Chapter 2
On the ride to St. James’s Square, where his brother maintained a house suitable for the Marquess of Chasterly’s heir, Edward had the distinct feeling of being a French aristocrat brought to the blade.
Horatio had a title — a courtesy title, Viscount Netherwallop — but hated it for obvious reasons. He’d made his feelings known from a young age, and Edward always suspected that his father didn’t grant any of his eight others to his eldest son out of avarice.
Within a cavernous and somewhat cold study, Horatio pretended to work behind a desk, ignoring Edward until he approached.
“Netherwallop,” said Edward, rather more loudly than called for.
Horatio froze, clearly summoning his customary hauteur like a dropped musical score after his brother threw him off balance. Then he took a pinch of snuff, inhaled it, and set eyes on his only sibling for the first time in over five years.
“Eddie. How kind of you to visit after all this time.”
Edward sank into the plush leather chair before the desk. The things he’d do for a chair like this. Might even fit behind his table at Rymer’s. He was examining the studwork on the arms when his brother spoke.
“They’re talking about you, you know.”
He continued to inspect the fine upholstery.
“They say you’re a stud. For money.”
The leather must have cost a fortune. It was buttery with no defects. Cradled his—
“So it’s true. You’re a slut for pay? The only solution to losing your allowance on account of your treasonous actions was to sell your cock to the highest bidder? Do you sell your arse too?”
The tanning was exemplary; had to have been done abroad.
“Do you have no thought of how this might reflect on your family?” asked Horatio, rising.
Edward had completed his inspection of the chair and shifted his gaze back to his brother, who had turned the color of freshly sliced beetroot.
Good. He deserved to rage himself into an apoplexy, given that he no doubt had a hand in the cancellation of Edward’s allowance, necessitating the breeding business.
Horatio scooped a handful of small coins and flung them at Edward. One struck his cheek, narrowly avoiding an eye. Edward stood, ready to end this farce. The options he was envisioning right now mostly involved blood or a cesspit drowning.
“Now you’re listening,” sneered Horatio. “I should have known that coin would get your attention.”
Edward’s vision grew dark at the edges, but he maintained his placid expression. He needed to pretend the whole thing was fun, akin to putting prize butterfly specimens in tea sandwiches and observing as visiting ladies screamed when encountering a crunch.
“Lovely chat, brother, but I must get back to sticking my cock in other men’s wives,” said Edward, rising to go.
“I’ve got a wife.”
This couldn’t be happening. He wanted to march right out of that study and skip back to his lodging house like a horse suddenly free of its bridle, but some part of him longed to know what had truly inspired this encounter after so many years of stony silence from his family.
“My congratulations on convincing an aristocrat’s daughter to accept your suit. Now, I must be on my way.”
“Wait!”
That pause was delicious. It was the exhortation of a man grappling with debasing himself before someone he believed to be lower than the Roman foundations of the city. If Edward squirmed with relish like a Thames eel with a scrap of bread within its sights, could anyone blame him?
Edward looked back, turning only halfway to show that he was mentally already out the door.
“You know that I have no heir, I am sure.”
Edward thought back to the announcements of births in the gazettes, two daughters after a marriage of five years. Horatio had no son, but he had an heir: Edward himself. Until his marriage produced a boy, the rumored traitor Dick Stone loomed large over the Chasterly marquessate.
“Having bred many babies myself, I’d be happy to offer some advice on swiving your wife,” said Edward, now determined to enjoy this encounter.
“You always were a right bastard,” said Horatio.
“You say that knowing I was, in fact, safely born within the confines of our parents’ marriage. Which currently makes me your heir. Meanwhile, you’ve no doubt scattered your seed like a drunken tenant farmer all about the kingdom.”
“As have you.”
“Yes, but you see, my children are all someone else’s legitimate issue.”
Netherwallop took a larger-than-advisable pinch of snuff this time and coughed when it proved too much for his pinched nostril.
“Careful now, wouldn’t want to have a fit and cause your younger brother to inherit,” said Edward.
“My babies have all been girls,” ground out Horatio.
“Yes, we established that. Two girls. Felicitations.”
“No, what I mean,” said Horatio, mopping his forehead, “is that all of my children have been girls. Legitimate and illegitimate issue alike.”
Well, that was most interesting. “Then you should come up with a lucky hand any day now,” said Edward, turning to go. “Just make sure you’re fucking your wife then, perhaps.”
Horatio seethed. “I can pay.”
“You can pay enough for me to fuck against my own interests?” asked Edward. Any boy he might put in his sister-in-law would supplant him in the line of succession and prevent him from ever having a chance in hell of returning to the well-cushioned life to which he’d been born. Preposterous!
