Regency Relations Part 5 (of 8)

This is a story in eight parts, published in two parts per issue.

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Part 5

He woke alone the following morning. Aresborough had not come to his bedchamber at all last night. Fighting the bleakness which threatened suddenly to engulf him, Iphicles got up and dressed.

He had just dismissed his valet and was preparing to go downstairs for breakfast when the Duke strode in, only half-dressed. Aresborough’s face was dark with temper, and he didn’t bother to hide the annoyance which crossed it at finding Iphicles in his dressing room. He proceeded to ignore the Earl and undress himself.

Iphicles felt his own temper rise at the man’s behaviour. When the Duke continued to say nothing, or even to deign to look in Iphicles’ direction, it spilled over and found voice.

"What the devil do you think you're playing at, Aresborough?"

The Duke straightened from peeling off his breeches and his burning eyes met the Earl's. "Your meaning?"

"If you find my presence bothersome," Iphicles spat angrily, "I suggest you tell me so that I may remove myself."

The Duke's nostrils flared. "You will leave when I tell you, and not before."

Iphicles held those arrogant eyes for an instant longer before he turned and strode towards the door. Hell and the devil take it, but the man was conceited! He would find Morrison and tell him -

He got no further. A hand bit into his arm and swung him round to meet the Duke's furiously sparking eyes. Tearing his arm out of the man's grip, he knocked the hand to one side and glared at the Duke. He had no warning as Aresborough lunged at him, knocking him backwards to the floor, crashing on top of him in a way that drove the breath from his body, before a heavy blow split his lip. He fought back fiercely, trying to shift the man from above him, all science forgotten in his anger as he and the Duke wrestled for supremacy.

They came to an impasse, both breathing heavily, furious eyes holding. Then with a move so swift Iphicles had no time to avoid it, Aresborough's mouth descended on Iphicles', his tongue thrusting in, as his hands began to rip the Earl's clothes open. Iphicles angrily jerked his head away, but the Duke's mouth followed the move, his thick tongue thrusting harder. The Earl aimed a blow at the side of Aresborough's head, but all that got him was an oath from the Duke and a savage blow back before Aresborough's head bent to bite hard at Iphicles' nipple in a way that caused the Earl to arch upwards, cursing.

They were still swearing at one another when the Duke thrust into Iphicles, the Earl's oaths at the Duke intensified by the pain of Aresborough's unlubricated entry, until the Duke's hand on his cock brought him to climax despite the pain and Iphicles held the Duke's sweating body close as Aresborough’s hips lost their rhythm inside him.

They lay slumped on the carpet afterwards, the only thing to break the silence the sound of their laboured breathing. After a while, the Duke got to his feet and offered his hand to help Iphicles up. He looked over the ruin of Iphicles' clothing, then down at himself, and his lips lifted slightly.

"Perhaps a change of clothing would be in order before we venture out into the public gaze."

Rubbing the back of his hand briefly across his bleeding lip, Iphicles agreed, his eyes on the Duke still, awaiting some sort of explanation.

None was forthcoming. The Duke offered no reason for his absence, nor for his reaction this morning. Iphicles would have pursued it, but somehow the knowledge that all was back to how it had been seemed to be more important than questioning what had happened and risking a repetition of the Duke's removal from his company. Iphicles said nothing.

***

The next few days saw a return to Iphicles' idyll. He thrust from him any thought of the night of desertion, and enjoyed every moment of the Duke's favour that was his. It seemed that it filled almost every waking moment. There were times too when Iphicles roused briefly in the night to find the Duke's arm flung possessively across him, and heard Aresborough's breathing, slow and deep in sleep-pattern, change slightly as the Earl moved closer against him.

The Earl was crossing the hall late one afternoon, only to be stopped by the Duke's butler.

"My lord, a letter has arrived for you."

Surprised, the Earl took it from him A swift glance was sufficient to inform him of the sender's identity; the scrawl of the direction was one with which he was all too familiar. Harry's style of letter-writing was entertaining, to say the least. He usually contrived to manage at least four laborious lines of news to his brother, before the subject turned candidly to his shortage of funds and the expenses incurred by an officer in His Majesty's army. As Iphicles broke the seal and scanned the single sheet, his ironic smile swiftly faded and his hand tightened convulsively on the letter.

