Chapter 7
Exeter settled on the pillow beside him. He slipped his hands under the cool side to cradle it up more comfortably. A rustle of paper ripped Virtue from his post-coital doze. His eyes popped open in alarm.
“You’ve been writing letters in bed?” Exeter asked.
Oh, damn.
Exeter, as ever, too curious for his own good, extracted a handful of rumpled, faintly crusted pamphlets from the makeshift hiding spot where they’d been stashed.
Virtue tried not to die. It was only of a minor comfort that at least he was going to die from shame in his own bed.
“My God,” Exeter choked, dissolving into laughter. “Is this your stash of French prints, Julian?”
“Absolutely not.” He lunged for them, but Exeter was quicker, holding them aloft in one hand while he flattened Virtue back down with the other.
There was no point tussling with a bigger man while he was still boneless from being ravished, so, Virtue allowed himself to be defeated.
It wasn’t as if Exeter didn’t already know he liked men.
Good lord, he’d not just ten minutes ago let him spend between his thighs.
A fact that was remarkably wonderous to him.
…But to be exposed as a fancier of the Fancy when they weren’t even his papers?
Well, his father hadn’t made him study the great generals of the world for nothing; a simpler change of tack would have to do.
“They’re scientific pamphlets on the diets and exercise of prize fighters,” he bristled.
Blast. He’d gone for sounding dull, but had choked the delivery and ended up sounding prim. Prim people always had something to hide.
“Of course.” Exeter gave an unconvinced hum as he flipped one over.
Its title proclaimed in jaunty block lettering that it was The Life of a Champion Prize fighter or a Modern Olympian.
Double blast! That had been one of the rather more pictorial publications.
It had done away with the loin clothes and fig leaves in pursuit of a more faithful representation of classical antiquity.
“Shall I expect to find between the pages? Am I going to be confronted by some buxom Nell Gwyn type selling oranges, and everything else, or Harriette Wilson with her cherry tarts on show?”
“Neither! But I’m glad to discover what your preferences are!”
“Harriette Wilson? Never!” Exeter rolled his eyes with exaggerated offence and thumbed open the pamphlet.
“Oh. It really is prize fighters. It’s men,” he noted with some surprise.
Turning on his side to read more comfortably, he freed Virtue from beneath him.
“Chiselled and sporting masculine specimens,” he quoted, his eyes agog at the crudely illustrative illustrations.
His face settled into wry amusement as he looked at Virtue.
“Yes, I can see why you find the—what does this fellow call it? Ah yes—the ‘Sweet Science of Bruising’ so appealing.”
“I don’t! At least not the bruising part, or whatever it was you just said. Not outside the sport. I’m not a masochist,” he said growing flustered enough to give up the game entirely. “It’s just their bodies. They’re quite nice. That’s what I liked.”
“Quite nice, he says.” Exeter’s face grew to be all white teeth and blue eyes, and Virtue could hardly bear to look at how perfect he was. Was it normal to feel this absurdly pleased at being teased by his friend? He flung his arm over his face so that Exeter could see only his smile.
“Fine. They’re very nice.”
Laughing, Exeter flopped on top of him, his head pleasantly heavy on Virtue’s chest.
“I think I’ll sleep like this, much comfier than a pillow stuffed with pornography.”
“It’s not—Oh, never mind.” Virtue hesitated. He wrapped his arms around him. When he wasn’t immediately shrugged off, he relaxed.
Exeter’s skin was still lightly tacky from exertion and he stank of sex…and Virtue would have been happy to live the rest of his life lying underneath him.
It was more than ‘very nice’.
Was he allowed to tell Exeter that? He should be, but the words were struggling to come.
Taking the liberty of holding him in his arms, their hearts beating against one another’s, would do for now.
It dawned on him that this was possibly the explanation for centuries worth of appalling poetry: the inability to speak what you wanted to a person resulting in utter drivel spilling forth when you were apart.
Eventually, Exeter shifted and tipped his face up to look at him. His eyes were sleepy beneath his heavy eyelashes. Eyelashes like a horse—that had been one of Virtue’s very first impressions of the man.
“Oh, Julian,” Exeter whispered all sleepy and wistful. “You like men. How did I not know you liked men?”
He’d always expected those words, when finally spoken aloud, to unnerve him…to wound him. The fear never came. In the safety of his own room, laying naked beneath his dearest friend, the weight of years of constant vigilance had drawn away from him like vapour in the sun.
