Chapter 15
Ambrose
Ambrose heard the door close and let out the breath he had been holding. Dear God, that had been intense. He stayed a moment longer in his bowed position remembering the sight of Daniel’s big, strong hand clutching at his very obviously erect penis through his trousers. For a moment, Ambrose had been convinced that Daniel was about to free it from the confines of his clothes and offer it to him. And if he had, dear Lord but he did not think he would have been capable of saying no.
His hand slid to his own straining erection. He gripped it tight and then forced himself to let go. Slowly, he came to his feet and walked to the door, leaning his forehead against it while he tried to bring that unruly part of his body under control. It was no good. His mind could not stop replaying the scene that had just taken place. In a frenzy of need, he unbuttoned his trousers and released his shaft from its confines. Spitting quickly into his palm, he began to stroke himself violently, emitting a soft groan when shortly after, he showered the wood floor with his seed.
He stood, leaned against the door, for what seemed an eternity, eyes unfocused as he slowly returned to his senses. Then, gazing in horror at the mess he had made, he set about cleaning himself up and the floor using a large handkerchief from his pocket. Once he was done, he returned to the desk and tidied up the papers, putting everything away neatly. Then, very quietly, he let himself out of Daniel’s study and made his way down the stairs. He smiled at Siddons with a calmness he did not feel, put on his coat and hat, then left Stanton Hall to return to his home.
Next morning, Ambrose woke from a troubled sleep feeling tired and fractious. His throat ached and his head throbbed. It was a Saturday, thankfully, which meant he did not have to go out to work. He dressed and came down to the breakfast table, where his sister sat, drinking a cup of tea. “Good morning,” Sarah said cheerfully. Then she took a good look at him. “Ambrose, did you not sleep well? You are looking rather haggard,” she said with concern knotting her brow.
“I am afraid not,” he said in a raspy voice. “Do pour me some of that hot tea, Sarah. My throat is parched.”
She did so quickly, and he took it from her with a grateful smile. “I am sure it is nothing,” he said after taking a refreshing sip. “However, I think I will spend a quiet day in today. Do you mind very much if I do not join you on your trip to Witney?”
“No, I think you had better stay home,” replied his sister with a frown. “I will stop by at the apothecary and buy you a throat remedy.”
“Do make my apologies to Mr and Mrs Phipps,” he told her. The village draper and his wife were always kind enough to make space in their carriage for them on their expeditions to nearby Witney. Ambrose remembered to ask Sarah if she could also shop for a birthday gift for Edwin to take with him when next he went to Oxford. “Oh and before I forget,” he added, “we are invited to luncheon at Stanton Hall tomorrow.”
“How lovely!” smiled Sarah, her enthusiasm for the invitation far greater than his. He did not quite know how he was to face Daniel again after yesterday’s antics.
A half-hour later, the Phipps carriage stopped by to pick up Sarah, on its way to town. Ambrose spent a quiet day alone, resting, reading and thinking about what had happened the previous day. On further reflection, he decided he had been at fault. He should not have risen to Daniel’s bait and dropped to his knees at his command. It would have been quite possible to have responded in a reasonable manner that such a command was beneath both of their dignities and left it at that. But instead of doing that, he had let the devil ride his back and provoked Daniel by brazenly following his improper order. When would he learn the lesson when it came to Daniel Stanton? It seemed he never could disobey the man when he was near him. But it was more imperative than ever that he remain on his guard.
Later that afternoon, Sarah returned, laden with her purchases. For Edwin, she had found a delightful zoetrope, which he hoped the boy would enjoy. No sooner did she arrive than she had Elsie prepare the remedy she had got for Ambrose from the apothecary, a distasteful herbal infusion which he drank obediently. It did help a little to soothe his throat which by now was on fire. He hoped the night would bring about a recovery in his health. It did not.
