More, by All Mores

My father had two sons—Garrick, who as the oldest, the heir, could do no wrong, and me, the barely acknowledged younger son who could do no right… I sighed and endeavoured to push those thoughts from my mind, without much success. Why haven’t you accepted this by now, St John James Ashford? For whatever reason, your father cannot like you, never mind love you. I told myself this over and over, and over, but still I hoped one day to be proved wrong. However, I was determined to make him notice me. I had tried being perfect, like my brother, taking O and A levels at school and never being expelled—but no matter how well my instructors thought of me, Father was not impressed. I toyed with the idea of being disreputable like Uncle James, Mother’s brother, to whom I bore a strong physical resemblance. The problem was neither drugs nor girls appealed to me, and I loathed the way I had felt the morning after my sole attempt at drunken debauchery, as well as being dismayed to discover not only a ring piercing my left n****e, but a scandalous tattoo of a scantily dressed Betty Boop on my right buttock. I woke the next morning in a little hotel, my head throbbing, my n****e hurting, and my buttock sore, and abruptly I grew concerned the group of young men and women might have introduced me to the…delights…of the flesh without me recalling. And oh God, I’d had to find a discreet clinic where I could be examined without word of it getting back to Father. Paradoxically, while I was quite willing to rub my whorishness in his face, I wasn’t ready for him to learn I had actually contracted a sexually transmitted disease. I didn’t even bother going home. I found a clinic in the phone book that promised discretion, and I went there. “You’re fine, young man,” the bristly-moustached doctor told me, and I sagged in confused relief. For whatever unknown reason, I’d been spared that, for which I would give unending thanks. “I’d suggest going easy on the alcohol next time you go out on the town. And perhaps finding a new group of friends you can trust more.” “Yes, Doctor.” I didn’t tell him the likelihood of a “next time” with either alcohol or those particular “friends”—more Garrick’s than mine—was nil. I entered the house, unseen by anyone. At that time of day, Father was most likely in his office with his solicitor, trying to track down a highborn bride for Garrick, while my brother was no doubt still in bed. I went to the kitchen, coming to an abrupt halt when I spotted Boucher, Father’s French chef, seated in the small alcove. The man was reading the newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee; the sight of the huge brunch beside his place almost turned my stomach. He glanced up, ran his gaze over my dishevelled appearance, then returned his attention to his newspaper. I ignored him, poured myself a glass of orange juice, and took a packet of biscuits from the pantry. There was a bottle of aspirin in the butler’s pantry just off the kitchen, and I slipped it into my jacket pocket. The house was quiet, but I didn’t want to run the risk of meeting Father just then, so I climbed the servants’ stairs up to the attic to my refuge in what used to be the playroom. I put down the juice and biscuits and reached for the bottle of aspirin. A crackly sound caught my attention, and I withdrew a square of paper I didn’t recognize. Was it a message from my brother, mocking me for being unable to hold my drink? I set it aside, shook out a couple of aspirin tablets, and washed them down with some sips of juice. I opened the packet of biscuits and had some before I removed my jacket and draped it over one of the small chairs no one had ever bothered to dispose of. After another sip of juice, I picked up the paper, unfolded it, and scanned the neat writing. Dear St John, Oh. Not from Garrick. He wouldn’t address me so politely. You’re okay, don’t worry, mate. I chased off those sons of bitches before they could hurt you—and believe me, they would have taken great delight in doing so. I’d come to that same conclusion, but it was kind of this person, whoever he was, to let me know. But what did he mean by chasing them off? I resumed reading. I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Six. We met about ten years ago when I delivered a birthday gift from your Uncle James. I did remember the man. He had been kind to me, not only presenting me the gift of marbles from Uncle James, but also teaching me how to play. I hate to be the one to tell you, but your brother Garrick was behind this. Think about it, please. Who introduced you to that lot? He was right. I didn’t know how he was aware of this, but yes, going out the previous night had been my brother’s idea, and he was the one who’d introduced me to the raucous group of young men and women. I sighed. They’d seemed friendly enough and actually appeared pleased to meet me. I arrived on the scene too late to stop you from getting the n****e ring or the tattoo, and I hope having that done didn’t hurt too much and that you’re all right with them. By the way, it’s a cute tattoo, and I’d get one like it myself only my employer would object to it. His employer would? But how would it be known if Six had a tattoo on his buttocks? I shook my