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Stand and Deliver ISBN # 978-1-907280-24-5 ©Copyright Scarlet Blackwell 2009 Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright October 2009 Edited by Christine Riley Total-E-Bound Publishing This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing. Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution. The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of th
STAND AND DELIVER Scarlet Blackwell
Dedication To I.K, because I said I would.
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Chapter One
Lucien Mayer, fourteenth Earl of Ravensberry pulled the blanket a little higher on his knees and leaned back against the leather seat, absently staring out of the window at the ink black sky littered with stars. The London-Nottingham road made for treacherous going, rutted with holes, every jolt sloshing around the liquor in his stomach. The night had been satisfying enough. He had left the card game at Lord Blackstone’s estate more than a little drunk and with a thousand pounds in his purse. It was a shame that he despised Lord Blackstone and most of his cohorts. Lucien lived a fruitless existence alone in his mansion with his servants, squandering his inheritance on drinking and cards. He had come into this on his twenty-first birthday after the deaths of his parents, shot and killed by highwaymen on this very stretch of road. He had been alone in the world for eight long years and he doubted that would ever change. The thunderous beat of many horse hooves shattered his drunken introspection. He lowered the coach window and stuck his head out, curious as to the commotion. He wished he hadn’t when he saw four black horses charging after his coach like bats out of hell, all their riders with scarves pulled up over their faces, the man in front brandishing a pistol. “Faster Stephen!” Lucien yelled, rapping on the roof with his cane. Although he had never been robbed, he lived in mortal terror of just this event happening, not least because of what had happened to his parents. This stretch of road had recently become notorious with a gang of highwaymen known as The Dark Knights who robbed and killed with zeal. Lucien knew his luck had run out. The horses’ hooves became deafeningly loud. Lucien saw one of the beasts overtake his coach to ride neck and neck with his own horses, the rider barking out an instruction to his coachman. An instant later, the coachman reined in the horses and the coach came to a shuddering halt, almost throwing Lucien from his seat. An icy terror enveloped his
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heart as a shadow fell across him. He slowly looked up. There was a face at the window, ghostly white by the light of the carriage’s lamps, under a tri-corn hat and a black scarf, only the eyes showing, a startling dark, emerald green with thick sooty lashes. A pistol was thrust rudely through the open window, hard into Lucien’s chest, right over his heart. “Stand and deliver,” drawled a deep, sardonic voice, the accent southern, “your money or your life.” Lucien drew in his breath in horror. Staring into the cold, unblinking eyes, he found himself thinking that his life was worth little enough anyway, why should he roll over and die to these bandits? “I haven’t got anything,” he said, his voice less steady than he would have liked. The eyes gleamed with amusement, the mouth spread in a smile beneath the scarf. “The crest on your coach says different my Lord,” he said, voice edged with steel, “hand me your purse if you value your life. It’s cold tonight and my companions are anxious to be away to their beds.” Lucien's eyes flickered behind the highwayman to the two indistinct faces of the other villains, the third just at the edge of his view, pistol trained on his coachman. When the silence dragged on, the man at the front of the coach barked, “Do as he says, don’t be a stupid boy.” Lucien clenched his fist in fury. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded, surveying the four men haughtily. “I’m not a boy! How dare you address me this way?” The highwayman at the window laughed softly. “All right,” he said. “I’ve had enough. One more time. Give me your purse or you die. Boy.” The pistol jabbed further into his chest. The hammer was cocked back. Lucien stared into the green eyes. Suddenly there was a swift movement from the front of the coach. The man who had been taking charge of the driver nosed his horse in next to the green-eyed highwayman’s. He reached suddenly in through the window so his face was close to Lucien’s, his eyes fixed on his, black as the darkness and slid his hand inside Lucien’s frockcoat, into the pocket at his breast where he kept his purse, his hand ice-cold even through the thick linen of his shirt.
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He withdrew the purse to no protest from Lucien, who was too frightened to move and slipped it into a saddle-bag on the side of his horse. “Let’s go,” he said dismissively, turning his horse’s head around, casting a look back at Lucien. The green-eyed man stared a little while longer at Lucien. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet into your head anyway, you spoilt brat?” he hissed into Lucien’s face, jabbing him with the pistol. “Leave it!” called his co-conspirator, the one who had robbed him. “Let’s go!” Although the green-eyed man appeared to be the leader, the dark-eyed one obviously had some influence over him, because his tormentor drew away from the window now. “You’ll keep,” he said. “I don’t forget a face.” Lucien had not even collected his scattered thoughts when a wave of impotent fury crashed over him at this injustice. While the sound of skittering horses invaded the coach as the four men turned their mounts around, Lucien threw open the door and leapt out. Three of the men were already well away, the fourth, the one who had robbed him, was setting off at a trot, eyes turned back towards the coach. “You sir!” yelled Lucien, running into the middle of the road. “Do you think you can just take what is not yours and run away? Are you such a coward that you need three companions with pistols in order to rob one unarmed man? I would like to have seen you take my purse fairly! I demand satisfaction!” There was a shocked silence, all four horses reined in to a halt. Then the leader of the pack burst out laughing. He charged past Lucien swiftly, putting out a foot and aiming a hard kick at his side. Lucien was knocked completely off his feet. He crashed onto his face in the dirt, momentarily stunned. Then he heard a thud as someone dismounted their horse and a voice, “Come on leave it,” from one of the two men who had yet to speak, before a large hand grabbed him hard by the scruff of the neck. He was hoisted up off the ground and turned over before his head was slammed back against it, a booted foot on his chest. “Now, what were you saying?” the greeneyed leader asked him.
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“This has nothing to do with you,” Lucien muttered sullenly, fear clenching his heart tight in his chest, his head aching fiercely. The man was so tall, at least six feet two, the muscles of his physique clearly defined in his figure-hugging frockcoat. “It was he I challenged, he that robbed me.” He gestured curtly to the dark-eyed man who had dismounted and stood a few feet away watching. The leader looked down at him with scorn in his blazing eyes, pressing his boot harder into Lucien’s chest, sure to leave a bruise in the morning. “You really are testing my patience tonight, boy. I should have killed you straight away.” “Let him up Dante,” the man behind him spoke suddenly. The green-eyed one he’d referred to as Dante removed his boot and turned around to glare at his companion. The dark-eyed man, a little shorter but muscular too, ignored him and moved to Lucien. “Get up,” he said, “and fight me like a man—if you think you can.” Lucien scrambled to his feet where a wave of nausea swept over him, and he almost fell down again. There were snorts of amusement from the two men still on their horses and a scornful laugh from Dante. His adversary, though, was silent. He handed his pistol to one of the men on the horses, and then he tossed his hat off, revealing long, dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck with a ribbon, and then started to unfasten his frockcoat. Lucien followed suit quickly, stripping down to his waistcoat, the taking off of his hat revealing the unfashionably short style of his black hair, to the scandal of polite society. The two of them faced each other. “Well then,” his foe said, “what are you waiting for?” The scarf still around his face hid all but his eyes and forehead. Those liquid pools of dark seemed to look straight through him and they more than taunted him with the knowledge that Lucien would never beat him. Lucien threw a punch, sending the man staggering back. He smirked to himself until the man came back at him with a punch of his own which sent Lucien right back to the ground. He lay there groaning, tasting the blood in his mouth, while the three highwaymen behind them laughed. The dark-eyed man wasn’t laughing though. He was deadly serious.
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He was on top of Lucien in an instant, throwing another punch. Lucien was almost knocked out this time, face throbbing, vision darkening. He grabbed at his adversary, rolling him over to pin him beneath his body, trying to land a blow. The two of them grappled fiercely in the dirt for long minutes until the highwayman had Lucien beneath him once more. Lucien made a grab at his face and wrenched his scarf clean off. The highwayman appeared too shocked to move as the moonlight fell onto his face. He was extraordinarily fine-featured, with high cheekbones, porcelain skin, a little goatee beard darkening his chin and thin, sarcastic lips, all complimented by those jet black eyes. Lucien stared, completely subdued. “Jesus Christ,” Dante blasphemed, “he’s seen your fucking face, Ambrosius. You’ll have to kill him now.” Lucien’s body went completely numb with terror. His adversary, this Ambrosius, lifted himself suddenly off Lucien and held his hand out to him. In shock, Lucien put his own in the delicate, long-fingered one offered and climbed to his feet on trembling legs. “What are you doing?” Dante growled at Ambrosius. “He dies. Now!” He marched over to Lucien, pistol raised. Lucien stared down the barrel and made his peace with God. While his eyes met those of Ambrosius. The sound of horses’ hooves split the tense silence suddenly and all five men turned their heads to see Lucien’s coachman driving away at a frantic pace. Lucien hoped Stephen would be going for help but he noticed Dante smirked, perhaps in amusement that his captive had been abandoned by his servant. With a firm movement, Ambrosius placed his hand on the barrel of the pistol and moved it away from Lucien. “No,” he said quietly, “he comes with us.” “What?” demanded Dante. “You heard me,” Ambrosius said, glaring at Dante. “Let’s go.” He turned to his clothes lying on the grass at the side of the road, gesturing to Lucien to get his own. Lucien, shivering violently, pulled his frockcoat on and jammed his hat over his head, pulling it low to hide his terrified features. Then Ambrosius gave him a shove in the back, motioning towards his own
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horse. Lucien, a practised horseman, vaulted onto it and sat there for a moment, glaring down at the highwayman. Ambrosius, with a grim smirk, climbed up behind him. Lucien started to tremble further at the feel of the hard muscle of the highwayman’s body pressed into his as he reached around him to take the reins. Kicking his heels lightly into the horse’s sides, he turned its head to the road. As they set off, Dante’s mount drew alongside, the emerald eyes of the highwayman narrowed into malevolent slits. Lucien had never been more scared in his life as the sound of the horses’ hooves reverberated in his head. Was he being taken somewhere to be killed in order that his body could be more easily disposed of? The wind brought tears to his eyes and his head ached. He felt nauseated and suddenly his alcohol came back up without warning. “I’m going to be sick,” he groaned, swaying over the side of the horse, clutching at the only thing he could to stay astride—Ambrosius’ thigh. Ambrosius reined in quickly just as Lucien let loose onto the ground below. Once he had started, his stomach continued to contract until he was just spewing bile, hanging limply over the side, his hat lost, and hair in his eyes, gasps wrenching his throat, eyes streaming. He could hear laughter behind him. Dante. “Are you finished?” Ambrosius asked quietly. Lucien nodded wretchedly, slowly lifting his head, feeling the ground rushing up to meet him as though he would pass out. He saw an object shoved beneath his nose - Ambrosius’ scarf - and he took it gratefully, pressing it to his mouth, unable to speak. It was only when he glanced at Ambrosius that he realised he still clung to his thigh. Mortified, he released his grip and turned his back quickly. Another wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him as the horse set off at a trot. A moment later, darkness overwhelmed him, as his head fell back against Ambrosius’ shoulder.
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Chapter Two
Voices awoke Lucien from a strange dream about being robbed by four masked men. “I don’t see why he can’t sleep in the deuced hay loft.” “Don’t be stupid Dante. Won’t he perhaps run away in the middle of the night?” “Not if you sleep out there with him seeing as it was your fucking idea to bring him back here. I’m sure you’ve brought him here to be your new plaything anyway.” “My level is a little beyond my belt, thank you Dante, unlike you.” “Will you two shut up? Robert’s got a headache.” Lucien opened his eyes on a small, well-lit living room, candles and lanterns on every surface, a blazing fire in the hearth. He lay on a chaise longue, a blanket over him and his head hurt like the devil. Slowly he turned his eyes to the kitchen, where four men sat at a table, unmasked now, two of them counting the money from Lucien’s purse, while the third and fourth looked at him. Lucien groaned inwardly. It had not been a dream after all. “Well, well,” Dante said, standing up and coming into the living room. For his size, he moved gracefully, like a panther, coat off now and frilled shirt undone, revealing a muscular torso the like of which Lucien had never seen before. “Look who’s back from the dead.” Lucien eased himself into a sitting position, his whole body protesting as he did, shrinking back against the arm of the couch as Dante approached him. Dante laughed at the expression on his face and sat suddenly down, leaning over him. Up close, he was coldly attractive, with short, raven-black hair severely slicked from his pale face, with a fine, full mouth and those unsettling green eyes which waxed and waned with the light from emerald to hazel to gold and back again. “What’s your name?” he hissed into Lucien’s face, far too close for comfort, so Lucien smelled the ale on his breath. “Lucien Mayer,” Lucien told him defiantly, haughtily, because he was damned if
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he would allow the other to see how scared he was. “Well Lucien,” Dante said before passing a hand lightly over his cheek. Lucien flinched, both at his unwelcome touch and how painful it was. He must have been bruised from the fight with Ambrosius. “I look forward to all the fun we’re going to have together, now that Ambrosius has brought you here to play.” Lucien stared at him. Did the highwayman mean what he thought he meant? Oh Jesus, Ambrosius had brought him to a fate worse than death. And yet…try as he might to deny his own loins, the highwayman was attractive, damn him. He was so attractive that Lucien felt a stirring in his breeches. He imagined Dante naked, candlelight falling over the muscular body which strained his clothes. He imagined the weight of the other on top of him, pinning him to the bed, driving into him, taking him to ecstasy. He drew his knees up to hide his shame. Dante laughed loudly as though he read all his thoughts and stood up. Behind him, Ambrosius approached. “Dante,” he admonished him quietly, which Dante ignored, moving back to the kitchen. Ambrosius stood looking down at Lucien. “Do you want a drink?” he asked. His voice was toneless. It was hard to tell if he was being friendly or not. Lucien stared at the man he had fought with like an animal. It was not in his nature to debase himself thus, but there was no denying he had enjoyed those moments of contact of his fists with the other’s flesh, even if it had ended up in humiliation. The other regarded him with those impossibly dark eyes now, and Lucien was just as riveted as he had been earlier that night. Oh there were many rich pickings here, he thought, for a moment forgetting his situation. Did Dante and Ambrosius intend to use him between them? The idea made him shudder with desire, and he was disgusted with himself for thinking this way about these villains. But he could not help it. He was only a man, a man who desired other men, and he knew attractive specimens when he saw them. He would make them work for it though, he thought. He wasn’t anybody’s sex slave. He nodded at Ambrosius now. “Some water please,” he said, his voice strong. A chair scraped back and footsteps approached. “Here,” someone said.
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Ambrosius stood aside and Lucien saw the face of another of the bandits for the first time, a man shorter than Ambrosius and slightly built, with blond hair and pale grey eyes. His expression was more open, his voice pleasant. Lucien took the mug. “Thank you.” As though taken aback that Lucien had manners, the small man smiled slightly. “You’re welcome,” he replied and moved back to the table. Ambrosius still watched Lucien as he drank. “What did you say your name was?” he asked. “Lucien?” Lucien nodded. “Well I’m Ambrosius, that was August who gave you the water and that’s Robert at the table. I don’t need to introduce Dante to you.” Lucien didn’t speak. The eyes of the handsome leader were burning into him from the kitchen table. He averted his eyes to Ambrosius’ face, finding it gentler and warmer. He handed the now empty mug back to him, attempting a smile, knowing it was one of his best features. It made his turquoise coloured eyes glitter in a way which tended to seduce some people. In this house, he needed all the help he could get. He would have no qualms about bedding any or all of the highwaymen to procure his escape. Truth be told, bedding Dante or Ambrosius would hardly be a hardship. To his surprise though, his charm was wasted. Ambrosius merely turned away from him. Lucien sank back onto the couch, pulling up the blanket, the arousal in his breeches uncomfortable. Ambrosius disappeared up the stairs leading off from the kitchen, while the three men at the table ignored him. When he touched his aching head, he was surprised to feel a bandage around it. He moved his fingers to his cheek and his mouth, finding them both swollen. He squeezed his eyes shut in anger at his injuries and turned his face to the back of the couch, praying for the sweet release of sleep. He woke to find his entire face and head throbbing with an agony he had never known before in his life, the bruises on his body adding to the crescendo. He heard himself curse from dry lips. The living room was in darkness, the last embers of the fire dying. Suddenly his eyes darted to a chair in the corner as he became aware of a silent
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presence. It was August, the one who had given him the water. “Are you all right?” he spoke gently, much to Lucien’s surprise. Lucien tried to shake his head but the pain prevented him. “My head really hurts.” “I’m not surprised,” the highwayman said, “you’ve been strong to go without pain relief so far. That’s a nasty wound you’ve got.” “Was that you?” Lucien asked in surprise. “Did you bandage me?” August laughed softly. “Yes, I’m the nurse around here. I have some knowledge of herbalism. I put a little salve on the bruises on your side and your face. To ease the inflammation.” Lucien was taken aback. There were hidden depths of kindness to this highwayman which more than made up for his colleagues. “Thank you,” he said quietly. August got up. “Do you want a little laudanum?” he asked. “It will ease your pain and send you into the sweetest dreams.” “Yes,” Lucien said quickly. “Please.” August moved to the kitchen and there could be heard the opening of cupboards, the clinking of metal on glass. “This has eased many of our wounds after a hard night’s work,” he said with a smile and handed it to Lucien. Lucien looked down at the liquid in the glass and was suddenly suspicious. He looked up at August again. Why bring him here if not to kill him? And how to kill him easily without fuss, get the nice bandit to administer poison to him. “I understand,” August said. “There’s no reason why you should trust me. But I don’t want to see you suffer Lucien, that’s the truth of the matter. You seem like a nice gentleman. I don’t like to see anyone suffer. I’m a little soft like that.” He took the glass from Lucien and drank a mouthful. “There,” he said. He held it out to Lucien. Lucien’s gut instinct told him this man could be trusted implicitly. He took the glass and downed its bitter contents in one swallow. “Good,” August said, taking the glass back. He pulled the blanket up to Lucien’s chin. “Sleep well.” He moved back into the kitchen with the glass.
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A few minutes later, Lucien drifted towards sleep when he heard low voices. He realised August was still there, he had returned to his chair and now a tall, thin figure stooped over him. Robert. “Are you coming to bed?” he asked in a whisper. “Yes,” August said, “I just wanted to make sure Lucien was alright.” He turned his face to Robert, and their lips met. Robert put a hand under August’s elbow, lifting him gently from the chair. Hand in hand, they climbed the stairs. Lucien lay awake now, fighting sleep. Why couldn’t he escape now? Then he smiled ruefully to himself. August had done a nice job making sure Lucien wouldn’t be leaving the house that night. Two steps out of the door would probably see him flat on his face and snoring in the dirt. His thoughts strayed to Dante and Ambrosius, as different to him, it seemed as light from dark. Dante had been cruel, while Ambrosius had shown him mercy. That didn’t change the fact that he was their captive. Oh he would show them, he thought fiercely. He knew he was an attractive man, with his pale skin, his black hair and his pale green-blue eyes. People usually fell at his feet. There were few things Lucien could not get without batting his lashes or giving a smile or…if it came to it, using his body to his advantage. Not that it often did. Lucien tended to be the user, rather than the other way around. With the money he had, it wasn’t hard to find people to warm his sheets. It was keeping them there that was the trouble. Lucien had a high boredom threshold and rarely bedded a man more than once. His interest was more than piqued by his captors, though. It was wrong, he told himself, to be aroused by the men holding him prisoner. It could give rise to the men treating him as their plaything just like Dante had intimated. He shifted a little on the couch as the idea sent flames of desire to his groin. He cursed himself as he moved his hand to his breeches. He was only a man, he reminded himself as he rubbed the stiffening length there. If he could use this situation to his advantage, he would do so. He imagined being naked and entwined between Dante and Ambrosius, the two highwaymen worshipping his body as it should be, pleasuring him over and over. As he imagined Ambrosius inside him, while Dante knelt to take him in his mouth, sucking efficiently, Lucien put his hand inside his breeches and wrapped his fingers around his cock. He stroked swiftly and bit his lip to stifle his gasps of pleasure.
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He imagined a night of never-ending passion with the two highwaymen, then he imagined leaving them both slumbering half-dead with exhaustion and walking triumphantly from the house, a bullet in their brains optional. He smiled and then groaned a little as he came into his hand and slumped into sleep.