"Tell my groom and my man to make ready to leave immediately," he ordered the butler, turning to take the stairs two at a time. He found Aresborough in his dressing room, removing his cravat as he began to change for dinner.

"I have to leave," he blurted out. "My mother is taken ill; I must return to town immediately."

The Duke shot a keen glance at him, then continued to unfasten his shirt. "I see. And what, may I ask, afflicts her?"

Iphicles realised he did not have that vital information. He raised the crumpled sheet to read it through again. "I don't know precisely. Harry does not offer that information."

"It’s your brother who writes to you, then."

"What does that matter? My groom is making ready, my man will pack my belongings directly. My apologies, Aresborough, but I must go immediately."

Lost in calculating the distance he could cover before the daylight was gone, Iphicles did not notice the Duke's approach until the touch on his cheek brought him back to his surroundings.

"I find it odd," the Duke murmured, as his hand slipped to undo Iphicles' shirt, "Decidedly odd, in fact, that your Mama who was, I understand, in perfect health but seven days since, should suddenly find herself afflicted by a mysterious illness which demands your instant return to town. An illness which, moreover, carries no apparent symptoms. If I had a distrustful mind, I might wonder at the timing of your brother's missive."

Iphicles stared in non-comprehension for an instant before he knocked the Duke's hand aside with a curse. "Damn you Aresborough - do you think this some sort of game?"

Fury blazed suddenly in the Duke's eyes, matched by the clear anger that burned in Iphicles as he glared at Aresborough. The Duke's anger seemed slowly to dim as he looked at the Earl before him.

"Come, Iphicles," he said at last, with the hint of a persuasive smile, "Your brother don't exactly approve of me." His hand moved across Iphicles' ass and pulled him close. Iphicles' cock leapt at the feel of the Duke pressing against him, protesting at the sudden tightness of his breeches. Aresborough's long fingers swiftly unbuttoned the breeches and grasped the Earl's cock at the base, before he slowly knelt before him, looking briefly up at the Earl.

"Perhaps he thinks I'll corrupt you," he remarked, then his mouth closed around the Earl's cock and he swallowed it deep inside. At the movement of moist muscles, the tightness and the pressure around him, Iphicles' hands wrapped mercilessly in the Duke's hair and he bit down into his lip until it bled in an attempt not to scream out his pleasure. Aresborough's hands reached around to run over his ass before tugging his breeches down. As one probing finger found his entrance, Iphicles almost lost control, and the Duke pulled swiftly away from him, leaving him to gasp his disappointment.

He let the Duke order him as he chose, allowing himself to be bent over the back of a chair, fingers pushing deep and eagerly inside him until Iphicles was pushing back onto them, moaning his need for the Duke. The Duke's breeches were suddenly unfastened, and Iphicles could feel the leaking head of Aresborough's cock pressing against his ass. Iphicles moaned again and pushed back in desperate invitation. He heard the familiar sound of the oil bottle being opened and groaned breathlessly in anticipation.

"Please," he got out, his voice thick with need as he heard the sounds of flesh against flesh, knowing the Duke was rubbing his oiled hand over his hard cock.

"Please," he whimpered when the sounds stopped and nothing further happened.

He felt the tip of the Duke's cock as the Duke thrust very slightly with his hips, then stilled again.

"So, Iphicles, do you think this is what your brother is worried about?"

It took a moment to penetrate his lust-fogged brain. "I have no doubt you're right," he managed with a choke of laughter as he suddenly imagined Harry seeing his dully dutiful brother bent over an example of Chippendale's better work with the Duke of Aresborough's cock in his ass.

"So, Iphicles," the Duke reached around and began to run a finger over the head of Iphicles' cock, wet with his pre-cum, "I cannot help but think that to return to London at his behest will only increase his determination to control you for his own advantage. Don't you?"

As he finished speaking, the Duke slid all the way inside Iphicles, leaving the Earl crying out incoherently, his eyes closing in the unbelievable pleasure of feeling Aresborough inside him.

Aresborough began to set up a rhythm, his hand around Iphicles' cock so that every thrust of his hips sent Iphicles' cock sliding through the tightness of the Duke’s hand.

