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

by Ruby Moone

  “What’s that?” he shouted, launching himself off the bed, clutching his breeches, and peering up at the painting. There was a definite hole in the black of the woman’s dress. “Dear God, am I being spied on? What kind of establishment is this?”

  He buttoned his falls and dragged open the door. “Tolson?” he bellowed. “Tolson, get in here now and tell me what the hell is going on. I demand to know what is going on and why someone is fucking well watching me. Get in here now!”

  His acting skills were clearly superior to Sam’s as there was a mad scramble. A couple of young men he’d seen about before came running, and even a couple of the women who served the clientele. All of them making soothing sounds.

  One of the young men, a small dark-haired pixie grabbed his arm. “Oh, sir, we are at your service! Did Henri not suit tonight?” And then he was surrounded by apologetic servants until Tolson arrived to take control of the situation. The staff were dispersed, and Tristan allowed himself to be appeased. He decided against the offer of another prostitute, paid his customary tariff, and made as elegant an exit as possible given the fracas that had ensued. He made it outside and sucked in a lungful of night air before hailing a hackney, praying that Samuel would be waiting for him when he got to the house.

  Chapter 4

  Sam ran as fast as he could. He had left everything behind, not that he had much, but he didn’t dare waste a moment. He ran through the streets in the direction of Brook Street in Mayfair where Tristan lived. It was only on hearing his direction that he realised how wealthy his lover must be. Only the wealthiest of families lived in this area. When he arrived at the designated number he rushed up the steps and hammered on the door. It opened almost immediately and he was confronted by a sour faced lackey in a pristine, white wig, who stared down his nose at him.

  “I have an appointment with…” he realised he didn’t know Tristan’s surname. He took a punt. “His Lordship.”

  “His Lordship is not at home.” The man started closing the door and Samuel put a boot in the way and pushed back. “He told me to meet him here. He will be home shortly. I assure you.” He was hot, sweating, and breathing heavily. He could hardly blame the man for not wanting to admit him.

  “The tradesman’s entrance is around the back.”

  “Well, I’m not a tradesman so I will wait here. Let me in,” he said, determined to persist.

  “What in God’s name is going on?” A deep, cultured voice echoed down the hallway. The lackey stood back and Samuel peered around and saw the most dandyish looking fellow he had ever seen in his life. A good bit older than him, the man was thin, hawkish, and dressed almost entirely in black. His cravat and shirt points were almost to his ears, and a blue jewel glinted in the folds. He had fobs and seals dangling from a waistcoat that looked to be embroidered silver, and he raised his quizzing glass to his eye to observe Samuel with quelling hauteur.

  “Gad. What do we have here?”

  Samuel straightened. He towered over the tulip, so he took advantage of his height. “I am here to see his Lordship.”

  The man continued to observe him. He lifted his chin and those dark eyes pinned him. They were alarmingly intelligent. “And which lordship would that be? Hmm?”

  Christ. Sam’s mind raced along with his heartbeat. “I am here to see my very good friend, Tristan. He asked me to wait for him here as he has been delayed. Somewhat,” he added and nodded.

  The man raked him from head to foot with the bloody quizzing glass, making Sam feel small. Not many people could do that. He hoped this prancing ninny was a friend of Tristan’s. “You’d better come in and wait then,” he said, and turned tail.

  Stunned, Sam followed. The house was magnificent. It looked as though it had been freshly decorated and there was a gentle smell of beeswax and lemon with a hint of tobacco lingering in the air. His footsteps echoed on the floor, and portraits of ancestors frowned at him as he followed the man into a study. It was huge. In it, stood a large oak desk with a leather chair behind it. The walls were lined with hundreds of books, and a fire burned gently in the grate that was flanked by two comfortable looking chairs. The man indicated one. “Take a seat. Brandy?” he asked as he picked up a decanter and waved it.

