Chapter 004 Percy
Of all the ways I had imagined finding Henry again.
Aroused.
Hard.
In the bath.
Not one of them.
I froze in the doorway.
Steam still rose from the water.
His dark eyes met mine.
Knowing.
No pretense possible.
Because of his skin, I could not tell if colour rose in his cheeks.
But I suspected it did.
He had always guarded his privacy.
Fiercely.
I remembered the day he learned of Caroline’s engagement to William.
The humiliation.
He had brought her home.
Intended her for himself.
She chose the heir.
The pale heir.
He fled the next morning.
Fifteen years gone.
That wound had never closed.
And now this.
His body answering to me.
Or perhaps not to me.
Perhaps simply to touch.
After months of nothing.
I held his gaze.
Run?
Or stay.
“How may I assist you?”
He exhaled.
Long.
“I cannot…” Another breath. “I cannot manage it myself. This hand—” He lifted his left, then let it fall. “Useless for the purpose.”
The disgust in his voice cut me.
He hated the weakness.
Always had.
Even as a boy.
“Ignore it, Percy. I apologise.”
“Shall I step outside?”
“No.” A sigh. “It would make no difference.”
He looked away.
Shame.
I saw it.
Felt it.
“Unless, my lord…” I hesitated. “Unless you would like me to—”
His head snapped back.
“What?”
I gestured toward the water.
Toward him.
Hard still.
Unabated.
“I could…relieve you.”
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“Oh.”
Silence stretched.
Then, on impulse, I reached in.
Found him.
Wrapped my hand around his cock.
Hot.
Thick.
He shuddered violently.
“Oh fuck. Yes.”
The words hissed between his teeth.
His eyes rolled back.
I held firm.
Stroked.
Slow at first.
Then steady.
The rhythm I knew well.
From others.
From myself.
His hips jerked.
Water sloshed.
His left hand gripped the tub’s edge.
Knuckles pale against dark skin.
I circled the head with my thumb.
He moaned.
Low.
Deep.
I needed this.
Needed him to feel good.
Needed to give him this.
Not for me.
For him.
“Percy…”
His body went rigid.
He pulsed.
Hot seed spilled into the water.
“Oh God.”
I held him through it.
Until he softened.
Until he stilled.
Only then did I release him.
The loss struck me.
Sharp.
Twenty years I had wanted this.
Since that night in the stables.
Fourteen years old.
Fumbling.
Innocent.
I had not understood then.
Later I did.
Sodomite.
The word tasted of rope.
Of transportation.
Of disgrace.
I had been careful.
So careful.
And now I had risked everything.
For him.
His eyes opened slowly.
“You are…very proficient.”
I swallowed.
“Was your lordship satisfied?”
He cleared his throat.
“Yes. I would call that…an enjoyable endeavour.”
Endeavour.
I nearly smiled.
“Men in the army…?”
“Of course.” He looked away. “The water grows cold. My hair—”
“I will add more hot.”
He submerged.
Water streamed down his face.
Neck.
Chest.
I wanted to follow it.
With my tongue.
Madness.
I helped him out.
Could not resist a glance.
Even soft, he was beautiful.
I dried him.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Dressed him for dinner.
The Marstons.
The Thortons.
He had tried to postpone.
Fortescue would not allow it.
They were bound for Scotland.
Needed welcoming before the roads worsened.
Why anyone chose Scotland in winter, I could not fathom.
But butlers knew best.
Always.
“You look handsome, my lord.”
He met my eyes.
“I am not daft, Percy. I can remember a dozen names.”
He glanced at his empty sleeve.
“This evening will not end well.”
“Cook will cut everything small. Allen will assist if needed.”
“I want you.”
My heart leapt.
“I know you do.”
“Percy.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“You had your hand around my cock not half an hour ago.”
I felt heat rise in my own face.
“Yes.”
“Then you may call me Henry.”
He took his cane.
Limped to the door.
As graceful as he could manage.
I went to the kitchen.
Snatched bread and cheese amid the bustle.
Cook shouted orders.
Footmen darted.
Nothing this grand since the old earl died.
William and Caroline had been in mourning.
Henry deserved the same grace.
But gossip travelled faster than decency.
He needed to be seen.
Capable.
The Marstons were the loudest voices in the county.
Lady Amaryllis Thorton the sharpest tongue for six parishes.
Necessary.
I returned upstairs.
Put the room to rights.
Sat.
Put my feet up.
Opened Pride and Prejudice.
The new one.
I had bought it in London.
For him, really.
But I read it first.
The wit.
The sisters.
So different from Shakespeare.
Yet sharp.
“Ridiculous.”
The door slammed.
Henry stormed in.
Cravat askew.
Jacket half off his injured arm.
Face thunderous.
Pain and fury.
I set the book aside.
Rushed to him.
Helped remove the jacket.
The cravat.
Vest.
Shoes.
Trousers.
His breathing came harsh.
Shoulders shook.
I feared he might faint.
“I shall be all right, Percy.”
The words grated out.
“I know, my lord.”
I hung the clothes.
Gave him space.
When I returned, the shaking had eased.
Still, I wanted to hold him.
Press against him.
Words failed me often.
Touch did not.
I helped him into nightshirt.
“I need to piss. Too much wine.”
I fetched the chamber pot.
Held it steady.
He managed.
Barely.
“Are you drunk? Did you say something unwise?”
“I restrained myself.” His mouth twisted. “I wanted to.”
He gestured to the bed.
I turned down the covers.
He climbed in.
Slowly.
Painfully.
“I’ll leave you to sleep—”
“I do not wish to be alone.”
I paused.
“If Miss Marston is unsuitable—”
He laughed.
Bitter.
“That is not what I meant.”
He held my gaze.
Then lifted the sheet.
Inviting.
I drew a breath.
And took the place beside him.