head, dismissed my wonder, and continued reading. I hope your hangover isn’t too bad. Take some aspirin—I’ve found through personal experience ibuprofen tends to irritate an already upset stomach—with a glass of water or juice, munch on some dry toast or biscuits, and go back to bed if at all possible. I’d also suggest going easy on the sauce next time. And please watch out for your brother. I don’t think he’s your biggest fan. Your friend, Six I folded the note, put it back in my pocket, and picked up my Paddington Bear. Then I squeezed myself into the child’s rocker, and rocked and held onto my bear while I thought and thought. Six was correct. I’d hoped otherwise, but…As much as it hurt, I knew I’d have to be very careful around my brother. There was nothing I could do about Garrick, so I turned my thoughts to gaining my father’s attention. If neither good exam results nor bad behaviour worked, perhaps I’d try another road. Father knew of Errol Dorincourt from his time in the armed services during the last war, and I had learned if there was a man he loathed more than my Uncle James, it was Errol Dorincourt. Mr Dorincourt, who’d been awarded a CBE for his work during the war—much to Father’s displeasure—was happily married and had a number of children. I’d seen pictures of his sons, and while Robert, who was unabashedly gay, was more to my taste, he would eat me alive. Mr Dorincourt’s oldest son, on the other hand…He was heterosexual, but word had it he might be curious and willing to sample a young man’s charms. I intended to make sure that young man was me. * * * * I succeeded in drawing Andrew Dorincourt’s attention, although it was a challenge. The man didn’t seem to drink, at least not in any of the nightclubs my brother frequented. However, Andrew Dorincourt did have a sweet tooth, and I tracked him down to a shop which offered the most decadent desserts. Andrew was extremely handsome, his blue-black hair contrasting sharply with the colouring of the rest of his very fair siblings. His height of six foot three also had him taller than the men in his family, most notably, the brother closest to him in age. In addition, Andrew was twenty-six, making him the oldest man I had yet to date. I struck up a conversation with him over Black Forest gateau, and we left the shop together almost an hour later. I’d hoped we were going to a hotel, where he would rid me of my virginity, but he seemed to be the old-fashioned sort who intended to court me. At least that was what I assumed. “Give me your address, St John. I’ll pick you up at eight for dinner.” “That would be splendid.” It would be safe enough. Father was dining out in Hackney Wick and would be gone by the time Andrew called ‘round for me. I didn’t want Father to be aware of my date until my relationship with Mr Dorincourt’s son was tied up in a pretty bow. I knew I should be ashamed of my attitude, but I’d reached the point where I was desperate for my father’s notice, and I was willing to do anything. The suit I chose to wear was suitable for a restaurant whose menu was strictly à la carte, although Andrew was dressed slightly more casual. I frowned but made sure he didn’t see my disappointment. We dined on charred squid salad for starters, roast lamb rump with sumac, aubergine, pomegranate and mint as our main, parmesan fried courgettes with tomato salsa for our vegetable, and rich dark chocolate fondant for dessert—which the man almost swooned over. After dinner, he returned me home and walked me to the door. I received no more than a handshake, and I was wondering if I’d have to search elsewhere for a candidate to ensure Father’s attention, when he said, “A Chorus Line is at the Theatre Royal. Would you like to see it this weekend?” “I…I would enjoy that very much. Thank you.” “All right, then. I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll have the pre-theatre dinner at the Holly.” He smiled into my eyes, and this time he kissed my cheek. “Good night, St John.” “Good night, Andrew.” I let myself in, certain he liked me. Well, he wouldn’t have asked me out a second time if he didn’t. I went up to bed and dreamed not of him or of Father’s reaction when he learned who would soon be sleeping with his son, but of a tall, dark stranger who stood between me and Andrew, almost as if warning me to find another lover. I woke up tense and headachy but determined to keep to my course. * * * * Although the Ashford title was less than two hundred years old, Father insisted my brother Garrick only date young ladies of the bluest blood. Andrew was the wrong s*x and also not of the peerage, which was possibly worst of all. Not that I cared, but it would drive Father insane, since the most Andrew could claim were a couple of minor baronetcies in his ancestry, and even those were questionable. I hoped by taking Andrew to my bed—or giving that impression—my father would finally be forced to acknowledge my presence. Of course it hadn’t reached that point just yet, but I saw no reason not to settle for Andrew. I had no idea why he was being recalcitrant. After all, we’d been going out for a month, and still not even a proper kiss. I was sure with a bit more effort on my part…I knew it would simply be a matter of time. I was certain my plan