Chapter Nine
“SIZE MATTERS TREMENDOUSLY , Mr Angel,” breezed Lando in response to his companion’s enquiry as to why a solitary person required such a large carriage. “No one enjoys a small glass of port, do they? I’m an earl! I have the ton ’s expectations to uphold! Not to mention my trunks and my…um…all my other trunks, and my Mr Pritchard, and my books and…and you.”
“You overlooked my single valise,” added Angel, eyes twinkling. He studied the assembled luggage, most of which would be trundled behind them in a second, equally fine carriage, under the watchful eye of Pritchard. “Have you secreted that delightful desk in one of them?”
Gadzooks. An obscene image filled Lando’s head. “No, sadly.”
“Pity,” replied Angel, still twinkling.
“Though I do have one remarkably similar at the townhouse,” remembered Lando. And a rosy heat climbed his cheeks.
Considering the generous dimensions of Lando’s carriage, he was at a loss to understand how Angel’s knee bumped his with increasing regularity. Since their meeting in the library, Angel had run a few errands, according to Inglis. One of them had been the acquisition of some more clothing for his sister from the modest tailor in Allenmouth. The man needed some himself if he was to accompany Lando in town, though his dark travelling coat suited him very well indeed. As did the midnight-blue ribbon—velvet again—holding his thick tresses in place. Until he’d made the acquaintance of Christopher Angel, Lando hadn’t previously appreciated a fondness for ribbons. Discreetly, he adjusted his lap rug.
“Anne left safely for Horton this morning,” Angel informed him. “I’m pleased to report she was in good spirits and looking forward to the trip.”
“Good.” Lando dragged his eyes away from the ribbon. “My own sister, in one of her endless pieces of correspondence, will no doubt keep me updated on her progress in unnecessary depth.”
The next occasion his companion’s knee brushed Lando’s, it remained there, the length of Angel’s firm thigh snugly pressed against his own.
“Warm enough, my lord?” Angel enquired, sharing his dimples with Lando for at least the fourth time since they’d left Rossingley, not that he was keeping score. With an innocent expression, Angel glanced down at the rug before turning his attention back to the countryside. “Thank heavens for thick woollen rugs.”
“Thank heavens indeed,” agreed Lando.
“Though, we are fortunate with the weather this morning,” observed Angel. “The last time I travelled by carriage to London, I was caught in a devil of a storm not far from—”
“You kissed me,” blurted Lando hotly. “After dinner. You plied me with strong liquor, then kissed me. I…I did not…request it.”
It may have been his imagination or merely a pothole, but Lando could have sworn Angel’s thigh nudged even closer.
“Neither did you object,” Angel pointed out in a mild tone. With a curious smile, he turned away from the carriage window, his gaze latching onto Lando’s. “Elms are so majestic at this time of year, don’t you think?”
“If you are trifling with me in order to convince me to assist you in bringing ruin upon Sir Ambrose, you need bother no more. I made my intentions in that regard quite clear.”
Lando nodded to himself. For his plans regarding Gartside to unfold without hiccups, it was necessary to clear the air; now they could both breathe more easily.
“Understood,” came the reply. “The trifling will cease.”
Relieved to have unburdened himself, Lando couldn’t help a twinge of disappointment. “That’s not quite what I meant,” he elucidated. “Your trifling is most satisfactory.” The hazy parts he could recall, anyhow.
Lando turned to his own window, and the carriage fell quiet, save for the clattering of the wheels and the squeak of leather. And if Angel’s thigh still happened to be squashed up against his own, then Lando would pretend to ignore it and—
“I’m trifling with you for reasons much more basic than that, I’m afraid, my lord,” Angel said in the same careless murmur he’d used to comment on the elms. His mouth darted closer to Lando’s shapely ear. “I want to get inside your drawers.”