"Stay, Iphicles," he said, his hips stilling suddenly.

The Earl bent over even further, offering himself. But the Duke made no move.

"Stay," the Duke said again.

Iphicles' eyes opened. "I can't," he got out at last. "I must go to her. She's unwell. She needs me…"

His eyes closed again as he felt the Duke withdraw from him.

"Go then."

Disbelieving, he straightened up in time to see the Duke walking towards the door of the dressing room, his breeches held together with a careless hand as he looked out into the corridor.

"You," he said. "Find Sir Rupert Farraday and bring him here."

He turned back into the room, his eyes glancing disinterestedly over Iphicles. The Earl was struggling with his breeches, pulling them up.

"Aresborough," he started.

The Duke opened one of the drawers in his dressing-table and lifted from it something of leather and chain which Iphicles didn't recognise, but which looked not unlike a piece of harness.

"Aresborough," he said again.

"What?" It was cool, bored, as the Duke walked through into his bedchamber.

The Earl stood in the doorway, hesitating. He wanted to explain that he didn't want to go, that he had no choice, but the coldness in the Duke kept him silent. Instead he turned away, finding it suddenly easy to fasten his breeches over his softening cock. With renewed resolve he turned back, only to find that the Duke was laying on his bed, his shirt open, his breeches still open and his cock standing forth, dark and hard. Iphicles swallowed. He moved forward towards the bed, but as he did so, the bedroom door was bursting open and Farraday was striding in, Hazell close upon his heels.

"Richard wanted to come too, Aresborough. I hope you don't mind." Farraday was hesitant.

The Duke's eyes glittered as they passed over Iphicles and met Farraday's gaze. "Why should I mind?" he enquired off-handedly. "You can suck my cock between you."

Farraday became suddenly aware of Iphicles' presence and his eyes moved between Iphicles and the Duke in ill-disguised speculation, while a knowing smile dawned on Hazell's face as he looked at the discomfited Earl. Iphicles turned abruptly and left.

***

He got no further than ten miles that night before the dusk forced him to stop. He knew from his groom's demeanour that the man thought him mad not to wait until the following day to begin his journey, but he couldn't have spent another moment there, let alone another night.

He left his groom to see the horses looked after, and strode across to the door of the inn, his bootheels striking the cobbles in a way which encouraged the groom to decide to spend some time overseeing the ostler, rather than repairing to the taproom for a well-deserved ale to wet the dust in his throat. It was not often the Earl’s temper was seen, but the man had been in his service long enough to recognise the danger signs.

The inn-keeper had been flustered by Morrison's sudden appearance and demand for a room for his master for the night. When the Earl entered he was in the midst of apologising fulsomely, mortified to the depths of his soul, for the fact that the private parlour was currently undergoing extensive renovation following an unfortunate incident involving a number of well-lubricated young officers on leave from the Peninsula and so was not fit to be offered to the esteemed customer, and that the meal which they could offer fell far short of that which he would wish.

The Earl tried not to let his growing impatience show as he abruptly disclaimed any desire for a private parlour, a meal, or anything save a bottle of claret which he would take in his room. He was shown to the best chamber of the modest inn, a room which might be described by those uncharitably inclined as poky. Iphicles scarcely noticed as he sat in the only seat which the small room offered, that at the dressing-table, and made steady inroads on the claret, the quality of which was no more than might be expected from a tavern of this size.

He would not think of his mother, of how seriously ill she might be, and how she would be looking for his arrival while he was forced to wait here until daylight. Pouring himself another glass of the wine, he faced the unwelcome truth that he was powerless to do anything tonight; tomorrow he would do all that he could to reach London swiftly, but for now, he was helpless.

He thrust all thoughts of his parent determinedly from him as, by the light of the tallow candle, he began to untie his cravat. He had dispensed with his valet’s services that night. His eyes in the mirror grew dark as he realised that in fact he had dispensed completely with his valet's services for the last several evenings. The Duke and he had undressed one another each night, either ripping the clothes off in desperate need, or removing them slowly, mouths searching over the gradually uncovered flesh until their clothes were a disordered heap on the floor and they lay entwined on the Duke’s bed, moving together in languorous desire. He picked up his glass and tossed back the contents, the rough wine burning his throat as he remembered the addictive pleasure of those long nights when the only things that mattered were the warmth of the Duke's body, the velvet of his voice, the delight of his caress, and the certainty that he wanted Iphicles.