  “Thank you. That would be most welcome.” Sam tried to remember his manners. He had been brought up well, but this was something different again. The room was decorated in shades of cream and dark red. It was warm, welcoming, and comforting. He could imagine Tristan in the room. He could imagine taking him on the thick rug that lay before the fireplace and had to stifle a smile. He took the glass that was handed to him and sipped. Even he could tell that this was brandy of the first order. None of the rank stuff they doled out at Dante’s. At the thought of the man Sam shuddered.

  “Are you cold?” enquired the man solicitously.

  Sam shook his head. They hadn’t been introduced, and as the man hadn’t offered an introduction, Sam felt that the disparity in social status meant that he couldn’t, so he sat quietly and ignored the amused smirk that was now plastered across the man’s silly, dandyish face.

  Before very long the sound of the outer door broke the silence and moments later Tristan burst into the room. “Samuel. Thank God.” He moved forward as though he would take his hands, so Sam jumped to his feet and moved so that Tristan would see the dandy. He did, and pulled up short.

  “Goodness, Alfie. What are you doing here?” he said. Sam was fairly certain he was trying for nonchalance, but he failed dismally.

  The dandy stood up with a devilish smile. “Tris, my love, at last. You simply must introduce us.”

  Sam watched the same realisation dawn on Tristan. He had no idea of his last name either, and the bloody dandy knew it.

  “Samuel Holloway,” he said, and stuck out a hand. The dandy eyed it as though it were a fish.

  Tristan’s eyes closed momentarily. “Mr Holloway, may I present my cousin, Lord Alfred Barrington? Alfred, Mr Samuel Holloway.”

  Lord Alfred presented a limp hand. Sam shook it but was surprised at the strength behind it. “Ah, I see what you were asking now when you asked which lord I was looking for.” He gave a decisive nod. “Lord Tristan.”

  The dandy rolled his eyes heavenward and Tristan looked uncomfortable. “Dear boy, he is Chiltern.” At Sam’s blank look the dandy sighed and gave him a quizzical look. “May I introduce my cousin, Tristan Sebastian Arthur Barrington, sixth Earl of Chiltern?”

  “Earl of Chiltern?” Sam echoed weakly.

  Tristan rubbed his eyes. “Alfie, be a dear and give us a moment?”

  The dandy’s eyes were dancing now. He stood and bowed deeply. “Of course, my dear, of course. Mr Holloway, it was an honour to make your acquaintance.”

  “Likewise,” muttered Sam, eyes still on Tristan. When the door closed, he got up and paced. “You’re a bloody earl?”

  “I’m a bloody earl,” Tristan said, and slumped into the chair the dandy had just vacated.

  * * * *

  Tristan’s heart was beating so hard he wondered if he might faint. Fainting seemed preferable to dealing with the situation he was faced with. As if his burdens were not already staggeringly heavy, he had just added a complication that could ruin the earldom, and get both of them hung. Not only that, he had waved his indiscretion in the face of his cousin, who was no doubt laughing up his sleeve at that very moment. But then he looked at Samuel. Standing there, tall, strong, dependable, desirable. His hair was awry, and his cravat wilted, but he was exactly what Tristan needed to see. He stood up, walked over to him and put his hands on his lapels for a moment, and stroked gently.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Samuel’s eyes closed momentarily as he shook his head. “No. You came in time. Mosely had me cornered but I got away.” He smiled, and tilted his head. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” Tristan hesitated a moment but then slid his arms around Samuel’s waist and melted into him when those hard, warm arms wrapped him tight.
There was nothing in the world that was better than being held by Samuel. They stood together for a few moments and then Tristan pulled away a little but remained within the circle of his arms.

  “Who is Mosely?” he asked.

  He felt Sam sigh. “Mosely is in charge when Dante is not here, and that is most of the time. He is a complete bastard.” Samuel’s arms tightened around him fractionally. “My cousin, Harry, escaped a few months ago. Mosely went after him, but came back with his tail between his legs and his arm in a sling. He’s had it in for me ever since.” Sam shook his head. “I am afraid he is simply biding his time before he goes after Harry again.”

  Tristan frowned. “Where is your cousin?”

