by Tinnean
He came to an abrupt halt. “I. Beg. Your. Pardon? If I recall correctly, there was a good deal of passion in that hotel room.”
Interesting. He took objection to that, but not to my threat to kill him. “There was, but would there have been if I’d been a woman?”
“I see what you mean.”
“I knew you were smart.” I paused at a pew that didn’t have too many occupants. “I have to remain at the reception until the bride and groom slip away, but if you’re…interested…I’m sure I can persuade Portia to leave early.”
“I might be interested.” He touched his upper lip with the tip of his tongue. “However, if I recall correctly, you promised me dinner the last time we met, but then you never fed me. Ask me again after dessert.”
“Count on it.” I winked at him and strolled back up the aisle to escort an older couple waiting to be taken to a pew. A quick glance over my shoulder spotted his gaze glued to my ass. I turned before he realized he’d been caught out, and smiled at the couple. “Friends of the bride or the groom?”
* * * *
The wedding party—twelve bridesmaids, twelve groomsmen, a flower girl and ring bearer, and matron of honor and best man—preceded the bride. We parted just outside the altar rail and turned to face the rear of the cathedral. The organist began pounding out Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March,” and Father and Portia started the walk down the aisle toward Nigel.
I’d never been particularly affected by weddings, but this one…
My sister looked like an angel in a gown of white lace and peau de soie, covered with Swarovski crystals. When they reached the altar, Father raised her veil, kissed her cheek, and put her hand into Nigel’s.
And the service began.
* * * *
Portia was taking a break while Nigel danced with his stepmother.
“Mrs. Mann looks like she’s taken a bite out of a lemon,” I murmured as I reached for an orange from a bowl of fruit on the bridal table and tore at the peel.
“That’s because she’s dancing with Nigel rather than Addison. Nigel’s not her favorite person.”
“It’s a pity you chose to marry into that family.” I broke off a wedge of the fruit and handed it to her, along with a napkin to catch the juice.
“I chose to marry Nigel. His family can go hang.”
“Portia!” But I was biting back laughter.
“Don’t pretend you’re shocked. Mr. Mann is bending Father’s ear—which frankly, is nothing more than Father deserves—and you saw what Addison was capable of at the bachelor party.”
“Nigel told you about that?”
“Of course. He’d never keep anything from me.”
Nigel’s stepbrother was an ass who’d made a disparaging remark about women in general and Portia in particular, but before Nigel could do anything, Tony had loomed over Addison, literally scaring the piss out of him.
Addison had whined for his stepbrother to get Tony away from him, and Nigel had, but only after the little twerp had apologized to him as Portia’s fiancé and us, her brothers, for that crass, misogynistic remark.
“I think you might have been better off marrying Rivenhall.”
“Ludovic? Why on earth would you think that?”
“He’s a good man—”
“He is. He’s also what you might call a lifelong bachelor.”
“—and so is his family.” That brought me up short. She realized he was gay? And then I was saddened. I might be content not to marry, but he should have the option if he so chose.
“May I again remind you that I wouldn’t be marrying his family?”
“Would you do me a favor?”
“Anything except leave Nigel.”
“I’m not Tony.” Our oldest brother wanted nothing more than that, in spite of the fact that he’d engineered the entire affair, of course with the aid of our father. Our sister made a beautiful bride, but both she and her new husband were so contained it was hard to believe this was anything more than a marriage of convenience.
“Never mind. What’s the favor?”
“Leave soon.”
“You’re actually pushing me to run away with Nigel?”
I looked across the dance floor at Ludovic, and she must have seen the direction my gaze had taken.
“Ah. You know you don’t have to wait for us to leave.” She pinched my chin.
“Come dance with me.” I took her hand and led her to the dance floor. Nigel was dancing with Mother now, while Ludovic danced with Nigel’s stepmother.
I looked down into Portia’s face. She was gazing at Nigel.
In spite of Father’s plans, in spite of how it might appear to an outside observer, she was in love with him. And a glance at Nigel, who was gazing across the dance floor at my sister, revealed if he didn’t feel the same, he was doing a damned good imitation of it.
“You’re overdoing it, little sister,” I murmured in her ear.
“Overdoing what?”
“Anyone looking at you would think you were head over heels in love with the man.”
“Isn’t that the point? After all, we’ve just exchanged vows.”
“Yes, but you’re supposed to be his cover.”
She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling in amusement. “And aren’t I doing an excellent job of it?”
Before I could come up with a response to that, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I paused.
“Change partners, Jefferson?” Nigel murmured. The orchestra had suddenly switched from “All Through the Night” to “It Had to Be You.” Portia’s face lit up.
“I don’t know why anyone tries to dance with you, Portia,” I said as I released her and let her step into her husband’s arms. “None of us ever gets to finish!”
“Never mind. Dance with Mother,” she murmured over her shoulder, and the pair began to glide over the dance floor.
And more than one pair of eyes observed them.
* * * *
“I’m pleased your sister married someone like Nigel Mann,” Mother said.
“He’s a cold fish.”