was working when, at dinner one night, Father actually addressed me. “St John.” It took an effort to keep from flinching at the harsh sound, although the tightening of my fingers around my knife and fork would have betrayed my distress if Father had chosen to look. He didn’t, and long practice kept my expression blank. “Sir?” “Garrick tells me you’re seeing the eldest of Errol Dorincourt’s sons.” I cast a glance in my brother’s direction. He sat at our father’s right hand, looking angelically innocent with his fair hair and vivid blue eyes. He never had to do anything to gain Father’s favour. He was so obviously the Ashford heir. “Yes, sir.” I touched my napkin to my lips. “Do you object?” Please, Father. Forbid me to see him. Show me you care. Show me I mean as much to you as Garrick. “Do as you please.” He curled his lips in a sneer that had never failed to frighten me when I was younger. Now…I sighed. It still frightened me. “It is nothing more than I would expect of your mother’s son.” He turned back to the pheasant on his plate, slicing at it viciously, and refused to acknowledge me further. * * * * None of my…dates…ever evolved into anything, and I assured myself it didn’t matter that I was still a virgin at nineteen. I would have liked to experience physical love, but more than that, I longed for an emotional connection. I already knew I wasn’t likely to get it from Andrew Dorincourt, but I found myself fascinated by the dynamics of the Dorincourt family. Not only did they love each other, but they liked each other as well. More than anything, I would have liked that for myself, but I had no idea how to go about winning their regard. So I set about it in the only way I knew how. I fussed and sniped, insinuated myself into others’ conversations, offered opinions where none were asked or desired, and was supercilious as only my father’s son could be. Meanwhile, Andrew continue to take me to dinner; he took me to shows in the West End; he never took me to bed. I could feel him growing further and further distant from me. Spending Christmas with him was a disappointment. I bought him a bottle of the most expensive aftershave I could find, and he’d smiled, although the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t you say you loathe that brand, Drew?” Robert sent a smug glance my way. “Shut up, Robin. It’s fine. Thank you, St John.” Of course it wasn’t likely I’d know, Andrew shared nothing of himself with me. As for his gift to me, it was utterly impersonal, a black tie with tiny crowns on it. Well, at least I’d be able to wear it on occasion. * * * * Dinner was finished, and Andrew’s sister sprawled in her chair. “I’m about to bust,” she announced with some glee. I couldn’t help myself. “Anne, young girls should not use such vulgar terms,” I asserted. “My name is Arianne.” I had misheard her name, but before I could apologise, she sent a glare in my direction that seemed almost feral, and I shied back in my seat. “If Drew don’t care what I say, why should you?” “Andrew,” I corrected. We never used nicknames in my family—Father insisted it was too bourgeois—and waited for Andrew to side with me. He didn’t, and I knew here was another person who would make no effort to defend me. Nevertheless, I would let no one see this, and I hunched a shoulder and muttered to Arianne, “I am sure your brother would have said something eventually.” Robert threw a piece of his roll at me. “Lighten up, Singe. She’s only fourteen.” But as if to pour salt in the wound, he turned to his sister and grinned. “Arianne, don’t say ‘bust’, it’s vulgar.” “Oh!” I wanted to throw something at the aggravating man, but the table had been cleared for the most part save for a bowl of walnuts, which would not provide half the satisfaction as, say, pouring a tureen of Boucher’s excellent lamb stew over Robert’s head. Of course Father’s chef would not approve, but it was a lovely image. Arianne stuck out her tongue at Robert. “I’ll have you know I’ll be fifteen shortly, brother mine.” She shifted in her chair to face Andrew. “What are we doing tomorrow, Drew?” “It will be your last day here before going home to Dorincourt Place for the remainder of the hols, brat. What would you like to do?” Her eyes lit up. “All my friends have been to Malossini’s House of Oddities. May we go? Please, Drew, please?” “Oh, bother, that is such a ridiculous farce.” I announced. “Not in the least bit edifying, I assure you.” Everyone stared at me, and I prevented myself from biting my lip, tipping up my nose instead. “Well, I mean, really. A snake boy? It was so obviously someone got up with contact lenses and…and body makeup.” “You’ve been there, Singe?” Robert seemed startled. Did the dratted man think my life revolved around his brother and I did nothing on my own? “Ain’t that beneath your son-of-a-viscount dignity?” Apparently I had made myself too obnoxious. However, I refused to back down from him. “What I, as an adult, choose to do is certainly none of your affair, Robert Dorincourt.” I watched in reluctant fascination as Robert reached for a walnut in the bowl at the centre of the table. He cracked it neatly between his fingers, something I could never do, and I watched as he began to eat the meat. “Adult? Affair? Now that’s an