The following morning, a Sunday, he woke feeling even worse than the previous day. With an effort he dragged himself out of bed and dressed for church. He ignored Sarah’s protests that he should stay abed, drinking another fortifying if unpleasant brew of the herbal remedy. “I shall be very well,” he declared. “Stop fussing, Sarah.” Wrapping himself in a thick scarf, coat and hat, he managed the short walk to the church, and then also managed to endure the duration of the service—though he probably did not listen with his usual attention to his friend Benedict’s sermon.
Once the service was over, they were joined by Daniel and Isabella Stanton, who offered them a ride in the carriage, given that they were all going to Stanton Hall for their luncheon. Throughout the ride, Ambrose felt the weight of Daniel’s eyes on him, but he could not bring himself to meet that dark gaze. At Stanton Hall, they were ushered into the drawing room, where shortly after their arrival, Benedict and Grace Sedgwick were shown inside.
Ambrose tried to follow the conversation, smiling when appropriate, responding to simple enquiries, but otherwise not joining much in the conversation. Still, he felt those dark eyes on him. They adjourned to the dining table and were served an elaborate meal, though Ambrose ate little of it. Sweat gathered at his brow. Conversely, he felt a bone deep chill. Fever, he realised. The influenza. He took a fortifying breath as a sponge pudding was placed before him. He need only endure another half-hour of this at most, and then he could make his excuses and leave. With a hand that shook, he picked up the spoon and cut through the pudding on his plate. However, he could not bring himself to lift the spoon and bring it to his lips. He simply stared at it in dizzy confusion.
“That is enough!” said an angry voice across from him. “Ambrose, I am taking you home now. Siddons, fetch the carriage please.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He felt a hand at his shoulder. The same voice spoke, more gently this time. “Can you stand, Ambrose, if I help you?”
It was Daniel. And Sarah was there too, at his other side. “Mmm,” mumbled Ambrose. With an effort he tried to get to his feet. He felt Daniel and Sarah supporting his weight, assisting him to stand. He swayed, but a hand held him firm.
“I have you,” said Daniel’s voice. “Lean on me. It is but a short walk to the front door.”
Ambrose felt he should say something, apologise for the spectacle he was making of himself. “S-sorry,” he managed to say indistinctly.
“Do not apologise,” rasped Daniel. “You are sick, Ambrose, and we need to take you home.”
“Yes,” was all Ambrose could say. They made their painfully slow way to the door. With Sarah’s help, he was bundled into his coat, and then once more, he felt those strong hands supporting him as they negotiated the steps down. Each step felt like agony to his pounding head, but somehow, they made it to the waiting carriage below. Strong hands helped him inside. He supposed he should say some words of farewell. “Bye,” he slurred.
That voice again, this time with a hint of amusement. “No point saying goodbye, Ambrose, as I am coming with you. Here, lean on me.” It was with relief that Ambrose let his head loll sideways onto a wide shoulder. He breathed in the faint scent of tobacco and lemony cologne.
“Mmm,” he mumbled close to Daniel’s ear. “Smell nice.”
He felt Daniel’s shoulder shake briefly with laughter. “I am glad,” he whispered back.
Then the carriage was moving at a swift pace. The journey was not long, no more than two or three minutes at most. They came to a halt, and the carriage door sprung open. Ambrose heard Sarah’s familiar voice saying, “I shall go ahead and open the door.”
Then Daniel was once again helping him to stand and descend from the carriage. “That’s it, Ambrose. Lean on me. I have enough strength for the both of us,” he grunted reassuringly. Somehow, they made it into the house, then up the short flight of stairs. Daniel walked him to his bedchamber. Sarah was already there, turning down the bed covers.
“Thank you, Sarah,” he heard Daniel say. “I can take it from here. Is there a hot broth that you can prepare for him?”
“I shall go down now and have it made.”
“Thank you.” The door closed behind her, and he felt Daniel lead him towards the bed. With relief he collapsed onto it. “Woah, wait up, Ambrose,” came Daniel’s voice. “We need to get you out of these clothes first. Let us start with your shoes.” Hands tugged at his shoes, then pulled at his stockings. Once these were gone, he felt those hands untie the drawstrings of his trousers. “Can you lift yourself up a bit while I pull these off?”