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Chapter Three
Lucien awoke to the same hell—the prisoner of four highwaymen. The pain in his head and body was muted but still undeniably there. He felt dehydrated, nauseated and lethargic. His four captors were in the kitchen, preparing for breakfast. “It lives,” Dante said scornfully when Lucien turned his head to look over at them. “Look at those bruises! You did well last night, Ambrosius.” Ambrosius looked at him but said nothing. Turning around he said to Robert, “Set a place at the table for Lucien.” “He’s not eating with us!” Dante exclaimed. “He can eat outside in the yard with the pigs.” “Shut up,” August said coldly, “he’s not eating outside, it’s raining.” Dante turned his icy stare on him but made no retort. Lucien got quickly off the couch. “I’m not hungry,” he said, “I just want some water for a wash.” He glared at all four men in turn, reserving the coldest look for Dante. “I’ve just taken a bath, the water’s still up there,” Ambrosius said. “Come on.” He gestured for Lucien to follow him up the wooden stairs. Lucien did so on aching legs, thinking of how disgusting it was going to be to use second-hand bath water. Dante’s cold eyes followed him all the way up. Ambrosius showed him into a bathroom. The light was bright through the windows, and Lucien saw Ambrosius properly for the first time. He had not imagined how attractive the highwayman was. In the daylight he was infinitely more so, startlingly so. Those eyes which had looked black in the dark were actually a warm chocolate brown, his skin pale and flawless—apart from the large, dark bruise which marred his beautiful cheek. Lucien averted his eyes quickly in regret, flushing a little as last night came back to him, pleasuring himself while thinking of being taken by both Ambrosius and Dante.
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“Do you want some clean clothes?” Ambrosius questioned Lucien, not oblivious to the way he had been studied. Lucien looked down at his own tattered finery, torn and stained after rolling on the ground with Ambrosius. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll leave them outside the door,” Ambrosius said. He turned to leave. “Ambrosius,” Lucien said hesitantly. Now was the time, he thought. To strike up a rapport with the other, get on his good side, make it clear Lucien would be amenable to warming his sheets if he so desired. Ambrosius turned back questioningly. “Why did you bring me here? Are you going to kill me?” After a moment, Ambrosius shook his head. “Then why?” Lucien held eye contact steadily. The interest was there in Ambrosius’ eyes. He could see it. “I didn’t want him to kill you,” Ambrosius said quietly. “You had such courage. What I liked about you is that you never once begged for your life.” Lucien was taken aback. Lowering his eyes, he murmured, “That’s because there’s nothing worth saving. I truly wouldn’t have cared if you had killed me last night.” He wondered where the words had come from. He wasn’t in the habit of unburdening himself thus to strangers but he knew he had uncharacteristically spoken the truth. “You don’t mean that,” Ambrosius said, seeming unsettled by this remark. “Don’t I?” Lucien asked bitterly. “You can let me go, Ambrosius. I’m not going to say anything.” Ambrosius shook his head immediately. Lucien stared at him for a long moment, then his shame at revealing his inner feelings to Ambrosius for naught exploded in sudden rage. “People will be looking for me. There will be a reward on your heads. You can’t just keep me here!” Ambrosius’ expression turned a little cold in the face of this anger. He folded his arms over his broad chest. “Can’t we?” Lucien lost his temper. “You will all go to the gallows for this,” he cried. “Do you know who I am?”
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Ambrosius was looking at him in barely concealed disgust now. “Of course, not everything about you was dignified last night,” he said. “Your insistence on your title, as if we give a shit, your insistence on fighting me, the most piss-poor dual I’ve ever been challenged to in my life, your ignominious vomiting on my horse…” “Shut up!” Lucien yelled. He took two steps towards Ambrosius, fists clenched. “And worst of all,” Ambrosius finished stonily, “your apparent ingratitude that I kept Dante from blowing your brains out on that road last night and dumping your pathetic corpse in a shallow grave.” Lucien rushed at him and struck him hard across the face with his fist. Ambrosius stumbled against the wall with his cheek already swelling and Lucien pinned him there with his arm across his throat. “Not so ignominious now, am I?” he sneered. “Tell me why I don’t break your fucking neck?” Ambrosius’ eyes were pitch-dark and ice-cold. “Do it,” he spat. “See how far you get before Dante puts a bullet in your head.” There was no sound for a moment other than their laboured, angry breathing, their two bodies pressed together against the wall. Lucien could feel the heat and muscle of Ambrosius against him and it conspired to drive him from rage to something else. He felt himself growing hard. His arm slid from Ambrosius’ throat and he pressed both palms to the wall, keeping the highwayman prisoner between his arms. He liked the sense of power this gave him, he who rarely looked for control in the bedroom. More than that, he liked the unmistakeable dilation of the other’s pupils. He could not stop now that he sensed the upper hand. He had to seduce the other man at all costs, no matter how uncomfortable he might feel in this role. Lucien smiled slowly, his most seductive smile and slowly pressed his pelvis forward against the other, making his arousal clear. Ambrosius caught his breath in a soft gasp, small mouth open and ripe for the taking, his eyes wide. Lucien rubbed himself almost imperceptibly against him, keeping his eyes fixed on his prey, watching the other’s reaction, seeing the blood flood his cheeks as it flooded something else. Ambrosius was stiffening against him. Lucien was encouraged. He had expected the highwayman to fight him fiercely
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but evidently he was just as attracted to Lucien. That knowledge made his heart beat furiously with excitement. He knew he was playing with fire. This man was a highwayman; cunning, ruthless and sure of himself. To touch him uninvited could spell Lucien’s death. He didn’t even have absolute proof that Ambrosius was attracted to other men, but the erection he felt through the other’s breeches was damning evidence. He put a hand on Ambrosius’ groin, his touch light and hesitant, feeling, stroking. Ambrosius gasped. He tried to push Lucien backwards but his hands held no strength. Lucien leaned closer and the blood boiled in his veins as he pressed his lips to the long, pale arch of the highwayman’s neck. The skin was soft as satin and lightly scented with cologne. Lucien could do nothing but devour it with kisses, lost to the wonder of Ambrosius’ body, his fingers tracing the long, thick outline of the other man’s cock through his breeches. Ambrosius panted for breath as though he had run a long distance. He squirmed against Lucien, merely arousing the other man more with his movements. His hands gripped Lucien’s shirt but they pulled him closer rather than pushed him away, his head back in supplication. Lucien’s mouth found his ear and nipped it delicately. “Do you want me?” he breathed into it. “No,” it was almost a gulp. The arousal was so patent on Ambrosius’ face that it sent Lucien almost insane with desire. “I don’t believe you,” Lucien retorted and he rubbed Ambrosius a little more firmly, pressing himself against his own hand as he did, desperate to be touched. Ambrosius’ pelvis bucked uncontrollably into his touch. He cursed under his breath and moaned. “Stop.” Lucien’s tongue swept delicately over the light stubble on the highwayman’s jaw. “I would if I thought you meant it,” he said in a whisper, and the other man groaned in response. Lucien had not expected it to be quite this easy. He had expected a bullet in his brain for his no doubt clumsy seduction and instead he had got this. This sensual, needy man writhing against him, defences down and virtually asking for it. Lucien’s original
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purpose in doing this had become muddied in his mind. There was a little more to this than plotting to escape. He knew that even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself. His fingers slipped around the buttons of Ambrosius’ breeches and started to unfasten them. “Don’t.” Ambrosius’ hand gripped his wrist hard. The black eyes bored into his. “Come,” Lucien told him, his voice low and husky with desire. “You want me.” Truth be told, he didn’t want to stop. He could only think now about being naked and entwined with Ambrosius, the highwayman driving into him. This was no longer a carefully calculated seduction. This was Lucien out of his mind with passion and he was not sure he had ever felt like this before. He took Ambrosius’ restraining hand with his other and removed it. He wanted the highwayman naked. He needed to see and feel him. He would have been happy to wrench the other’s breeches down and take him against the wall right now but he stopped himself. He had to remember that if he delivered all the goods right away, Ambrosius might be disinterested in him and be happy to let Dante kill him. If he delivered only a taste of what he was capable of, Ambrosius would come back begging for more, becoming lazy and haphazard in the process and giving Lucien ample opportunity to escape. He resumed the unfastening of Ambrosius’ breeches but he went at a slow pace now, his fingers delicate and gentle, taking his time with his seduction. As he did this, he took hold of the highwayman by the neck and tried to kiss him. He was aggrieved when the other man turned his face away because he almost panted to taste that rosebud mouth. Lucien growled a little and pressed himself closer, his hand jammed between their bodies, rubbing himself against Ambrosius’ hip for his own satisfaction while his lips delivered nips and bites to the other’s neck which would no doubt leave marks. Ambrosius breathed even heavier. He cursed and moaned, trying to push Lucien back with a strength which belied that which he had used last night during the fight. Now he seemed to have the strength of a kitten, or rather that he didn’t want to stop Lucien at all. Lucien nuzzled his neck, inhaling his clean scent, shuddering a little in delight at
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the thought of taking the other or being taken by him when the time came. His fingers finally pulled the buttons on the other man’s breeches open with a laughable moan of protest from him and slid inside, below the linen underwear. Ambrosius was rock hard and like silk to the touch. Lucien’s fingers gathered up the liquid oozing from the slit and smeared it slowly around the head before delving far into Ambrosius’ breeches to take the long, thick cock in his hand. Ambrosius gasped, seemingly unable to stop himself bucking forward into Lucien’s grip. His tongue moved compulsively over his lips, leaving them glistening. Once more he turned his head away as Lucien tried to kiss him, leaving the other man frustrated and angry at the rejection. “You shamelessly allow my hand around your cock but not my lips against yours,” he said angrily. “I only kiss the one I love,” Ambrosius retorted. Lucien’s hand on him came to a halt. “And who is that?” he asked quietly. Ambrosius stared into his eyes for a brief moment before he forcefully pushed Lucien backwards. “To your bath before it cools, sir,” he told him scornfully, slamming the door behind him. Lucien stared at it, chest heaving in arousal. He paced the room for several minutes, trying to control himself. Oh God, what had just happened? He could hardly think straight. I wished I had taken Ambrosius, he thought fiercely with his hand on himself through his breeches. I wish I had buried myself within him and made him cry my name. He tried not to linger on this other man who Ambrosius loved. It made no difference to him. Lucien was in this to escape. He had no other purpose in seducing Ambrosius. Then he caught sight of his face in the mirror and approached it, staring in disbelief at the bruised, aquamarine eyes he saw reflected and the swollen cheek. He slowly unravelled the bandage around his head and touched the bump at the back tenderly, wincing. His hair was sticky with clotted blood. He gave a sigh and plunged his fingers into the bath water, surprised to find it still hot. The water itself looked clear enough, swimming in soap suds, maybe Ambrosius liked to keep himself clean. He still didn’t like the idea of sharing his water
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though. Glancing at the door, which had no lock, he stripped quickly and slid into the water. It felt like heaven against the bruises on his side. He reached for the still-wet soap from the side of the bath and paused as he saw a long, dark hair embedded in it. He drew it out, stretching it out between his hands. There was something about this Ambrosius—something that made his heart beat a little too fast, not just from arousal and certainly not from fear, because the way Lucien saw it, the only man to be feared here was the unpredictable Dante. If only Ambrosius had allowed Lucien to bring him to conclusion that morning, then surely that would have been an ally made and the highwayman would have been back for more. Lucien knew he already had August on his side, so if he tried harder next time with Ambrosius and maybe got to know Robert, that would make three. Dante would be outnumbered. He slowly lowered his head into the water, hissing in pain as he started to scrub the blood from his hair. He ignored his erection, refusing to masturbate, because that was something he was saving for Ambrosius, whether the highwayman liked it or not. When he had climbed out and towelled himself dry, he opened the door and found the set of clothes Ambrosius had left outside. Although they didn’t compare to the clothes Lucien had worn all his life from the best tailors, they were nice enough. Fine, silk undergarments and stockings, a frilled black shirt, a black waistcoat embroidered with silver brocade, black velvet breeches and a black velvet frockcoat. Lucien was starting to sense a theme in Ambrosius’ taste in colours. He dressed quickly, finding that they fitted well, despite him being a little plumper than Ambrosius. He looked remarkably good in the mirror, albeit a little ghostly. But then Lucien was renowned in his own circles for his perfect, snowy skin and shunned the sun at all times. He fingered the clothes for a moment as he looked at himself, absurdly grateful that Ambrosius had provided him with what surely must have been some of the better items in his wardrobe and not rags, as Dante no doubt would have done. He towelled his hair dry again and left the bathroom. As he reached the top of the stairs, voices floated up to him. “I say we kill him now and dump his body in the river,” Dante said. “No,” August responded.
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“I wasn’t aware you had final say around here August,” Dante said scornfully. “If I have a mind, I’ll go up and slit his throat while the dandy lays in his bath.” “You won’t,” Ambrosius spoke up icily. “Because if you do, I’ll slit your throat.” There was a silence. Lucien leaned against the banister, trepidation trailing an icy finger down his spine. He would have to escape, he would have to. Sooner or later, Dante would kill him. He did not doubt it. After a few minutes, he composed himself enough to descend the stairs. All eyes turned to him as he appeared in the kitchen. Lucien focused on Ambrosius first, with a half-smile of thanks for his clothes and also what he hoped was a promise of more to come after their bathroom interlude. But Ambrosius had a strange reaction, his eyes travelling first over the suit and then over Lucien’s face and hair. He went several shades lighter than his usual complexion, then turned abruptly and wrenched open the back door, disappearing outside. Shocked, Lucien looked helplessly at his three colleagues. “Don’t mind him,” August murmured. “With your hair all wet like that and in those clothes, you look like someone he used to know.” Lucien frowned at him. “Sit down,” Robert said, “I saved you some breakfast.” Lucien did as he was told. Dante shot a look of disgust at him and followed Ambrosius out the back door, leaving Lucien alone with August and Robert. “Thank you for the laudanum last night, August,” Lucien addressed the shorter bandit quietly. “I slept well.” But who knew if it was the laudanum that had made him sleep well, or his dick in his hand, he thought to himself almost in amusement. August nodded, swallowing some coffee. Lucien smiled hesitantly at Robert as he put a plate of eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms in front of Lucien with some bread, then sat down himself. He was a tall, thin man with very long, dark red hair worn loose around his shoulders and piercing blue eyes. Although he still felt sick, Lucien forced himself to eat. “So, where do you live Lucien?” Robert began conversation. “Ravensberry,” muttered Lucien, keeping his eyes fixed on the table. “Not too far from here,” Robert remarked which more than lifted Lucien’s tired
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heart, but he made sure his face betrayed no reaction to this news however. “And what do you do?” Robert continued. “Do?” Lucien echoed a little bitterly. “Well I…spend money.” “Nice,” Robert said sarcastically, “if you’ve got it.” “I’m sure you’ve got plenty from all the people you rob,” Lucien shot back instantly. “Well you’re not going to miss what we took last night,” Robert growled angrily. For a moment the two stared each other down. “Enough,” August said quietly but firmly. Lucien quickly lowered his eyes back to the table. He was angry at himself because the idea was supposed to be to get the other two highwaymen on side, not fight with them. His head was aching fiercely again. “I don’t feel well,” he murmured. “May I please lie down again?” August nodded silently. Lucien drew his chair back quickly from the table and made his way back into the living room where he lay down on the chaise longue once again and pulled the blanket over him. “Do you want a little pain relief?” August asked from the kitchen. Lucien was more than eager to take the laudanum August brought him. He wanted nothing more than to be free of this nightmare however short the time. He hoped and prayed that the drug would knock him out all day and night. As he gave the empty glass back to August, the back door opened and Ambrosius reappeared. Their eyes met for a long, intense moment. Abruptly, Lucien turned onto his side and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow I will escape with or without sampling the delights Ambrosius has to offer. I am done being a prisoner.
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Chapter Four
When Lucien awoke, the room was dark and empty, apart from Dante sitting silent as a cat in the chair opposite him. He smiled slowly. “How are you feeling now, Lucien?” he asked as though he cared, hard eyes glinting like pieces of glass. “Well,” Lucien told him coldly, sitting up, wondering why the house was so quiet. “They’re gone on a hold-up,” Dante explained, “I drew the short straw, left here to be your wet-nurse. Although I’ve thought of a game to make the time pass.” Lucien stared at him. The same trepidation Dante always inspired in him now uncoiled along his spine. “Upstairs,” Dante said. “What?” “Don’t make me ask you twice, Lucien,” Dante warned, standing up. Lucien opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. He had already decided on this, he told himself. There was nothing to fear from Dante because he would be a willing participant. His only worry was what plans the other had once he had bedded him. Perhaps his death. He stood up and moved to the stairs, climbing slowly, hand gripping the banister with white knuckles. Behind him, Dante became impatient and placed a hand on his buttock, shoving him hard, causing him to stumble. At the top, Lucien hesitated. “My room,” Dante said, pushing him across the threshold of a large room dominated by a four-poster bed. A fire already burned in the grate and the room was lit by candles. He had already been up here preparing this, Lucien thought. Preparing for his rape of me. At least he thinks it will be rape, which probably arouses him further. The fact is, I will enjoy getting to grips with him. Maybe I will struggle a little bit, and let him think it’s rape, though that will excite him way too much.
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Dante slammed the door closed and moved over to him purposefully. Lucien shrank back as the highwayman slid his hand to the back of his neck, fingers tangling a little roughly in his hair and brought his head down to Lucien’s. He turned his face away just as Dante was going to kiss him, thinking of the way Ambrosius had done the same. Dante straightened, face cold as ice at this rejection. “On your knees,” he commanded. Lucien slid to the floor. It would work in his favour to play the frightened victim. It would make it much easier to escape once Dante was sleeping off his orgasm. Dante undid the buttons on his velvet breeches while Lucien stared up at him. He pushed them down along with his undergarments and Lucien was confronted with something a little staggering. Dante smirked at the expression on his face. “Don’t worry I don’t expect you to manage it all, just as much as you can,” he said in amusement, clasping Lucien by the back of his head and drawing him forward. Lucien was well used to this but he gave Dante the fearful, confused, feline eyes which worked wonders on everyone else. Let the highwayman think him a virgin, and this will be over in no time, he told himself. He could be out of the door within moments if he played his cards right. He took Dante’s cock into his hand and slowly slid his hand up and down it, pretending hesitance and inexperience. Dante groaned at the back of his throat. So far so good. Dante’s hand drew his head forward again and mock-reluctantly, Lucien opened his mouth and let his cock fill it, to the back of his throat, drawing back slightly when he almost gagged. Then he started to suck, setting up a swift rhythm, looking up at Dante’s face. His eyes were closed, his face filled with pleasure, his hand on Lucien’s neck, stroking now, not needing to force him any longer, not now that Lucien was doing it willingly. He all but smiled to himself. The man receiving this always thought himself in control, which was laughable. Dante was his slave at the moment. Testing out that theory, he raked the other’s shaft lightly with his teeth.
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Dante hissed and grabbed his hair so hard that it was almost torn from the roots. Lucien gasped, mouth full, trying to draw away but Dante held him there in a grip of steel. “Not trying to play with me boy, are you?” he asked with a growl. Lucien shook his head as far as Dante’s fingers would permit. The wicked emerald eyes remained on his. “I hope not,” the highwayman told him. “The innocent act does arouse me as you well know, but I can well do without your tricks.” Lucien stared at him with a sinking sense of futility. The man wasn’t stupid after all. Dante smirked, showing perfect white teeth. “So let’s continue,” he said, “and I might let you escape this night with your life.” He thrust himself roughly into Lucien’s mouth, almost choking him. Keeping glowering eyes fixed on his, Lucien resumed his task. Dante’s hand settled on the back of his neck, stroking and he shivered a little from the sensation of the other man’s fingers, his neck one of the more sensitive parts of his body. He continued with his work, a little uncomfortable now that he was thinking once more how attractive this bastard above him was. Curse him. He could feel a warm feeling spreading down his spine and into his breeches, tightening them. Dante looked like he was in a place far distant from here, moaning louder and louder, about to reach his end. Lucien’s hand moved to himself. He wondered if Dante would pleasure him once he had finished. Somehow he doubted it very much. No matter. He would finish the other and let the highwayman think he had him in his thrall. Let him come to me repeatedly and use me as his slave, Lucien thought. Sooner or later, he will be careless enough to slip up and give me the chance to escape. Of course, being used as Dante’s slave made him stiffen even further, once again to his own disgust. What was the matter with him? Why did his backside ache to be filled by this bastard? Dante gripped his neck hard now, thrusting himself into Lucien’s mouth. Lucien remained still, letting Dante use him this way as the highwayman grunted and growled in his pleasure, eyes closed. He started to shudder a little and a moment later emitted a gasp as he filled Lucien’s mouth.
