could see no reason for anyone else to doubt it.

  The only cloud on the horizon was Moseley and the possibility of him, or the man Harry referred to as Dante, returning for them, but Charles was ready for that.

  He turned his head so he could look at Harry. “I love you,” he said and watched Harry’s face flush and those beautiful dark eyes shine.

  He blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat. “I love you, too.”

  Charles nodded and smiled. That was the first time they had said it aloud to each other. It seemed the right thing to say in the first moments of a new day, of a new year.

  “I have one last confession,” Harry said leaning over to kiss him on the lips.

  “What?”

  “Harry Valentine isn’t my name.”

  Charles stared at him and laughed. “Well, what the hell is it? I can’t start calling you anything else, you are my Harry. Always will be.”

  Harry grimaced and kissed him again. “It’s Henry Wilson.”

  “Henry Wilson.” Charles tried the name but then shook his head.

  “I would be happy to keep Harry Valentine,” Harry said.

  “Then we will keep him.”

  Charles drained his glass and then reached over and took Harry’s out of his hand and placed them both carefully on the bedside.

  “Any more revelations?”

  Harry shook his head, his eyes darkening.

  “Come here then. I intend to start this year as I mean to go on.”

  Harry Valentine laughed and, rolling over, wrapped his angel tightly in those hard, wiry arms.

  THE END

  Trapped

  For Steve. Thank you for understanding.

  Chapter 1

  The lordling’s eyes were miserable again. Sam had been watching him for a while, quite unnoticed, and saw him pace the bedroom, run a hand around the back of his neck, and then pour two glasses of brandy. It was the good brandy, not the cheap shit they usually served in the club, which indicated just how important his client was. His client. Sam smiled a little. He was gorgeous. Young, probably only a year or two younger than his own four and twenty years, but smaller than he with a slight, elegant yet willowy build. After the first night that he had visited the club he had only ever wanted Sam and Sam had been more than happy to oblige. When the misery faded from those eyes there was something beautifully boyish about him. Charming, unspoiled, and quite, quite irresistible. He’d thought of him as The Boy for some time. He had no idea of his real name, and beneath those aristocratic clothes that probably cost more than he would earn in ten years, he was most certainly all man, but that elusive boyishness called to something lost within Sam. His heartbeat picked up and he swallowed before speaking and drawing attention to his presence. Today was important. Today was the day. He had spent the last couple of weeks planning his escape, his future, his new life. All he had to do was persuade his boy, his lordling with sadness in his eyes, that he was going to help him.

  “Henri,” the boy said with a smile. The misery lifted to be replaced with something warm for a moment. Henri was the name Sam used when working and the boy went by Maurice to protect his identity. He strode to where his boy stood, took his face in his hands, and kissed him. Hard. The boy moaned into his mouth and clung to his shoulders. Given the disparity in their sizes he sometimes worried about hurting him, but Maurice never complained. The kiss became bruising, and as usual, Sam was as hard as iron in moments. He could never really fathom the effect the boy had on him, but he liked it. He was the only client that made him so hard so fast. The only client he ached to be with. As he was visiting the brothel three times a week, he was with him a lot. Sam dragged his mouth away, but held the boy’s face in his hands. “Maurice, my beautiful Maurice.”

  He was beautiful, too. Fair skin, light blue eyes, and fair hair that, in candlelight, sometimes had an auburn cast to it. He looked ethereal. Ethereal. Sam liked that word and since he had heard it, and learned what it meant, he decided it embodied Maurice. Ethereal. Those light blue eyes were burning now. Wide, unblinking, flicking back and forth as he looked into Sam’s eyes.

  “Clothes off.” Sam used his commanding tone. The boy liked to be commanded, and tonight he needed him to be as compliant as usual, if not more compliant. “I think I will fuck you fully clothed today.” He knew the boy liked the feel of his rough clothes against his skin to begin with, but afterwards he loved nothing more than to lie on Sam’s naked chest and rub his face in the dark hair that grew there.

  Sam stood back as the boy peeled off his clothing and folded it. He was always tidy. He was clean, too, and in Sam’s profession that was definitely something to appreciate. His own size and weight usually meant that he was pulled for the men who liked to be mastered and rogered hard, but not many of them thought to present themselves clean, bathed, and fragrant like Maurice did. As the clothes came off, Sam could smell the soap from his skin. A waft of sandalwood and a hint of leather. He was slender, but surprisingly muscled when he took his clothes off. All lean and hard without a spare inch on him, and exactly how Sam liked his men. When Maurice finally stood naked before him, cock jutting and weeping, Sam wanted to kneel and take it into his mouth, but that wasn’t part of the game. Instead, he stood tall, shoulders back, unbuttoned the fall of his breeches and pulled out his own rock hard cock. He always returned the favour, and made sure he was clean and bathed, so he thrust his hips a little and rubbed himself. The boy’s mouth was open; his eyes riveted.

  “On your knees.”

  He dropped to his knees before him and looked up.

  Sam pushed out his cock towards him. “Suck me.” His breath caught when the boy’s cool, slim hands took hold of him, still shy even after all these weeks, caressed him gently, and then took him eagerly into his mouth. He was incredibly inexperienced. He still gagged if he got too much in, and tended to nibble and lick rather than giving a good hard suck, but it was wonderful and Sam loved it. Loved that tentative, shy touch that was somehow moving. After a moment he took the boy’s head in
one palm and started thrusting gently. Maurice had asked for this, paid for this, but Sam could never quite bring himself to do it hard. He thrust until the boy’s eyes watered and then pulled off.

  “Get up.”

  The boy stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “On the bed.”

  The boy scrambled up and Sam’s cock ached at the sight of him when he got onto all fours. His back curved and as Sam got up onto the bed behind him he ran his fingers down its length and enjoyed the shudder it elicited. He took the oil from the bedside and poured a little into his hands and rubbed them together. What he really wanted to do was kiss him again, lick him all over until he was a quivering mess, then suck him until he almost came but what the boy wanted was his cock, and the boy was paying. Sam teased his hole a little and watched him tense. He pushed and heard the boy gasp. He noted that his hands were bunched into fists, and his head hung a little low and wondered if there was anything amiss, but this was hardly the time to bring it up, so to speak. Instead he focused on pleasing him. He circled again and this time pushed harder until he got the entrance he sought. The boy moaned and pushed back so Sam plunged harder, swirling his finger around, opening him until he could add another finger and thrust deeper. The boy shouted aloud and Sam curled his fingers until he found his sweet spot and Maurice threw back his head and let out a long sobbing moan.

  “Hard.” He panted. “I need it hard tonight, Henri. Hard.”

  The boy was sweating and shaking. Sam got more of the oil and ran it all over his cock that still poked through his clothes, added more to the boy and then lined up. He hesitated; he was big and the boy was terribly tight.

  “Now, for God’s sake, now.” He was panting and pushing back, so Sam took hold of his shoulder and pushed in. The moans he had been making had been of pleasure, but the sound he was making now sounded more like pain so Sam paused and rocked a little to ease the way, then pressed in slowly until he was fully seated. He brought his legs up so that the boy would feel the roughness of his breeches and he grasped his hips so he would feel the edge of his coat and shirt. With a growl he withdrew, pushed back in, and when the sounds were of genuine pleasure he set up a deep, slow, rhythmic thrust that made him push back with sobbing breaths; then he fucked him as hard as he dared.