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Disclaimer:No rights infringement intended
Warning: Mature Adults only

THE WINTER OF DISCONTENT

by

Susanne L. Lambdin

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~ The Winter of Discontent ~

Snow fell outside the window panes where Preston stared out at the streets of London. He was dressed in a cable knit white Scottish sweater, from the clan of McDuff, relatives on his father's side, all seafarers like the Prestons, black slacks and knee top boots. The last few days played through his mind; the quiet hours spent with Pellew in his quarters, after the departure of the Duke and his certifiable insane fiancé who'd been sent back to Spain in the company of Sir Reginald, playing the role of nurse maid instead of secretary; the meeting before the board of the Admiralty where two captains, including Captain Pellew and two admirals, both he knew only by reputation, had awarded Preston for own outstanding services in the line of fire as well as his boarding crew and captain; then Pellew's separate journey a day early to London to meet with old friends, and his own lively carriage ride taken in the company of Midshipman Hornblower and Kennedy. Both young men had two days leave and left Preston to visit Kenney's family in London, while Preston waited at a private inn for a pre-arranged meeting with Pellew.

He'd been waiting all day for Edward while it snowed on the last day of October. Tomorrow night, he and Pellew would attend a royal ball. Though he was excited about the major event, having already laid out his best uniform pressed, it was the personal invitation from the Duke of Arrendale, laying opened on his desk and read several times, that presented a delight problem. In fine penmanship at the bottom of the royal invitation, he wrote that both Preston and Pellew would be introduced to the King. Then below it a question, `You know what this means'? Which Preston assumed it meant that the King of England was about to promote him personally to the rank of captain and present him with a ship-of-the-line. A battle ship. His first command and he was ready for him. Part of him was not prepared for his new life. The part that hungered to return to the days on the Indie, when he'd been the first mate, not only for the ship but for the captain as well, and in the most intimate fashion. But the problem was not being promoted or leaving the Indie, it was how to deal with the Duke and not offend him after he'd vowed before Edward and the Almighty to forego his dalliances with anyone else. Forever was a long time, and the restrictions placed upon him by the discreet but endearing Sir Edward were so etched in his mind, that he naturally felt inclined to disobey. He'd seen a number of handsome man in the inn and had considered introducing himself at the inn's bar, provided that Edward did not arrive at all, for only then would it be obvious that once more, he'd been told pretty things by the man he loved simply to keep him, of all things, subservient.

But once he was a captain, only then, did he anticipate Edward Pellew would full see him as a man worthy to love. For now, he was a subordinate, and his lower rank had never bothered him more until the last official night in that position. On a nearby table, he'd carefully arranged a bottle of champagne, in ice, another one chilled on the window. There were oysters on the half shell, tender steak, fresh vegetables and fruit, a true luxury, and hot bread ready to be served the moment he sent word to the host of the inn to serve dinner. However, the hour was growing late and he started to fear Edward would never appear, merely making his appearance at the ball where he'd congratulate him and then leave immediately on the Indie</EM>. For he knew very well after his last time alone with Edward that he was holding back giving his heart, as he did with everything, including his body, and the thought of not having it all before he was shipping off, parts unknown, was like a knife been driven through his back. And it made him think of his father. Someone he didn't want to think about and didn't want to remember.

With his index finger, Preston formed a heart on the window pane and pierced it through with a tiny arrow. He didn't hear the door open behind him, but saw the glint of a white face in the window. His heart leapt to his throat and he had to bite the sides of his mouth to keep from spinning around and crying out in glee to see that Edward Pellew had finally arrived. He casually turned around as the door was closed by a servant, with Edward standing before the blazing fireplace, shaking the snow from his dark blue cloak and stamping it off his boots onto a small oval carpet. Edward caught his eyes. Dark brown, mysterious, shining from the cold. And Preston hoped, holding out his arms, with love. It took only a few more seconds for Edward to stop what he was doing, spreading his cloak over a chair, then cross the room to embrace Preston in a manner that struck him as far too brotherly. A kiss to both of his cheeks and Preston found himself being set back, as though he were a child, as Edward returned to the fireside to warm his backside. Warm it good, thought Preston, his sunny smile starting to droop.

"You're lucky if you didn't freeze your balls out there," said Robert Preston, coming over to stand beside the fire with Edward.

"It's as cold as a witch's tit, that's for certain."

Both men laughed. Robert thought Edward laughed a bit too much, thinking his comment not that original, and certainly not that funny. Yet, Edward laughed as though he'd heard a particular dirty limerick, which the crew so loved to recite. The sound of such laughter came from nervousness, as well Preston knew, being a man who laughed loudly and much whenever possible, and for most circumstances, humorous and especially when it was not in order to maintain the upper hand. When Edward finally fell silent, as did Preston, a strange tense atmosphere rose between them.

"You look frozen to the bone. I have champagne, but I think a glass of brandy would warm you up faster. Your lucky you even got a cab this time of night. I was starting to think you wouldn't make it and would spend the night frozen out on a park bench."

"I said I'd be here. I'm not that late."

Pellew's nose and ears were bright red from the cold. Robert thought his captain looked extremely handsome, especially with his hair tousled and wind blown. He tried to hold back and not be impatient, knowing how much Edward hated being pushed and prodded toward any romantic interlude, but he need to hold him outweighed his doubts. Proceeding carefully, he tenderly leaned up against Edward, brushing shoulders with him, then leaned down and kissed the captain on the cheek. This brought Edward's face up, a smile on his lips, which promoted Preston to snatch it away with a gentle, platonic kiss. He waited until Edward leaned against him and slid his arms around his waist, a new habit instead of going for the shoulders, before enfolding him completely in a soft embrace and meeting his kiss. He put no passion into, waiting for Edward to come alive with his usual spark of interest, but the kiss retained its flatness. His nose answered the question that was on Robert's mind. What was wrong was that Edward's cologne was mixed with another odor, and that smell belonged to the Duke of Arrendale, for Robert had smelled the man during sex when both were sweating hard, and it was this scent that now assailed his nostrils.