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Lucien closed his eyes and swallowed with dignity. He wasn’t exactly enamoured of the taste but on occasion, needs must. Dante drew back and started to button his breeches, laughing in amusement. “Don’t like the taste, boy?” he asked. There were sudden, hard footsteps on the wooden floor. “What the deuce are you doing Dante?” Lucien turned around wiping his hand across his mouth to see Ambrosius behind him, glaring at Dante. Dante, unperturbed and smirking, made no reply. Ambrosius' eyes swung to Lucien and he stood up slowly, putting a defiant look on his face as Ambrosius strode rapidly to him. He grabbed him forcibly by the scruff of the neck shouting, “Get out!” dragged him across the room and threw him outside onto the landing. The door slammed shut as Lucien collided with the railing of the banister and fell heavily to his knees. For a moment, he was still, head hanging down in disbelief at the rough treatment. Ambrosius was jealous, he told himself smugly. That was fine by him. Driving a wedge between the two friends could only help him in his escape. The dialogue inside the room carried to him loud and clear, due to the fact that the open window had caused the door to spring open, and Lucien could now see inside through the tiniest crack. “What’s the matter with you?” Ambrosius yelled. “Why don’t you leave him alone?” Dante laughed. “I can’t. Those damned eyes of his. He was asking for it.” “He wasn’t asking for it! No one ever is who gets it from you Dante! If you’re so desperate why didn’t you come to me?” Lucien climbed noiselessly to his feet and pressed his eye to the crack in the door. The two stood facing each other in the centre of the room. “I wanted a new challenge,” Dante said. “He’s a teasing little slut, as you very well know. I’d love to make him scream.” Outside, Lucien almost groaned at this thought. Suddenly, Ambrosius gripped Dante hard by the ruffles of his shirt, dragging him down to his eye level. “Now you listen to me…” he said.
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There was a loud noise from the room next door. A moan, followed by the rattling of wood against the wall, then gasping and stifled cries. Lucien stared at the door listening to the sounds of bliss coming from Robert and August‘s bedchamber. “Oh God,” Dante groaned. Easily releasing himself from Ambrosius’ grip, he paced the room. “Not now. I’m really in no mood to listen to those two tonight. They make me fucking sick.” “You’re jealous,” said Ambrosius coldly. “They’re in love and you’re jealous of that. If you weren’t such a horrible person, maybe I’d fall in love with you.” Dante laughed scornfully. “Like I’d really want you in love with me. Look at the last poor soul you fell in love with.” Ambrosius gave a loud gasp. “You bastard,” he breathed in seeming disbelief. Then his fist collided with Dante’s jaw, sending him crashing into the wall. Outside the door, Lucien clenched his own fists in deep satisfaction. Dante touched his face for a second, almost in surprise before Ambrosius had him pinned against the wall, yelling obscenities, livid with rage. In one swift movement, Dante yanked Ambrosius around so he was the one pressed against the wall. A moment later, the bigger man’s lips were hard over his. Lucien shrank back from the door, unable to believe his eyes. Ambrosius moaned in what sounded like disgust, but he grabbed a handful of Dante’s hair, returning the kiss fiercely, one arm around the other man’s neck. Dante’s hands wrenched open Ambrosius’ shirt, exposing his muscular torso, before starting on the fastenings on his breeches. Ambrosius’ own hands moved to Dante’s waist, fingers fumbling desperately. His eyes were closed, head back against the wall, moaning the highwayman’s name as Dante buried his face into the pale curve of his neck, moving down over his chest to suck and bite at first one nipple and then the other. Lucien watched how Ambrosius’ spine arched and he imagined his own mouth tasting the highwayman and burned with jealousy. He was so hard he could barely think straight, rubbing himself through his breeches. Dante dropped to his knees. He dragged the other’s clothes down and sucked Ambrosius’ cock into his mouth. Lucien nearly groaned at this image of Dante in
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submission. Ambrosius clutched at his hair as Dante’s tongue played along his length, flicking over the head, leaving it wet and gleaming. The highwayman stood up abruptly. “Turn around,” he said, gripping Ambrosius’ shoulder and slamming him face first into the wall. Lucien could not have taken his eyes away now even if he had wanted to. This was the most erotic thing he had ever witnessed in his life. While Ambrosius braced himself against the wall with both hands, Dante crossed to the bedside table and took up a bottle of oil, pouring a large amount into the palm of his hand. Lucien shuddered as he watched the highwayman coat his fingers slowly and suggestively as he walked back to his lover. Ambrosius watched from over his shoulder, desperate groans of arousal coming from him which undid Lucien. At that moment, he would have given anything to be the one standing behind him with his own fingers covered in oil. Dante was not gentle as he spread Ambrosius open with one hand and with the other, worked two fingers into him. Ambrosius caught his breath, panting hard, head falling back, his own hand around himself, pulling swiftly. “Like that?” Dante whispered, nipping at his ear, fingers all the way in, twisting and pressing into the other. Ambrosius jerked under his touch and almost cried out. “Come on,” he said in a ragged voice. “Take me.” Dante smirked. He withdrew the digits and used his oiled hand to coat his cock before he spread the other once again and rubbed himself slowly backwards and forwards against his lover’s entrance. Lucien opened his breeches and put his hand down. He was out of control. It did not matter to him if he was found masturbating on the landing by his captors. He could be escaping now while all his captors were occupied, but it was the furthest thing from his mind. He only needed to come as he watched this scene. He cared for nothing else. He imagined Dante seeing him then, dragging him into the room and both men punishing him for being a peeping tom and he had to put his other hand over his mouth to stifle a groan. With one fluid movement, Dante slid into Ambrosius. The other’s body went
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rigid, back arched, hands clawing at the wall, head back as Dante’s sensual lips mouthed his throat. The bigger man sought Ambrosius’ cock with one hand, pulling roughly while he thrust into him. Ambrosius started to gasp and moan. He craned his head around and Dante possessed his mouth with a groan. Lucien stared with his heart sinking. Ambrosius had said he only kissed the one he loved. Now he was under no illusion who that was. The door next to him opened, startling him and he drew his breeches quickly together, fumbling them closed, guiltily looking at August, who beckoned him inside, dulling the sounds next door to a muted level. Inside, the room was dimly lit with candles and a roaring fire. Beneath the red satin covers of the four-poster bed lay Robert. “Hello,” he said in surprise when he saw Lucien. Lucien nodded and went to warm himself by the fire, sitting cross-legged. “I didn’t know that Dante and Ambrosius…” he addressed August. August shrugged, kneeling beside him. “Infrequently. They have a strange relationship, since…” Of course, he thought, there was no love, only desire between Dante and Ambrosius. That much had been obvious and Lucien was relieved. “There was someone else?” he asked. “Someone Ambrosius was in love with?” August stared into the fire rather than at Lucien. He nodded. “I can’t talk about that. Ambrosius wouldn’t want me to. You would have to ask him yourself.” Lucien was silent. He lifted his eyes to see Robert making his way from the bed wearing a pair of satin bed breeches. He sat down on the hearth rug with the two of them and pulled over a silver tray containing a decanter of port and two glasses. He poured one quickly and handed it to Lucien. “Here,” he said. Lucien took it gratefully, murmuring his thanks. As he drank, Robert poured another and handed it to August. In the firelight, Lucien saw how their eyes met, how the flame of love burned so incredibly bright between them that just for a moment, he
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felt an ache of longing inside. Dante was jealous, he thought. And he understood that jealousy. Heavy footsteps sounded on the landing and Dante flung open the door. “Finished spying, have you, boy?” He stalked forward, wearing a pair of bed breeches, his spectacular torso bare and gleaming with sweat. Lucien scrambled to his feet, prepared to fight. Dante gripped him hard by one bicep and dragged him towards the door. “Unhand me!” Lucien cried, raining blows on the other’s back with his fist as behind them, August and Robert also protested the rough treatment. Dante stopped abruptly. His hand shifted, to hold Lucien around the throat and he slammed him against the doorframe with a force that took the other man’s breath away. “I have a low boredom threshold,” the highwayman ground out between his teeth. “You sucked me adequately, but I can get better off Ambrosius any day of the week. As soon as he gives the word, your throat is slit where you lay, your body dropped in the river for the fish.” Lucien stared up at him, the struggle draining from him, his body turning icy cold all over. Dante took him by the arm again and dragged him from the room and down the stairs. Lucien tried to keep his balance but fell down the last four steps, Dante letting go of him as he came to a rest in a heap at the bottom. The highwayman stalked into the kitchen and Lucien heard a metallic clinking before he looked up and saw Dante coming back with a length of chain. He shot to his feet, his bruised body protesting and launched himself at Dante, prepared to fight for his freedom now. The two crashed to the stone floor and Dante’s fist knocked Lucien’s face sideways so he tasted blood as his teeth cut his tongue. Lucien fought beneath him, his fists making contact with the highwayman’s body in flurries, but barely a sound of pain uttered by the other man in reply. Dante rose swiftly, dragging Lucien up by the shirt and hurling him onto the couch. There he straddled him, bringing up the length of chain to wrap both wrists
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securely in front of his prisoner before attaching a padlock. Lucien felt a lurch of desire which disgusted him. He cursed the highwayman foully, struggling furiously but Dante merely laughed and took the end of the chain, moving to a hook in the stone floor and securing the chain to it with another padlock, leaving Lucien imprisoned. The highwayman looked down at him in amusement as Lucien sat up on the couch, yanking fruitlessly on the chain, his bonds so tight and short that he knew he would only be able to move in a small circle around the hook. “I can tell you, I’ve had cause to use this hook before,” Dante said with a knowing wink, “although usually my partner has been begging me for it.” His smile widened, his teeth perfect and gleaming in the candle light and he straddled Lucien’s hips again, looking down at him. “You want me don’t you?” he asked, eyes almost black in the semi-darkness. Lucien bit his lip against the sudden urge to spit at the other because he was bred better than that. He merely kept his eyes fixed on the highwayman, letting his hatred and disgust show. Dante merely smiled and leaned down. “I’ll take you soon enough,” he whispered, his nose brushing Lucien’s, “and I’ll cut your throat even as you’re coming beneath me.” He got up, chuckling to himself as Lucien’s horrified eyes followed him up the stairs. Lucien sank back on the couch as a door closed upstairs, his heart hammering. Oh God, he had wasted his time trying to seduce Dante. Nothing he could offer the man would be enough to stop him from killing him. His only potential ally was Ambrosius. He was the only one who had any sway over this madman. Lucien closed his eyes, trying to calm his rapid breathing and slow his heart. He pressed his hands together, the pressure of the chain uncomfortable on his wrists and tried to think what to do. He was still awake some time later when he heard light footsteps coming down the stairs. The dying embers of the fire showed the lithe form of Ambrosius, barefoot, his shirt open. He sat down on the couch beside him, eyes sweeping over the chain a moment, before meeting his gaze, so Lucien was overwhelmed once more by desperate need.
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“Are you all right?” he asked. Lucien nodded mutely. Ambrosius put his fingertips slowly to the bruise he himself had left on Lucien’s face when the highwaymen had captured him. Lucien felt an odd shudder pass through him, and his lashes fluttered closed. His chest was suddenly tight as though Ambrosius was using up all the oxygen. When he opened his eyes again, Ambrosius stared at him with those black eyes, lit by orange flames. He saw his own reflection clearly in them. He wondered how he looked to Ambrosius. Like a man desperately in lust probably. “Ambrosius,” he said in a whisper. “What happened to the one you used to love?” Ambrosius’ body tensed all over. He drew back swiftly from Lucien. “Go to sleep,” he said coldly, exiting the room swiftly, his bare feet making little noise on the stairs.
Upstairs, Ambrosius paused on the landing outside his own room. Then he moved silently back into Dante’s, closing the door. Dante drew the covers back for him to climb between the still warm sheets, smiling in the candlelight. Then he wrapped Ambrosius into his arms, mouth softly brushing his temple. The change which never failed to come over Dante after laying with him was astonishing. Ambrosius knew how to subdue the savage beast. Dante wanted to kiss and cuddle afterwards, wanted Ambrosius to remain in his bed all night, although in the morning he would usually be gruff and unpleasant. While Dante fell into dreams, Ambrosius remained awake, gazing into the fire. He had been foolish to bring their captive here. What had he been thinking? Had it been the contents of his breeches which had made him do it? Dante was a persuasive, highly sexual man and would most likely end up perpetrating all sorts of wickedness on their prisoner. Ambrosius had presumed the scene he had witnessed that evening had been against Lucien’s will, but now he was having second thoughts. Dante had suggested the other man was not as innocent as he looked. Maybe he had lured Dante upstairs with plans of escaping. Maybe everything was carefully calculated, just like Lucien’s
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attempted seduction in the bathroom earlier. He could not forget his hands and mouth on him. Even now, he burned with memory. It had been all he could do not to make some sort of advance on the other downstairs. Even though he was well sated by Dante, his body ached with a different kind of desire for Lucien. He was the first person of either sex that Ambrosius had been drawn to in six long months, and he felt guilty about it. But as soon as he had met those magical, haunting eyes, he had felt a shocking wrench of attraction. Even when they had first attempted to ride off, after he had stolen Lucien’s purse, he had been looking back at the coach wistfully, trying to remember the crest on the side, in case he wished to pursue this man at a later date. But Lucien had saved him the effort with his challenge to a fight and Ambrosius had felt worse than he ever had in his life when Lucien had hung over the side of his horse, puking. With that pale hand clutching to his leg, it had been his first real human touch in six months if he discounted Dante’s brand of comfort. He had had the urge to protect Lucien, to take him home and heal his wounds. This was an unusual role for Ambrosius because he had been the one who had been protected in his last relationship. He had been loved and nurtured like he was the most prized possession in the world and he despaired of ever feeling like that again. Often he thought he would never be able give away the love which bubbled up inside him, longing to spill out. His lover had been a highwayman too and Ambrosius could never understand how this could be so, when his lover had been so warm and full of humanity. He smiled to himself as he remembered how his love gave out coins to the poor people of the village, freshly stolen from the very men they paid their rent to. He had taught Ambrosius so much about kindness and compassion that it was easy to pity this man they had made their captive. But pity was hardly the reason he had insisted they take Lucien with them, nor was it the simple fact that Lucien had seen his face that night on the road. It had nothing to do with keeping their group safe and everything to do with blind lust.
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Chapter Five
The kitchen was empty when Lucien awoke, and he had been unchained from the hook. He could hear voices outside at the back of the house and he stared at the front door before him with his heart pounding in his chest, wondering if it could really be so easy. He leaped from the couch and rushed upon the exit, wrenching at the handle and finding it, of course, chained. He shook his head at his own foolishness and made his way upstairs to use the pot in the bathroom, discovering there was still some warm bath water left. Wondering if Ambrosius had left it for him, he bathed quickly and dressed again, before making his way downstairs. There was some coffee in a pot that he helped himself to along with some bread and cheese. He could hear voices outside now and when he looked, he saw the four men were engaged in wood cutting in the garden. At least Dante, August and Robert were, Ambrosius sat to one side, doing nothing much. Lucien studied him. He could not get the image of Ambrosius with Dante out of his mind. His gaze moved to Dante. He had his shirt off, his muscles bulging as he swung the axe over his head, splitting log after log with ease. There was no denying the allure of his body. Lucien quickly turned away as Ambrosius looked up. Cursing himself, he went back to the table. He was confused. He could have tried to seduce Ambrosius into removing the chains when he had come downstairs last night. Instead, he had lain staring into those damned chocolate eyes of his and asked him about his lost love with his heart standing still, all thoughts of escape once more forgotten. His head ached again. He didn’t want to think about the very real possibility that he was developing some sort of…interest in Ambrosius beyond the satisfaction of his sexual urges. He had to escape. He had to. He stood up and looked again out of the back window. All he saw were endless trees with their fallen autumnal leaves making a bright carpet of colour on the ground. He had wasted so many chances already. Today then. He set his resolve firm. Dante was going to kill him. He knew that. He could no longer allow his feelings for
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Ambrosius to cloud his judgement. Ambrosius caught his eye again. He gestured for him to join them outside. Lucien moved to the door with trepidation. “Hello Lucien,” Robert was the first to greet him, followed by August, much to his gratitude. He murmured hellos and went to sit down beside Ambrosius where he leaned under a tree, ignoring Dante, who glared at him. They were just out of earshot of the others. Lucien sat in silence, eyes on Ambrosius’ riding boots, rising along his legs and the tight breeches he wore which accentuated his muscular thighs and the burden which strained them. He lowered his gaze again. He would not allow himself to admire Ambrosius’ body. He needed to focus. Use Ambrosius in any way he had to in order to escape. The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. About what I asked you. It’s none of my business. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said in a rush. “I don’t know why I expected you would want to talk about him to a total stranger but…” “His name was Sebastian,” Ambrosius interrupted quietly, much to his surprise. “We were together for two years. One night, six months ago, we were out on a hold-up. Much to our shock, the man in the coach was armed. Before we could do anything, he shot Sebastian through the heart. I held him in my arms as he died.” Lucien could not speak. The pain in Ambrosius’ voice was indescribable. His head was lowered and he bit his lip. He’s going to cry, thought Lucien. He did not know what to do. Ambrosius’ hand rested on the ground beside his. He put his own over it slowly, sliding his fingers between Ambrosius’, tightly intertwining them with his. To his surprise, Ambrosius squeezed his hand hard. “The man got away,” he said, his voice shaking with anger now. “We were all too grief-stricken to pursue him. Sebastian wasn’t just my lover, he was like a brother to Dante, August and Robert. He was the fifth member of our band. I swore my vengeance on this man, but I have not yet found out who he is. I won’t forget his face though. I will spend the rest of my life
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looking for him.” His hand tightened uncomfortably on Lucien’s. Lucien let him have a moment to allow his anger to disperse. “Do I remind you of him?” he asked quietly. Ambrosius lifted his head abruptly to look at him, his chocolate brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. “A little,” he said with a laugh which trembled, “although his eyes were blue, they were very like yours, so striking and memorable. And you have his same sweetness and gentleness…” he stopped and swallowed, lowering his eyes and releasing Lucien’s hand, perhaps realising he had said far too much. Lucien didn’t feel he was sweet and gentle in any way, and had no idea why Ambrosius did. But it wouldn’t do the other any harm to think it. His reaction to this man’s suffering was genuine, though. It hurt him. “Is that why you brought me here?” he asked. Ambrosius frowned a little. “No,” he said too quickly. “I brought you here because Dante would have killed you otherwise. As I told you.” He seemed to have closed off, his tone cold now, the emotion gone from his face. Abruptly he stood up, brushed the leaves from his breeches and left Lucien sitting alone under the tree.
Ambrosius went upstairs to his room. He did not understand why he had opened up this way to Lucien, when he rarely even spoke to his three close friends about Sebastian. But Lucien had dragged the story from him far too easily, without even trying. And Ambrosius had sat there, welling up with tears and longing for comfort. Lucien had provided it readily in the form of that hand in his, but Ambrosius had wanted more, much more and he knew he would have gotten it, if he and Lucien had been alone. He would have been folded in those arms and his tears kissed away. He knew that Lucien ached to provide that for him. And more of course. He could hardly forget what had happened between them in the bathroom the day before. It was something he had been thinking about even as Dante pressed him against the wall last night. He remembered the last time he and Sebastian had made love. Ambrosius had come back from bathing and found a red rose on his pillow from the cottage’s garden. He had smiled, picking it up and pressing it to his nose. Sebastian’s arms went around
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his waist, his lips against the soft spot behind Ambrosius’ ear which made him shudder. “We have an hour before we go on the road,” he said in a whisper, “do you think that’s long enough?” Ambrosius smiled, turning around in his lover’s embrace. “An hour’s certainly not long enough to show you how much I love you, but I’ll try my best,” he replied. Sebastian’s sapphire blue eyes had darkened with a mixture of desire, love and deep contentment. He cupped Ambrosius’ cheek in his hand and kissed him, melting him to his very soul as he always did. The first time they had made love, Ambrosius and Sebastian had both been drunk, celebrating a large heist on the road that night. One kiss had led to sweaty, fumbled sex in front of the fire in the living room while their colleagues slept upstairs. The next morning, rather than being embarrassed, the two were starry-eyed and in love, which was how they had remained for two years. As Ambrosius remembered how they had undressed each other that one last time, how he had lain back underneath Sebastian, how his lover had moved so slowly into him, kissing Ambrosius so tenderly, he wondered if they would have made it better if they had known it was going to be the very last time? And the answer had to be no. Because that last time was the sweetest, most fulfilling, most magical hour Ambrosius had ever spent with Sebastian, indeed had ever spent with anyone in his life. It was almost as though they knew it would be the last time, because they had told each other over and over that they loved each other as they lay entwined on that bed. And as Sebastian died in Ambrosius’ arms later that night, Ambrosius saw the memories of that last time in his ocean blue eyes before the light went from them. He kissed him, taking his lover’s last breath deep down inside him and he prayed he could hold it there until he took his own last breath.