“He has hidden fire.”
“Well, he’s not supposed to. Father will probably try to have the marriage annulled.”
“He won’t if he…” She murmured something about San Francisco.
“Excuse me?”
She shook her head. “I think young Rivenhall is trying to get your attention. The poor boy is too polite to tell Ada she’s stuffed full of wild blueberry muffins.”
“Excuse me?”
“Dance me over to your father. I believe he needs rescuing from Algernon Mann.”
* * * *
Father excused himself from Mr. Mann and began dancing with Mother, leaving me with Mr. Mann.
Before I could escape, he grabbed my arm and demanded, “What’s Kennedy doing, trying to put a man in space?”
Just a month earlier, Scott Carpenter had orbited the planet three times in the Aurora space capsule, and that was a year after the president had announced the goal of putting a man on the moon within the decade. Mr. Mann glared at me as if I, personally, had convinced the president that we needed to get into the space race.
“If the good Lord had wanted us to go to the moon—”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what he thought the good Lord would have intended. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mann, but that isn’t my area of expertise. Excuse me, please.”
I strode off, but not before I heard him mutter, “Rude puppy!”
Meanwhile, Portia must have said something to Nigel, because one minute they were fox-trotting across the dance floor, and the next they were gone.
I went to the table that held what was left of the wedding cake and picked up two plates and a couple of forks. Then I crossed the room to where Ludovic was chatting with Allison Palmer, one of Portia’s Tau Zeta Epsilon sisters and her matron of honor, and Bryan.
I gave Bryan a look which he correctly interpreted as Get lost, and he swallowed a grin and turned t
o Allison. “May I have this dance?”
“Let me just see if Clarkson…” Allison looked around for her husband, and frowned when she spotted him with the daughter of one of Mother’s society friends. “Thank you, Bryan, I’d love to dance with you.”
He took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
“Trouble in paradise?” Ludo asked.
“Allison’s husband has a wandering eye, and the younger the object, the better.”
“Then he’s a fool. I found Mrs. Palmer a lovely, intelligent woman.”
“She is. For a time I thought Bryan might be in love with her, but she’s married and he won’t poach.”
“Do you really think he’s in love with her? I didn’t get that impression.”
I shrugged and gave him a saucy grin. “I really don’t want to talk about my brother.” I handed him one of the plates. “Dessert.”
“Thank you.”
“And if you’ll look around, you’ll notice Portia and Nigel are gone.”
“They are, aren’t they?”
“Would you like coffee or tea?”
“I prefer tea. I am British, you know.”
“I noticed that.” I grinned at him again. “Guard my cake. I’ll be right back.”
“Actually…” He set the plate aside and rose. “I’ve already had dessert.”
“Angel eyes?”
“I think now I’d like to have you.”
The last time we’d been together, I’d had the pleasure of burying myself in his hot, snug, velvety channel. If he wanted to return the favor, I had no quarrel with that.
I couldn’t grab his hand and haul him out of the room, much as I might want to. Instead we strolled out of the room, giving the impression of being together, but not really together.
* * * *
And you thought Richard was good? I grinned into my pillow as I sprawled face down on the bed in my apartment, while Ludo sprawled on top of me, his cock still buried in my ass.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked as he nuzzled the spot where neck and shoulder joined.
“Not in the—” My phone ringing interrupted what I’d been about to say. “Sorry, I have to get that.”
Richard would have complained, and I expected Ludo to object, in spite of the fact that he worked in government as well, but he simply dropped a kiss to the back of my neck and eased out of me.
I appreciated the care he took. It had been a few years since I’d been fucked, and as much as I’d enjoyed what Ludo did to me, I was a bit stretched. I’d be feeling him for a while.
I reached out an arm and picked up the receiver. “Sebring.”
“I have to say I’m surprised to catch you at home.” It was Hazelton. “I was sure you’d be dancing the night away.”
I had been, in a manner of speaking, but I didn’t tell him that. “Portia and Nigel are already on their way to Paris.”
“I’m sorry to call you in to work on your sister’s wedding day, but I have a job for you.”
“How soon do you need me in?”
“An hour ago would have been good.”
“It’ll take me about three quarters of an hour.” I glanced behind me at Ludo, catching him ogling my ass. He blushed a bit but grinned.
“Thanks,” Hazelton said. “I’ll explain the situation when you get to Langley. It’s…uh…not something that should be discussed over the phone.”
“I understand. I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes.”
“Thanks, Jeff. Bye.”
“So long, Steve.” I hung up. “Ludo, I’m sorry, I have to—”
“—go. I heard.” He came to me and brushed a kiss over my lips. I was surprised to see he was already dressed, his morning coat draped over his arm. “Let’s not wait for another year to go by before we do this again.”
He let himself out, and I swung my legs off the bed and sat staring at the door, touching my lips. I was surprised he’d kissed me, but then I realized it was nothing more than a brief farewell. It would have been nicer if it had been deeper, but…
I looked around my bedroom. My morning clothes were scattered all around. I left trousers, shirt, and underwear where they had fallen and hurried into the bathroom for a quick shower. It wouldn’t be smart to arrive at Langley smelling of sex and another man’s aftershave, although there would have been sly looks and pokes if my clothes smelled of perfume.