"No, you're not that late," said Robert. The moment he felt tears in his eyes, he drew away from Edward, picked up a cigar from a wooden box on the table and went about lighting it at the fire. He allowed Edward all the time he needed to change from his damp uniform into casual attire, which was his nightwear, a thick robe and slippers. He made no attempt to wash and Preston wrestled against his growing temper, for it was apparent Edward intended to return a favor from the past when Preston had visited him after spending a few special moments with a Frenchman. A Frenchman he'd helped escape the Indie, and only recently had realized from a painting in the hall of the Admiralty as being none other than Napoleon Bonaparte. He knew that Pellew knew that he'd arranged for the man's escape, and as he'd made love to Edward directly after being with another man, that he was obviously still furious about the entire affair. He had assumed, incorrectly, that Edward would take drastic measures against him once it was discovered, if ever, that Napoleon had been within his grasp. But this new tactic, bedding with the Duke, the one man Robert had cheated with sense vowing to Edward to be his one and only, was something altogether out of character for his captain. In fact, it was cruel, and that was not Edward. At least, not the Edward Pellew he'd admired and grown to love. He hated to think it was a desperate love, but he felt that Edward was his last attempt at a real relationship with a man. For he knew once they parted, if it happened and he feared it was coming quite abruptly upon them, and he was on his own ship, that as captain, he'd never take a lover on board. He'd wait until he was on shore, and then man or woman, he'd be the Devil himself in bed, taking who he wanted, when he wanted. His heart be damned.

"I have supper ordered," said Robert, puffing on his fat cigar. "But perhaps a hot bath would be better for you. I know I'd like one. We can dine afterwards, provided you have an appetite, but I doubt the served you anything worth eating at headquarters. You interested?"

"In a bath and food? Yes, Robert. That would be nice."

Robert nodded. "Fine. I'll arrange for it then." He walked over to the door, opened it and bellowed for the host. He never looked back at Edward and waited until the man appear, not caring if the other guest doors opened or who saw him. Once the host appeared, he ordered a hot bath be brought up immediately, as well as dinner, without delay. Then he shut the door and went over to pour Edward a glass of brandy. Edward remained with his backside to the fireside, warming it well, then eagerly took a seat before the fire and accepted the glass of brandy.

"Anything I should know that you heard today?"

Edward nearly choked on his liquor. "What do you mean?"

"Jesus, Edward! You can be so damn recalcitrant. We are at war! I thought perhaps you'd heard something about Captain Foster or another of our mutual friends or about the number of French ships sent to the bottom of the sea. I do like to hear statistics. You used to enjoy running the numbers by me. I am still interested. So, what is the news of the war?"

"Oh, that's what you meant. Only the usual. A few French pirate ships were taken in the last week and only one convoy of our merchant ships was attacked, with a loss of only three ships out of nine," said Edward. He held up the glass. "I should have brought my own brandy. This tastes like apricots. I don't like apricots. I'd prefer pear brandy."

"Almost perfect," said Robert, thinking out loud. "But not quite." No matter how hard he tried, it seemed it was impossible to satisfy Edward Pellew.

"Hmm? What's that? Are you upset with me, Robert?" The captain shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Why the frown? Because I'm late?"

"Because you're late," Preston echoed after him in the same flippant tone. "Why would I be upset that a meeting took five hours and that you...well, that you are late. Of course I am a bit annoyed. We haven't much time to spend together alone. But that is to be expected. You certainly seem a bit on edge. Is there something you want to tell me, Edward?"

Something to say that was meant to upset him, Robert thought. But he could read nothing in those dark, unfathomable eyes, and Pellew chose a soothing tone to respond with.

"Foster is off the coast of Spain. He'll be at sea at least for another three months."

"And the Indie?"

"I'll return to her within a few days and be off again. You should be very excited, Robert. They intend to give you the Agamemnon. My old ship. But that's a classified secret. It will be announced tomorrow night at the royal ball. You should be very pleased with yourself."

The excitement in Pellew's voice was missing. So was any sincerity. Robert wondered if it might simply be that Edward was experiencing heart pains, due to their inevitable separation. Yet, that didn't seem quite the reason for Edward's lack of enthusiasm. If he didn't know his captain better, he would have thought it was simply that Edward didn't care.

"Oh, I am pleased. In fact, I'm in an exceptional frame of mind tonight, Edward. I intend to spoil you rotten, as they say," Robert suddenly laughed. "Not that is a cliche. You are already rotten, so the only spoiling that will be accomplished tonight, is most likely the mood."

"You are upset," said Edward, sighing. "I should have guessed our last evening together would be spent embroiled in yet another argument."

"Did you bring your chess board?"

"No. Why?"

"For a captain, Captain, you have a very bad memory."

As if ordained by god himself, a knock at the door brought in the host, followed by a number of servants who placed a small porcelain tub before the fire, filled it with hot water, while a sumptuous meal was set on a table. Robert explained that the brandy was unsuitable and asked for pear brandy, stuffing several pound notes into the host's pocket, then seeing that all was in readiness, he quickly ushered everyone out of the room. Another bottle of brandy was immediately sent up, pear brandy, which Preston waited for, then closed the door and locked it behind him.