Lucien went to sit with August and Robert once Ambrosius had left. The two of them started their first real conversation with him, asking him about his life and where he lived. Lucien tried to downplay his wealth and his house and his boring, desolate
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little life. When he told them his parents had died and they asked him how, he paused, looking down at a golden leaf he played with in his hand. “They were killed by highwaymen,” he said finally, not making eye contact with any of them. The statement killed the atmosphere. Even Dante, still chopping wood nearby, grew still. August was the first to move. He put his arm around Lucien’s shoulders and said quietly, “How much do you hate us right now, Lucien?” Lucien shook his head. “I don’t hate you at all,” he replied, “you’ve been nothing but good to me since you brought me here.” He lifted his eyes to Dante’s. But I hate you, he told him silently. I really hate you. When the wood cutting was finished, August and Robert made their excuses to go inside. Lucien, suspecting that they might have been going up to their bedroom, hovered uncomfortably outside, wishing Ambrosius would come back. Dante stood a few feet away, wiping the sweat from his brow with his scarf and pulling his shirt back on. As Lucien rose, intent on surveying the area around the cottage with a view to escape, Dante gripped his arm hard, pulling him around to face him. “Did you enjoy your first taste of me last night?” he hissed into his face. “Don’t think your guardian angel is going to be around all the time. You’ll get it soon, and it will be even sweeter for the wait, I assure you.” Lucien put a frightened expression on his face and looked up at Dante with wide eyes, trying to pull his arm from his bruising fingers. He was alone with Dante, one against one. Maybe a choice knee to the groin would facilitate his escape. In the meantime, it would do the other no harm to let Dante think he was too much of a quailing coward to attempt to flee. “Don’t even think of telling him about this conversation or it will go even worse for you, I promise you that,” Dante added. “I’ll hurt you more than you have ever been hurt in your life.” Lucien remained looking steadily into those wicked emerald eyes as Dante uttered his threats. Tightening his hand even further, the highwayman said, “Of course, if you were to come to my room willingly, you would find me perfectly amiable. I’m
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not an unreasonable man, Lucien.” Lucien could not understand how this man’s tone could change from hissing threats of violence to silky seduction within a moment, but it had. And it aroused him. He stared at Dante a moment while he tried to decide on the best course of action. If he submitted now, he risked Dante becoming bored after one quick fumble and putting a bullet in his brain. To refuse him and tease him a while might see Dante’s lust outweigh his reason, so he got careless. “No,” he said, chin raised defiantly. Dante’s eyes narrowed with renewed hostility. He nodded curtly. “You’ll get yours, Lucien,” he told him icily. “I promise you that.” He let go, pushing Lucien roughly from him and stalked back into the house. Lucien looked around him with glee in his heart at his captor’s carelessness and almost laughed aloud. It was too good to be true. Had he really played his innocent part so well that the four men thought nothing of leaving him alone out here? He smiled.
Ambrosius lay on his bed with his face buried in the pillow and prayed and wished for Lucien to come up the stairs to him. But when the door opened, it was August who lifted Ambrosius up into his arms and murmured soothing words to him. Ambrosius released the words in his heart. That he had come out of the dark after six months and was looking at someone with eyes wide open, and he hated himself for defiling Sebastian’s memory. August merely told him it was natural and human and that Sebastian would have wanted him to be with someone like Lucien. At which point, Ambrosius lifted his head and asked, “How did you know I was talking about Lucien?” As August laughed, Ambrosius found himself laughing too for the first time in six months.
Lucien darted into the woods, running as fast as he could, stumbling over stones and tree roots, the thick carpet of leaves impeding his movements. The trees seemed
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endless and he seemed to be getting nowhere. He had a stitch in his side within minutes, his breathing coming in sharp rasps. Who knew if this even led anywhere? Maybe he would just end up completely lost and die out here alone, when he could have at least been back in the cottage pretending to be wide-eyed and innocent for Dante. He plunged suddenly out of the trees to be confronted by a river, wide and fastflowing. His heart sank a little. Behind him, he heard rustling. He froze, before slowly turning around. Ambrosius emerged from the trees. With a cry of horror Lucien plunged into the river. Its icy coldness stole the breath from his lungs. He was chest deep in a current which was even worse than he’d realised from its banks, a virtual maelstrom, which sucked him under immediately. Thrashing his arms, he broke the surface, coughing up water, eyes stinging. He tried to strike out to the opposite bank, but his clothes weighed him down. Behind him he heard a splash and groaned in frustration. Swimming fiercely and getting nowhere, he was sucked further downstream. The current grew stronger, pulling at his limbs. The surging waters closed over his head. He forced himself to the surface once more and immediately went under again, exhausted from the long run through the trees and the churning water. When he came up a second time, he was afraid, the prospect of drowning all too real now. His struggles to keep afloat were useless as though he was weighed down with lead. He went under again, and for a moment was suspended beneath the water, looking around him, trying to fight his way up but unable to. His thoughts were lucid. It would be no great loss. Darkness enveloped him at the moment hands grabbed him under his arms, and he was hauled to the surface. He came up gasping, vomiting up river water, semiconscious and limp in Ambrosius’ grasp.
Ambrosius, always a strong swimmer, struck out for the bank with one arm around Lucien’s chest, pulling him with him. It was a long and laborious process but helped by the fact that Lucien made no effort to struggle. He seemed to be unconscious.
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Ambrosius climbed out and hauled Lucien up the bank by the wrists, dropping him onto his back. He lowered his ear to his mouth while he watched his chest. Yes, Lucien was breathing and starting to moan softly now, his thick lashes trembling on his cheeks. Ambrosius slapped his ashen face lightly to rouse him. “Lucien,” he said softly. Much to Ambrosius’ relief, Lucien opened those startling turquoise eyes. Then his gaze focused and he groaned, perhaps realising just how successful his escape attempt had been. “You almost killed yourself,” Ambrosius rebuked him. Lucien turned his face away, not speaking. “You stupid, stupid…” Ambrosius said in rising anger. “Why didn’t you let me?” Lucien cried out, sitting up. “It would have saved you a whole lot of bother if you had let me drown!” Ambrosius frowned at him, shaking his head. “Yes!” Lucien insisted. “It would have solved your when-to-murder-me dilemma, and it would have prevented Dante from raping me.” Ambrosius stared at him. “None of those things is going to happen,” he said. “I promise you.” Lucien climbed to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said coldly. Ambrosius trailed behind him silently, watching Lucien’s stumbling feet, the water dripping from his sodden black clothes. The clothes which had belonged to Sebastian and which he knew would fit Lucien as though they were a second skin. Sebastian. His heart rose up painfully in his chest. One might think, walking behind Lucien that it was he. He had been the same height, the same build and had the same short, glossy black hair. It could have been him. Instead, Sebastian was gone and Lucien had been almost moments away from joining him. Ambrosius stopped suddenly, clinging to a tree for support as the enormity of what had just happened hit him for the first time. He began to tremble violently.
Lucien turned around. “What’s the matter?” he asked warily, eyes fixed unblinkingly on Ambrosius.
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Ambrosius bowed his head. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Give me a moment.” “You’re shivering,” Lucien said quietly. “Come here.” He moved forward swiftly and wrapped an arm around Ambrosius’ back, ignoring how the other stiffened. As he drew the highwayman closer, he was torn. The other man’s body felt so good against his own and Ambrosius needed comfort. But at the same time, Lucien had already been able to overpower him once, that time in the bathroom. Although he himself was weak and his strength drained, the highwayman was mentally weak at the moment. It was likely he wouldn’t put up much of a struggle if Lucien chose to fight him again. But where would he go? The river had almost taken his life. The only way out must be around the front of the cottage, and he would have to get past anybody who might be lurking there. He felt a tentative arm go around his back in return and with his eyes closing a little in unbidden pleasure, he tightened his hold on Ambrosius. The other man leaned his head against his shoulder, and Lucien’s resolve was broken. He couldn’t try another escape attempt until he had possessed the highwayman. His desire was stronger than any point the rational part of his brain tried to argue. Even certain death at Dante’s hands could not stop his need for Ambrosius. To be sure, he was the biggest fool who ever lived. He led Ambrosius slowly back through the trees in silence. Even through layers of wet clothes, the feel of the highwayman pressing against his side burned him.
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Chapter Six
“Don’t tell me,” Dante said sarcastically when they arrived back at the cottage still dripping wet. “He tried to escape, fell in the river, nearly drowned and you fished him out?” “Go to the devil, you bastard!” Lucien spat. Dante cackled, and Ambrosius glared at him. “Go upstairs, Lucien,” he said quietly. “I’ll find you something to wear.” Lucien did as he was told, not looking at anybody. Ambrosius faced Dante. “He’s coming with us on the hold-up tonight,” he said. Dante frowned, and then shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m more than capable of looking after him.” Ambrosius moved closer to him. “I know you are,” he said in an undertone. “That’s why he’s coming with us.” Dante’s eyes narrowed. “This fop is causing us altogether too many problems,” he growled, “when are we going to get rid of him? You’re letting him get away with murder. Sooner or later he’s going to escape and when he does, we’re all hung.” Ambrosius shook his head. “He’s not going to escape. And if he does, the only person he would inform on would be you, Dante. Ask yourself why.” He turned away and strode to the stairs. Behind Dante’s back, August and Robert smirked at each other.
Upstairs, Lucien lingered on the landing outside Ambrosius’ bedroom, knowing this third room was his. He had already seen the inside of Dante’s and the one August and Robert shared, but he was afraid to be perceived as trespassing by entering it alone. “Go on,” Ambrosius said, gesturing with his hand for Lucien to go inside as he climbed the stairs. Ambrosius’ room was the smallest of the three but received the most natural daylight. With its pale walls and the light coloured drapes around the four-poster bed,
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it was serene and airy. Ambrosius moved to the large wardrobe, then hesitated a moment. Finally he opened the door on the end, revealing a row of black clothes. He stared at them in silence. “They’re his, aren’t they?” Lucien asked quietly behind him. Ambrosius nodded. “Why would you let me wear his clothes?” Ambrosius shrugged. “I knew they’d fit you,” he said. Keeping his face turned away, he moved to the window, gesturing towards the wardrobe. “Choose something.” Lucien, more than a little uncomfortable, turned his attention to the clothes. He ran his hand slowly along the rail, touching silk, velvet, satin and lace. “He…liked black, didn’t he?” he said quietly. Ambrosius laughed shortly, the first time Lucien had ever witnessed it. He turned from the wardrobe to see Ambrosius still smiling, his teeth even and white. “Yes, he liked black.” Ambrosius’ smile was contagious. Lucien smiled with him, thinking, I have never seen a smile like yours in my life. Lucien turned his attention quickly back to the wardrobe, selecting an outfit similar to the one he wore now. Ambrosius nodded. “Stay here. There’s a robe on the chair. I’ll put some water to heat for a bath.” “No…I’ll do it,” Lucien protested. Ambrosius paused at the door. “Lucien,” he said in amusement, “I would bet you’ve never drawn water in your life. You wouldn’t know what to do. In fact, it must have been difficult bathing these past two days alone without someone to scrub your back.” “I bathe alone,” Lucien said stiffly. “I don’t need any help.” Still smiling, Ambrosius left the room. Alone, Lucien looked around. His attention was instantly drawn to an etching in a dark frame on the bedside table. He crossed the room and picked it up. He knew immediately that this was the famous Sebastian, and he could also see straight away what had attracted Ambrosius to him. He had a strong, proud face with beautiful eyes
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which must have been even more striking in the flesh. Lucien sank onto Ambrosius’ bed, staring at the image. This man had belonged to Ambrosius for two years. How did one go about picking up the pieces once he was gone? Ambrosius had seemed so calm, composed and aloof on the night Lucien met him. Now he had glimpsed the man underneath and seen the truth. He was broken, grief-stricken, haunted by memories. He replaced the etching, the eyes following him as he moved to the window. He didn’t think of escape anymore, but how to soothe Ambrosius’ wounds. Lucien had changed into the silk robe and was dozing in the chair by the window when Ambrosius returned. “Your bath’s ready,” he said. Lucien opened his eyes and stood up, mumbling his thanks. His body protested now, aching all over, new bruises rising to mingle with his old ones. He took his new clothes and made his way into the bathroom. He had fallen asleep beneath the hot water, when a hand going around his throat from behind startled him. He started, splashing water over the side of the bath, before he realised the hand was gentle and non-threatening, stroking his skin with light fingertips. A moment later, a mouth pressed to his neck, just beneath his ear, with a touch as light as butterfly’s wings. Lucien groaned involuntarily, his eyes falling shut. He knew he was dreaming. He had to be. He was dreaming of Ambrosius. The mouth caressed every inch of damp skin it could reach with practised tenderness, while a large, long-fingered hand moved down his chest slowly, stopping at one nipple, pinching it lightly so Lucien drew his breath in and moved down over his abdomen, beneath the water. He gasped when the hand took hold of his already hard cock firmly and started to move him back and forth swiftly and efficiently, the mouth sucking at his earlobe, the breath hot. He opened his mouth to speak Ambrosius’ name but all that came out were moans and sighs as the hand worked on him, drawing him so easily to his conclusion. He needed this. He had been in a fever-pitch of arousal since arriving at this house and the only satisfaction he had gotten was at his own hand. He would wake up from this wet dream soon enough, but right now, he would savour every moment. There was another hand on his stomach, stroking it lightly, moving down
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between his legs to cup his balls, squeezing and rolling them in its palm and Lucien groaned, spreading his legs wider, giving both hands better access, shameless in his need. His back arched, and he thrust up into the hand that milked him as he came closer and closer to release, his mouth open, his sighs of pleasure loud. Behind his closed eyes was Ambrosius naked, driving into him, filling him to the hilt with the thing Lucien most craved. He gripped the fingers of the hand stroking him, biting his lip at the cry which threatened to come as he spilled himself into the bath water. Lying dazed for a moment, he felt the mouth against his neck smile and a voice whispered, “I knew you’d be so easy to persuade.” Lucien froze in horror. A moment later, the bathroom door closed. When Lucien emerged from the bathroom, dressed and hair wet, his worst fears were confirmed when he saw Ambrosius asleep in the chair by the window. He went back out onto the landing, stopping outside Dante’s door. Dante stood inside watching him with a slight smirk on his face. “What’s the matter Lucien?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did my speaking spoil the lovely fantasy you were having of Ambrosius?” Lucien was too angry with himself to speak. He was supposed to be playing the innocent with Dante, the unwitting tease and instead, he had submitted to his tormentor without a fight. Dante moved towards him and Lucien lurched back into the banister, hand gripping it hard. The highwayman’s eyes were predatory and cunning. He pressed his body against Lucien’s, letting him feel his unmistakable erection. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself this time,” he purred. “I promise you, next time will be even better, when you’re screaming my name.” Lucien stared at him coolly, surprised to find he had enough energy to twitch with interest once more. Damn him, he thought, looking into the wicked, hypnotic eyes. Sooner or later he was going to end up begging Dante for it, he knew it.
A little later, the four men were sitting around the kitchen table, when Robert asked Lucien to join them. He did so, glaring at Dante, sitting between August and
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Robert, Ambrosius opposite him. The highwaymen were discussing that evening’s business, the first time they had done so openly in front of Lucien. The target was a man Lucien vaguely knew, a Baron with a fondness for drink, opium and young women. The fact that this man would be held up tonight did not bother him in the slightest. “How do you know where these people are going to be?” he asked. Dante glared at him. “We have sources,” August said enigmatically. “So you knew I was going to be on that road at that time?” he asked, looking around the table. “We knew there was a card game at Lord Blackstone’s that night, so we waited on the road for his guests to leave,” Ambrosius said. Lucien looked from one face to another, not sure how disgusted he was at this information. “You should rob Lord Blackstone himself,” he said quietly. “He has far more money than me and carries a large purse at all times.” “Is that so?” Dante asked softly, leaning across the table with gleaming eyes. “It’s so,” Lucien said, meeting his gaze. “I also know that he doesn’t keep a very secure house and he doesn’t trust his cash to banks.” There was complete silence at the table. Then Robert started laughing. “I swear you’d make a great highwayman Lucien, with all your nuggets of information!” he exclaimed. “I can’t wait for you to join us tonight.” Lucien smiled. The idea of riding out with the highwaymen gave him both a rush of excitement and a sick feeling of dread.
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Chapter Seven
All too soon, the time was upon them. Lucien, dressed in the black clothes, a scarf pulled over his mouth and nose, sat on Ambrosius’ horse. Ambrosius sat behind him, holding the reins, his hands pressing comfortably against Lucien’s stomach. It seemed they had timed their raid to perfection because they loitered barely five minutes before a coach arrived, the distinctive crest of the Baron on it. Robert galloped out into the road, pistol held high, stopping the horses, while Dante went to the window and held the Baron at gunpoint. Lucien could see there was a woman inside, too. He recognised her as the Baron’s daughter, a pretty but vain little thing whom Lucien had once kissed after too much wine, earning a stinging slap across the face for his trouble. He became nervous that Dante, savage that he was, might have some fun at the expense of this vulnerable creature and he tensed, ready to spring to the woman‘s defence if need be. Dante took the Baron’s purse and all his jewels, before leaning further into the carriage window. Lucien saw the glinting of diamonds at the throat of the Baron’s daughter and the way she cowered back from the highwayman. “Your hand, my lady,” Dante growled in his most frightening voice. The dainty thing held out her trembling, bejewelled hand. He took it swiftly in his own, and then to the astonishment of both their victims and Lucien, Dante brought it to his mouth, kissing it through the thin material of his scarf. Laughing softly at the expression on her face, he turned away from the coach. “Let’s go,” he ordered his companions. Lucien was stunned as Ambrosius urged the horse away. Did the highwaymen not rob women? Did they have some sort of code of ethics after all? Weren’t these the same bandits who had a fearsome reputation for committing the worst of crimes during their thefts? He did not understand this different side to Dante he had just witnessed. The four highwaymen laughed all the way to the nearest tavern where Dante demanded ale for them all, and Lucien found himself seated next to Ambrosius. He felt
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as breathless with excitement as the rest of them looked, all laughing, all loud. He understood the appeal and he felt part of something for the first time in his life. A drunken thought flashed across his mind. What if he asked the group to let him stay with them? Would they agree? He was sure only Dante would have a problem with it. The idea was, of course, ludicrous. He had an estate to run and money of his own to spend. He hardly needed to steal it from others. But the thought of sitting on that horse with Ambrosius’ body pressing against his night after night while they held up arrogant nobles was more than alluring. Lucien was drunker than he had ever been in his life when the landlord threw them out of the tavern. Robert and August laughed at him as they supported him between them and poured him onto Ambrosius’ horse. He had to clutch at the animal’s mane to keep from sliding off again. Ambrosius was behind him a moment later, laughing softly as he urged the horse into a trot and they followed the others back to the cottage. Lucien leaned back against Ambrosius all the way, as he had that first night he had been kidnapped. Ambrosius held the reins with one hand and kept the other tightly around Lucien’s waist. The five of them went laughing into the cottage where even more liquor was consumed and August and Robert sang ribald songs. Both Ambrosius and Dante were watching Lucien constantly. Uncomfortable under their gazes, he tried not to imagine them both simultaneously making advances on him, making all his dreams come true. He knew his feelings for Dante involved blind lust and the desperate need to become acquainted with that huge, powerful body but his feelings for Ambrosius were something he was still trying to rationalise to himself. Under Ambrosius’ dark eyes, he felt a wrenching in the pit of his stomach, a sharp pulse of arousal that overwhelmed him and made him feel dizzy. He remembered the sensation of Ambrosius hot and heavy in his hand as he had pressed him to the wall that day in the bathroom. He remembered how the other man’s body had quivered with desire for him. Lucien fixed his eyes on the highwayman as an ache of longing travelled slowly down his spine and into his loins. He knew the moment Ambrosius saw the desire in his eyes. He turned away
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abruptly, murmuring good night and climbing the stairs unsteadily, leaving Lucien frustrated and disappointed, his desire consuming him whole.
