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William Hall checked the watch fob hanging at his waist and frowned at the passing hour. "Damnation," he
muttered to himself. "Why are you late? Dallying with your mistress again?" He crumpled the boldly
scratched note in his hand and tossed it into the low flames flickering in the ornate marble fireplace.
Although he'd spent many a late night here playing cards with Viscount Trent, tonight was not a social call.
Rumors of the smugglers' delivery had already reached Will's ears. The viscount had summoned Will not as
one friend invites another, in which case the missive would've been signed Trent, but as Will's superior.
Trent's alter ego, Captain Randolph Burgh, military officer turned Bow Street supervisor, had signed the
terse note.
Duty, however, was not why Will wished to meet him in the privacy of his townhouse at this hour. He
paced restlessly across the room from the long windows' drawn drapes to the filled bookcases on the
opposite wall, passing the crackling fire without enjoying the warmth that dried his rain-dampened
breeches. Will harbored a deep respect for his captain and enjoyed his friendship but given a choice, he
would've preferred a much more intimate association with the man.
It would not happen tonight though. More than likely, never.
He yawned at the prospect of listening to a vast list of warnings concerning the smugglers along the River
Thames. He'd rather spend the time in the library exploring Trent's body.
He'd start by skimming his hands over the muscular arms covered by Trent's billowy sleeves while he
deliberated his next move. He imagined a haughty look in Trent's eye as he slowly unbuttoned Trent's
vest, tugged his neckcloth free of its ornate knot and pulled the hem of the viscount's full white shirt from
his breeches. With his gaze locked on Trent's stern expression, he'd slip his palms beneath the fine linen
and glide his splayed fingers up over his hard belly to the crisp curls that covered Trent's chest.
The very manly lord would attempt to hide the surge of lust Will's wandering hands evoked. Trent might
even voice his disapproval of such brash behavior but his accelerated pulse would tell another story...
Buy link: http://www.jasminejade.com/m-467-elayne-s-venton.aspx
muttered to himself. "Why are you late? Dallying with your mistress again?" He crumpled the boldly
scratched note in his hand and tossed it into the low flames flickering in the ornate marble fireplace.
Although he'd spent many a late night here playing cards with Viscount Trent, tonight was not a social call.
Rumors of the smugglers' delivery had already reached Will's ears. The viscount had summoned Will not as
one friend invites another, in which case the missive would've been signed Trent, but as Will's superior.
Trent's alter ego, Captain Randolph Burgh, military officer turned Bow Street supervisor, had signed the
terse note.
Duty, however, was not why Will wished to meet him in the privacy of his townhouse at this hour. He
paced restlessly across the room from the long windows' drawn drapes to the filled bookcases on the
opposite wall, passing the crackling fire without enjoying the warmth that dried his rain-dampened
breeches. Will harbored a deep respect for his captain and enjoyed his friendship but given a choice, he
would've preferred a much more intimate association with the man.
It would not happen tonight though. More than likely, never.
He yawned at the prospect of listening to a vast list of warnings concerning the smugglers along the River
Thames. He'd rather spend the time in the library exploring Trent's body.
He'd start by skimming his hands over the muscular arms covered by Trent's billowy sleeves while he
deliberated his next move. He imagined a haughty look in Trent's eye as he slowly unbuttoned Trent's
vest, tugged his neckcloth free of its ornate knot and pulled the hem of the viscount's full white shirt from
his breeches. With his gaze locked on Trent's stern expression, he'd slip his palms beneath the fine linen
and glide his splayed fingers up over his hard belly to the crisp curls that covered Trent's chest.
The very manly lord would attempt to hide the surge of lust Will's wandering hands evoked. Trent might
even voice his disapproval of such brash behavior but his accelerated pulse would tell another story...
Buy link: http://www.jasminejade.com/m-467-elayne-s-venton.aspx
INDISCRETIONS
Elayne S. Venton (c) 2007
Ellora's Cave
Regency historical
Rating: m/m/f, gay, menage, light BDSM
Elayne S. Venton (c) 2007
Ellora's Cave
Regency historical
Rating: m/m/f, gay, menage, light BDSM
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