Slamming the empty glass down, he wrenched his cravat loose and threw it aside. There was no point in remembering; it was over. He might think it all a dream were it not for the marks on his face where the Duke had taken him against the tree. They were fading fast enough, and would soon be completely vanished. Whatever madness had taken hold of him had gone, never to return. The Duke this afternoon had left no doubt that Iphicles’ place in his bed would be - indeed, already had been - easily filled.

Given that was the case, Iphicles decided, perhaps this was for the best after all. The Duke had made it painfully clear that the Earl’s decision to leave did not trouble him in any way. Iphicles had been simply the latest diversion, interesting only because of his novelty, discarded as soon as that was gone. Look at the other night; the man had grown bored of him already. Why he had come back to Iphicles afterwards remained something of a mystery however…

Iphicles groaned and dropped his head into his hands as full realisation finally dawned on him. There could be only one explanation for that: Aresborough had come back to Iphicles because of what he symbolised to the Duke. He had been a dutiful, proper member of the ton who had been willing, so very willing, to be corrupted. There was still satisfaction to be gained by the Duke in the knowledge that the hitherto respectable Earl of Royston behaved no differently than did a bitch in heat. Look at the way he had told the Earl as much when he had used his whip… Iphicles’ fists clenched against his forehead at the memory of his shameless depravity and Aresborough’s scorn of it, even then. There would have been immense gratification in keeping the Earl on his hook until they had returned to London, where the whole ton would have witnessed the Earl’s laughable obsession with the Duke, his eagerness to do anything that Aresborough wanted of him…

Iphicles’ head began to ache. He had been precisely what Harry had accused him of when first he met the Duke: an innocent at large. Worse than that, an innocent who had welcomed the excitement of corruption, mistaking it for freedom. He deserved to be whipped for his stupidity. How the Duke must have exulted each time Iphicles had begged for his cock. How he must have delighted in the wantonness that the Earl had discovered lay within himself, not caring how the Duke used him, only that he did. And how he must have revelled when Iphicles himself initiated their encounters, as he had frequently done… The Earl’s stomach churned. No doubt the Duke’s friends would be entertained for months to come with stories of the gullible Earl’s eagerness and desperation. Stories which they would be only too pleased to spread to the gossipmongers of the ton. It was not only the fact of his depravity that would become common knowledge, but also the extent of it.

Iphicles sat in the dimly lit room while the evening’s business went on downstairs, sounds of drunken jokes and raucous laughter echoing through the inn. As the night grew later, the noises of the inn gradually stilled. He could hear the last customers leaving, the landlord locking up downstairs, and then heavy footsteps as he came up to his own room.

Moving stiffly, the Earl got to his feet and undressed, blew out the candle, and got into bed. He lay with his eyes open in the darkness, staring blindly up at the ceiling.

***

The Earl was up at dawn, setting off shortly thereafter without stopping to break his fast. He was filled with anxiety about his mother and pushed the horses hard. Harry had not intimated that the case was desperate, but then he would scarcely have written to his brother were it not serious.

By the time he pulled up in Half Moon Street, his set face and the frown between his eyes owed as much to anxiety as tiredness.

“My lord!” Brownlow was uncharacteristically bereft of speech when the travel-stained Earl burst into the hall.

“We did not know to expect your return,” he continued in explanation, only to watch in incomprehension as the Earl, who was rarely without a word of appreciation to his servants, ignored him and took the stairs two at a time, still in his driving coat and gloves. Rounding the landing to the next flight, he stopped as he saw Harry descending.

“How is she?” he asked urgently.

Harry made an instant quieting gesture, which did nothing to calm the Earl’s worst imaginings, and steered them into the nearby drawing room, closing the door behind them.

“Iph,” he started, as the Earl stripped off his gloves. “The thing is…”

“What?” Iphicles snapped as Harry trailed off. “Tell me the worst, Harry. How is she?”

The Captain moistened his lips. “She’s taken a turn for the better since I wrote to you,” he said at last.