  “He was headed for Scarborough but I don’t know if he made it. Mosely isn’t saying anything.”

  Tristan frowned. “That must be a worry.”

  Sam nodded.

  “Will you stay here with me tonight?”

  “Here?” Sam said, looking around. “In your home?”

  “In my home.” Tristan nodded. “Tomorrow I will show you the rooms I have secured for you only a few moments from here. You should be comfortable there.”

  “Rooms as in more than one room?”

  Tristan laughed. “Yes. You will have several rooms.”

  “Good Christ.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck and flushed.

  “We will make arrangements for the money to be paid that is owed to Dante. Perhaps you can contact someone from the club and arrange to repay him?”

  Sam looked incredulous. “So you will pay my debt, set me up in a room, beg pardon, rooms, and all you want in return is that you get to fuck me exclusively?”

  When put like that it sounded sordid and unpleasant. Tristan cleared his throat and chose his words carefully. “Whatever happens between us will be entirely voluntary on both parts. I am not paying for your…your body or your services; I am finding a way for you to live in safety. If part of that includes…being with me then I will be happy. More than happy. If you choose not to, then that will be your choice. It will not be a condition.”

  Sam stared at him, astounded. Tristan held his breath.

  “I will pay you back, every penny,” Sam said, and wrapped Tristan up again. “And I want as much of you as you are willing to give me.”

  Tristan’s eyes fluttered closed.

  * * * *

  Sam stood in the most beautiful bed chamber he had ever been in. Decorated in shades of blue and gold it was bigger than his mother’s entire house had been, and it had been a nice one. Deep, rich carpets, brocade curtains that could be pulled across the chill of the evening, a fire burning, and a bed that looked to be made of feathers with clean, white sheets beckoned. A bed warmer handle stuck out at the side so he knew when he got in the sheets would be warm and aired. He thought of Gareth, Iris, and Clara back at Dante’s in their cramped, cold rooms, and wished he could bring them with him. He dipped his fingers in the bowl of warm water that had been brought for him along with a fresh nightshirt. He wouldn’t be using that, he wanted nothing more than to feel the soft sheets against his naked skin. He undressed carefully and left the clothing outside the room as instructed. Apparently the servants would make them right for morning. He washed himself quickly and pulled the curtains at the windows back a little to let moonlight into the room. He returned to the bed, pulled the hot warmer out, and slid in between the sheets. He was right. It was truly wonderful. The bed was soft, warm, and fragrant. He closed his eyes and thought about Tristan and what the hell they were going to do next.

  * * * *

  Tristan slid into Samuel’s room when the household was quiet. The candle had gutted, but Samuel had left the curtains drawn back so moonlight flooded the room. He could see the outline of his body in the bed, hear the soft rhythm of his breathing that told him he was asleep. He drifted to the bed silently in bare feet and stood over him. His face was soft in repose. Gentle. Young. He reached out and caressed his cheek and traced a thumb over his mouth. He moved to leave but Samuel’s hand clamped his wrist, surprising him. Tristan looked down into his eyes that were dark in the moonlight, dark and filled with desire.

  “Stay.” It wasn’t a request.

  Tristan’s knees wobbled and his cock hardened.

  Samuel flung back the covers. He was naked and aroused. He lay back, displaying himself and Tristan’s breath caught in his throat.

  “Take off your nightshirt,” he said as he ran a hand over his cock.

  Tristan swallowed, hesitated a moment, and then pulled the garment over his head. He stood, waiting, heart pounding as Samuel’s gaze travelled over every inch of him. He found himself wishing he were tall and muscled like Samuel, or that he had chest hair. He always felt small by comparison, but even in the darkness he could see the appreciation in Samuel’s eyes, the aching need gathering there and that look, as always, made him feel wanted. He pushed back his shoulders and tugged his own cock and Sam actually licked his lips.

  “Get in here.” Samuel’s voice was a growl.

