Page 45 of The Magpie Lord
“Yes, thank you. In any case, family.Inoffensivefamily. I think I have a responsibility there. And I do object to the stupid superstition of burial outside a churchyard. Might as well be at a crossroads with a stake through her heart. Talking of which, thank you for dealing with Lady Thwaite. What did you make of it?”
“Well, to be honest, I rather sympathised,” Stephen said. “If that was my daughter, I’d be desperate to get her off my hands as well.”
Crane snorted. “God, yes. What a foul-tempered girl.”
“There’s something really quite wrong with her, I think. She’s angry about a lot more than not being Lady Crane. I wonder... Well, it doesn’t matter. But I wouldn’t marry her if I were you.”
“You’re full of useful advice tonight.”
Stephen grinned. “Anyway, Lady Thwaite hasn’t a hope of finding the girl a good marriage without fluence, and even then she’d be pushing her luck. So it’s actually possible we don’t have anything more complicated than that on our hands. I’ll come back and speak to her formally tomorrow, then if I can get the haunting dealt with, I think that may be the end of it up here.”
“Thank God. I loathe this place,” Crane said. “Lady Thwaite, her idiot husband, that harridan her daughter, those dreadful toadies, and that grovelling hypocrite of a vicar.”
“The Vernons are very pleasant.”
“They are, but outweighed by the rest of the company. Not that you had to suffer most of the conversation. How did you do that?”
“What?” said Stephen innocently.
“You were hiding. I saw you.”
“How could you see me if I was hiding?”
“I watched you. I didn’t find it at all hard to concentrate on you, even if everyone else did.”
“Oh. Well, I thought I’d rather not be noticed.”
“You’re good at that,” Crane said. “You’re a very unobtrusive, nondescript little man.”
“Er—”
“Except for those eyes of yours,” Crane went on musingly. “And those incredible hands. And that foxy smile. You don’t let it out much, do you? Everything under cover. And then you stop hiding yourself for a moment, and your whole face lights up, and suddenly I can see just how you’ll look when I fuck you.”
Stephen’s eyes widened in the dark. He knew he was blushing fiercely and felt distantly amazed he had any blood to spare from his groin.
“I came to a conclusion,” Crane went on conversationally. “I want a great deal more of you and I intend to have it. I suggest we get away from this hole and start afresh. As it happens I own a hunting box in Northamptonshire—no live-in staff, simple, isolated. A few days a very long way from here, you show me what those hands can do, and I’ll show you how we do things in Shanghai.”
Stephen swallowed. “How is that?”
“Slowly,” Crane said. “It’s hot there. Very slowly, very thoroughly, inch by inch. You’ll need a great deal of patience, or you might find yourself begging. I think you will, in fact. I’d like to hear you beg.”
“Make me,” said Stephen hoarsely, and grabbed for Crane as the other dropped the reins and reached for him. The taller man’s mouth came down hard on his, long fingers in his hair pulling his head round, tongue flickering against his lips, perfectly shaven chin rubbing against his. Stephen brought his hand up to Crane’s face, felt him jolt, realised he wasn’t wearing his gloves, and jerked away, but Crane pulled him back.
He ran his hand down Stephen’s chest and slipped a finger inside his shirt. Stephen gasped in Crane’s mouth at the touch on his skin. Crane tweaked a nipple, hard. Stephen gave a little yelp and felt the other’s mouth curve against his.
“Did you know,” Crane murmured, “your hands fizz more when you’re excited? That’s going to be fun. No, keep them there. I want to feel this. I want to feel what you like.” His hand was inside Stephen’s waistband now, fingers playing and stroking. Stephen could feel he was leaking already, whimpered, an indistinct plea. “Oh, yes, you love that, don’t you? Eager little thing. Jesus, your hands. I want them round my cock.”
“It might sting a bit,” Stephen muttered, but moved his hands down, then froze. “There’s someone coming!”
“This bloody place.” Crane released him, without urgency, and picked up the fallen reins again to encourage the semi-dozing horseback into a walk. Stephen jerked his jacket into place with trembling hands. He had the distinct sensation that his lips were bruised, and his cock throbbed painfully with frustration.
“We’re not finished,” Crane said softly. “And I want to feel those hands of yours all over my skin when I have you, feel what they do when I make you come. Christ, you’re incredible.”
“Shut up,” Stephen hissed, as the approaching horse ambled into sight. It was ridden by a severely dressed man who doffed his hat as he went by, shooting a look at Stephen, who ducked his head, glancing away. Apparently completely unembarrassed, Crane gave a salute in greeting.
“That was the churchwarden,” he said as the man passed. “I hope he finds Haining more use than I do. Where were we?”
“About to cause a public nuisance. This isn’t safe, not out here.”