“Should the child turn out to be a boy, I’ll guarantee an allowance for you. You’d live in style for the rest of your days, with none of the pesky demands of the marquessate. No balls, no standing up in Lords, no hearing tenant disputes.”
Edward mulled the offer over. Funny that his brother thought him averse to such tasks when actually working to eat had proved many times more tiresome than merely being rich and powerful. How the years since his return from the Continent had changed him.
“And I’ll pay for the servicing. No matter if I get my boy or not.”
Technically, the child would be Horatio’s because of the presumption of paternity under the common law. But he’d always know that his brother sired the lad. It would likely grate on him for the rest of his life. This proposal was becoming increasingly enticing.
Still, no amount of money could convince Edward to work against his own interests in such a monumental fashion. It would be absurd to accept. There was also a small legal issue that could cause them both a world of trouble.
“Say, under the law these days, isn’t fucking your brother’s wife considered inc—”
“Aren’t you in the professional criminal conversation business?” asked Horatio. “I’m not sure the law would approve of that.”
He turned to Horatio to tell him to go to the devil with his offer when his brother’s voice rang out.
“Send in Calista.”
This was the first time he’d heard his sister-in-law’s , a flowery one for what was no doubt a well-dowered, sour little thing. The Stones had a habit of marrying with an eye to status and wealth first and warmth last.
Rather sooner than he expected, the soft patter of slippers on carpet announced Horatio’s wife. Edward studied a hunting scene on the wall, trying to determine if one of Tencendor’s grandparents was depicted amongst the suffering stags.
“Calista, meet my brother.”
Edward turned and beheld an angel come to earth. She had dark hair, the darkest he’d ever seen before, all twisted into some elaborate hairstyle, with one fat curl resting on her shoulder tempting him to pull it to see if she’d giggle.
She wore a Grecian dress, simple as the day was long, and it highlighted the architectural perfection of her form. A lovely neck, soft arms, and a pillowy bosom.
Below arched eyebrows, which were a shade lighter than her hair, were eyes of an almost clear blue. A strong nose that marked this woman as not merely pretty but handsome. And lips full and stained, as though she’d just come from eating berry confiture.
Would her cunny taste sweet like preserves served at breakfast? He wanted to find out, and his cock surged with interest.
This angel dropped into a graceful curtsy, and he was not so mannerly as to resist a glance down the front of her dress when he bowed in return.
He’d never seen breasts like hers before, round and compact like something out of a Renaissance painting.
His fingertips contained a strange energy as he imagined touching her nipples, likely the crowning glory of such perfection.
“It’s an honor to meet you at last, brother,” she said. Her voice was a series of high, tinkling notes, as if she were playing an instrument. It went straight to his sack, that orchestra composed of bells tickling his balls.
“The honor is all mine,” he replied. Gesù, did he sound winded?
“I take it you’ll accept my offer?” asked Horatio, cutting in with a splash of cold water on the conflagration in his loins.
“I want it in writing,” said Edward, not trusting Netherwallop for a minute.
Calista excused herself to see to guests who had just arrived for morning calls, gliding out of the room.
“I wonder if the money is even necessary,” said Horatio, clearly apprised of his wife’s impact.
“Money is always necessary,” Edward fired back. “I am still a Stone, after all. Is she aware of your scheme?”
“She knows.”
“And does she consent?”
“She has her own contracts with ink already dry.”
“Seems a bad business,” said Edward, looking out the door, hoping to get a glimpse of Calista again.
“And our marriage was any better?” asked Horatio. “I have it on good authority that she wanted nothing to do with me from the start.” Beautiful and sensible to boot? Calista was a rare goddess.
Edward scratched his signature on both copies of the agreement and then waited for his brother to countersign. Netherwallop took out a penknife and sharpened the nib, just to draw things out, the coxcomb.
“Bit awkward, me fucking your wife while you’re down here or at the club,” said Edward as he watched Horatio sign.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Horatio, a sly smile curling his lips. “I mean to take my mistress sailing to Brighton and return only when there’s news of the quickening.”
“Still The Morning Star?”
“Of course. I’m not such a spendthrift as to acquire a new yacht simply because it has seen some service.”
An understated way of saying Horatio was too cheap to commission a less cramped, tired boat.
Both men stood, each taking a copy of the contract.
Horatio didn’t extend a hand or bow to his brother. It was as stiff as a business transaction after thorough negotiations, not the fraternal reunion one would have expected after so long. But then, much had happened since they last met. And the Stones were hard as, well, you know.
“Best of luck fucking my wife.”