He had slipped into a drunken stupor when a hand on his arm shaking sharply woke him up. “Lucien.” His bleary eyes focused on Dante and he recoiled instantly, sitting up, trying to focus his thoughts and decide whether or not he was going to fight. “Upstairs,” Dante said. Lucien stumbled to his feet. The amount of alcohol he’d consumed caused him to worry he wouldn’t be able to perform on demand. That might be reason enough for the highwayman to kill him. He climbed the stairs to Dante’s room with a helpful hand in his back, prompting every time he swayed unsteadily on the steps. The room was lit by candles and as Lucien stepped across the threshold, he made out a figure beneath the satin covers of the bed. Ambrosius. He stopped dead, turned around and looked at Dante in confusion. Dante smirked and closed the door, turned the key and deposited it in his pocket. “What are you doing?” Ambrosius addressed Dante, seeming equally unsure of what was going on. “Bringing you a gift,” Dante replied. He pushed Lucien towards the bed. “Take him away,” Ambrosius said, eyes fixed on Lucien’s. Dante shook his head. His arms went around Lucien from behind, unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt swiftly, sliding them from his shoulders. Body held rigid, Lucien allowed him to do this, keeping his eyes fixed on Ambrosius. He couldn’t fight Dante, not with Ambrosius lying there silently watching him. He wanted both men so much it hurt. Dante’s hands slid over his chest. He lowered his mouth to Lucien’s neck and bit it gently. Lucien smothered a groan of surprised pleasure. “You forget that I know what you like,” Dante said in a whisper, sucking and kissing. “This is going to be good, I promise you.” Lucien looked once more at Ambrosius. Already he could feel himself getting
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hard against his will. Although he had imagined so many times being taken by the two men, he wasn’t sure he wanted Ambrosius to witness this, to know that Dante aroused him. Dante stepped to the bed, drawing back the covers, almost exposing Ambrosius’ nakedness, before he swiftly covered himself. “Get in,” he told Lucien abruptly. The bed was clearly big enough for three. Lucien did as he was told, lying down next to Ambrosius but leaving himself uncovered. Dante started to strip and Lucien’s mouth went dry as his superbly toned body came into view, his erection pushing against his fine linen undergarments. Smiling, Dante crawled naked onto the bed. Knees on either side of Lucien’s hips, he started to undo the other man’s breeches. “Dante,” Ambrosius said quietly. “You need to either join in or be quiet,” Dante warned him without taking his eyes off Lucien. He tugged his breeches down, smirking when he saw how aroused Lucien was. Lucien glared at Dante, angry that the highwayman now had evidence that Lucien’s reluctance had all been an act. He now knew Lucien was hard for him and from now on, he was sure Dante would positively trade on it. Dante removed Lucien’s underwear and pressed a kiss on his chest. Lucien shuddered perceptibly. Dante drew his left nipple into his mouth and sucked it, allowing his teeth to graze it. Lucien closed his eyes, hands gripping the sheets below him as Dante moved slowly down his body and took him into his mouth. Lucien could not hold in a gasp of delight at this sensation. He thrust up. Dante growled in displeasure and pushed his hips back down. Lucien closed his eyes as the other man drew back and swept his tongue firmly down one side of his shaft and then the other, before licking the head. He delved into the already dribbling slit, his tongue wicked and wet. Lucien writhed beneath Dante’s attentions. He could not stop himself, sounds of appreciation spilling from his lips no matter how he tried to stifle them. Ambrosius must think I’m a whore, he thought, lying there and taking this in front of him. He turned his head slowly to the side and his nose almost collided with that of
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Ambrosius. He saw the other man bite at his lip, his eyes straying to Lucien’s mouth and he almost moaned, guessing the highwayman was thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. He craned his neck forward and tried to press his mouth to his, but Ambrosius turned his face away. Lucien cursed mentally in frustration. Instead, Ambrosius tossed the covers abruptly off himself and slid down the bed, fastening his mouth onto one of Lucien’s nipples. Lucien stifled a cry of delight, staring down at these two beautiful men pleasuring him. With a hand tangled in the hair of each, his body writhed beneath their ministrations. He was close when Dante abruptly stopped. Lucien gasped as Dante knelt, smirking. “Well, well, well,” he remarked. “The little earl likes having his cock sucked.” Lucien glared at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. Ambrosius lifted his head to look at him and Dante slid up over Ambrosius’ body, kissing him hard and pressing the other highwayman onto his back, one thigh between his. As Lucien watched, Ambrosius fell back with a groan, hands clawing at Dante’s back. Dante lifted his head and turned to face Lucien. “Like this don’t you?” he asked, eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness. “Enjoyed watching us the other day didn’t you?” Ambrosius looked startled. Lucien’s eyes strayed to his and the highwayman asked quietly, “You watched us?” Lucien nodded, a flush enveloping his face. “Did you…” Ambrosius hesitated. “Like it?” “Oh my God, yes,” Lucien breathed. He put out a hand to the other’s shoulder, trailing it down his hard torso, feeling muscle and bone and satin soft skin. Ambrosius shifted, biting his lip as Dante gripped his erection in his hand and started to stroke it. “Who’s going to have him?” the highwayman asked his friend. “Me or you?” Ambrosius looked at Dante for the longest time, while Lucien’s heart pounded as he waited to hear his fate. Truth be told, he would be perfectly all right with the two men having him one after the other, but maybe Dante knew Ambrosius was not ready for this.
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“You,” Ambrosius confirmed. He turned his head to look at Lucien, who was filled with disappointment. Dante smiled. He slid down between Ambrosius’ legs and started to suck him. Lucien put a hand around himself as he watched one highwayman work on the other, the image desperately erotic. Distracted, he felt Ambrosius’ eyes on him. Ambrosius was flushed, his eyes bright, his lips glistening as he licked them compulsively, and Lucien became a little desperate to touch him. Moving down and almost bumping heads with Dante, he put out his tongue to run it over the couple of inches of Ambrosius’ cock that Dante couldn’t take. Ambrosius groaned beneath him and Dante pulled back, eyes locked on Lucien’s, his tongue flicking over Ambrosius’ head. Dante wrapped his hand around Lucien’s neck, pulling him closer, inviting him to do the same. Lucien put his tongue out and found it immediately touching Dante’s as they both licked at Ambrosius. He moaned a little, shuffling closer, so his legs were entwined with Dante’s, opening his mouth to take Ambrosius inside and finding Dante’s mouth doing the same on the other side of his cock. The other man’s pupils were huge, making his eyes almost black. His hand tightened on Lucien’s neck and lifting his head away from Ambrosius, he kissed him hard. This kiss did something to Lucien. His mouth opened against his will and he wrapped his tongue around Dante’s, moaning softly. The highwayman gripped him hard and dragged him against his body so the two were sprawled over Ambrosius’ thighs. Lucien’s hand crept onto Dante’s groin as they kissed, feeling the sheer size of him for himself as he slid his fingers over him. Dante growled in excitement and put his own hand over Lucien’s, squeezing his fingers tighter around himself, forcing Lucian’s hand to move faster. The kiss deepened, their tongues battling, their breath wet and hot. Dante’s other hand sought Lucien’s length while Ambrosius pleasured himself as he watched, breathing heavily. Dante lifted his head. He threw Lucien backwards onto the bed. His head hung off the other side and Dante straddled his hips and leaned over to the bedside table,
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taking the same dark glass bottle from it Lucien had previously seen when he had spied on him and Ambrosius. As Lucien watched, Dante allowed a few drops of liquid to fall onto his palm, before replacing the bottle. Then he rubbed his hands together and slid them both down the length of his own cock. Lucien could not tear his eyes away from the desperately erotic image of the highwayman masturbating. Dante took one hand away and continued to slide his lubricated hand up his shaft, eyes closed in pleasure, a slight smile on his lips. Just when Lucien thought Dante had forgotten about him, he opened his eyes. He leaned over Lucien and pulled his knees up, pushing his thighs apart. Before Lucien knew what was happening, he had pushed one of his oiled fingers inside him. Lucien groaned, unable to keep himself from pushing down greedily, his eyes straying over Dante’s shoulder to Ambrosius, who had moved over and was sitting against the headboard next to them, watching. “Come here,” Lucien whispered, holding out one hand as Dante started to twist that finger inside him. “Let me.” Ambrosius hesitated a moment before he got slowly off the bed. He then stood behind Lucien’s head while he reached out, gripped the highwayman’s cock and brought it to him, sucking him into his mouth. “Slut,” Dante said, slapping him hard on one buttock. Lucien didn’t flinch, but carried on sucking, groaning as Dante pressed a second finger into him. He found it easier to let Ambrosius hold his head in both hands and lightly thrust into his mouth. He thought about how he had wanted to be used between the two men. This was going exactly the way he had hoped, even if it wasn’t Ambrosius inside him. He was desperate now, though. He spread his legs a little wider and reached out for Dante, pulling him by the cock towards him, making his need plain. Dante withdrew his fingers and returned his oiled hand to his cock, sliding it up and down again. Then he moved onto Lucien, settling his hips between his thighs while gripping him under both knees, lifting his legs. Lucien moaned around Ambrosius with anticipation and the other drew back a moment, as though fearing the shock of penetration might cause him to bite. Lucien
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looked at Dante kneeling between his legs holding himself, guiding himself into his body and he cried out. His head fell back further off the bed as Dante eased his way inside. Ambrosius squeezed his pectorals, pinched at his nipples. As Dante filled him to the hilt, Lucien reached back over his shoulders to greedily pull Ambrosius back to his face, mouth open. Ambrosius presented his balls to him. Lucien sucked them into his mouth one after the other in delight, running his tongue up the sensitive area behind them, using his fingers to press lightly into the perineum, feeling how Ambrosius shuddered above him. He slid his hands underneath the other man, holding his buttocks, pulling him closer, one finger working its way into the crevice, to lightly stroke the tight entrance. Panting, Dante moved steadily into him, hands gripping his knees, watching himself appearing and disappearing into Lucien’s body, his mouth open. Lucien arched beneath him, moaning, his tongue wet on Ambrosius who dripped with his saliva. He scooped it up on one finger, using it to penetrate him. Ambrosius gasped. He guided his cock back into Lucien’s mouth, who took it willingly. Each thrust from Dante pushed him further down Lucien’s throat, as he used his finger to slowly stroke Ambrosius’ insides until he pressed against the right spot. Dante laughed a little when Ambrosius cried out. “Oh you’re good,” he told Lucien in admiration. “Not only do you have the tightest backside I’ve ever been in, but you know exactly what to do to my friend.” Lucien clutched at Dante’s hard bicep in response. His nails dug in, before he slid his hand to one of the highwayman’s hands and forced it around his own neglected cock. Dante leaned forward. He kissed Lucien’s neck and then used his tongue on Ambrosius’ shaft as it appeared out of Lucien’s mouth, before kneeling back, smiling. He started to slide Lucien rapidly through his hand now, holding him by one leg, grunting with every thrust as he came closer to his own climax. Lucien was having the time of his life between the two men. He saw no humiliation in being spit-roasted in this fashion, not when he had seduced both. As far as he could see, he was in control, both of them puppets to the delights of his willing
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orifices. He would bet neither of them would care about keeping him captive after this. They would only want to fuck him senseless night after night. Ambrosius gasped above him. Lucien’s jaw ached, but he knew the other man would be done soon enough. His fingers were almost tender as they held his head and his internal muscles tightened around Lucien’s finger in approaching orgasm. Lucien was almost there, himself. He lifted his pelvis, trying to angle Dante into him the right way, using him as a toy to please himself. The highwayman laughed in amusement. He gripped Lucien’s hips a moment, withdrew and jabbed into him at another angle. “This what you’re looking for?” he asked slyly. Ambrosius rapidly drew away from him as Lucien let loose a cry of ecstasy. “Yes, yes…” he panted, hands clawing at Dante’s shoulders. “Please…” “Such a whore isn’t he?” the highwayman asked his colleague, their eyes meeting over Lucien. Ambrosius stroked himself over Lucien now, biting his lip to stifle his own sounds of pleasure. Lucien looked at him, their eyes meeting as Ambrosius pumped himself rapidly. Lucien opened his mouth, deliberately licking his lips, making it clear he would take anything he wanted to give him. Ambrosius groaned and shuddered, his thighs shaking. He moved forward so he directed himself over Lucien’s body, away from his face. Lucien watched, gasping in his own pleasure as Ambrosius came onto his chest in great, white spurts. Dante’s hand tightened on his cock and Lucien was there, his semen falling on his stomach and mixing with the fluid already on his chest. His head fell back as he rode out the orgasm, clenching and spasming around Dante. His lover finished with a growl of delight and several hard thrusts before he fell forward onto him, crushing him to the bed. Lucien lay dazed and barely conscious. Ambrosius crawled onto the bed and Dante laughed softly and shifted to his other side. “My God boy, you’re good. Something tells me you’re not the virgin you pretend to be. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a wanton slut in my bed, and to be sure, I’ve had
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Chapter Eight
Lucien woke alone in the big bed, his head pounding and his stomach churning. He lay still, reliving every single detail of the night before. Oh God, he had been as wanton as Dante had said. How he had laid there like a slut and been used by the two men but oh…he put a hand beneath the covers around his already hard cock. He had loved every moment of it. There was no point in trying to act the frightened innocent to Dante, not now the other realised how much he liked a cock in his backside. And there was no point trying to deny his feelings for Ambrosius, either. He thought of him hot and thick in his mouth, and he shifted, feeling the soreness between his legs. It merely caused him to squirm with renewed excitement. He wanted it again. He would never be able to get enough of it. He slid from the bed, catching sight of himself in the glass. His hips were marked with livid, finger-shaped bruises, his neck littered with bites from eager lips. He turned away from his image with a little embarrassment, pulling on a robe. In the bathroom, he hoped to find water, but there was none. Taking a cravat of Dante’s from his wardrobe, he wound it tightly around his neck, hiding every inch of it. He made his way downstairs, convinced he reeked of sex. In the kitchen, he met Ambrosius’ eyes. Much to Lucien’s dismay, the highwayman abruptly turned and went out into the garden. Robert and August sat at the table, talking quietly. Dante leaned back in his chair, eyes slitted lazily. He ran his tongue slowly, blatantly over his top lip with a smirk. Lucien met his eyes for a moment then walked past him, out the door, closing it firmly behind him. Ambrosius sat nearby on a fallen tree. He did not look up as Lucien came out. “Ambrosius…” he began quietly. “Are you…angry with me?” Ambrosius looked up slowly. His face betrayed no emotion. If anything, his eyes were a little cold. “Why should I be angry?” he asked. “Were we not all drunk?” “Of course but…” Lucien began before cutting himself off. He couldn’t say he
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didn’t want Dante, because he did. He couldn’t tell Ambrosius of the thoughts which lay in his heart. Thoughts which went way beyond sexual satisfaction. He cursed Dante for ruining everything. He cursed himself for being so easy. Ambrosius stood suddenly, too close to Lucien. The scent of expensive cologne overwhelmed him. “I’m angry with myself,” he said in a low voice. “That alcohol would overwhelm me so fully that I would allow myself to lie with two men simultaneously, one of whom I barely know.” “It wasn’t wrong,” Lucien replied, his voice gentle. “We all enjoyed it. And…you could know me, if you wanted to.” He reached out, placing a hesitant hand on the other’s arm. To his shock, Ambrosius pushed Lucien roughly backwards. He stumbled and almost fell. Lucien threw himself down onto the tree trunk, fists clenched in anger as Ambrosius went back into the house. They were right back at the beginning. Hostility and mistrust, captor and captive. All because Lucien couldn’t control himself when drunk.
Ambrosius hated himself that morning. He felt dirty for having both Lucien and Dante and he felt sacrilegious towards Sebastian’s memory. In the past he might not have thought anything of having two men but that was before he had met and lost his soulmate. Now it was bad enough that he continued to allow Dante into his bed, without their kidnapped earl being brought in on the act too. But just the thought of looking down into those wide turquoise eyes while he pushed himself into Lucien’s mouth made him hard as he lay there on his bed, eyes avoiding the etching of Sebastian on the bedside table. Just the thought of watching that huge cock of Dante’s disappearing into Lucien’s body and seeing how his spine arched with every thrust was enough to nearly make him come. He touched himself through his breeches. Oh God, he wanted their captive. He wanted to be the one to pin him to the bed and drive into him until they were both crying out in their ecstasy. He wanted to feel that mouth on his and those hands on his
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skin. Lucien had bewitched him utterly and he was afraid at the depth of his feelings. Treacherous feelings which should have belonged to Sebastian only. He pulled open his breeches and took himself in his hand before reaching over and dropping the etching of Sebastian face down on the wooden table. His guilt was going to eat him alive.
When August told him later that they had received information that Lord Blackstone would be dining out that evening, Lucien was surprised and gleeful that they were acting so swiftly on his idea. Ignored by Ambrosius all day, he was, however, too miserable to be excited about that night’s hold-up. August assisted him in drawing water from the well and putting it to heat. Then he filled his own bath and lay back gratefully in the scorching water. Even now, he felt Dante’s mouth and hands on him, Dante buried inside him, Ambrosius in his mouth, his hot seed spurting over his chest. He slowly sponged the dried semen off himself. It wasn’t like Ambrosius hadn’t been a willing participant and hadn’t enjoyed himself. He had told Lucien he had been angry at himself for having two men. Was this because such behaviour sullied Sebastian’s memory and he thought of Lucien as unworthy to take his place? That seemed the most likely explanation. Lucien sighed. He wouldn’t regret anything he did with Ambrosius, he told himself as his body burned. There was nothing to regret.
It was late afternoon when his nemesis cornered him outside. Lucien stood looking wistfully through the trees. “You need to learn to swim first, boy,” Dante said sarcastically behind him. Lucien swung around furiously. If he had thought Dante was going to treat him with grudging respect the morning after, he was sadly mistaken. “I’m not a boy,” he snapped, “which I think I more than proved last night.” A slow smile spread over Dante’s face, his eyes darkening. “So you did,” he said. “So you did. In fact, Lucien, I found you such an…” he smirked, “accommodating lover, that I’d be more than happy to find you in my bed again tonight.”
