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trying to fuck me over?" The word was coming a lot easier now, and
he was proud of the fact that he was so angry he didn't even blush.
"I beg your pardon?" A smooth brow shot up, and Martin
regarded him through narrowed eyes.
Harry swallowed and let his gaze flinch from those hard
brown eyes. The lips he'd kissed the day before were tight and hard,
and he rather wanted to kiss them back to smudgy gleaming softness.
How much pressure would he need to apply? How long would the
kiss have to last? He tried to refocus, on the broad shoulders, the
elegant attire, the tight, clinging pantaloons that were stretching tautly
over& Damnation. "Peregrine just read me the riot act over your
absence. He threatened to cut off my funding if I didn't look after you
better."
"I don't mean to offend, but I am quite capable of looking after
myself. I have done so for the past fourteen years or more since I was
sixteen. I think your brother is overreacting." Sweeping an admiring
gaze from Harry's head to his toes, Martin smiled and stepped in
close, crowding Harry back into the parlor. "I'm taller, and I'd venture
to say quite a bit stronger than you. Assuredly I'm as safe on my own
as I'd be with you. Besides, I only went into town to finish your
errand at the book shop."
Harold accepted the proffered packages automatically. "Thank
you, but I think I am offended." Annoyance simmered below the
surface, and he felt a daft urge to prove himself. He placed the
wrapped parcels on a nearby table. "I wonder if you've the guts and
garters to stand behind what you're saying."
Martin's smile vanished in a flash, and Harry smugly crossed
his arms over his chest.
"What are you saying?"
"I challenge you to a duel." Harry grinned, hoping Martin
would take his challenge in the spirit it was offered. "Not a real one,
of course, because I don't want to hurt you, but& just to show you I'm
right."
"You're challenging me to a duel to prove you can protect me
from Peregrine's imaginary schemers?"
"Yes. Plus, you'll have to take off your jacket, and& I'm a very
visual person you know. I have a theory about how it'll turn out."
"Ah& another experiment then. I did say I'd help you with
them, didn't I? But I doubt you could hurt me. I shall of course, return
your offer. I promise not to hurt you."
Harry gulped as lean brown hands began unfastening gold
buttons and Martin slowly stripped away his claret jacket and ivory
waistcoat, leaving him standing in front of Harry in his shirt-sleeves
and braces, with those skin tight buff colored pantaloons sculpted
lovingly to his body like a second skin. "Uh& choose."
"Choose?" Martin was laughing at him and Harry didn't even
care. He was too absorbed in the play of light and shadow on that fine
lawn shirt, the brown skin of hands that had touched his
body& "Harry? Choose?"
What? "Oh. Yes. I challenged you, so you get to choose the
weapons."
"Kisses at close quarters?"
"You can't choose kissing in a duel."
"No? I honestly don't want to fight with you, Harry."
"Of course not. It's a gentlemanly thing. Sport, you know. You
can choose fisticuffs, pistols, or swords."
"Fisticuffs are out. If I lay a finger on you it will be out of
passion, not brutality."
Harry snorted. "If your performance the other day is anything
to judge from, you don't have to worry about that."
"All right then, I don't want you kneeing me in the ballocks.
I've plans for them and you later." Martin's hot gaze left Harry in no
doubt what those plans entailed.
He sighed softly. "I get to touch this time."
"Absolutely." Martin tilted his head to the side. "Fencing is
out. Bloodshed isn't sensual or appealing to me. So I suppose that
leaves us with pistols to prove your mettle."
"Really? Are you quite certain?" He couldn t believe his luck.
"Perhaps you'd like to place a wager on the outcome?"
"No, I rather think I'm being gulled somehow, but I've no
notion how. I'll pass. How do we do this? I am not quite certain I can
bring myself to fire at you, either."
"No. That wouldn't go over well. Dueling is forbidden here.
We could be arrested if we're seen, which puts you back in custody,
and so& I've a deck of playing cards. Let's shoot pips."
"I'm afraid that I don't actually have a pistol on me," Martin
apologized.
"Oh, that's not an issue. I'm certain Peregrine has a set of
dueling pistols in the study. He's generally quite well armed for a
politician." He tore his gaze away from the enticement of Martin's
figure, the allure of the experiments, the memories of what they'd
done yesterday and the things left for them to explore. "Um& the
wager?"
"Wager?"
"On the winner?" He could feel his pulse beating in the base of
his throat. His fingers itched to smooth over that fine lawn shirt.
"Ah yes, well since you insist, name your terms."
That's what he'd been hoping for. "The winner gets to direct
the experiment."
Martin chuckled softly. "Agreed. If you win, I place myself
entirely at your disposal. And if I win& ."
"Likewise." He shuddered. The wager wasn't fair: even if he
lost he was pretty certain he'd come out the better for it. But, neither
could he resist the somewhat primal urge to prove to Martin that he
was perfectly capable of defending what was his.
Um& .He pushed aside the thrill of pleasure he got at that
notion. Martin wasn't his, he was Perry's and Harry just had him on
loan. Or was he Jason's?
Fuck it. "The playing cards are in the parlor in the drawer of
the side table. I'll get the pistols from the study." He discreetly
adjusted his prick as he turned to exit the parlor, grateful for his
unfashionably baggy breeches. Some magnetic force of attraction
made him glance back over his shoulder in time to catch a grimacing
Martin adjusting himself as well. Grinning happily, he picked up the
pace and darted down the hall to Perry's inadequate study.
It was good to have proof that Martin was as affected by their
banter as he was, that his desire was apparently just as strong.
In Perry's study he searched the obvious places. At their home
on Grosvenor Square, his father kept a box of elegant pistols on the
mantle in his office. Perry was much more subtle than their father
though. There was no carved box on the mantle, nor on any of the
tabletops.
The desk then was the most likely place. Whistling softly,
Harry seated himself in Perry's chair, letting his feet touch the floor
with satisfaction. That interrogation chair had been genius, but it was
his genius not Perry's. This was much better. He swiftly began
combing through the drawers, all of which were scrupulously locked
and had to be forced open with the tiny metal tools he kept.
As he suspected, in the bottom drawer of the desk he found a
set of dueling pistols, of Manton's design. He looked them over
carefully, noting with approval the balance and weight in his palm.
Perry had almost as good an eye for firearms as he did for beauty.
He replaced the ivory handled weapons in their velvet lined
case and made his way with the carved mahogany box back to the
parlor.
Martin stood in a beam of sunlight, shuffling a deck of playing
cards with a thoughtful expression. He smiled when he noticed Harry
watching him, and Harry' stomach gave that odd little lurch he'd
noticed the day before in the alley when he'd seen the gentleman
coming to his rescue.
"Found them. Perry keeps his weaponry in fairly decent shape,
but you'd perhaps like to look them over and ascertain for yourself
just how fine they are?"
He enjoyed the intent expression on Martin's face as the man
stalked like some lethal American jungle cat& Did they have jungles
in America? Perhaps not& nevertheless, there was an aura of danger [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]