interesting choice of words for you.” His words hurt more than he realised, but I refused to permit him to see how much. The conversation returned to the exhibits the House of Oddities held. And I heard myself saying, “Do you know, it sounds as if you will have such fun that I believe I must come with you!” Even as I insinuated myself into his family’s plans for their outing to Malossini’s House of Oddities on Boxing Day, I knew it was simply a matter of time before Andrew would sever our relationship, such as it was. It was not the first time I had been spurned, and it wouldn’t be the last, I was sure. But I wasn’t ready to stop seeing him. I assured myself it had nothing to do with his family, and more especially with Robert, that abominable brother of his. I forced a smile and listened to this family banter back and forth, leaving me out. * * * * The house was empty when Andrew came to get me the next day, although I said something about not wanting to disturb the family. Father and Garrick were away and the servants had all been given the Christmas holiday off. I didn’t invite him in, just closed and locked the door behind me and followed him to the car parked at the kerb. I wore the tie Andrew had given me, but he didn’t seem to notice. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t wearing the aftershave I’d given him. “We’d better hurry,” he said, waiting for me to get in the car. “The Siblings will be at the House of Oddities before us.” “Sorry,” I muttered and climbed in. He was right. His siblings were already there. * * * * I had visited the House of Oddities a number of times before, finding its contents intriguing—at least not the living ones, which disturbed me—and I couldn’t resist showing off my knowledge of the Ymir from Twenty Million Miles to Earth and the Cyclops from The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad, not that anyone seemed very impressed. To my great relief, there were no animals on exhibit. I’d hurried out the sole time the snake boy had been on view—such a sad display. The snake didn’t appear healthy, and the snake boy looked lethargic. I’d called in a complaint to the RSPCA but had been told all the animals at the House of Oddities had permits and began to brush me off. “I am the Honourable St John Ashford,” I informed them in a tone that would have done Father proud. They’d simply said, “Who?” and when I repeated myself, took down the information and hung up. Perhaps they had done something, considering none of the animals were on display. Now, while we waited for Arianne and Priscilla to emerge from the ladies’, Robert, for a change, did not snipe at me relentlessly and frown at my prissy responses to his teasing. Instead he ignored me, an action so similar to my father’s I wondered why this felt worse. Andrew frowned when Priscilla returned but his little sister did not. Tension seemed to vibrate off him, and abruptly a scream shattered the quiet of the lobby. The cry for help seemed to come from downstairs, and Andrew and his brothers pelted out of the lobby. I exchanged glances with Priscilla. The last thing I wanted to do was take those stairs to the cellar. Priscilla studied me thoughtfully, then shrugged. “They’re my family.” She left me standing there, but I in spite of my fears, I couldn’t remain there, and reluctantly I followed down to what proved to be a nightmare of a cellar. None of the Dorincourts, least of all Andrew, who was supposed to be my boyfriend—or Robert, whose boyfriend I would have preferred to be—had any idea of the aversion I had to below ground rooms or what it cost me to descend those steps into the dim, musty cellar. Thomas kept Priscilla behind him, a hand on her arm. I stood behind Robert and peeked around him. Robert glanced at me, and his eyes widened. He squeezed my shoulder and murmured, “Good man.” I could have laughed, although it wouldn’t have been out of amusement. He thought I was being brave, and I wished with all my heart that was the truth of the matter, but the simple fact was I was terrified out of my wits. I couldn’t understand it, but I attributed it to my brother frightening me in the cellar of Haynsworth House years before, when I hadn’t been more than five or six, which made my reaction now all the more shameful. Surely I should have outgrown that fear by now? To the side, Arianne was sprawled on the floor like a ragdoll. Growls came from…Andrew? I shook my head. No, it couldn’t be—it must be a sort of ringing in my ears. Andrew crouched above a naked man. I stared, stunned, as my blasé boyfriend wrapped his hands around the man’s throat and squeezed. I swallowed a whimper and found myself gripping Robert’s sleeve and shivering. Abruptly, there was a flurry of movement, and Andrew was tossed off the naked man to land against a wall with a sickening thud. I’d never seen anything like him—long-ish black hair with strange highlights, odd-coloured skin…no testicles? I realised it must be the snake boy. I swallowed, then swallowed again, afraid I might vomit. The snake boy rose and rose. My mouth went dry as I took in the naked body that had to stand almost seven feet tall. He hadn’t seemed that tall in the tank that had contained him the only time I’d seen him, but my God, he was thin. I could count each vertebrae and rib, as well as a small protuberance just above the crevice that separated his buttocks. The snake boy approached a man I didn’t recognize—an unsavoury character if ever I’d seen one—and the snake boy drew back his hand. What good is punching this man going to do? I demanded wildly of myself. But it must have done something, because the man screamed, high-pitched and desperate, and blood blossomed on his shirt. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t, and I watched as the snake boy ripped out the man’s heart. A flicker of action caught the corner of my eye, and I could see Arianne struggle to her feet. Robert grabbed her and virtually threw her into Alan’s arms, then pushed them both toward the door. “Get her out of here!” he ordered Thomas. Robert realised I was standing there. “St John, you’d better go, too—” “I am not leaving, Robert.” I could see he was going to object, but Andrew began speaking with him, and I seemed to be forgotten. I stayed out of the way, so terrified I couldn’t hear a word of what Andrew and Robert said above the thundering of my heart. I watched as they interacted with the snake boy, as Andrew spoke with him, and I wanted to shout, “How can you do this? Does all the blood not disturb you in the least?” I forced myself to stand fast, but I knew it wasn’t going to be for long. Fortunately, finally, Andrew ordered Robert to take me home. Oh, thank God. By the time Robert hurried me out of the House of Oddities, I was biting down hard on my back teeth to prevent myself from vomiting. It was not simply because of the man lying on the floor, a rictus of terror on his face, his chest caved in from the snake having constricted his torso, or the blood-streaked python with its head blown off. No, it was the sight of the snake boy stuffing a still-beating heart into its owner’s mouth that would likely haunt my dreams forever. “Get in the car, Singe.” “Don’t call me that, please.” But I barely paid attention to what he’d said. I eased into the front seat. Desperate to erase that image, I began speaking of inanities, trying to divert my thoughts, to fill the silence in Robert’s Jaguar. “I knew this afternoon would be a total waste of time.” I gave a sniff of disdain. I had no idea what I was saying. “I knew there was nothing edifying in that place. And now it is going to snow. I hate snow. It is wet and…and cold, and it makes my eyelashes stick together.” It wasn’t working. I could still hear the screams, see the gore, smell the overlying scent of death. As horrid as it was, it should not have triggered such a panic, should not have had me speaking more rapidly. “And I stepped in something down there. I hope it was nothing more than blood. I will have to throw these boots out. They are ruined and were quite my favourite pair. Do you have any idea how expensive these boots are? They were custom crafted, and it takes weeks to have them properly made, and even more weeks to be delivered. And—” Robert swore vilely, pulled over to the kerb, and threw the car into park. “There has to be something better you can do with that mouth of yours,” he snarled, then dragged me over the console between the bucket seats. He fisted one hand in the hair that had escaped its tie and curled at the nape of my neck, tightening his grip until it was just short of painful. He dug the fingers of his other hand into my hip, opened his mouth on mine, parting my lips, and Robert Dorincourt, the most aggravating, irritating…desirable…man I had ever met, began kissing me. “Oh!” I couldn’t prevent the tiny sound from escaping. I’d been kissed before—of course I had—after all, I might not have had s*x, but I was a viscount’s son, and I was almost twenty. The thing was, my reaction to Robert’s kisses stunned me. I whimpered and tried to burrow closer to him. I was overwhelmed by the knowledge that Robert had been wanting me all along, had been saying all those taunting words to get me to notice him, but he had not meant them; I was certain. I felt as if I held the world in the palm of my hand. He would belong to me, I would belong to him. He would take me to his bed and gently remove my clothing, covering my body with feverish kisses, all the while vowing undying love. “Touch me,” he ordered, confusing me. I had been touching him, tracing the lines of his ears, stroking over the muscles of his back, flexing my fingers in his shoulders. “Come on, Singe. Don’t be coy.” He grabbed my hand and pressed it to the bulge in his trousers, and rocked against my palm. I recoiled in shock, shaking, as I abruptly realised I had misread the entire situation. Foolish me. I had been lost in the fantasy of being passionately adored, of being desired above all else, whilst Robert…He was simply lost in lust. “I beg your pardon,” I said through frozen lips. “Being coy was far from my intention.” “Singe?” Did he realise what stupid, foolish fantasies I’d been picturing? No, of course not, why would he? I was simply that viscount’s son. When I didn’t respond, he tensed. Perhaps he expected me to strike out at him, although whether verbally or physically I was unaware. Very carefully, touching him as little as possible, I eased off his lap, settled myself back in my seat and turned