"People do talk," said Edward. "A bath and two men alone in a room."

"Happens all the time and is probably considered very routine. I doubt anyone assumes anything about us, Edward. You look as straight as a fiddle, and well, one look at me and anyone would assume I prefer the ladies. Perhaps I'll even marry, now that I'm to be made captain."

The glass dropped from Edward's hand as though it'd had caught fire. He dropped to his knees and started picking up the glass. Robert swore softly, came over, and joined Edward in the hunt for shards of glass. But jealously soon soured his mood once more and, not realizing what he was doing, Robert closed his hand around several pieces of glass, cutting himself in the process. He let out an angry hiss and held his hand to his mouth, sucking at the blood.

"Let me," said Edward, sounding tired. "You're such a child."

Preston held out his hand. Edward dabbed it with his kerchief and forced him to close his hand around it. Then he patted Preston on the cheek, motioning for him to take a chair. Preston did all this without taking any pleasure in being in Edward's company. He sat down heavily, sighed dramatically, and fought against his emotions while Edward provided him with a glass of wine from the dinner spread. When he was convinced Robert was well enough, he started to disrobe, letting his robe and under garments fall to the floor. Robert leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, enjoying the strip tease far more than Edward intended him to do. Edward laughing upon seeing that he was being stared at and slipped into the tub filled with steaming water. He picked up a rag and sank back into the water, sighing with delight.

"To hell with this," growled Preston. "I thought you'd take off my boots so I could join you."

"There's no room for two grown men."

"Yes, well, there's a sponge, Edward. At my aunt's home, I used to be given the task of washing her horses as punishment for my bad behavior. I'm quite certain I am wash you as thoroughly as I did her prize Arabian stallion. Perhaps even a little bit better."

"That's a good, lad. I should like that. And rub my shoulders. Please, Robert. I'm tied up into a thousand little knots. I really am quite exhausted tonight."

"No doubt, no doubt, my dear captain."

Shedding his heavy sweater, Robert revealed his bare upper torso. He could tell by the way Edward's face lit up and he fidgeted in the tub, that he still found Robert as handsome as ever. For how could he not, thought Robert, glancing in the mirror, a bad habit of his own, and the face gazing back at him was absolutely that of Adonis himself. He was a handsome man and damn it all if every man or woman he'd ever wanted hadn't fallen in love with him, including Hornblower and even Kennedy, for that matter. But not Edward Pellew.

Determined to teach Edward a serious lesson in the art of love, he took his time pouring them both a fluted glass of champagne and strutted over to the tub, pulled up a stool and took a seat, his cigar hanging from the side of his mouth. Edward took the glass, very pleased and surprised, taking little sips, while Robert ignored his own and sit it on the floor.

"You've never done this before, Robert. You amaze me."

'I said I wanted to spoil you. I meant it. You deserve it."

Preston grinned at Pellew and tossed the cigar into the fireplace, then reached his long, bare arm into the tub and found the cloth that Edward was toying with beneath the water. As Edward leaned back, watching Robert intently, he allowed his hand to slide up the captain's stomach and chest. He felt Edward twinge from the contact and smiled. He twisted the rag and set it aside, then poured a scented oil into the water, lavender, his favorite. Taking the sponge instead of the cloth, he lathered it up with soap and commenced to come around to wash Edward's neck and strong shoulders. He took his time, working down his back, pausing to massage every kink out of his shoulders, before moving on. He washed Edward's arms, holding them up, so pale in the firelight, yet strong, washing one, then the other. Then he moved around and washed Edward's chest, twirling the tiny, black hairs around, creating designs and bringing a smile to the captain's handsome, rugged face.

"God, that feels good," said Edward, arching his back like a cat and settling back in the tub in order to lift up both his legs. His feet poked out of the soapy water, then his calves, which he rested upon the side of the tub. He gasped as Robert reached down, sending a tiny way over the side, in his concentrated effort to resume his washing.

The sponge sailed down his chest, slid across his genitalia, then swept up one hairy leg, down to the toes. Robert tossed the sponge into the water and kneaded Edward's hard calf, the most developed of all his muscles, working his way up to his thigh. Chills went up Edward's back as Robert's thumbs dug out the knots in his muscles from one leg to the other. He only noticed when Robert finished with his legs, that his champagne glass was empty. Robert noticed as well and re-filled it, then drank his own, and picking up the sponge, grinned.

"I'm not at all done, Captain. So, shall this be an underwater excursion or do you feel like facing the fireplace on your knees?"

Edward suddenly gasped. "I...I can finish for myself, Robert. Really." He angrily reached for the sponge and found it moved out of his reach. "You really are being asinine. I had a nurse maid up until the age of four, before being sent to school. I never missed my mother's coddling and by the time I went to sea at the age of eight, I no longer required being tucked in at night or having my arse washed by another hand."

"Calm down," said Robert. He dipped his hand in the soapy, perfumed water and ran it through the front of his hair, then yanked off the cord to his ponytail. His blonde hair swept forward, brushing across his broad shoulders, turning him from the proper naval officer into a sensual long haired creature. His pants were soaked and clung to his muscular thighs. He leaned over the tub, picked up the sponge and squeezed it so the water dripped upon Edward's chest. He caught the man's brown eyes and bent down to nuzzle against the side of his face.

"Tonight, Edward, I am your servant. Is that understood?"