Virtue boldly flicked his eyes back and forth between their naked bodies. “I rather thought I’d given that away already,” he answered dryly. A twitch of a smile threatened to break through his mock solemnity.
The heated look that Exeter gave him would have scorched his stockings off, if they weren’t already hanging somewhere over the bureau.
His earlier assumption had proven correct: Exeter was not valet material.
But he was clearly the material of all Virtue’s fantasies.
His mouth slackened as Exeter’s riding-calloused thumb toyed idly with Virtue’s nipple.
“No, I mean—I know now. But I hadn’t wanted to assume after we…” Exeter picked his words carefully as he continued. “It seems to me, it is possible for some men to enjoy the act enough that they don’t much care who it’s with. I hadn’t dared hope that you were drawn to men, well… beyond that.”
His hand slipped away but Virtue caught it and clasped it to his.
There’d been a bitterness there that Virtue did not like.
Not one bit. He ached to run his palm over the defensive jut of Exeter’s jaw, soothing whatever hurt he’d experienced away, but Virtue shied away from doing something that might appear too revealing.
If Exeter’s aforementioned ‘one or two from Oxford’ had been like that, they should count themselves lucky that he did not yet know their names.
And when he did, it was just a matter of time before they found themselves opposite him in the ring at Gentleman Jackson’s. No one used his friend carelessly.
People were not objects to extract pleasure from when it suited and to be forgotten when it was inconvenient. Who he shared himself with mattered. How could a man not care that it was George Exeter taking their prick in his mouth?
His righteous indignation faltered when he recalled Miss Maria Douglas, and her role as unwitting prize to be tussled over by two nitwits.
Lord, he’d behaved badly on that front. What a stroke of good fortune, that her affections were already engaged to a soldier.
If he’d had to go through with courting her, how he would have hated himself.
Worse still, as rumours of how he came by her would have eventually spread.
What a colossal shit he was. And how would Exeter ever forgive him?
“That doesn’t sound fun.” He sounded as bleak as he felt. “Anyone I know?”
“Not particularly and no.” Exeter shrugged it off with a laugh, slipping his hand free from Virtue’s, discarding his discomfort like a snake shedding its skin.
He did it so deftly, that all Virtue could wonder was how often his friend had needed to do that.
He’d spent the past four years studying Exeter, and in many ways, modelling himself on the man.
Exeter was unbothered yet polished. A charming man living a charmed life. Or so it had seemed.
“I suppose you didn’t know because I didn’t know. Not exactly. I’d assumed that because I can find a woman pretty, that well…if I admired a man, that there was nothing in it. But it’s always been something much, much more than that. I’ve tried for years…” Virtue’s throat dried up.
“Not to notice it?”
“Yes.” Now that hurt to speak aloud.
Exeter rubbed his muscled calf against Virtue’s. It was a pleasant distraction that anchored him to the room. The soft sprinkling of golden hair mussed against his own darker thighs. The thick curve of Exeter’s backside a pleasing distraction. Virtue’s prick fattened.
“It’s hard to pretend not to notice you when your arse looks like that.”
Exeter flashed him a smug grin and twitched his arse-cheeks.
Taking that for the invitation it was, Virtue let his hands slip lower to settle on Exeter’s arse in a proprietary manner.
He gave it a teasing squish, circling his thumb into the yielding flesh.
What he wouldn’t give to go to bed and wake up like this every day.
Exeter’s breath quickened and his golden limbs wrapped tighter around Virtue, his hand finding its prior resting place on Virtue’s chest. “Almost the same for me, but not quite,” Exeter admitted, a note of trepidation creeping into his usually languid tone.
“I’ve never spoken much of my engagement.
It was a sorry business, but she, Miss Fenwick, broke it off as she wanted to marry for love and…
well, I suppose if I could, so do I, but…
I’m only drawn to men, to be clear. Oh, don’t look so surprised. ”
“I can’t help it,” Virtue blurted, his mind racing ahead to conclusions. “Everyone sees you as…well, not a rake, but a gentlemanly lothario perhaps. I’ve always been green at how easily you make ladies fall for you.”
“Perhaps it’s easier when it doesn’t matter.”
Was it terribly crass to mention the name of the women they’d both allegedly been ready to pursue, while they were still recovering from riding each other to delirium and back? Possibly. But he needed to hear Exeter’s answer all the same.