my head, staring out the windscreen, praying the interior of the car was too dark for him to notice the hopelessness in my eyes. * * * * “You’d better call home to let them know you’ll be spending the night here,” Robert told me as he took my coat. I expected him to hold it away from his body, as if it were something distasteful, and I looked away, unable to bear the sight. However, a glance from the corner of my eye revealed him draping it over his arm and running his palm over the soft cashmere. Why would he do such a thing, unless— He turned briskly and went to hang it in the hall cupboard. “I’m sure your father the viscount will be concerned.” His mocking tone cut me to the quick. I called, knowing of course the house was empty while Father and Garrick holidayed in Monaco. Even Boucher, the chef, was away, spending the week with his lover, while Gadsdon, the butler, had gone to Bedfordshire to visit his sister, and Brimley, Father’s valet, was off doing God alone knew what. I spoke loudly enough anyone nearby was sure to overhear, but my finger was on the hook and I spoke into dead air. “Dadsdon, get Father, please.” I deliberately waited through the count of five before continuing. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, Father. No, everything is splendid. I simply wanted to inform you I will be spending the night at Andrew Dorincourt’s home. No, we will not be alone. His grandfathers will be here, as well as his brothers and sister. Yes, I will be fine, Father. Yes, I know you worry about me. Yes, I love you too, Father.” Yes, it was all total rubbish. I only wished he truly did. Robert’s eyebrow rose until it appeared to disappear in the fringe of blond hair that tumbled over his forehead. “Who’s Gadsdon?” “Father’s butler.” “And he knows your voice without you telling him.” I raised an eyebrow of my own. “Of course,” I said with every ounce of superciliousness I possessed. I was not about to let him see I cared tuppence for his opinion. I tipped my nose in the air and turned my back on him. Then Arianne came running into the hallway, her face pale and streaked with tears. “Oh, Robin, come quick! You must see what’s on the telly!” Robert followed her, and I trailed after him. His grandfathers stared at the set in horror. On the screen was a conflagration. Firefighters stood braced, hoses blasting spumes of water over the raging inferno. An on-air voice intoned solemnly, “The fire brigade have said the sudden blaze at Malossini’s House of Oddities is hours from being under containment. Nothing, they said, has been saved or, indeed, can be saved.” “Drew?” Robin staggered, and I couldn’t prevent myself from bracing a hand on his lower back, although I kept silent. “Oh, my God, Drew was still there when we left.” “Right. I’m going after him.” Mr Fortescue-Smythe strode into the hall to put on a heavy coat. He was followed by his partner and their grandchildren. And me. “Pere, you’re just getting over a cold—” Thomas reminded him. Robert said nothing, busy retrieving his siblings’ coats and handing them out. Not mine, however. I appeared to have been forgotten. “Tommy, you’re going to wind up back in bed.” Mr Sayer’s mouth was grim, his complexion ashen, but he was putting on a coat as well. Before the others had time to follow suit, the front door burst open, and Andrew walked in, his shirt clinging damply to his torso. I had never before seen him so casually dressed, and was startled by the highly defined muscles of his shoulders and chest. I was even able to discern his n*****s, which were quite discernible. He was followed closely by the snake boy, who was dressed in a pair of disreputable trousers that left his calves bare and shoes with the toes removed. The only normal item of clothing he wore was Andrew’s jacket, which wouldn’t have fit the exceptional breadth of his shoulders and so was draped over them. “His name is Da’ric,” Andrew said, gazing up at the snake boy, who appeared taller even than he had when I first saw him in the House of Oddities. Andrew’s expression was nothing less than fatuous, and I wanted to strike him. Adding insult to injury, they were trailed by a smallish dog, which, upon closer examination, I realised was actually a wolf. Since I was leery of all canines, I shied back from it; Garrick explained away my skittishness by telling me I had been bitten by a stray when I was quite young, although I had no memory of it. Of course I protested the beast’s presence in the house. “Surely you do not intend to bring that creature into the kitchen. Filthy, disgusting animal. It probably has fleas as well.” What I was really protesting was the unusually attractive snake boy who stood so close to Andrew. To whom Andrew stood so close. “Andrew, I want to go home.” I needed his attention back on me. He regarded me as if I were a petulant child. “The storm has gotten too bad, St John.” “If you will not take me home…” I was tempted to stamp my foot in frustration. Our relationship, whatever its nature, seemed to be ending sooner than I had anticipated. Andrew was fascinated by the snake boy; one would have to be blind not to see that. “Put a sock in it, Singe.” Robert was the only one who called me that, and I hated it, especially when he used that tone of