Robert pushed the sponge beneath the water and pressed it between Edward's legs. He felt them open, slowly, cautiously, then the sponge was taken from him. Edward washed himself while Robert toyed with his flaccid penis, pulling at it, squeezing it, tormenting it, until at last, it started to harden and a flush appeared on the captain's face. Robert bent in close and stuck his tongue out so that he could lick the circumference of Edward's ear. He nipped at the earlobe, caught it with his teeth, then sucked on it as he stroked Edward's hard cock, until he felt two hands pushing his own away and reluctantly let him go.

"Tonight I can do whatever you ask of me. Or whatever you are thinking but cannot say. Now perhaps you did not enjoy your childhood, neither did I, but that is far in the past. So, let us concentrate on tonight only, and by doing so," Robert paused to refill Edward's glass of champagne, practically made him drink it, then had a glass himself, "we might be able to make this a night worth remembering."

"You are very romantic tonight, Robert. This isn't like you."

"Oh, but it is, Edward. You just haven't taken the time to notice."

Without warning, Robert suddenly caught the captain's face between his hands, letting the sponge drop with a splash, and kissed him, grinding his lips over the full pair beneath his own. The moment he felt a parting of Edward's lips, he let his tongue slip within and capture the tiny serpent that tried to avoid his touch. Suddenly, the two tongues were fighting with one another, twisting and turning together, turning a gentle kiss into a passionate onslaught. Robert found himself practically in the water as he drew Edward into his arms and proceeded to kiss his scruffy jawline, down to his neck, then kissed a rounded shoulder. Edward trembled violently, one hand locked in Robert's thick, long hair, and the other lightly tapping at his shoulder, as though unsure what to do next.

Robert knew exactly what needed to be done, what had to be done. Pulling Edward up, out of the water, he helped him out of the tub, wrapped a towel around his body and pulled him toward the fire place. While Edward dried himself off, Robert peeled off his own wet britches and threw them on the floor. Then he pulled Edward into his arms and kissed him dozens of times, little, light feathery ones, that trailed from the captain's jawline, down his torso, as he sunk to his knees. A brief struggled ensued over the towel, but Robert was able to whip it off and way from Edward, and before his man could bolt, he grabbed him by his ass cheeks and sucked his fat cock into his mouth.

"Dear God," groaned Edward, having nothing better to say, as he was gripped by an incredible feeling, that spread outward from his groan and moved across the rest of his well massaged and relaxed, clean smelling body. "Don't stop, Robert. For God's sake."

Robert growled, refusing to release the delightfully hard prick in his mouth. His long, golden hair completely enveloped what he was doing below Edward's waist-line. He held Edward firmly entrenched against his face, as he gobbled at the fat, long cock in his mouth. Nothing compared to his own, but it was a beautiful cock, nonetheless, Robert thought. And it wanted him. Edward might resist him, but the captain's cock responded to his merest touch, and as he used his rather long tongue to lick up and down the length, sucking all the while, a little trick of the trade, he heard groans going on above him. The firm ass in his hands shook and he felt blood constricting in the veins in the engorged cock. Right as he thought Edward was about to spurt his seed, he felt a tap on top of his head and looked up, a cock in his mouth.

"I...I'm a bit cold, Robert. There's a draft in the room. I'm terribly sorry."

"Not at all," said Robert. He hadn't noticed since the fire was so close and so warm. He grabbed Edward's robe off the floor, wrapped it around his captain's shoulders and realized when he tried to walk him over to the bed, that his lover was drunk off of four glasses of champagne. It was exactly what he wanted. He held back the bed sheets and blanket for Edward, waited for him to climb in, then reached it to jerk the robe away and jumped him behind him.

"We said we'd talk about this," Edward started to say, but he was silenced with a fiery kiss that left him befuddled. Robert was a master at kissing and Edward could do little more than cling to his neck and returned a barrage of kisses that lit a fire within his belly. He started to grab at Robert, his eager hands wanting to touch every inch of him, immediately. But Robert wiggled away, laughing softly, and returned to suckling the head and stroking the length of Edward's shy penis one handed style, restoring it to its former glory. Hidden under the blankets while Edward pulled at his hair, curled his toes and softly moaned between clenched teeth, Robert concentrated on his task, using his groomed talents to bring Edward to the brink of ecstacy.

When Edward finally pulled at his hair, signaling that he was about to come, Robert suddenly, roughly, flipped him over on his stomach, spread his ass cheeks wide. There was an immediate outcry from Edward, completely intolerant to such tactics, but his objection faded the moment a long tongue brushed across his tight little anus. He sank against the pillows with a sigh, while Robert worked his magic over his ass, licking and chewing at the tender flesh, then finally involving several fingers into the play. He kept his tongue at Edward's puckered rose, having worked it over so well that it had bloomed and opened for him, revealing a dark, cheery center. Robert then carefully inserted a finger, one at a time, until all three were well inside and gently began to thrust in and out. His mouth lowered and he licked at the balls pressed up between Edward's legs, torturing the other with his long laps, while his fingers continued their movement.

"I can't stand it," said a champagne tipsy Edward at last. Lifting himself up from the mattress, he grabbed for his own cock. He continued to move upwards, until his round, white posterior was lifted high in the air.

From behind and beneath the covers, Robert continued to seduce Edward's ass, until it was bouncing in the air, begging for a ride. He lifted his glazed, wet faced and noticed with surprise that he'd not only left huge red hang prints imprinted on Edward's beautiful round ass cheeks, but that it was bucking in such a suggestive manner while the captain played with himself. He could do nothing less than spit into the palm of his hand, grip his already hardened cock, slathering it with spittle, then caught hold of Edward's ass and slammed it all the way in on the first try. He heard Edward's sharp intake of breath and had to throw his arms around his middle to keep the captain from collapsed face forward onto the bed. Robert gripped Edward's waist as he started to thrust against him, then lowered his hand, pushing the captain's aside so he could stroke his fat cock and fuck him at the same time. But he soon released Edward's own throbbing manhood, just to grip him more firmly on the sides, busting into a hard and fast rhythm that left the captain panting into the pillows and quivering from head to toes. He slammed against Edward, holding him fast by the hips, his balls slapping away while the administrations of his massive cock against the captain's prostrate set it singing within.