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Lucien glared at him a moment. Why should he be so willing for this man a second time, when he was so repulsive the morning after? Trying to salvage some of his dignity, he told Dante stiffly. “That’s not going to happen. I was drunk, in case you didn’t realise.” Dante clicked his tongue. “Now don’t be saying I forced you into anything,” he said in a silkily dangerous tone. “Nothing could have been further from the truth.” “You’re not the one I want!” Lucien blurted out, then immediately cursed his own loose tongue. Dante’s face turned cold. “Oh I know that,” he said quietly. “But do you really think he wants you? He is too consumed with grief to want anyone.” Lucien lowered his eyes. He had come out without cloak and was beginning to shiver. “That’s why he didn’t fuck you last night,” Dante continued, “much as I would have loved to watch the two of you together. It seems he only lets me fuck him.” He is not yours, Lucien thought. But then, he’s not mine either. He still belongs to Sebastian. How did one wrench someone free of a dead man’s grip? “But he wants you,” Lucien murmured. “He is not too consumed with grief to want you.” “That’s not…” Dante paused, causing Lucien to look up, studying his eyes. He had never seen the arrogant highwayman lost for words before. “It’s not…” “Not what?” Lucien asked. Dante shrugged. “It’s not something I feel the need to explain to you.” His aloof tone was back once more. “It’s not really any of your business.” Lucien nodded. “No,” he agreed. “But I’ll tell you something, Dante.” He moved closer, looking Dante hard in the eye. “What you and he have is incredibly twisted.” Dante’s face grew livid. He lashed out without warning, catching Lucien across the face with the back of his hand. Lucien stumbled backwards a few steps, tasting blood in his mouth. “Who are you to say that to me?” Dante cried, grabbing Lucien by the cravat and shaking him. “You have not seen this man for the last six months the way I have. At
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times, I have thought he was going to kill himself! I comfort him as best I can!” His pale face was flushed, angrier than Lucien had ever seen him. Lucien stared at him, hand held to his mouth. “So don’t pretend to know me, because you don’t. Not at all!” Dante finished. His chest heaved with emotion. There was something else behind all this anger, Lucien thought. Anguish. “Are you…” he hesitated in fear of the answer, “in love with Ambrosius?” Dante lowered his lashes over his intense eyes briefly. “No Lucien,” he sighed. “But I was in love with Sebastian.” Lucien’s mouth opened in shock. “So you see, he’s not the only one who grieves,” Dante said, his voice almost a whisper now. “I grieve like my heart’s been wrenched, still beating from my body.” He laughed a little bitterly at the expression on Lucien’s face. “Not the monster you thought I was?” he questioned. “Did he…did Ambrosius know?” Lucien asked. Dante shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” “Did you…” Lucien couldn’t voice this question now. “Did I what?” Dante echoed. “Lie with Sebastian? Yes I did.” Lucien’s mouth opened again in disgust. “Don’t look at me like that,” Dante warned. “I’m not that much of a bastard. It happened a month before Ambrosius and Sebastian became a pair. And it didn’t happen again because Sebastian cried out Ambrosius’ name during it.” He lowered his head. For the first time, Lucien felt sorry for him. “Did Ambrosius know about it?” he asked quietly. Dante shook his head, biting his lip. “That must have hurt you a lot,” Lucien said, “for Sebastian to have been thinking about Ambrosius. To hear him cry someone else’s name.” Dante swallowed and his mouth trembled. “I knew Sebastian for twenty-seven years,” he said. “And I was in love with him for most of those. So yes, it hurt me. It hurt me that Ambrosius took him effortlessly from under my nose.”
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“So this is why you lie with Ambrosius,” Lucien said with dawning realisation. “Because he’s had Sebastian.” “Ambrosius comforts me as much as I comfort him,” Dante muttered. “And last night. You deliberately made Ambrosius watch you fuck me as some sort of revenge,” Lucien suggested coldly. Dante finally made eye contact, frowning. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “Yes,” Lucien insisted. “You know he wants me. You got in there first, hoping to spoil me for him. Just like you did with Sebastian.” Dante stared at him for the longest while. “You make me out to be so much more malicious than I really am,” he said in a low voice. He moved a few paces to a nearby tree and sank down in a pile of leaves, back against the trunk, knees drawn up. “Sometimes it hurts so much I can hardly breathe.” Lucien frowned, staring at him. “This Sebastian was a very lucky man,” he said quietly. Dante shook his head. “No one is lucky to have me in love with him,” he said self-deprecatingly. Against his better judgement, Lucien got slowly to his knees in front of him. “He had two men desperately in love with him,” he murmured as he touched his fingertips to Dante’s cheek. “He was lucky.” Dante’s gaze lifted to his. He raised his hand, his fingers enclosing Lucien’s wrist lightly. “I don’t want your sympathy,” he tried to say in a hard voice, but it trembled. “That’s unfortunate,” Lucien said, “because you have it.” Dante’s hand dropped away from his as Lucien’s fingers slid slowly around to the back of the highwayman’s neck, cupping it, drawing him forward. Dante moved willingly, pressing his face into the chest of the man he had tormented for days and who now perhaps understood him far more than he wanted to be understood. His broad arms snaked around the smaller form in front of him and he held his captive close, eyes squeezed shut, sharing much more than body heat in the cold air.
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Chapter Nine
By the time Lucien found himself sitting on Ambrosius’ horse that night, adrenaline coursed through his veins. “Move back,” Ambrosius said, looking up at him. Lucien frowned in confusion. “I want to sit in front,” Ambrosius clarified. “Oh,” Lucien said and shuffled to the back of the saddle, watching as Ambrosius sprang up in front of him. He turned the horse’s head around, trotting away without comment. Lucien slid his arms around Ambrosius’ waist, wondering why he wanted to ride that way when they had previously ridden with Lucien in front. There was something comforting about that position, with Ambrosius’ powerful body pressed against him, but he found that being able to hold Ambrosius from behind was equally nice. He pressed his face into his back and then Dante drew alongside them. He and Lucien exchanged a secret look before Lucien closed his eyes. Lucien felt the tension in Ambrosius’ body all the way to their destination. He sat so rigidly in the saddle, shoulders and back stiff that Lucien longed to knead the knots from his muscles, to feel Ambrosius relaxed and pliable and sinking against him. When they reached the main road, it was a long, cold wait in the trees for their quarry to show. Lucien kept his arms around Ambrosius and his face against his back, keeping himself warm, not really caring what the other highwaymen thought. Dante was the first to hear the distant thud of horses’ hooves. “Wake up Lucien,” he said sardonically, kicking him sharply in the shin. Lucien sat up straight with a hiss of pain and a glare at his former lover. Dante held his gaze for a long intimidating moment before saying, “Come, you need to identify the crest.” Silently, Ambrosius led the horse out of the trees. Lucien squinted at the carriage bearing down the road at full pelt. “I recognise
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the coach already,” Lucien said confidently. “It’s his.” “You’re sure?” Dante asked. “He said yes, didn’t he?” Ambrosius demanded testily, earning a sharp look from Dante before he charged his horse out into the middle of the road, pistol held high. A sudden sense of foreboding hit Lucien in the stomach as Ambrosius followed their leader. “Ambrosius…” he said, tightening his arms around the highwayman, his voice lost to the sound of hooves. Dante drew the coach efficiently to a halt, pistol at the driver’s head, while Ambrosius moved to the window. “Stand and deliver,” he said to the passenger. “Your money or your life.” “Don’t shoot,” quavered a voice from within. “Here.” He appeared to be fumbling for his purse. Ambrosius inched closer to the window, lowering his pistol a little, hand outstretched. Lord Blackstone produced his own weapon and shot Ambrosius point-blank in the shoulder. Lucien heard the deafening explosion, a moment before Ambrosius’ body was thrown back hard against his own which nearly knocked them both from the horse. Ambrosius’ pistol clattered to the road. “No!” Lucien screamed. There was an almost stunned silence from the other three men, before they turned their horses rapidly towards Ambrosius. Ambrosius’ head hung limply against Lucien’s shoulder. He took ragged, panting breaths, but made no sounds of pain. Lucien pressed his hand into Ambrosius’ shoulder and felt the wound instantly, his hand coming back wet. “August…” Lucien called for help to the band’s self-acknowledged nurse. August yanked off his scarf, folded it and thrust it into Lucien’s hand. “Press hard,” he directed, forcing his hand to Ambrosius’ shoulder. “Let’s go. Now.” Lucien grasped the reins from Ambrosius’ limp hands with leaden, trembling fingers and urged the horse away.
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In the ensuing confusion, Lord Blackstone’s coach was away down the road, only Dante lifted his head to watch it go with cold, vengeful eyes. Looking down into the ashen face lying on his shoulder, Lucien thought he would vomit all the way back to the cottage. He rode with one hand on the reins, the other hard against Ambrosius’ wound. The blood seeped relentlessly over his fingers, hot and wet. Ambrosius’ life. “You’re not going to die,” Lucien mumbled. “You’re not.” Ambrosius’ eyelashes fluttered, gaze lifting to Lucien, eyes large with suffering. His lips curved into a weak smile, and his hand came to rest over Lucien’s. With a moan, Lucien lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the other man’s. Ecstasy exploded in the pit of his stomach. He knew Ambrosius felt it too, by the curling of his hand against Lucien’s, by the softening of his entire body against his, by the expulsion of breath against his lips. Lucien had never experienced anything like this in his life. Ever. Their lips continued to meet in the lightest kiss which seemed to last forever but in reality was bare seconds. When Lucien lifted his head to check that the horse had not veered off its path unchecked, his lips burned with the imprint of Ambrosius’ mouth. Dante was off his horse in the yard as Lucien drew the reins in. “Get down, Lucien,” he directed, hands on Ambrosius, steadying his body as Lucien did as he was told, sliding down to the ground. Dante instantly drew one of Ambrosius’ legs over the saddle, pulling him forward, standing directly beneath to catch his body as it fell heavily onto his shoulder. He moved swiftly to the door which August held open as Lucien trailed helplessly behind, looking at Ambrosius’ now unconscious and colourless face hanging limply over Dante’s back. He felt Robert’s comforting hand on his back as he stumbled over the threshold, watching as Dante laid Ambrosius down on the couch. August went to work immediately with scissors, ruthlessly cutting the coat and waistcoat from him and the soaked crimson of his shirt. Dante quickly brought over a box which seemed to be August’s kit for tending to injuries.
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Lucien caught sight of the wound for the first time and his knees buckled at the amount of torn, scorched, bleeding flesh. Robert firmly moved him out the way and guided him to a kitchen chair. A glass was pressed into his hand. He brought it quickly to his lips, allowing the alcohol to snake relentlessly down to his stomach, filling it with fire. As soon as he’d finished, Robert repeatedly refilled the glass, until Lucien had drank four glasses. By the time Lucien’s trembling had ceased, August had removed a round chunk of metal from Ambrosius’ shoulder and bandaged it thickly and tightly. With Dante’s help, he supported Ambrosius to a sitting position and urged him to swallow some laudanum. Ambrosius was half-awake again, brought to reluctant consciousness by the agony of having his wound tended to. He drank weakly from the glass, sinking back into a stupor as soon as he had finished. Dante lifted him into his arms and carried him towards the stairs. Lucien stumbled to his feet, unsteady from the alcohol, following Dante, as did August and Robert. Once upstairs, Dante lay Ambrosius beneath the covers of his bed, stripping him naked, while August further padded the wound which was already soaking through its bandages. There was a silence between the four men as Lucien knelt quietly by the bed, holding Ambrosius’ hand, pressing it to his cheek. How had it come to this? That I would feel so much at the near-death of the man who kidnapped me? He heard low voices behind him. A moment later, he felt hands on his shoulders, drawing him to his feet. He turned into the arms of the man behind him, and buried his face into a broad chest. He knew from the muscle and the solidity of the body that it was Dante. But at that moment, Lucien didn’t care who was offering the comfort. He heard Dante telling him softly that August and Robert were staying with Ambrosius for the night and Lucien needed to sleep. He allowed himself to be led into Dante’s bedchamber and undressed and he slid between the satin sheets of that large, uncomfortably familiar bed. Then he sank into Dante’s arms, skin against skin and he clutched him hard,
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desperate for his pain to be eased. Dante eased his pain in the same way he had eased Ambrosius’ pain for the last six months, in probably the only way he knew how to provide comfort to anyone. He drew Lucien’s head up and kissed him. Lucien responded instantly, fiercely. He clung to Dante and sought his tongue with his own, while his hands gripped his head, tugging at his hair. Dante’s rough hands lightly moved over Lucien’s skin, seemingly aware of the way he needed to be touched. He shifted his body over his, reaching down to his erection, stroking gently. Lucien groaned into his mouth, lifting his hips, writhing sensuously against Dante until the highwayman reached for the oil by the bed and lubricated himself, easing into him. Lucien welcomed the pain almost masochistically, hands grasping at Dante’s buttocks, urging him further inside, wanting all of the other, greedy in his need. Dante continued to kiss him, continued to stroke his cock while Lucien sucked on his tongue and moaned unintelligibly for more. It was not long until Dante managed to hit the spot that made Lucien scream as Dante had always said he would. Lucien smothered his cries against the other man’s shoulder as he came, biting hard and breaking the skin. Dante seemed indifferent, apparently not averse to pain at all. He thrust hard into him, groaning as Lucien’s muscles continued to spasm around him, viciously squeezing every last drop from him. Lucien let go of him and slowly sank back, moaning softly. Dante rolled onto his side next to him and drew him into his arms. Burying Lucien’s face against his shoulder, he stroked his hair until he fell into exhausted sleep.
Lucien woke in Dante’s embrace a few hours later. Thirsty and with an aching head, he slowly uncurled Dante’s arm from him and climbed from the bed. It was cold in the room. He moved to the fireplace and threw some logs onto it from the basket by the hearth and lit them, before holding the flame to the wicks of several candles. After warming himself for a few minutes, he drew on Dante’s robe, several sizes too big and left the room. All was silent in Ambrosius’ room. Robert sat in the chair in the corner with
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August on his knee, both of them asleep, curled against each other. Lucien moved swiftly to the bed. Ambrosius lay on his back, face ghostly in the firelight. The bandage on his shoulder was stained with blood. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. Lucien was grateful his sleep seemed to be peaceful and pain-free. He crawled onto the bed, leaning over him. I would give you my blood if I could. I would give you every last drop in my body if you would come back to me. He brushed Ambrosius’ lips with his and was gratified when they moved, parting slightly beneath his. When he drew back, Ambrosius’ eyes were open. Lucien stared down at him, gently brushing a stray, dark lock of hair away from his eyes. Ambrosius smiled in such pleasure at seeing him that Lucien’s heartfelt constricted in a cage. “Don’t you leave me,” he whispered fiercely to the highwayman. “Don’t you dare.”
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Chapter Ten
For three long days, Ambrosius tossed and turned in a semi-conscious state, wet through with a burning fever. His three colleagues and Lucien took turns nursing him, sponging his body, forcing water and different potions to counteract pain and infection between his lips. Lucien had abandoned thoughts of escape because he could no more leave Ambrosius this way than he could drive a dagger into his own heart. He told himself that as soon as the other man was on the road to recovery, he would once again try to flee, but in his heart, he didn’t believe it. It would only take the slightest sign that his feelings were reciprocated for him to stay here forever with Ambrosius, he knew that. On the fourth day, Lucien was shaken roughly awake from deep sleep. He was in Dante’s bed. Standing above him was August. “He’s awake,” was all he needed to say before Lucien was scrambling from the bed, dragging on a robe and stumbling after the highwayman. Ambrosius lay on his back, head turned towards the open window. He seemed to be looking at a robin sitting on the sill, staring back at him inquisitively. Lucien moved to him, kneeling down. Ambrosius looked up, dark eyes lucid but dull with pain. For a moment they stared at each other. Lucien’s hand rested on the bed, but he was afraid to touch Ambrosius without invitation now. He smiled hesitantly, but it faltered when Ambrosius did not return it. “How do you feel?” he asked quietly. Ambrosius nodded as though the question did not interest him. He was looking behind Lucien now, back to the robin. His eyes grew cold and distant. A crushing sense of misery stole over Lucien. What have I done? I have given up any chance of freedom to stay here and watch my captor recover, and for what? Ambrosius spoke suddenly, “It was him. Lord Blackstone. The man who killed Sebastian.” Lucien stared in shock.
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“We know,” a voice said behind Lucien. Dante. “We’re waiting for you to regain your strength before we exact our revenge.” Ambrosius nodded. Already he tried to rise from the bed, hissing in pain. “Ambrosius, please,” Lucien said, placing his hand on his good shoulder, gently pushing him back. “Not yet.” Ambrosius sank back with a noise of frustration, hands gripping the bed covers. Still he did not look at Lucien.
Lucien watched from afar as Ambrosius slowly recovered. It was another three days before he was able to walk downstairs and into the garden with Dante’s help. The two seemed close, talking in low voices, Dante tending to his every whim. Lucien knew Dante nurtured Ambrosius’ desire for vengeance. Fed it. Built it. Prepared it. And while Lucien slept in Dante’s empty bed, Dante slept with Ambrosius every night. Ambrosius did not speak to Lucien, rarely looked in his direction, and apparently had no need for him. Lucien began to doubt what he thought had existed between them. Began to doubt Ambrosius’ reaction to his kiss the night he almost died. But he did not doubt his own feelings. They were strong and enduring, and they grew every day. He sank further into himself, conversing only with Robert and August who were sensitive to what they observed. He had no further thoughts of escape. As miserable as he was watching Ambrosius and Dante, he could not bear to leave this new life and return to the emptiness of his old. He wanted only to be close to Ambrosius, however he could.
The autumn had turned to winter with a vengeance by the time they were ready to mete out justice to Lord Blackstone. Snow lay heavy on the ground as the four horses set out from the cottage. Lucien rode with Dante. When he had hesitated in the yard as Ambrosius had got on his horse, Dante had gestured curtly for him to ride with him. Filled with bitter confused pain, Lucien turned to look at Ambrosius, only his eyes showing above his scarf. Ambrosius merely turned away, his own eyes hard and blazing with the only
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emotion he seemed capable of expressing—hatred. Lucien clung to Dante’s solid body in abject fear of what was coming. He prayed to God that Ambrosius only wanted to beat and intimidate Lord Blackstone. He thought he knew Ambrosius well enough by now to know that he didn’t have the capacity for murder despite the highwaymen’s fearsome reputation. But as Ambrosius’ horse drew level with Dante’s, all Lucien saw in Ambrosius eyes was exactly that— intent to murder. He held Ambrosius’ gaze for a long moment, silently pleading for the highwayman to be merciful in his grief and desperation for vengeance. He didn’t think for one moment that Sebastian would have wanted this. He felt the tension in Dante’s body, and the highwayman turned his head slightly, growling. “Stop holding so tightly Lucien.” Lucien loosened his grip slightly. The grieving, vulnerable Dante seemed so very far away from this man in front of him now. If Ambrosius didn’t kill Lord Blackstone, Dante would, Lucien did not doubt it. And he would be an accessory to murder and all his riches would not stop the law from tracking him down. The five rode in silence to Lord Blackstone’s mansion, leaving their horses tethered within the trees at the end of the long driveway, proceeding on foot. Lucien wished he was anywhere but here. Yes, Lord Blackstone had killed Sebastian and had almost taken Ambrosius away from him, but that did not mean that Lucien had any desire to watch Ambrosius exact retribution. Dante broke a window in the cellar and climbed inside, the others following him. Lucien hesitated, finally climbing inside when Robert urged him in. The five men crept undisturbed through the silent house and up to the master bedchamber. Lord Blackstone snored so soundly he did not even hear his door open and close again. He only awoke when Ambrosius dragged him from his bed, throwing him to the ground, a booted foot on his chest pinning him in place. Lord Blackstone, a plump man in his forties, cut a pathetic sight in the firelight, in his bed attire, night cap hanging limply askew from his head, staring in horror at his assailant, eyes flickering to the other men in his chamber. “Do I look familiar?” Ambrosius whispered harshly, drawing a long sword from his belt, the blade sharpened along both sides, much to the man’s horror. “Then let me
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show you more.” He wrenched off his scarf. “I want you to see my face as you die.” As much as Lucien had been lured by the excitement of accompanying the highwaymen on their previous raids, the reality of this violence horrified and repulsed him. He did not want to see Ambrosius lost to such blind hate. His lips were pulled back in a snarl, beautiful eyes flashing, almost unrecognisable, as he crouched, blade against his victim’s throat. Lucien did not want to see him commit murder in cold blood. “No!” he protested, dashing forward. Dante caught him firmly, his strong hand on his upper arm, dragging him back. Lucien struggled with him to no avail as Ambrosius looked around at the commotion, then turned his attention back to Lord Blackstone. “Let him be!” Dante said angrily. “He is avenging Sebastian. What are you thinking, trying to stop him?” Dante’s eyes blazed. Lucien knew he wanted this as much as Ambrosius. This murder signalled closure for them both, these lovers of the same man. Lucien shook himself free, stepping back, defeated. Arms wrapped protectively around himself, he shivered despite the warmth of the room, eyes on Ambrosius. “This is for Sebastian,” Ambrosius said in a whisper. “You took him from me.” He drew the blade firmly across Lord Blackstone’s throat. The man stared at his murderer as blood spurted from the wound, spraying Ambrosius in the face. His attempts to speak came out as mere gurgles as he clutched at his ruined neck, the colour draining from his face. Lucien yanked down his scarf, turned away and vomited in the corner. Scrabbling for the door handle he was out of the chamber and clattering noisily down the stairs, unmindful of being caught by servants. Straight out of the front door and down the driveway, he gasped for breath, having to stop to vomit again, before dashing into the trees, ignoring the urge to steal one of the highwaymen’s horses. Lord Blackstone’s mansion resided only a couple of miles from Lucien’s own. If he could find his way through the woods back to Mayer Hall, he could pack up a few belongings, have his horse saddled and be away, to his residence in London and the anonymity of a big city. He knew he could not take the coach, the highwaymen would recognise the crest on its side if they were to scour the roads looking for him.