I didn’t have time to be concerned about busybodies who might be interested in my love life. I dried off, dressed, and caught a cab to Langley.
Chapter 7
Hazelton sent me to Turkey.
By the time I returned to DC, Ludo was back in London.
I intended to keep my promise to him, I truly did, going to London for my vacation later in the year, but once there, I discovered he’d been transferred to the British Embassy in DC.
Before I could bemoan my bad luck, I ran into Bart.
We spent the next week in bed.
* * * *
I called Ludo once I returned to DC, but he was busy.
He was busy with some character named Reginald Wright who also worked in the embassy.
Well…well…I was busy myself.
Mother had called shortly after I learned I’d been tossed aside like a used Kleenex, which might not be fair, but I was in a sour mood.
“Jefferson, I need you to do me a small favor.”
“Certainly, Mother. I’m not certain I’ll be available…”
“Mr. Hazelton has given you some personal time.”
Shit. “In that case, of course,” I said graciously. “What can I do for you?”
“Locke Sullivan is in town. He’s the son of Carolyn Sullivan,” she told me before I could ask who he was, and went on to explain, “Carolyn is on a number of committees with me.”
“And?”
“He’s at loose ends. I’d like you to keep him amused.”
“Is he gay?”
“As it happens, he is. However, he’s recovering from a breakup.”
“I’m supposed to be a rebound romance?”
“Hardly, Jefferson. Carolyn and I would simply like you to show him around the Capital.”
The more I thought of it, the more it struck me as a pretty good idea. “All right, Mother. Let me have his phone number, and I’ll give it a go.”
* * * *
I’d been seeing Locke on and off for a couple of months. I played the gentleman, not rushing him into a physical relationship, not even attempting to kiss him, and he seemed gratified by that.
I didn’t say anything, but when I’d get home after one of our dates, I’d sigh. Here was another one who preferred not to kiss. That led to me thinking of Ludo’s fleeting kiss, and I’d wind up jerking off.
And then we happened to run into Ludo and Reginald, and of course I should have expected it—DC wasn’t that large a town.
I’d taken Locke to the Anthony Wayne Centre for the Arts where the company was performing a revival of Our American Cousin to commemorate the one hundredth anniversary of Lincoln’s death. It was planned to run through the actual date of his assassination.
During the intermission I escorted him to the bar, and there were Ludo and Reginald.
“Hello, Jefferson. It’s been quite some time.”
“Ludo. It has.” Did that mean he’d missed me?
“I don’t believe you know Reginald Wright. Reginald, this is Jefferson Sebring. We’re old acquaintances.”
I didn’t challenge him, just introduced Locke, perhaps more warmly than I should have. “I’ll get this,” I said when the bartender approached us to get our orders, and I pulled out my wallet. “You’re still drinking Scotch and soda?”
“You remembered. How nice.”
“Now, Ludo, is it likely I’d forget anything about you?”
“You apparently forgot my telephone number,” he said so softly I was certain Reginald hadn’t heard him. I had the uneasy feeling Locke had, though.
“You
never answered.” I shrugged as if it was immaterial. “I thought you’d changed your mind about getting together.”
He stared into my eyes.
I stared into his eyes.
“Ludovic.” The impatience in Reginald’s voice was obvious.
Locke chuckled. “I thought there was a reason you never pushed for more than I was willing to give, Jefferson. Reginald, why don’t you switch seats with Jefferson and sit beside me. I always did have a thing for British men, you know.” He looped his arm in Reginald’s and winked at me, then smiled at Ludo and led Reginald back to the section where our seats were.
“Your Locke has let you off more easily than I would have.”
“He’s not mine, Ludo.”
“Hmm.”
“I missed you.”
“How could you have? You hardly know me. I think we’ve promised to meet again almost as many times as we’ve actually spent together.”
I gave him a slow, seductive grin. “In that case, why don’t we make this one more that we are together?”
“What did you intend?”
“A drink? Dessert?”
He shook his head but grinned back at me. “If I know you, I won’t have much time for either. Suppose we skip the play? We can always see it another time.”
“That works for me.”
“I believe the interval is over.”
“It is, isn’t it?” The bar was slowly clearing out as men and women linked arms and walked back into the theater. I handed Ludo his Scotch and soda, tapped my glass against his, and raised the Glenlivet to my lips.
It didn’t take long to finish our drinks. The alcohol was very good but the amount poured out was very little. Mother was on the committee that funded the Center. I’d have to mention it to her.
“Where did you want to go?” I asked Ludo.
“I believe it would be more discreet to go to your flat.”
I left a tip for the bartender and gestured toward the lobby. “I’m afraid we’ll have to take a cab.”
He slanted me a glance. “Had you planned to get drunk?”
“I’ll have you know I learned to hold my liquor before I enlisted in the army. I never get drunk.”