Iphicles drew a breath of relief. Anticipating his next question, Harry quickly added, “She’s resting.”

“What ails her, Harry?” Iphicles asked more quietly, seating himself in the nearest armchair. “What does Cooper say?”

Captain Fairfax remained standing. “She hasn’t seen him,” he informed his brother.

Iphicles’ brows slammed together. “Hasn’t seen him?” he echoed. “Devil take it, he’s one of the few leeches worth consulting! I’ll call him in even if she don’t want it.”

“It’s not necessary, Iph, she’s nearly better,” Harry insisted.

The Earl looked uncomprehendingly at his brother. “Better? Yet it was only two days ago that she was ill enough…”

Iphicles didn’t finish his sentence. Instead his eyes began to fill with suspicion as they remained on the increasingly uneasy Captain Fairfax.

“Has Mama actually been ill at all?” he enquired in a dangerously soft voice.

“Yes!” It burst from Harry in indignation. “She’s not been right since the time you left, Iph. She’s been in fear that someone might find out where you had gone and ask her about it, and that put her out of sorts, and then Iorweth and I have been recalled from next week, and so she took to her bed with a sick headache.” He eyed the wrath on the Earl's face. “Oh don’t look like that, Iph,” he expostulated. “Damn it, she wasn’t right and she’s not been eating, and I thought if you were back, it would at least relieve her mind of one anxiety.”

Iphicles remained seated. If he were to stand, he knew he would surely kill his brother.

“So you dragged me up here under false pretences, let me worry myself sick about her, when all along she suffered from nothing more than a megrim and you simply wanted me back here because it suited your own purposes? Worse still, you don’t scruple to use Mama in that way?”

Harry fidgeted slightly then met his brother’s furious gaze. “It’s more than that, Iph,” he said at last. “People are beginning to talk. Somebody has let slip that you were visiting Aresborough.” His blue eyes were stubborn. “You might not care about your own reputation, Iph, but you should think of Mama.”

“As you do when you’re with Iorweth,” Iphicles shot. “For God’s sake, Harry, don’t play self-righteous with me. You don’t give a damn about me or my reputation. All you care about is yourself, and the fact that I went against your advice.”

“That’s not true, Iph.” Harry looked hurt.

Iphicles’ eyes closed briefly. He would still happily see his brother’s bleeding corpse at his feet, but he couldn’t ignore the sick lurch as he registered what Harry had said. People had begun to talk. Already. And that was just because he had been known to be visiting Aresborough. Once Morrison’s tale got out… Even if the man were to keep his mouth shut, the others at the house party wouldn’t. Aresborough himself would no doubt delight in spreading the tales with that mocking smile of his.

He got slowly to his feet. “While I abominate your methods,” he said quietly, “Your intentions were good.”

He put out his hand to his brother. The Captain, looking startled but pleased, shook it. Iphicles turned away, ready to retire to his bedchamber and tidy himself after the long drive, when the door to the drawing room opened.

“Iphicles!” With a cry of joyous delight, his mama flung herself into his arms. “Iphicles, you can have no idea how glad I am to see you back. We have missed you so much, have we not, Harry? And to know you must be having such a horrid time with That Man and his awful friends quite overset me. Harry will tell you that I have not been quite myself all the time you were gone. But now you are back in time for the Foxcote’s assembly tomorrow night, and I have the most ravishing new gown you have ever seen, and Sir John Laxom will be present, and - Iphicles! What has happened to your face?”

Puzzled when the Dowager’s dainty hand reached to his cheek, Iphicles’ face heated suddenly as he realised.

“A branch caught me as I was riding,” he supplied swiftly, aware of Harry’s eyes on him.

“Oh Iphicles, you haven’t changed, have you? You were so clumsy as a child, not at all like dear Harry. You would have thought by now you would have learned not to hurt yourself so. Now come,” she tugged determinedly at her eldest son’s arm, “Sit beside me and tell me how you are. Harry, come and sit beside me too. I want to know what Iphicles thought of Oxfordshire - an ungodly place, some call it, but I’ve had a penchant for it ever since the time…”

Iphicles sat obediently where he was bidden, and fastened an expression of polite interest to his face as the Dowager talked to Harry. There could be no doubt but that he was home.

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