"Edward," hissed Robert into his ear, coming to a halt and bringing the captain up so they were both on their knees in the middle of the bed. He left Edward impaled on his dick, a hand on his shoulder, the other wrapped around his waist, while he continued. "Don't ever leave me waiting again while you're out fucking another man. I know you were with the Duke of Arrendale. I smelled him all over you tonight. And knowing Richard as I do, I'm sure you enjoyed playing king." He thrust against Edward making the captain groan and closed his eyes. "So, I'm sure for round two, you don't mind playing the part of my queen, do you, bitch?" He laughed when Edward glared over his shoulder at him and tried to thrust him away. He only held on, pushed Edward's head down to the mattress, and started thrust at him again, a violent thrust that jarred the captain's teeth but strummed his prostrate until he was sobbing as wave after wave of orgasms washed over him. He came with a loud cry, covering the sheets before him, then started to collapse, but Robert had a tight hold of him and kept his ass up in the air until he was ready to come himself. Which he did, letting Edward have it deep inside before he pulled out, wiped himself off on a sheet, in a brutish manner, then collapsed on the mattress on his stomach. Edward lay beside him, sprawled out on the bed, exhausted, sweating and panting hard.

"I....I haven't felt this way in ages," said Edward, sounding winded. "Not since Charles and I....but that was years ago."

"Charles Foster, is it? He told me you'd been lovers." Robert rolled over and pulled Edward into his arms, and with a snarl, he pressed him into the pillows for a hearty kiss that smelled of sex. He drew back his lips, a string of saliva a bridge between them, then licked it away. "Foster told me you were quite randy in your younger days. And even now, though infrequently, you and he...."

"Not...not another word, damn you, Robert."

Robert quieted him with a kiss. Then he pressed his finger over Edward's lips and shook his head. "Not tonight, Captain. No pretense. No games. No battles. You were Foster's lover for years. I'll overlook your whorish behavior with Arrendale, because I took him as well, so we're even." He reached down and curled his long fingers around Edward's flaccid prick. "But let's be clear about one thing. You want me as much as I want you. And you can tell me that you want to be in charge, Edward, but a few moments ago you were in heaven. You want me on top, you know that you do, you just want admit it because of your god damn pride."

"I'll never admit anything to you," hissed Edward. But despite his anger, he lifted a hand and caressed Robert's square jaw, then slipped a strand of hair behind his ear. "You bring out the competitive side of my nature, you must know that."

"You said you wouldn't admit anything."

"Because you'll hold it over me."

"Not if you were truthful. For once, Edward." Robert realized he'd erred by the way Edward knitted his brows together and his eyes grew dark and unreadable. He smoothed back Edward's black hair from his eyes and brushed his nose against his own, saying softly, "I love you. Sometimes I think you have no idea what that means, for a man to say that to another. I'm not some fly by night like Foster. He's never been my lover. Oh, we've pulled it for one another before, but he's my friend. A true friend. I don't want a mere friendship with you, Edward. You want to admit nothing to me, but won't you admit it that you love me and want to be with me? Can't you say it one time and mean it? Don't you think I deserve that much? The truth?"

"Alright," said Edward, closing his eyes and sinking back against the pillows. He kept one arm linked through Robert's, but when the other slid from the bed and went over to examine the food, he suddenly felt alone and rejected. "I...I admit that Foster and I were....were lovers. It was never serious. Nor have I ever been serious over any man. A woman once, Betty, but that was so long ago. I was another man then and when she broke my heart, it was Foster who put it back together. But not since then have I allowed anyone close to me. I have wanted to...to let you in, Robert. I do want you with me. Inside. In my heart. In the bed as well."

Filling a plate with food, Robert lifted an eyebrow as he turned around. "It's about time you admitted it, Edward. You came close to breaking my heart. No lover has ever done that before. Only, you're not only a lover to me. You're my guiding light. You're my North Star, Edward, and it's your love that I want more than anything else. If you'd but trust me...."

Closing his eyes, Edward placed his hands over his face. Robert put the place down, put on his own robe and seated himself, his bare feet on the cold floor, and commenced to eat. He occasionally glanced over at Edward where he lay on the bed, his face hidden. He assumed the captain was sleeping. Finally, the hands lowered, Edward got up from the bed, slipped his robe and slippers on, then came over to sit across from Robert. He wrinkled his nose at the oysters that Robert ate with relish, carved himself a slice of beef and filled himself a glass of wine. The pair ate and drank together, saying not a word, while it continued to snow outside the window.

"I'm going to bed," said Robert at last. He threw his napkin over his plate, rose, aware Edward was watching him thoughtfully. Standing beside the table, he looked toward the wardrobe where his uniform was hanging and turned to the captain. "I have a gift for you. A new dress uniform and cap. Since my brother James became earl, it seems I suddenly have quite a bit of money in my bank account. I went out today and bought you something to wear for the royal ball tomorrow night. It's of the finest material. There is something else. Inside the inner breast pocket." He sighed heavily. "Perhaps it's a bit inappropriate, but I want you to have it all the same, Edward. Something to remember me by, hmm?"

"I'm sorry, Robert."