In the shocked silence, Angel’s hand dropped to the rug and slid under it, his palm closing around Lando’s slim thigh. When he squeezed softly, all the breath left Lando’s throat. He fancied his heart stopped beating, too, and for a long, long second, Lando could only stare at Angel while the young man stared back, undressing him with his eyes.
“You…want to…” Lando trailed off.
“I do, yes. Terribly basic, I admit.”
Angel’s sinfully dark eyes dropped to Lando’s lips. The air in the carriage hung hot and heavy, as if the sun itself had descended upon them. The hand on his thigh moved a fraction higher as Angel’s calf rubbed up against his own.
“Coincidentally, I have…uh…some basic needs myself,” Lando managed and then lunged with a greedy surge, closing his lips around Angel’s. He kissed him, hard and hungrily, while Angel thoroughly, urgently, kissed him back. The blunt edges of his fingernails tangled in Lando’s hair, the hand on his thigh massaged his warm flesh. When the heel of Angel’s palm found the growing firmness at the front of Lando’s breeches, he let out a pained, choking sound.
“I confirm that you are, indeed, skilled with your hands,” he gasped.
As he pulled Lando closer, a low growl vibrated through Angel’s chest. “You have no idea.”
White bliss licked up Lando’s shaft. He thrust his hips upwards into Angel’s punishing touch in a manner not unlike how Angel’s tongue thrust into Lando’s mouth. On each upward stroke, Angel’s thumb circled the head of his prick through the fabric of his breeches. Lando whimpered, a sound that only spurred Angel on. A hot tingling at the base of his spine signalled the inevitable, and if the carriage hadn’t slowed, if the ear-splitting hooves of a fast-approaching stage hadn’t jolted Lando back to his senses, he might very well have spilled into his drawers, then and there. Which would have been hellishly embarrassing to explain to Pritchard later. But in the nick of time, as the stage thundered towards them, he jerked away, dishevelled, debauched, and a damned sight less composed than at the outset of the journey.
“Gadzooks.” Panting, Lando arranged his clothing as best he could, then let his head drop back against the carriage seat.
A mischievous smile spread across Angel’s face. “Any objections to my trifling now?”
“Gosh, no,” breathed Lando. “Trifle away. I adore a trifle. As long as you don’t frighten the horses.”
“Good.” Angel smoothed down his frock coat. “I’m glad you approve. I’ve had a dreadful need to kiss you since I first clapped eyes on you. Since you interviewed me in your parlour, dressed in that frivolous little grey silk robe.”
Two splashes of colour rose high on Lando’s cheekbones. He felt rather hot and out of puff. Yet again, this man had set his agile mind fumbling. “I…ah…yes. My staff are used to my little foibles. I apologise if it…offended you.”
Angel laughed loudly while his heavy-lidded eyes roamed Lando’s face as if undecided about which part to take a bite out of first. Under the scrutiny, Lando blushed even harder; as far as he was concerned, the man could take his pick.
“On the contrary, my lord,” Angel murmured, his eyes now tracing a line down to Lando’s throat. “The garment…intrigued me. So much so that I may need to examine it more closely.” He jerked his chin towards the rear of the carriage. “If it is not in one of those stupidly heavy trunks you insisted needed to travel with us, then your groom can jolly well turn this carriage around, and we’ll return to Rossingley to fetch it.”
The stage rattled past, stilling further conversation. Braving the elements and riding high above them, a footman and the groom relished a heated debate regarding the extraordinary discovery of a terribly distant place called Antarctica. Hidden inside the carriage, Mr Angel once more addressed his attentions to Lando. Cupping his smooth chin with a firm hand, he brought Lando’s soft mouth to precisely where he wanted it. As his tongue leisurely explored every warm crevice and his clever fingers toyed with Lando’s, Lando decided Mr Angel was far more intoxicating than any amount of claret and fine brandy. And kissing a handsome rogue for no other reason than to assuage his basic needs was a damned fine way to occupy oneself during a long and dull carriage journey.