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He cursed himself as he ran, looking back at the trail of footprints in the snow which would not only lead the four bandits effortlessly to him but the authorities also, once the alarm was raised. It was the realisation of Ambrosius’ nature rather than the murder itself which had so devastated him. This was the man whom Lucien’s heart beat for. A thief, a villain, a murderer. And he wanted no part of it. He grieved as he ran at the crushing of his dreams, at the way Ambrosius had effortlessly trampled them into the dust. His gasps for breath effectively masked the sound of pursuing footsteps until they were virtually upon him. Lucien cried out as a hand gripped him by the scruff of the neck and threw him violently against the nearest tree, knocking all the breath from him. “Let me go!” he cried, struggling furiously as he looked up into Dante’s blazing emerald eyes. “I’m not going to denounce you, you know I’m not!” Dante’s hand curled around his throat. “I should finish you here,” he spat into Lucien’s face. “You’ve been more trouble than you’re worth.” Tears flooded Lucien’s eyes suddenly. “I know,” he said. “I know.” Dante loosened his grip slightly at this last. He looked down at Lucien with intense green eyes. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he said brutally. “He’s in love with you.” Lucien went still. He was distracted by the sounds of horses’ hooves, muffled by the snow. Ambrosius arrived first, leading Dante’s horse, followed by August and Robert. “Let him go, Dante,” Ambrosius said quietly. Dante did so, stepping back. Lucien, freezing cold and miserable, scanned Ambrosius’ blood-streaked face for any sign at all that Dante had been telling the truth and found none. “Go on then,” Ambrosius said dismissively. Lucien looked at Dante, frowning. “Ambrosius…” Dante protested. “Shut up,” Ambrosius said coldly. “We need to get away before we’re all hung. Let him go. We don’t need him.” The tears remained suspended in Lucien’s eyes as he stared at Ambrosius. Abruptly, the highwayman jerked on his horse’s reins, turning its head around. He set
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off through the trees alone. “Farewell Lucien,” August said quietly, inching his horse closer and leaning down, offering his hand. Lucien could not bear to say goodbye to his new friend, probably the kindest friend he had ever had. He threw one last look of malice at Dante and turned his back, ploughing on through the snow.
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Chapter Eleven
The running of Lucien’s estate had continued in his absence as though he had never been away. Some of the softer members of his household cooed over his return while his surly butler and footman couldn’t have cared less. As soon as he arrived, water was heated for a bath, he was dressed in his finest pyjamas and he was sat down at table to his favourite food, four courses of it. Alone. He managed the soup and a copious amount of wine before retiring to his chamber. He stood at the window for a long time with only the fire in the grate providing light, looking out over the silent, snowy garden and down at the trees, his estate reaching as far as the eye could see. And he thought of the cottage. Of August and Robert, of Dante and of Ambrosius.
A week passed. Several calling cards were presented when word got around that Lucien had returned from his mysterious sojourn. His staff told him he was apparently a hero, having escaped from the four men on whose heads there was a price, since Lucien’s frightened coach driver had told what he’d witnessed that fateful night. Everyone had thought he was dead. Lucien sent all visitors away. His cook gossiped to him about the murder of Lord Blackstone on the very night Lord Mayer had returned and how nothing had been stolen from his house. Lucien feigned tired surprise. He took long walks through the snow, arriving home soaked through, to the scolding of the maids who mothered him the way he had never been. He stood at the window night after night watching. And he didn’t sleep or eat. On the eighth night, he drank so much that he fell into a restless semi-conscious state, which was broken by a hand over his mouth and a body pressing him into the bed. His eyes flew open and he struggled frantically, staring up into jet black eyes.
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His first frantic thoughts were, he’s come here to kill me, Dante’s convinced him that I am going to get them all hung after all. Ambrosius gripped one wrist, forcing it above his head. His face close to Lucien’s, he whispered, “Are you going to shout if I let you go?” Lucien shook his head quickly, gasping in relief when Ambrosius removed his hand. But he merely used that hand to pin down Lucien’s other wrist. “What do you want?” Lucien demanded angrily. “Have you come to kill me?” “No Lucien,” Ambrosius sounded almost amused. “Why have you been in fear of your life since the moment you first met me? Don’t you know me well enough by now?” “I thought I did,” Lucien said bitterly. “I realised I was wrong. You’re a murderer.” Abruptly Ambrosius let him go, moving off him and going to stand in front of the fire. “There were times Lucien, when I was with you,” he said quietly, with his back turned, “that I thought I might be able to lay Sebastian to rest.” Lucien slid into a sitting position, heart hammering, hardly daring to breathe. “I will never forget him as long as I live,” Ambrosius continued. Lucien made no reply. There was something very wrong about being jealous of a dead man. “In the same way that I will never forget you as long as I live,” Ambrosius said. Lucien bowed his head with a low sigh, hand over his eyes. “Or I you,” he said quietly, voice trembling. “You saved my life thrice, and I still haven’t thanked you. You sat at the front of the horse that night as though you knew.” Ambrosius took a long time answering. “Sebastian was sitting at the front of my horse when he got shot. I realised that I couldn’t allow you to take the same risk. I couldn’t be left behind again.” “You almost…died for me.” Lucien stumbled over his words. Ambrosius shrugged. “It wasn’t intentional,” he responded sardonically. He turned around to look at Lucien. There was a long silence while Lucien’s eyes took in the familiar shape of Ambrosius’ body beneath the heavy cloak he wore and the familiar beauty of his face.
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His loins ached for the other man. He felt himself stiffening, pushing against the flimsy bed breeches he wore. He tried to clear his head of these thoughts of wanting to force Ambrosius over the bed to take him. “You shouldn’t have made me watch that,” he said accusingly, disgust in his voice, trying his hardest to be angry rather than lustful. “I know,” responded Ambrosius. “But you needed to see what sort of man I am. Now that you have, you know we could never be together.” Lucien’s heart sank. He felt emptier than he ever had in his life. As much as he had renounced Ambrosius in the woods after watching him take Lord Blackstone’s life, removing Ambrosius from his heart and soul had not proved easy. He still wanted him, even knowing what he was. “Why did you come here?” he demanded, the pain in his bitter heart making him angry now. “If you don’t want me, why are you here? To crush me further?” Ambrosius frowned in confusion. “I wanted to see you,” he murmured. “To see if you missed me at all. And I find you reeking of alcohol, obviously having had a good night.” Furious, Lucien slid from the bed and confronted Ambrosius. He gripped him by the neck and pinned him to the post of his bed, pressing against him, making his arousal clear. “I drank my wine alone in my library like I do every night,” he almost spat. “And I miss you like my fucking heart has been torn out.” Lucien had been bred not to curse indiscriminately, but he saw that the fact he had needed to, had more than made an impact on Ambrosius. “Now you know what you’ve done to me!” he cried. “I still want you! Knowing what I know about you Ambrosius, I still want you!” he stopped, chest heaving with emotion. Letting go of Ambrosius, he stalked away. “Just…say it isn’t too late. Please. Say you want me Ambrosius.” He hated the way he begged. But this was not a time for pride. This was a time to lay himself open to Ambrosius for the first time. To show Ambrosius what lay in his heart. Ambrosius was silent for so long, abject misery stole over Lucien. This really was it. This was their last goodbye. He had been wrong about the depth of Ambrosius’ feelings for him and so had Dante. So wrong.
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“Oh God, just say something!” he burst out. “Why would you want these damaged goods?” Ambrosius asked. “Why would you want me when I am still obsessed with a dead man?” Lucien stared at him as hope bubbled and boiled through his blood, lighting him on fire, bringing him back to life. Ambrosius had not confirmed in so many words that he still wanted Lucien. And yet… He decided to take control of the situation. To take what he wanted and desperately needed. He grasped Ambrosius by the back of the neck and tried to kiss him. Ambrosius turned his head away with a moan of torment and tried to escape. Lucien caught him by the arm and dragged him back and they struggled, Lucien forcing a hand into the other’s groin, finding the highwayman half-hard. He pushed Ambrosius against the carved post of his bed, lips buried in the other man’s neck, hand rubbing the bulge in his breeches firmly. “Oh God, I want you,” he groaned, “I will never stop wanting you.” Ambrosius caught his breath. One hand pulled roughly at Lucien’s hair while the other gripped his backside, forcing him closer. Lucien pushed a thigh between his and pressed against him. Ambrosius whimpered a little. He bucked forward, rubbing himself wantonly against Lucien’s thigh, he growled in delight. Lucien reached to his breeches to free himself, his own fingers on his aching shaft making him shudder. Ambrosius gripped him in his hand and started to stroke him swiftly before he grabbed Lucien by the shoulders, spun him around and forced him down onto the bed. Lucien fell onto his back and Ambrosius slid swiftly between his legs and dragged the breeches from him, pressing kisses to the inside of his left thigh. Lucien moaned and writhed. He didn’t think he could wait another minute but knew he would have to find some endurance from somewhere as Ambrosius let his tongue run slowly over his balls, before sucking them lightly into his mouth, one after the other. Lucien cursed under his breath as the other man’s tongue slid up his shaft, following Lucien’s erection to his belly, lips and tongue working on the head before sucking him deep inside. “Oh God…” Lucien let loose as his hands found Ambrosius’ hair, pulling the
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ribbon free that held it, so he could plunge his fingers into the soft waves. Ambrosius worked steadily on him, his mouth so hot and so wet that Lucien could barely contain himself. A fire steadily grew in the pit of his stomach that begged to be released into an inferno. But Ambrosius had other plans. He drew back and stood up. “Turn over,” he said firmly, and Lucien did, putty in the other man’s skilful hands. Ambrosius gripped him by the hips and drew him up onto all fours, then he bent his head and pressed a kiss to the small of his back. Lucien’s back arched. He lowered his head, presenting himself shamelessly to his lover. Ambrosius continued to drop kisses on his back, moving down, while his hands kneaded the firm globes of Lucien’s buttocks. He reached the top of the crease and his tongue slid slowly down between them, leaving a wet trail. Lucien moaned and shivered in delight, pressing himself back, begging for more. Ambrosius’ hands spread him open, exposing him. Hot breath bathed his most intimate area before a tongue licked delicately around his entrance. Lucien cried out. He could not help himself. This was the first time anyone had ever done this to him and the intensity shocked him. He held himself up on arms which trembled as Ambrosius’ tongue flicked over him, wetting him thoroughly, teasing the sensitive area. A moment later, a wet finger pressed against him, sliding inside. Lucien clutched at the bed covers, groaning, swaying in place. A second finger joined the first and they curled forwards until they rubbed on that little nub inside him which sent Lucien out of his mind. He jerked against the touch as though electrified. “Oh God, Ambrosius,” he moaned in a voice he barely recognised as his own. “Please…I beg you…” Ambrosius leaned forwards over his back, so his arousal pressed against Lucien’s buttocks. He dropped light kisses on Lucien’s shoulder blade and continued the relentless stroking with his fingertips until Lucien had to reach for his own cock, gripping it hard around the base. He didn’t want this to be over yet, not until he and Ambrosius were joined as one. “Please…” he begged breathlessly. Ambrosius responded by sitting behind him, withdrawing his fingers. Lucien
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glanced over his shoulder to see the highwayman releasing himself from his breeches, spitting discreetly on his hand and covering his erection with it. One hand spread Lucien open once again and he felt Ambrosius rub himself backwards and forwards over his entrance. Lucien shuddered and trembled, moving his hips back, longing to impale himself, desperate to feel Ambrosius inside him. He became impatient, almost whimpering in his need. When he turned his head to look back at Ambrosius, the highwayman was climbing off the bed, tucking himself back into his clothes. “What are you doing?” Lucien asked in disappointed confusion. Turning over, he got to his feet and pulled on a robe to cover himself. Ambrosius sighed. “I can’t Lucien,” he said, “not just yet. It has only been six months since…” “You’ve had Dante in your bed every night!” Lucien said in disbelief, surveying Ambrosius coldly now, angry and hurt at his rejection. “Six months since I did anything which meant something to me,” Ambrosius finished quietly. “Dante comforts me, that is all.” “You’re doing this because I lay with Dante in front of you,” Lucien accused him. Ambrosius shook his head. “I’m doing this because I’m afraid,” he said. “I can’t just move from Sebastian to you…” he stopped with a sigh. “I can’t explain it to you.” Lucien was all out of words. He felt humiliated at the way he had knelt there and begged for it from a man who clearly didn’t want him the way Lucien wanted him. He had been wrong. He turned away and retreated back to his bed, climbing in and pulling up the covers. “I’m sorry,” Ambrosius said. “If you’ll give me a little time…” His voice was unbearably sad. “Close the door on your way out, and try not to alert my servants to your presence,” Lucien said stiffly, turning his back, and burying his face into the pillow. He heard footsteps, a rustle close by, before Ambrosius laid his hand on Lucien’s head, gently combing his hair from his eyes. His lips brushed his temple. A moment later he was gone.
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Ambrosius urged his horse into a gallop down the road, scarf pulled up to his eyes, jaw clenched hard. The night was bitterly cold and the air numbed his hands on the reins until he couldn’t feel them. He did not know what he had hoped to achieve by going to Lucien’s home that night. Ostensibly it had been to see, as he had told Lucien, if the earl missed him at all. He needed to know that the other man was suffering the way he was. When he had seen those anguished turquoise eyes and heard Lucien tell him he missed him as though his heart had been torn out, when he had heard Lucien beg for him to say it wasn’t too late… His resolve had crumbled when Lucien kissed him and oh God, he shuddered in memory when he thought of the other man on all fours, waiting for him. Ambrosius had seen Sebastian there beneath him; that black hair, that pale skin and suddenly he couldn’t desecrate his dead lover’s memory further. He had only been in the ground six months and already Ambrosius’ heart tried to break free from the bonds which shackled it to a ghost and fly to someone else. It was so, so wrong and he despised himself for it. Sebastian was his one, his only and he did not see how Lucien could fill that void left in his soul. But his heart begged to differ. It wanted to have that chance. It seemed confident that this titled rich man, who was far removed from Ambrosius’ world, could replace Sebastian and he didn’t know why. He had told Lucien to give him a little time which he knew was insulting. Why should a man like him wait around for a common thief and murderer like Ambrosius? He should stick to his own ilk, like Sebastian and Dante. Dante should have been the perfect mate for him but the leader of the band had layers of darkness to him even Ambrosius couldn’t penetrate. He had been tortured and consumed by something unknown as long as Ambrosius had known him and his brooding only increased after the death of his childhood friend, Sebastian. Ambrosius should have perhaps tried to love him, to make their couplings something more than comfort and physical satisfaction but he could not. He doubted anyone could ever love Dante. No, it was Lucien who was the perfect fit for him and it was Lucien he had hurt
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so badly with his rejection. He would never forgive himself for the pain he had inflicted on him. He reined his horse in at the entrance to the cottage grounds and slid from her back, leading her over to the stable. He removed her saddle and bridle and brushed her down, his touch tender and affectionate as he tried not to think of lips against his and Lucien’s willing body beneath his in surrender. In the cottage he started when he saw a shape sat in the dark kitchen, illuminated only by moonlight. He cursed and fumbled for a candle, lighting it and holding it up over the table. “What are you doing in the dark, Dante?” he demanded roughly. Dante, ghostly and green-eyed in the wan light regarded him coolly. “You’ve been to him, haven’t you?” he asked. Ambrosius bit his lip. He took a bottle from the side and two glasses and brought them to the table before he sat opposite his friend. “Why are you back?” Dante continued without waiting for an answer. “You weren’t gone long enough to truly sample the delights of that body.” “Don’t be so ungracious all your life Dante,” Ambrosius snapped, pouring the brandy and pushing one glass to the other highwayman, taking his own and gulping it down. Dante laughed softly. “Still angry that I’ve had him and you haven’t?” he taunted, his voice cruel. “I take it he didn’t let you have him then, that tease?” Ambrosius slammed his glass down and shoved his chair back from the table, rising to his feet swiftly. “Why are you such a vile man that you take pleasure in my misery?” he shouted. “I know you can’t understand the concept of love and you never cared a jot for anyone you lay with, but I loved Sebastian and I love Lucien!” He saw the ice-cold Dante almost flinch at his words. He lowered his head, one large hand encircling the small glass. “I know you loved Sebastian,” he muttered almost inaudibly. The anger drained from Ambrosius to be replaced by a lump in his throat. He moved around the table to stand by Dante, looking down at his friend. “What’s wrong?” he asked plaintively.
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Dante shook his head. He tossed his brandy back and grimaced. “Nothing,” he said carelessly. Ambrosius reached out and gripped his friend’s chin, forcing Dante to look at him. “One day you’ll open up to me,” he said quietly, “and you’ll tell me about the pain in your heart.” Dante stared up at him a moment, his eyes turning from green to gold in the candlelight and then he wrenched himself free of his friend and pushed his chair back. “Come to my bed,” he said roughly, “and I’ll make you forget all about Lucien.” His unsteady steps as he climbed the stairs revealed he had already had his share of brandy. Ambrosius watched him disappear and then he sank down at the table.
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Chapter Twelve
Lucien endured two days of agony after Ambrosius’ night time visit before deciding he could not go on. He had been wrong to send Ambrosius away the way he had, with so much unresolved between them, even if Ambrosius’ rejection had hurt so badly. He set out to the cottage at three o’clock that afternoon, the sun already falling low in the white sky, the air crisp and sharp. He hoped he remembered his way back. He knew he shouldn’t be going, and he knew Dante would probably be livid at Lucien turning up at the supposed secret address of the outlaws, but he felt like he had no choice. He did not know when or if Ambrosius would come back. And he could not bear it. When his path led him to the river, his horse plunged into it without hesitation, and Lucien knew he was almost there. The current was calm that day as the horse surefootedly made its way across. It was hard to believe that he had almost lost his life here. The light gradually failed as he made his way into the trees. His heart started to race, knowing he was minutes away from Ambrosius. He halted his horse in his tracks at the sight of two figures seated side by side on a fallen tree with their backs turned to him, some distance away. He quickly slid down and tethered the animal, stroking its black nose reassuringly. Then he crept forward through the trees. It was Dante and Ambrosius. Lucien could already see that Ambrosius’ left hand and Dante’s right hand lay against Ambrosius’ thigh, loosely entwined together. Burning jealousy filled his entire being and it hurt just to breathe. Had he been wrong about the depth of feeling between Dante and Ambrosius? Masochistically, he could not help creeping closer so he could overhear their low voices. “I don’t want you to go,” Dante spoke. “I know. But I have to. I can’t stay here any longer,” Ambrosius replied. Lucien put his hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. Ambrosius was
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leaving. “It won’t be the same without you,” Dante said quietly. “You’ve been so good to me when I needed it most,” Ambrosius replied. “I only wish you could have treated Lucien so well.” There was a silence. “I treated him well while you lay unconscious. I offered him my comfort,” Dante said a little sullenly. “Yes, and I know what your comfort entails,” Ambrosius replied sarcastically. Lucien’s cheeks flamed and he had no doubt Dante’s did too, judging by his renewed silence. Finally Dante said, “Let’s go back.” “I’ll be along in a little while,” Ambrosius murmured. Dante stood, so Lucien ducked down behind a tree. He watched as Dante leaned over Ambrosius and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Then he walked away without turning back. Lucien turned his face into the rough bark of the tree, trying to stifle his misery. The sudden crack of a twig caused him to look up. Ambrosius stood a short distance away, watching him silently, his face unreadable, as pale as the snow, his dark eyes a startling contrast. Lucien straightened slowly and they faced each other. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out before he knew what he was saying, “I shouldn’t have come, I know it’s only been two days. I know you’re not ready and now you’re going away but I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t...I missed you...I missed you so much...” he was babbling now, close to tears, wretched and forlorn. A thick snow had started to fall as the darkness rapidly approached. Ambrosius moved forward even as Lucien spoke, shaking his head, murmuring shushing noises until his finger came to rest lightly against Lucien’s lips, silencing his outburst. Lucien’s eyes fell shut. He pursed his lips, kissing the finger, tears leaking from beneath his lashes. A moment later, Ambrosius’ wrapped an arm around him and pulled him against the damp wool of his cloak, their frozen cheeks pressed together. One hand tangled gently in Lucien’s hair, stroking tenderly.