Ambrose grunted a reply and lifted his hips a fraction. The trousers were quickly snatched away. “I will need you to sit up now, Ambrose, so that we may take off your coat,” said Daniel. Strong hands once again hauled him upright. He swayed but managed to stay sitting. The most beautiful dark eyes in the world crinkled up at him. “Good man,” Daniel said approvingly. “Let me take off your coat and jacket.” Swiftly, the coat was removed, then the jacket was unbuttoned and pulled off each arm. Hands came back to undo his necktie and the buttons of his shirt.
“I have dreamed of undressing you countless times, Ambrose, but I must confess it was never in such circumstances,” came Daniel’s amused voice.
Somehow, Ambrose mustered the power of speech. “Enjoy it while you can. Won’t happen again.”
The tinkle of Daniel’s laughter warmed his shivery body. The shirt was off. Now all he had on were his underthings. He hoped Daniel would have enough decency to stop there. It seemed he did, for his next question was, “Where is your night shirt?”
“Over there.” Ambrose pointed to a chest at the end of his bed. Daniel went to it and withdrew the night shirt, bringing it back to him.
As he pulled it over his head, Daniel murmured, “It is a shame to cover up such a lovely body.”
“Do not call me lovely,” Ambrose grumbled then added the thought that flitted through his woozy mind. “Do you think I have a handsome body?”
“You, my dear, are quite beautiful,” affirmed Daniel in a gruff voice. Ambrose’s arms were tucked into the shirt and then it was pulled down to his waist. He felt Daniel’s smile. “I will turn around now and give you privacy while you pull your underpants off. Then you can get under the covers.” With that, he turned and presented his back to him.
As quickly as he could, Ambrose removed his undergarments and tucked the nightshirt down to his knees. He swung his legs onto the bed and brought his weary head down to his pillow. Gentle hands tucked the covers around him. His eyes drooped closed, and he did not have the strength to open them again. Something cold and damp touched his brow. “You are hot to the touch,” spoke Daniel quietly. “We need to cool you down.”
Ambrose grunted an indistinct reply. There came a knock on the door, and he heard Sarah’s low voice. “Here is some broth for you, my love. Can you sit up just for a short while?”
Once more, Daniel’s strong hands helped him up. He leaned tiredly against the headboard of his bed but then began to sway again. “I will hold him up,” said Daniel. An arm came around his shoulder, helping him remain upright.
He heard the clatter of crockery as Sarah came to sit beside him, a small tray propped on the bed. “Open up, my love,” she instructed. With an effort, he opened his eyes and let her feed him the broth. When he had taken half of it, he bade her stop.
“No more,” he croaked.
She sighed. “Very well. Get some sleep now, my love.”
Daniel’s comforting arm moved from around him, and he felt its loss. He was helped back to a supine position on the bed and the covers tucked around him. He shivered. Daniel’s voice came again from somewhere on his left. “He needs to be sponged down regularly to keep his body from overheating.”
“Yes,” said Sarah. “Let me take this tray back down and I shall come straight back to do it.”
“No, Sarah,” said Daniel firmly. “I will stay with him for now. We can take it in turns until his fever breaks.”
Sarah hesitated. “Viscount Stanton, you have done enough already. We cannot impose.”
“Enough with the formality, Sarah,” growled Daniel irritably. “He is my friend, and I will help you care for him. Now you go rest and come back in a few hours.”
“Very well.” Ambrose felt Sarah kiss his clammy cheek. “I will go now, my love, but Daniel will stay and look out for you. I will be back soon. Get some sleep.”
Ambrose grunted, “Hmm.”
The door shut behind Sarah, and the cool cloth returned to his brow, his cheek, his neck. Ambrose forced his eyes open. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
“Shh, do not talk,” chided Daniel.
Ambrose ignored the instruction. “So, I am your friend now?” he enquired.
“Of course.” Then, he caught the whisper he was probably not meant to hear, “Much more than a friend.”
“Yes,” breathed Ambrose dazedly. With the comforting presence of someone who had come to be much more than a friend, he felt himself drift off to sleep.