voice. “Drew said it’s too nasty out there, and you already called your father the viscount to let him know his baby boy was safe and sound.” I pretended Robert hadn’t spoken at all. “That beast is a wild animal. If it bites me—” Alan snapped, “She’s a she, St John, and if you don’t shut up, I’ll bite you!” I subsided glumly, seeing the family draw tighter together, seeing myself even further on the outskirts. Mr Sayer escorted the snake boy upstairs to shower and change into less outlandish clothing. God in heaven, he was beautiful, with the most unusual-looking eyes. There was no way I could compete with his exotic good looks. And then I heard Andrew wondering if there were enough beds for everyone. He said, “I want Da’ric in my room. To keep an eye on him.” “What about me?” I cringed at the childish whine, but I had to make one last effort. “I should be the one in your room.” “You can sleep on the daybed in the room Tre and Alan share, Singe. Or you can sleep in my room.” Robert let his gaze wander over my body in a deliberate attempt to—mock me? Arouse me? Seduce me? He was successful on all counts. Humiliated, I could feel a flush of s****l heat sweep over me to pool in my groin. Abruptly I realised Robert must indeed be taunting me. I determined to ignore him, but when I looked his way again, his expression was bland, and he was beckoning me to follow him into the kitchen. Which I did. Where else was I to go? * * * * I stood before the kitchen door, staring morosely through the glass panel that looked out into the back garden. Snow was still falling, making the view almost opaque. I blinked and focused, and I could see Andrew and Robert reflected in the glass. They were speaking urgently, occasionally glancing in my direction. I pretended to be unaware, unconcerned. But I gazed longingly at their reflections as they strode out of the room. “Do you intend to eat anything, St John?” Alan Dorincourt asked. “I’m afraid we’ve finished the eggs I scrambled,” he added in a smug tone. I turned back to find them all seated around the table, and my mouth twisted. “I will make something for myself, if you do not mind?” Not that I much cared at this point. There was nothing quite like making a total fool of one’s self, which I had thoroughly done. Besides, this would most likely be the last time I saw this benighted family. I went to the refrigerator and examined the contents. Eggs, ham, half a wheel of cheese, a green pepper, some mushrooms. I found an onion in the pantry that didn’t seem on the verge of going bad, and with all the ingredients on the worktop, I began grating and chopping, putting together an omelette. Robert sauntered back into the kitchen, looking so handsome and so sexy my mouth went dry, something it hadn’t done the first time I’d seen Andrew and decided to approach him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Robert come to a halt and stand stock still in amazement, watching as I carefully poured the concoction into the heated frying pan, swirling it periodically until it set. “Mrs Harris is going to be cross with you,” he said. She was their housekeeper and had worked for the family for ages. From what I had learned, she ruled the kitchen like a tyrant. I scowled but kept my gaze focused on the omelette. Why should she be any different than Father’s chef? “You know what she does to cheeky little boys who play in her kitchen?” I pointedly kept my back to him and still said nothing. “She pulls down their trousers and spanks their bare backside.” His siblings sniggered. “Enough, children.” One of their grandfathers—it sounded like the one they called Papa—took them to task. They mumbled apologies, to him more than to me, but I ignored them, ensnared by Robert’s words instead. I imagined what it might be like, Robert peeling my trousers off my legs and bending me over his lap, his hand landing rhythmically on my bum, gradually turning my arse cheeks pink. I never had thoughts like that before, and I felt my cheeks redden. Distracted, I reached for the handle of the frying pan to give the egg mixture a swirl. I’d forgotten about a tea towel; I registered the heat in my palm, and I snatched away my hand. From a young age I had learned how to conceal pain, and while my insides clenched, I methodically turned off the cooker and walked to the sink, where I held my hand under the cold water, restraining a flinch. I blew out a relieved breath after careful examination revealed I hadn’t done serious damage. “Is your hand all right?” “It is fine,” I snapped. The last thing I wanted was for him to be aware I’d hurt myself. Abruptly I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck, and I started, causing water to splash back and soak the cuff of my sleeve. “Damn.” I squeezed the moisture out of my cuff as best I could, wanting nothing more than to stamp my foot in frustration. Robert already thought I was useless. If I’d still been at the cooker, being startled like that would have caused the egg mixture to spill over the side of the frying pan and hiss as it fell onto the burner, and that would have given him more proof. Why wasn’t there more sniggering? A brief glance around showed the kitchen empty, and I realised we were alone. How I could not have noticed six people—and