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Lucien let out his breath and sank into Ambrosius’ body, arms around his waist, lips pressing light kisses against his cheek. With a sigh, Ambrosius turned his face and their lips collided. Such a feeling went through Lucien that for a moment his legs buckled. He seemed weightless, as though Ambrosius’ arms were the only thing holding him up. He explored Ambrosius’ cold lips feverishly with his own, afraid they would be taken away as soon as they had come and was rewarded with the opening of his mouth. Ambrosius’ tongue touched his, the heat an extreme contrast with the coolness of his lips. He gripped Ambrosius’ body tightly, moaning softly as their mouths moved against each other in perfect tandem, pressing himself as close as possible, so his erection rubbed against Ambrosius’, causing him to draw in his breath in pleasure. Ambrosius’ hands abruptly curled into fists against Lucien’s coat and pulled hard. He sank to his knees, dragging Lucien down with him, forcing him backwards so the two of them tumbled into the snow, their mouths never breaking apart. Lucien was possessed. He pulled Ambrosius’ shirt loose from his breeches, running his hands up the smooth, warm curve of his back, nails digging in, lifting his hips, pressing against him. He felt Ambrosius flinch when his cold hands touched him and the highwayman kissed him harder, his hand busy opening Lucien’s breeches. As soon as his breeches were undone, Lucien helped Ambrosius pull them down, while the highwayman hurriedly undid his own. As Lucien reached out to touch him, Ambrosius slapped his hand impatiently away. “Don’t,” he warned, “if you touch me now, this will be over before it begins.” Lucien smiled. Then, as he watched, Ambrosius spat on his hand and rubbed it along the length of his cock. He moved back over Lucien, between his thighs, lifting his legs to hook them around his back, and then supporting himself on one hand, he used the other to guide himself inside. Lucien let out a long, low cry as Ambrosius eased into him and gripped the highwayman’s shoulders hard. Ambrosius silenced him with a kiss. As he filled Lucien to the hilt, Lucien whimpered beneath him and Ambrosius took hold of his cock and stroked it.
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Lucien let out a choked gasp of pleasure, which morphed into pain as Ambrosius thrust back into him and then back into ecstasy as Ambrosius slid him through his hand. He danced backwards and forwards like this as Ambrosius kissed him, breathing his name against his lips. It wasn’t long before the highwayman brushed against his prostate. Lucien moaned in delight, lifting his hips, begging Ambrosius for more, lips crushed on his, breath gasping into his mouth. Ambrosius obliged, driving relentlessly into the same spot over and over. Lucien was ablaze, his back arching, his hands clinging to his lover, nails digging into his back beneath his shirt. His head fell back and he cried out in his ecstasy while Ambrosius covered his throat with kisses, “I love you, I love you,” Lucien groaned as he spurted into Ambrosius’ hand. His straining body slowly relaxed and he let go of Ambrosius, falling back limply into the snow. Above him Ambrosius gasped out his name, grasping Lucien’s head in his two hands, pressing his face to his with eyes closed as he came to his own climax. Lucien lay still for a long, dazed while as Ambrosius shifted to his side, breathing heavily. Slowly, reality intruded. Lucien was wet through and shivering. He put his hands to his breeches, quickly refastening them. Ambrosius was already doing the same. He climbed to his feet, holding his hand out to Lucien. Lucien took it, standing up. Ambrosius put an arm around him and led him to his horse. There he untethered the animal and led it behind him, keeping his arm around Lucien’s shivering form as they made their way silently back to the cottage.
Back at the cottage, Ambrosius’ bags lay packed in his room. After much soulsearching and agonising, he had made the decision to go to Lucien that very evening. It was a bold move which could have backfired badly but he could not be a coward all his life, nor could he continue to live in the past. Nevertheless, a mixture of joy and regret consumed him as they walked through the woods. He had done it, he’d finally had Lucien, and the wait had been more than
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worth it. Unlike some of the terrible anti-climaxes he had experienced, before Sebastian, the first taste of Lucien merely whetted his appetite for more. Even now, he twitched with renewed excitement as he thought of stripping the other naked when he got home, taking him in front of the fire with the shadows dancing on his pale skin. But oh, his betrayal was steep. He had betrayed the memory of a dead man but nonetheless, it was a betrayal and it cut him to the quick. Lucien slipped his own arm around Ambrosius’ waist and held him close, so their hips bumped comfortably as they walked, so close were they. Ambrosius’ loins ached with arousal and his skin burned for more. He tugged Lucien to an abrupt halt, caught his chin in one hand and kissed him fiercely. His lover groaned and his eyes closed, his hands clinging to Ambrosius’ coat beneath his cloak. For a moment Ambrosius allowed himself to imagine he kissed Sebastian and he despised himself for it. He drew back and ushered Lucien towards the cottage once more, remaining silent. “Lucien!” August cried in unconcealed delight as Ambrosius led his lover into the kitchen. Lucien smiled at this welcome and took August’s outstretched hand, before being drawn into a hug. “You’re wet through,” the highwayman said a little distastefully, before drawing back and allowing Robert to come forward, also for a hug. “Take this off,” he prompted Lucien and helped him remove his cloak, frockcoat and waistcoat. Lucien’s eyes met Dante’s. There was no longer the wicked glee, the watchful lust in the leader’s gaze. He merely looked at Lucien thoughtfully, no longer intimidating him. “Get changed,” August said, “before you catch your death.” Ambrosius nodded and took Lucien’s hand, leading him up the stairs. In his bedroom, Lucien stood and stared at the three large bags sitting on Ambrosius’ bed. “Where are you going?” he asked desolately as Ambrosius moved up behind him. “Where am I going?” Ambrosius echoed. “Oh Lucien. How naive are you? Where do you think I was going? Am I to presume you wouldn’t have sent me away?” Lucien turned around slowly, his face showing disbelief, his eyes bright with hope. Ambrosius’ hand slid over his cheek. He took a deep breath and finally spoke
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what was in his heart. “I love you too,” he whispered, “I’ve loved you since the moment I slid my hand into your coat to steal your purse.” Lucien let out a half-laugh, half-sob and threw his arms around his neck. Ambrosius led him over to the fire, kissing him all the way, drawing him slowly down onto his knees. Then he started to strip off Lucien’s wet clothes. Lucien shivered in arousal, his lean torso undulating sensually as Ambrosius drew off his shirt. His breathing grew rapid and heavy as Ambrosius explored his chest with hands and mouth. He sucked each nipple into a stiff peak, flicking his tongue over them one after the other, teasing them until Lucien groaned aloud. Then he gently leaned Lucien backwards, laying him down on the sheepskin rug and dropped kisses down his torso to the top of his breeches, deliberately pressing the heel of his hand against the bulge which lay under the material. Lucien sighed and writhed under his touch, hand loosely tangled in his lover’s hair, watching from beneath his lashes. He lifted himself up, allowing Ambrosius to remove the rest of his clothes. Then he lay there silently and watched as Ambrosius, on his knees in front of him, stripped. Ambrosius laughed softly. “You’re going to make me blush by looking at me in that way Lucien,” he said in a low voice, because his lover’s eyes were wide and his tongue moistened his lips as though he would eat him alive. Lucien shook his head. “I can’t help it,” he said, “you’re just…” And as Ambrosius straddled his hips, he reached up with both hands to touch his muscular torso hesitantly. “You’re so…” He sighed in wonder as he let his hands discover Ambrosius’ skin, sliding them up over his taut abdomen and onto his firm pectoral muscles, lightly rubbing his nipples. Ambrosius let out a low groan of pleasure. He removed one of Lucien’s hands from his chest and brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips against the palm. Then he kissed each finger in turn before sucking Lucien’s index finger into his mouth, drawing it in and out, watching as Lucien’s eyes darkened with lust. Smiling, Ambrosius bent down to him and pressed a kiss against his stomach. Lucien quivered beneath his touch, and drew in his breath as Ambrosius moved further
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down, to take him into his mouth. Lucien bucked upwards with a groan and Ambrosius pressed his hips firmly down with one strong hand on his pelvis. He drew back and flicked his tongue over the head of Lucien’s cock and then he sucked on his own index finger before he swallowed as much of Lucien down as he could take. Lucien writhed and his hand gripped his lover’s hair. Ambrosius dragged his tongue down his shaft slowly while his wet finger probed between his legs and worked its way into Lucien’s tight hole. Lucien cursed under his breath and blasphemed. He shuddered and panted hard as though he were about to come. Ambrosius was torn between wanting to stop and possess his lover again and wanting to suck the other to completion. His altruistic side won and although Lucien tried to moan half-heartedly for him to stop, he increased his pace, using that finger inside Lucien to press on the right spot. Lucien started to shudder. He cried out, lifting his hips uncontrollably and Ambrosius sucked harder and faster, fucking him with that finger swiftly, using his other hand to squeeze and fondle his balls. Lucien’s hand tightened in his hair. Ambrosius drew back and his tongue lashed the head of his lover’s cock swiftly, tasting the fluid leaking from the slit. Lucien groaned his name and gasped as Ambrosius sucked him down again, he came, spurting into his mouth, his muscles clenching around Ambrosius’ finger. Ambrosius swallowed. He let Lucien slip from his mouth and used his tongue on the semen still dribbling from him, so the other man squirmed at the renewed stimulation. Ambrosius rested his face a moment on his lover’s thigh and dropped a few kisses, letting Lucien recover. “Oh God,” he heard the other man groan above him. “For sure no one ever pleased me in my life the way you do.” Ambrosius lifted his gaze to look at him and smiled. “I haven’t finished with you yet,” he said sternly and he saw Lucien’s eyes darken with lust. He got off the floor and moved over to the bed where he took a bottle of oil from the drawer beside his bed. Lucien was swift to turn over onto hands and knees as soon
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as he came back, presenting himself boldly in a way which drove Ambrosius wild. He slapped his lover lightly on one pert cheek and listened to Lucien groan before he dipped his head and bit lightly at his buttock. Lucien shifted below him, one hand around his own cock as it started to stiffen again. Ambrosius sucked the tender flesh into his mouth and tongued it before his tongue crept up over the rest of his buttock, dipping into the crease, trailing slowly down between them in a warm, wet line. Lucien panted for breath and pressed himself backwards shamelessly. “Do you want me inside you?” Ambrosius asked in a low, excited voice. “Yes,” Lucien moaned, “take me.” Ambrosius pulled the stopper from the glass bottle with his teeth. He spread Lucien open with one hand and tipped the bottle, letting the oil pour down onto him. Lucien shivered in delight as it soaked him, running onto his balls, dripping onto the rug. Ambrosius’ hand slid between his buttocks and started to stroke. His fingers worked the oil all over Lucien, passing over his entrance again and again. He fondled his balls before one finger deliberately rubbed and massaged his hole until Lucien moaned loudly, pushing himself back, taking in Ambrosius’ finger greedily. Ambrosius caught his breath. He pushed another finger inside and fucked Lucien with them while he stroked his own cock, desperate to come. Lucien shifted on the rug, his spine arched, and hand pulling at his own erection. Ambrosius withdrew his fingers and gripped him by the shoulder, pulling him back. He couldn’t have Lucien this way; he needed to see his face. But Lucien swiftly took the control from him. He turned around and pushed Ambrosius backwards, so the highwayman fell back willingly on the rug before Lucien straddled him, taking his cock in one hand, guiding it to his backside, rubbing the head deliberately against his entrance. Ambrosius moaned. He grabbed Lucien’s hips and sat up. Suddenly they were face to face, closer than they’d ever been, their torsos pressed slickly against the other with sweat. Their mouths clung wetly together, gasps and moans spilling from each as Lucien sank down on Ambrosius, enclosing him in velvet heat.
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Ambrosius held Lucien cradled firmly on his lap as the other started to move up and down on him, arms around his neck. Their lips only broke enough for Ambrosius to mouth the arch of Lucien’s pale neck, teeth pressing lightly, feeling the pulse pounding against his lips. The earl’s skin glistened with sweat, droplets pooled in the delicate hollow between his clavicles and Ambrosius was possessed. He wanted to cry his love for this man aloud but he also wanted to cry at his betrayal. He stared up at his beautiful face and his breath caught as he saw Sebastian there. He was transported back to another time. In front of the fire downstairs, lying on his back with Sebastian moving into him, groaning with ecstasy and hearing his lover cry his name. He remembered his own thoughts that first evening. Please don’t let this be all I get. Please let this be just the beginning of us. And now he found himself wishing the same for Lucien. Please don’t let me only have two years with this man the way I had with Sebastian. Please let me be the first to go. I can’t be left behind again. He came back to his senses as Lucien wantonly ground himself down on him, his own hand straying to touch himself, sliding himself needily through his palm. His pelvis moved so sensually, his actions so calculated to bring them both pleasure that Ambrosius thought he would explode. “Oh Jesus,” he heard himself moan in sweet torment as Lucien brought him right to the edge and he danced along it agonisingly. Before he could come though, he brought Lucien off first. He pushed his lover’s hand away from his cock, stroked it quickly himself and heard the other man gasp for breath, felt his body shudder. Lucien’s head dropped back and he came so hard that he almost fell from Ambrosius’ lap, as he steadied him with one hand as he bucked and shuddered, spurting in long ribbons of white across his chest. It was Ambrosius’ turn and he moved both hands to Lucien’s buttocks and held them tightly, lifting his pelvis to thrust into his lover. Lucien whimpered half in pain, half in pleasure at the continuing stimulation to his sensitive flesh and groaned, swaying unsteadily and tried his best to keep moving
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until Ambrosius was satisfied. Ambrosius gasped in approaching orgasm and kissed Lucien hard. He held him still as Lucien tried to writhe away from the delicious torment of having his prostate stimulated again and pressed himself deliberately into his lover over and over again against his protests, knowing only too well what he was doing. And Lucien cried out, his face hidden in Ambrosius’ neck. Even before the highwayman could finish, his lover came again helplessly, his body shaking. This time the clenching of his muscles was enough to make the other man finish. Ambrosius held him tightly in place as he groaned and spilled himself into Lucien’s waiting body. His head fell back and he gasped for breath, moaning softly as the spasms died away. “Oh Ambrosius,” Lucien murmured with a soft laugh. He took Ambrosius’ face in his hands and kissed him. “How I adore you. How I will love and cherish you the rest of my life.” He smirked saucily, “How I love most of all, the feel of you inside me.” Ambrosius grinned. He cradled the other tightly on his lap. His lips brushed over his lover’s. Lucien’s impish smile reminded him of Sebastian and his thoughts darkened. He hid his face against his lover’s shoulder. Quietly in the heavy silence, Lucien spoke. “It is going to be all right, because I’m here to heal you now.” Ambrosius lifted his head to look at him. “I don’t deserve you,” he said in a whisper. “Yes you do,” Lucien responded. “You deserve a second chance.” He uncoiled his limbs from Ambrosius and stood up, holding his hand out. Ambrosius followed him to the bed where they climbed between the sheets. The two of them lay sleepless together exploring each other long into the night. By the time a pale dawn broke, Lucien had made Ambrosius forget everything in the world but him.
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Epilogue
Lucien noticed the daffodils peeping through the enduring snow that morning for the first time as he went to the window. The maid had just been in to light the fire, open the curtains and leave the breakfast tray. She didn’t bat an eyelid any more at seeing Ambrosius in the master’s bed, not now that it had been four months and not now that she was so fond of him, as most of Lucien’s household were. Ambrosius was so relaxed and charming, speaking to the servants as though they were equals, rarely asking for anything, laughing and joking with them. And they were all grateful that the atmosphere of depression over the house had lifted since the arrival of Lucien’s friend. The change they saw in their master was astounding. Although he had always been sweet natured and fair, he had gone from being lugubrious and withdrawn to extroverted, generous and carefree. “Spring is almost here,” Lucien remarked, turning away from the window. “Is that so?” Ambrosius muttered from beneath the covers. “Is that why we’re awake at such an ungodly hour?” Ambrosius was always bad tempered in the morning. Lucien smiled and dropped his robe, sliding back beneath the covers, pressing his lips against the large, ridged scar on the highwayman’s shoulder, putting his cold hands on his lover’s body. Ambrosius cursed, gripping Lucien hard and rolling him beneath him, kissing him fiercely. Lucien laughed, allowing Ambrosius to catch both his hands between his and rub them vigorously. “You always do this,” he complained, “I always punish you yet you still do it.” Lucien regarded Ambrosius’ sparkling dark eyes in pure bliss. “That’s because your punishments are like paradise,” he murmured, “and I want more and more of them.” Ambrosius groaned softly in delight and lowered his mouth to Lucien’s once more.
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Lucien broke the kiss after a moment. “Listen, don’t you want to know why we’re up at such an ungodly hour?” “Giving me more time to make love to you?” Ambrosius suggested, nuzzling his neck. “Not exactly,” Lucien said, squirming in pleasure. “Because we’re going on a little trip. It was a surprise.” Ambrosius lifted his head, regarding Lucien with interest. “Oh?” he said. “Where?” “Italy,” Lucien said, “and maybe France afterwards. I thought we could stay there until summer. It’s so damned cold here, I hate it.” He looked a little anxious as though Ambrosius would dislike the idea. A slow smile spread over Ambrosius’ face. “You’re taking me on holiday?” he asked quietly. Lucien nodded. “If you want to that is…” “No, I’d rather stay here on my own in the cold,” Ambrosius said dryly. “What do you think?” Lucien smiled. “I even booked passage for those three reprobate friends of yours,” he added. “Although Dante will have to behave himself.” August and Robert now lived in one of the cottages in the woods at the edge of Lucien’s property and were in charge of the land, while Dante lived in the highwaymen’s previous cottage and still, it seemed, held up unsuspecting travellers for a living. Ambrosius’ smile widened. “You actually don’t mind them coming with us?” Lucien shook his head. “We see Robert and August a lot, but I know you miss that other ruffian you call a friend. He’s agreed to come with us.” Ambrosius stroked Lucien’s cheek tenderly. “I love you Lucien Mayer, Earl of whatever it is,” he said solemnly. Lucien laughed. “And I love you Ambrosius…” He stopped, “God, Ambrosius, what exactly is your last name?” Ambrosius smiled. “Rainford,” he said. Lucien smirked. “Ambrosius Rainford.” He tried out the name on his tongue. “Very regal,” he teased.
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“He said that too,” Ambrosius remarked and then his face dropped when he saw Lucien’s expression. “Come now,” he said quickly, “the sky won’t fall if we mention his name, I promise.” Lucien did everything he could to avoid talk of Sebastian and he measured everything he did by the standard of Ambrosius’ dead lover. He knew that Ambrosius knew this and he was subdued now, biting his lip anxiously. “Don’t you know yet that you have more than equalled him in my eyes?” Ambrosius asked quietly, stroking Lucien’s unruly hair out of his eyes. “That I love you as much as I loved him?” Lucien lifted tear-filled eyes to Ambrosius. He couldn’t help it. Even now he was still not sure that his lover belonged solely to him. At times his insecurities ate him alive. “Now what’s there to cry about?” Ambrosius admonished gently. “Are we not going on our holiday this morning?” Lucien nodded, hand caressing Ambrosius’ back absently and tried to smile. Ambrosius pressed his lips to Lucien’s lightly, then drew back to look at him. “Would you like me to show you how much I love you before we get up?” he asked quietly, fingertips gently stroking the curve of Lucien’s neck, moving onto his shoulder. Lucien nodded again. Ambrosius smiled that secret smile that he only had for Lucien. He slid his arms under his lover and rolled onto his back, so Lucien was astride him. Ambrosius took oil on his hand and slowly he rubbed Lucien’s cock until he grew hard, giving a stifled moan. Then he opened his legs around Lucien’s hips and gripped his buttocks, drawing him forward. “This is how much I love you,” he said against Lucien’s lips as his lover entered him with a sigh of pleasure. “This much.”
About the Author Scarlet Blackwell has been writing for many years and she writes both straight and gay romance. Her favourite themes are historical settings and vampire fiction (sometimes both together) and her heroes are usually dark, brooding and passionate. She blames Emily Bronte for this. She is a bookworm, a DVD geek, a rock chick and an animal lover (especially cats, polar bears and elephants). She dreams of being able to write full time. Email:
[email protected] Scarlet loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
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