The tall, blonde officer walked over to the bed, removed his robe and dressed in a long night shirt, then slid between the sheets. He made himself comfortable and glanced back at the table where Edward stared down at his plate. His heart went out to the man.

"Why apologize, Edward? Because you can't love me or because you don't like accepting gifts from your lover?"

"I do love you. As much possible."

Rising from the table, Edward walked over to the wardrobe, opened it and sucked in his breath and the gorgeous formal uniform hanging up for him inside. He held it up and noticed that it was going to be a perfect fit. Holding it up before him and spinning on his heel, he turned to show Robert right as the officer was lighting up a cigar in bed. Robert waved the lit cigar in the air and laughed heartily.

"It will look good on you. Every lady there will surely fall in love with you, Edward. Perhaps even the bloody Duke, for I'm sure he'll be there. Hell, so will my brother, for that matter. Lord James will be present as well. I haven't seen the dullard in twenty years or so, but since he's new amongst the nobility, I'm quite certain he'll attend the ball. My brother always liked fancy clothes, married women, and dancing."

"Your family is very well connected. I had no idea until the other day that either of your brothers held such high positions. An earl and a cardinal. No wonder you are eager for your ship." Pellew turned around, addressing himself in a mirror, his excitement shining on his rugged face as he stared back at his image. "This cost a pretty penny."

"I'm sure you would have done the same for me had I not already been rich." Robert used the floor as his ash tray. "But money is no concern for you either. I understand that you are a very wealthy man yourself. You have been very successful as a captain, taking in more prizes than most captains do combined over a lifetime. It's no wonder your cabin is as luxurious as it is. Of course, you don't need me to shower you with gifts, however, you still might look in the pocket, Edward. It is something you would like."

"I'm half afraid to look."

"Well, it's the half that is responding to me tonight that gets the gift. The other half of you we'll have to deal with in another manner. I'm not sure how, but somehow, someway, Edward, you're going to do the one thing you don't want to. You are going to give me your heart. I'll be damned if I don't have it in my hands before we both return to sea."

"You're quite confident. A bit of tail and you can sail to the moon, I see."

"Aye. That I could. When it is you, Edward, and no one else."

Showing every sign of being nervous, Edward reached into the pocket, felt around and suddenly froze as his fingers connected with something that felt like a small box. He glanced almost in panic over at Robert and found him puffing away on his cigar, his blue eyes narrowed to slits, a lopsided smile on his beautiful face. His heart pounding harder than when faced with cannons from an enemy ship, he removed the box and licked his dry lips, trying to moisten his mouth which had suddenly filled with his heart. He came over and sat down on the bed beside Robert, staring down at the box, too afraid to open it. Robert reached out and touched his back in a comforting manner.

"It won't. Jesus, Edward."

"I wish you wouldn't curse."

"Edward, open the damn thing."

With a nod, Edward Pellew opened the black box. Inside was a thick silver bracelet with a Celtic design of mythological sea creatures, very manly, costly and when he put it on, he noticed that it fit him perfectly. It was a manly piece of jewelry. How easily it would fit under his coat, so that no one would see, thought Edward. He had tears in his eyes when he turned around and found Robert's eyes opened to him yet again. Shaking his head, feeling guilty and undeserving of such an outstanding gift, he came into Robert's arms and allowed his lover to draw him into bed, under the covers. Within minutes, both were unclad, but this time, Robert lay back passively on the mattress, spread his legs and pulled Edward on top of him.

"Maybe one day you'll learn to trust me, Edward. I told you tonight you be one worth remembering. If you have the stamina, I'd like you to have the honors. But if you ever, ever, bed that swine, Richard Grey, I'll give you ever reason not to trust me."

"And you?"

"I don't want him. It's you I want, man. Remember that when we go to the ball."

A glorious happy smile on his face, Edward Pellew commenced to kiss and fondle his first officer, taking full advantage of his submissive state of mind, and body, until the early morning, when finally, both fell asleep, utterly exhausted.

* * *
Under the lights of a thousand stars and hundreds of lanterns adorning Buckingham Palace, a continual line of carriages pulled up to deposit lavishly attired guests at the steps. With invitations in hand, the nobles and elite gentry invited to attend the Winter Ball hardly noticed the arrival of a small carriage and two British naval officers, dressed in matching long wool cloaks and gold trimmed hats . Lt. Commander Preston had been nervous throughout the ride from the inn in the Irish side of London in West Hampton, where the companionship of two men went unnoticed, but Captain Pellew kept tight hold on his hand, calming him. Upon their arrival, roles reversed and Preston was nothing but confident mingling with the aristocrats coming up the stairs into the palace, while Pellew grew introverted and could barely manage a polite smile or merely a nod as couples passed them by, curious to see naval personnel at the ball.

"I thought you were new to all this," growled Pellew, hanging back at Preston's elbow. His voice carried up to the taller man's ears and he glanced back over his shoulder. "Your brother hasn't been an earl for that long. Glad one of us is enjoying all this bilge."

Preston paused before a mirror, a golden cast placed upon it by a large chandelier hanging from above, then smiled back at his handsome reflection. He noticed Pellew slyly looking at him in the mirror and knew that his stately appearance would be well excepted at the ball. He removed his cloak, offering it to a servant who went from each individual collecting outer wear, aware that he was not the tallest man in the room. Much to his surprise, he saw an extremely handsome man, perhaps ten years older than himself, dressed in a stunning white uniform covered with enough gold braid to impress King Midas himself. The man was looking at himself in a duplicate mirror directly across the hall and looking over the heads of the dozens of people removing their cloaks before entering the ball, he noticed Preston. The man's eyes were as blue as Preston's and his jaw as square, however, while the former was smiling, the nobleman did not, looking as grim as death to be faced with a tedious ball.