  Tristan let his fingers trail gently up Samuel’s naked leg, drift across his hips, avoiding the straining arousal, and then he crawled in, settling himself between Samuel’s legs so he could lean down and kiss him. He could feel his heart beat frantically against his own. Samuel kissed him back and then with one swift movement reversed their positions so he had Tristan pinned to the bed whilst he devoured his mouth.

  “Do we have oil,” he whispered between kisses.

  Tristan shook his head. He had only popped in to see if he was settled. “Spit will do,” he said, and captured Samuel’s mouth again.

  Samuel pushed his fingers in his mouth and brought them out wet. He immediately sought and found Tristan’s entrance, making him cry out softly, needing more, so much more. Samuel spit into his hand, lubricated his cock, and then pushed inside gently. Tristan squeezed his eyes shut and welcomed the pleasure along with the sting of pain that, as ever, made him feel whole and alive.

  Chapter 5

  “How long are you staying?” Tristan asked Alfie the following morning over kippers.

  Alfie put down his fork and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Am I in the way?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Dearest boy…” Alfie began, eyes serious for once, but before he could continue Samuel edged his way into the room.

  “Samuel,” Tristan said, eternally thankful for the interruption. “I trust you had a good night?”

  “Excellent, thank you.”

  “Do help yourself, we’re quite informal in the morning despite the surroundings,” he said, gesturing to the rather grandiose room. He watched Samuel load his plate with eggs and sausage, take a cup of coffee, and sit down opposite him, casting wary glances at Alfie. The footman left the room, leaving the three of them together. Tristan made a mental note to arrange more suitable clothing for Samuel. The clothes he wore screamed loudly that he was dreadfully out of place.

  “Will you be joining us for long?” Alfie said with a wolfish smile at Samuel, his eyes taking in his appearance. Tristan groaned inside.

  “No, I must be on my way this morning, but thank you both for your hospitality.”

  “Do you live close by?” Alfie asked sipping his coffee.

  Samuel pushed his food about his plate. “I do.”

  “Where?”

  Tristan watched Samuel stumble and jumped in. “My dear cousin, I have no idea why you would wish to interrogate our guest, but, if it pleases you, Samuel lives in rooms on Half Moon Street.” He raised his cup. “Satisfied?” He gave his cousin a pointed look. Alfie looked at Tristan, then at Samuel and then groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake, if you are going to carry on in public you need to be a damn sight more discreet.”

  “Carry on?”

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  Samuel and Tristan both spoke at once and Tristan could see that the furious blush on Samuel’s face clearly echoed his own flush of embarrassment.
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  “Well, let me look at the evidence. Tristan, my love, you have been in the dismals since your father passed away, God rest his soul. Then suddenly, you are out every other night, have a spring in your step, wince when you sit, arrive flustered hard on the heels of this runaway, and this morning, again, you can barely sit on the chair. Need I say more?”

  Tristan was certain that his face had turned the colour of a furnace. He felt as though he was blushing all over his body and that made him angry. “What are you saying? Out with it.”

  Samuel was on his feet. Tristan stared at him. He appeared quite calm, but something glinted in those unusual eyes. “I think you should stop right there.” His tone was hard and directed at Alfie. “I don’t think I have ever been quite so insulted, and that you should speak thus of your cousin is shocking.” Samuel dropped his napkin on the table. Tristan was open mouthed. Sam always spoke well, but now his diction was cut and precise.

  “Are you calling me out?” Alfie said, with infuriating condescension.

  Sam hesitated a moment, then smiled. “Perhaps I am.”

  “And this is exactly what I am talking about. You cannot go about defending his honour,” Alfie said, throwing his hands in the air.

  “Your cousin is the best man that I know, and yes, I am angry that you would besmirch his name, but I want satisfaction for your insult to me.”

  Tristan was horrified. “Enough, enough both of you. This is arrant nonsense. There will be no duelling,” he said to Samuel. “And I will thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.” He stared pointedly at Alfie. “Sit down, the pair of you.”

  Alfie rolled his eyes and dropped back into his chair. Samuel sat very properly in his.