Page 20 of The Ruin of a Rake
“No, I meant you. You’re an idiot to have put up with such ill treatment. The entire world knows you’re a menace with your lusty ways and your dissolute habits. Did your mother imagine that disowning you—I hope you can hear the inverted commas around that—would help in the least bit?”
“You yourself took issue with my friendship with your sister,” Courtenay pointed out.
“Because I didn’t want her to be considered a loose woman for associating with you. I should hardly think your mother had that to fear. If she hadn’t cast you off, you could have come back to England without this cloud of ignominy surrounding you.” He made a noise of sheer frustration. “Instead she has the vicar’s daughter write to you and you send her hundreds of pounds a year in addition to letting her live in what I have no doubt is a very fine house.”
Courtenay was still struck by the novelty of hearing someone defend his character, but he didn’t quite believe Medlock to be correct. “It’s the least I can do after costing her the life of her first husband and youngest child.”
Medlock sucked in a breath of air. “Oh, so you’re a murderer as well as an idiot, then. What was your weapon?”
“I know you’re trying to make me feel better—”
“I am not,” Medlock protested.
“—but this is no laughing matter. Isabella caught a fever that she never would have contracted in England. She was highly strung, and I ought never to have introduced her to any of my set in the first place. Of course I ought never to have countenanced her leaving her husband or taking up with other men. Her death is on my conscience.” It always would be. “I miss her every day.”
There was a long moment of silence, during which the close confines of the room seemed to get closer still. Courtenay could hear the man’s breathing, smell his shaving soap. It would take the only the smallest effort to haul Medlock onto the sofa beside him.
When Medlock finally spoke, his voice was softer and lower than it had been. “I say, Courtenay. You’ve put me in the damnable position of having to argue that your behavior was defensible. And while I believe that ninety nine percent of the time you behave abominably and you’ve given me six white hairs tonight alone, in this single instance you acted well. Your sister had ruined herself, and it was probably best that she live abroad rather than stay here and be considered a harlot. I would certainly have taken Eleanor to the Continent in that situation.” He scowled. “There, now my principles are in confusion and I hate it.” He turned back to the papers on the desk before him, even though the candle was guttering and there was no way he could see well enough to read. “Now go to sleep and I’ll wake you when I’m through.”
Medlock’s approval shouldn’t matter, not to Courtenay, who didn’t need anyone’s approval and never had. But what made Courtenay’s breath catch was that Medlock was admitting he’d do something improper, something the world would hold against him, if it meant caring for someone he loved. Courtenay found that his opinion of Medlock, which had been thawing over the course of the evening, suddenly got dangerously warm indeed. “I’m not going to sleep, Medlock.”
“Fine. Stay awake and watch me work. That’s peculiar but so are you and I shan’t object.”
“You know, before tonight I never would have thought sums were... erotic, but it seems I’m not too old to learn new things.”
The only light was from the moon and a dying candle, but Courtenay could see the blush spread across Medlock’s cheekbones.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” But he shifted in his seat, no doubt to accommodate his swelling prick. Courtenay watched in deep interest as he licked his lips and canted his body ever so slightly closer. There was no mistaking what this meant.
Keeping his eyes steady on Medlock’s face, he reached out and wrapped a hand around the leg of Medlock’s chair. He had done something similar at the opera, and he knew Medlock remembered that perfectly well. So when he saw nothing in the man’s face but raw anticipation, he tugged the chair close.
Chapter Nine
“You’ll need a budget. Careful retrenchment,” Julian said, clinging to the sides of his chair and also to the last shreds of his self-control. Perhaps this wasn’t happening. Perhaps that wasn’t Courtenay’s hand on his thigh.
Courtenay was propped up on one elbow, the other hand inching slowly up Julian’s leg. “You’re terribly hard, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am, damn you,” Julian ground out. “What do you expect? I suppose everybody gets like this around you.”
A soft chuckle. “Not really. How hard?” Courtenay’s voice was an insinuating purr but his hand wasn’t anywhere near Julian’s cock and everything about this situation was unsatisfactory.
Julian made a sound of protest. “Hard enough to be damned distracting, thank you very much. Feel free to see for yourself, unless you prefer to torture me. It’s all the same, don’t mind me.” It wasn’t, though. He would have given three hundred guineas for Courtenay’s hand to move six inches upwards or for this not to be happening at all. Either one, really.
“Likewise,” Courtenay said, and of course Julian had to glance downwards, where indeed he could see a very promising bulge in Courtenay’s trousers. “I got hard watching you be clever with my money.”
Oh Jesus. Praise of his accounting skills really shouldn’t make his cock actually pulse. This could not be a normal subject for bedroom talk. “What money?” Julian said, somehow managing not to reach inside his own trousers. “You haven’t any.”
Then Courtenay, bless his depraved nature, finally slid his hand up the final couple of inches and rested it on top of Julian’s aching prick.
Courtenay made a low sound of approval. “The question is,” he said, looking Julian right in the eye, “what you’re going to do with it.”
Julian drew in a deep breath. Was he really going to go through with this? The fact that he was even considering it meant that it was a terrible idea, meant that Courtenay’s wicked charm had compromised his judgment. Courtenay meant scandal and wildness, improvidence and recklessness, all the things Julian went out of his way to avoid. Going to bed with him would be opening the door to chaos of a degree he didn’t want to consider.
As a counterargument, there was the knowing caress of Courtenay’s palm over his throbbing member.
Julian took a deep breath. “Get it sucked, I hope.”
Courtenay growled, actuallygrowled, and grabbed Julian by the hand, pulling him straight off the chair and onto the sofa. Or, rather, onto Courtenay’s hard chest.