"I refuse to dance," muttered Pellew behind Preston.

"Not to worry," replied Preston. "I'll do all the dancing. You can watch."

Beyond a large entrance, dancers moved gracefully along the enormous floor, while a full orchestra played. Preston could not imagine anyone not being excited to attend what he saw going on beyond the threshold, especially since it was his night, and he was already wondered when he'd see King George to receive his commission. Pellew hated formal affairs of any kind. It appeared that the tall nobleman who regarded him so thoughtfully in the mirror and smiled thinly at him was of the same mind as his captain. But the look held and locked. Two rams eyeing one another down to size. There was something sensual in the way the dashing nobleman looked at him that caused Preston's heart to leap up to his chest. His face was chiseled from stone and there was a bit of sternness in his expression that Preston found very arousing. He knew this was a great man, though he knew not his name, and as eye contact was finally broken and the gentleman walked off, he watched the man depart, able to admire his manly figure far better from behind.

"That's Lord Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington," said Pellew, sounding annoyed. He had noticed the exchange between the two men and immediately assumed the worse was about to occur that evening. Not only would he be left to journey back to the inn alone, but Preston would seduce yet another Duke, as though making notches in his belt to prove himself as a man's man by bedding the most powerful gents in England.

At the sound of someone clearing his throat, Preston looked away from the Duke's shapely legs and buttocks, tossed his cloak at the servant, along with his hat, then did a surprising then that only Pellew noticed, and slipping a pound into the fellow's pocket, he pushed him toward the scowling captain. "You best get his cloak before my friend dashes back outside."

"Thank you, sir." The servant momentarily turned into a human being and smiled.

Preston grinned at the short little fellow. He doubted any of the guests had noticed the man was working hard. "Just make certain we get back the right cloak and hats. Hmm?"

"Indeed I shall, sir."

"Well, Commander Preston, you seem determined to win over the hearts of everyone here," muttered Pellew. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Why ever are you tipping the staff at Buckingham Palace? Would you cease and desist your strange behavior before you set everyone to talking about you? Or is that the bloody point of all this?"

"Oh, Edward. Can't a man look at himself in a mirror without turning the world upside down?" Robert laughed when Edward glared at him. "Alright, I know what you meant, but I have money and if I want to reward those who work hard, then let me, Edward. I enjoy spoiling people. You know that better than anyone. So smile a little. And let's enjoy ourselves."

"Arrendale is here as well," added Pellew. "Wellesley is not the center of the universe."

Preston chuckled throatily. "You have a wicked sense of humor."

Pellew merely rolled his eyes and shook his head. The servant bowed and vanished, taking only their gear with him, then returned a short while later, but by then Preston and Pellew had moved on to the entrance of the ballroom. Nearly two hundred guests filled the royal ballroom. Those dancers were ringed in by an impressive group of well dressed individuals, either seated and strolling about, chattering so loud that it hit Preston like a wave of noise. He noticed the tall nobleman in white across the ballroom glance his way once more and any lack of confidence or self-doubt vanished.

"This is my first royal ball," said Robert softly to his companion.

"You've told me that a dozen times. Relax," Edward whispered. "My god, as if you don't know you are the handsomest man here already. Use it to your advantage, sir. This is like a walk on the deck of a ship. Strut and smile. You'll be fine, lad. Trust me."

"Brilliant, sir. That's precisely what I'll do."

Preston held his head up high and threw back his shoulders, strolling into the room casually with Pellew at his side. He was unaware how well his captain complimented him, being shorter and darker in comparison to the tall, blonde rogue. Pellew was nothing but polite, nodding and smiling as the attention of the crowd seemed to drift from the tall nobleman in white to Preston. While men and women paused to gossip and gawk at Preston, he took little notice and went straight for the refreshments. When he turned back, he noticed Pellew had been trapped by a retired admiral with thick white hair and a wife, unable to move on without conversing to the couple for a while. Pellew met Preston's eyes but there was little else he could do at the moment.

Preston motioned to a servant to pour him a glass of punch, took a sip, and repulsed that there was no alcohol, he placed it on the table. Gazing around at the crowd around him, he was aware that he continued to be a source of great curiosity, especially amongst the ladies. He delayed no further, singled out a striking red head and walked up, introduced himself with a bow. The lady held up her hand, mentioning her name was Gertrude, but he cared not for names. She was beautiful, she looked good on his arm, and that was enough for Preston as far as women were concerned. As a waltz commenced, he slipped his arm around his narrow waist, took her hand and spun her out onto the floor. His great size and her beauty were of keen interest to the other dancers, remarking loud enough for Preston to hear as he monopolized the dance floor, his footwork accurate and his manner graceful to match that of his partner. He heard her chatting at him and merely nodded his head, searching the crowd for familiar faces as he went around the circumference of the room. He smiled wide the moment he noticed Lord Richard Grey, standing next to none other than the Duke of Wellington, who was talking to a very familiar face that turned and nodded toward Robert. It was Captain Charles Foster, his dearest friend and sponsor, and it was all Preston could do not to toss the woman aside and dash over to shake the fellow's hand.

"I could dance all night with you," sighed the lady.

"I'll be sure to ask again. Keep a spot available for me on your card."

"Oh, I shall, Commander Preston. I shall."