“Then you’re not sad that Miss Douglas is engaged?”
Exeter propped his golden head up to stare inquisitively at him.
“Is she? I wasn’t aware. My happy felicitations to her…
and my sympathies to whatever poor fellow is unfortunate enough to acquire that ghastly bore as their brother by marriage.
One can only hope that the sixty thousand pounds makes up for keeping the company of that dullard every family dinner for the rest of their life. ”
Virtue’s pulse raced. “And the money, you’re not…you didn’t want it?”
“No. I don’t exactly need it, do I. Why are you smiling like that? — God, it’s not to you, is it?” He scrambled off Virtue, kneeling up on the bed, eyes suddenly wary, all intimacy dashed.
Virtue bolted upright, gathering Exeter’s hands to his despite the other man trying to pull them free.
“No, George, of course not! Listen to me! She’s engaged to someone from her parish.
A soldier. She’s never been available, despite what her mother put about.
” Lord, that wasn’t what he needed to say at all.
“All of that’s meaningless because I never wanted her.
And I’m hoping from what you’ve said that you didn’t want her either?
Not truly. I don’t know why we fell into that bet.
I was jealous at thought of you getting married.
I should say that I wished it had never happened, that it was badly done of me to make a prize of Miss Douglas, but I can’t lie that it hasn’t had its benefits.
I was utterly miserable that you’d gone to court her after you left me in the shop. ”
He worried his thumb against Exeter’s palm, willing things would come good and they could go back to cuddling. Horror dawned on Exeter’s face, only to harden into scorn.
“You thought I’d rushed off to pay a visit to a lady, when the man I’ve wanted for years had just turned my world on its axis, and made me spend my seed into his hand in a bloody tailor’s shop?
” His indignant tone gave way to embarrassment.
“I panicked. It was still running down my leg after I fastened my trousers. Believe me when I say, I was not of sound judgement when I left, just damned certain that I’d ruined it all—that you knew what I was and would hate me for it.
That if you actually liked the bloody woman, I’d really made a cock up out of it.
I was annoyed at myself for being so selfish and wanting to keep you.
I must have wandered for half the morning before I found my way home. But later, the more I thought about it, I grew certain you’d wanted that as much as I did.
You see, I’d always thought I could live a reasonably happy life.
Abstaining where I couldn’t be myself, which was most of the time, and indulging where I could, which was almost never.
Oh Julian, but then I met you, and the could and the couldn’t began to collapse.
I told myself that being your good friend was enough.
All those childish bets and dares were because I enjoyed your attention so much.
But sometimes I’d catch myself thinking that you admired me, in the same way that I admired you.
More than admired you. Adored you even. The shop was the first time that I hoped I might not be mad after all. ”
Exeter adored him? And had done so all along? It was like being flung off his horse, but instead of the cold, unforgiving ground rushing up to meet him, he’d landed in soft, warm hay. He was smiling so much his jaw ached.
“I did! I do adore you, you beautiful thing!”
He pressed quick kisses to the palms of Exeter’s hands.
“I’m yours. I always have been.”
Then Exeter had him on his back, kissing up his throat, his jaw and finally—sweet finally— his mouth.
“How much of an arse would I be, if I asked you to say that again.”
Virtue laughed euphorically. “I’m yours!” he shouted.
Exeter rested his forehead against Virtue’s temple. “How could we be such fools? We’ve wasted so much time. I’ll be damned if we waste any more.”
Virtue wrapped his arms around the strong back that had carried the weight of so many burdens.
“I’ll say! I’ve been so jealous.”
“I can’t deny that I’ve struggled with green eyed mosters of my own.” He laughed, happy lines forming round his eyes. “But now that I know exactly how much you like prize fighters, I’ll do my best.”
Virtue found himself flipped over and pinned under Exeter.
“Try to get out of that one then.”
He ineffectually struggled for a moment, then wrapped his legs round Exeter’s waist, locked his ankles and squeezed like a snake. “I think you’ll find you’re the one that’s trapped.” He leaned in for another maddening kiss.
A half-hour later, Virtue’s prick was already hardening again. The inevitable conclusion to having a naked Apollo for a bed mate.
“Interesting,” he said.
“What is?”
“You might have the bigger cock, but it looks like I recover quicker.”