a wolf—leaving the room? I turned off the water at the same moment Robert brushed my hair aside and nipped gently along the side of my throat, and I forgot my palm, the loss of my boyfriend, the failure of my plan to get my father’s attention, everything. He stroked the fingers of his other hand down the front of my body, stopping just short of my hardening c**k, which pleaded for its share of attention. I bit my lip, stifling a moan. All I wanted was to lean back against him and let him have his way with me. “That turns you on, does it?” he whispered hoarsely. “The thought of being spanked?” I could feel his arousal nudging the crevice of my buttocks. Robert turned me and began crowding me toward the table, his mouth on mine, his tongue in my mouth taking tiny licks. Never had I felt anything like this, and I looped my arms around his neck and gave a soft whimper as my brain went into a spin and stopped working. All too soon he abandoned my mouth, so I began exploring the soft stubble that covered his throat. Robert hummed in pleasure, and I could have wriggled like a happy puppy…until he rubbed his cheek against mine and whispered in my ear, “Drew was right, wasn’t he? You are a virgin. I moved too fast in the car. This time I’ll take it slower.” I stopped myself from pressing up against him. “You discussed me with your brother?” “Sure. The last thing I’d want to do is poach.” Of course. I closed my eyes and very carefully straightened out of his embrace. “So Andrew has decided to move on to the snake boy—” “His name is Da’ric.” “Quite. As I was saying, your brother has graciously given you leave to have me?” “Wait, that’s not what I said.” “It sounded that way to me. Tell me, Robert. If I am so unlovable one could…could cast me aside without a second thought, why you would even want me.” “Who said anything about you being unlovable? Don’t you ever look in your mirror? You’re bloody gorgeous.” I went back to the cooker and turned it on. “Oh?” He thought I was gorgeous? In spite of my hurt and confusion, I found myself unable to fight back a pleased smile, however hesitant it might be. “Sure you are. At least as long as you don’t ruin it by pouting and acting like a spoiled little boy. You can be a pain in the arse at times.” He grinned. Why had I even tried? I folded my lips together. I would not permit myself to snap, “Bugger it.” I would not permit myself to slam the frying pan down and storm out of the kitchen, leaving the omelette to burn. For a moment, I savoured the notion of the stunned silence that would no doubt be left behind in my wake. I did nothing of the sort, however. Ashfords never swore. Ashfords never lost their temper. Ashfords never— My father did not believe I was an Ashford. He believed my mother played him false, had had a passionate affair with…with someone else. Someone whose genes reinforced Mama’s chestnut hair and green eyes. I went to a cupboard, removed a plate, and put it to the back of the cooker to warm, then carefully folded the omelette. Two slices of bread went into the toaster, and I pushed down the lever. “I’m starved!” Robert announced. I met his enthusiastic expression with a raised eyebrow. “Would you…erm…would you be willing to share that with me, St John?” For the first time since I had met him Robert appeared tentative. “Not afraid I might poison you after that little exchange?” It didn’t take long for the toast to pop up, a lovely shade of golden brown, and I buttered it and slid the omelette onto the plate, In spite of years spent learning to control my temper, it escaped, and I slapped the plate down on the table. “Have the whole thing. I have lost my appetite.” He closed his fingers over my wrist, keeping me in place. “Which is the real you, Singe? The spoiled brat who made a play for my older brother, even though a blind man could see you don’t fancy him? Or the young man who was scared witless in that cellar, but who refused to leave us there?” I’d had enough. “The spoiled brat, obviously, Robert.” Did he actually think I had any redeeming qualities? My father would have been more than willing to disabuse him of the notion. I stared pointedly at my wrist, hoping he would take the hint to release me. Instead, he tightened his grip and pulled me against his body. “I want you. I must be out of my mind, Singe, but I do. Spend the night with me.” So all I was good for was a single night in his bed, nothing more. I could have wept. Instead, I tipped my head back and curled my lip at him. “How could I possibly say no to such a very suavely phrased request, Robert? Of course, it is always so high on my list of priorities to insure you are happy that it breaks my heart to refuse you, but I am afraid this time you must be doomed to disappointment.” I jerked my wrist free and glared at him a final time. “Where are you going?” My God, he sounded so sure of himself. “I am going to the daybed in Alan and Thomas’s room. If I am eaten by that wolf, it will serve you right, and I will return to haunt you like the very devil.” I opened the door that led into the hall and walked directly into Andrew and the man who would be replacing me. They had obviously overheard every incautious word I’d shouted at Robert. This time I did say it. “Well, bugger it.”