As soon as the waltz ended, Preston started to leave the floor, only to find a passel of young ladies, as loud and noisy as geese, blocking his path. Each held up their card, a pencil in hand, eager to write Preston's name down for the next dance. He started to select girls and designated which he'd dance with first, and in what order, but he soon grew frustrated and anxious to work his way over to Captain Foster. Preston finally grabbed the nearest girl by the hand and dragged her out onto the dance floor, laughing when the young ladies were whisked away by their disapproving parents and escorts for the evening. The lady in his arms, however, was close to swooning, for she seemed unable to look away from Preston and his touch obviously made her tremble. He held her close than he was want to, afraid she'd collapse in the floor in a puddle, and without meaning to, he drew curious eyes in their direction. The lady clung to him, her head barely reaching his mid-chest, a portly little thing that no other had noticed, until she'd been selected by Preston.

"Has anyone told you, my dear, that you dance quite well."

"Oh, Commander Preston. It is you who dance so beautifully."

"Because I am dancing with you." Preston noticed with a start a half dozen young men waving at him. For a moment, he thought they personally wanted to meet him. He saw a couple who were attractive enough, but when one of the men pointed at the woman in his arms, he suddenly became angry. "You are suddenly quite popular, my dear. Let's take full of advantage of the moment and I'll step down so another eager young man may dance with you. I expect to see you on the floor all night, my dear. So don't disappoint me." He immediately twirled the woman over to the young men and gave her over to the most eager, then before the young ladies could herd around him, he spun around, looking for an exit, only to be caught by a hand upon his arm. "I shall dance later. I promise." He turned and found Captain Foster at his side. "God, it's you. You're at sea for the next three months."

"Am I? Strange, I feel like I'm on land and at a lively ball."

"Well, man, it's damn good to see you." Preston shook his friend's hand. "I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you in the crowd. Edward said you were at sea. I had no idea you'd show up here. Don't tell me you came to give me the bad news and I'm not to see the King or receive my own ship?"

"The King is ill. I'm afraid you won't see him. But I am here. And so is the Duke of Wellington. Lord Richard said when he told Lord Arthur of your bravery at sea, that he personally wanted to come here to meet you." Foster suddenly peered at Preston intently. "Whatever are you doing in that uniform? Lord, you're a captain now. I'm going to have to do something about that. Where is Richard? He's to have this all arranged."

"I'd really rather not see Richard. But I would like to meet Wellesley."

"What a stallion you've become, Robert. Don't pretend you don't enjoy being the most popular man at the ball. And you dance so well. I had no idea." Charles Foster slipped his arm around Preston's shoulder, a shield that kept others at bay, and walked him back toward the group of noblemen he'd been entertaining with tales of the war. He kept his voice low as they worked their way through the crowd. "I spoke briefly to Edward. He'll be joining us very soon. He mentioned you'd had misunderstanding over Lord Grey."

"I'd rather not discuss that type of thing with you, Charles."

"Damn it, boy. I'm not your father. I'm your friend."

"Yes, that's exactly it, Charles. You are my friend. Let's not discuss anything that will make me angry. Surely you don't want that. I'd rather not talk about Richard or Edward."

"Oh, did they have a jab at it behind your back? Was that before or after you had a turn on Lord Grey?" Foster suddenly chuckled. "Lad, the Duke of Arrendale is a notorious little tramp. I should know. I had him myself a few years ago. But he is the man responsible for you getting the Agamemnon, a fine ship, in fact it was Edward's once."

"Yes, I know. But I would like to get this all over and quickly."

"Enjoy it, Robert. Bask in it while you can. Tomorrow you'll be yesterday's news and another handsome lad will be the talk of all London. But tonight, that's all your's."

The two naval officers paused once they reached a group of noblemen dressed in an array of bright colors like the flags in a regatta. Foster quickly introduced Preston to everyone present. Preston shook Lord Richard's hand, finding it soft and moist, alerting him to the fact that the duke was anxious to bed him again. But he had no interest in Richard that night and instead turned his toothy smile at the Duke of Wellington. The moment the two men shook hands, a spark of electricity shot between them, felt by those nearest. Lord Arthur returned the smile and pumped Preston's hand in a manner that invited further inquiry about one another at a later time. Preston regretted having to let the man's hand go and chuckled at the notice of asking the handsome man to dance with him. Something he wouldn't do, but the thought of it amused him greatly.

"Have I given you cause to laugh?" Asked Lord Arthur. "Is it the number of medals on my chest? Too ornate? Or perhaps you find we resemble one another too closely?"

Preston accepted a cigar from Wellington. "Thank you, sir." He allowed the duke to light it for me, then bent toward him, whispering. "I cannot find a woman here who is as tall as me. I hate to stoop when I dance. You're the only one as tall as me." He winked.

Tossing his handsome head back, Wellington laughed. He'd handed out cigars to all those in his intimate circle, at that moment, leaving it to Foster and another sea captain to light them, along with glasses of whiskey. Into this fray appeared Edward Pellew, bringing a new captain's coat with him, which he immediately handed over to Foster, who in turn, presented it to the Duke of Arrendale. Lord Richard took great pleasure in approaching Preston.

"You should shed yourself out of that coat, sir. You're a captain now."

"Is that it?" Preston looked so startled that the men chuckled. "Not that I am not honored, however, I thought...I thought I'd have to bend on a knee or something."

"You're not being knighted," said Lord Arthur, heartily amused. "Though I'm sure that will be next on the list for you." He put his hand on Preston's shoulder, savoring the moment and the feel of the thick muscle beneath. He squeezed hard. "You're being inaugurated, so to speak, as the newest appointed captain in His Majesty's Royal Navy. And sir, had His Majesty not been feeling under the weather, I know for a fact that he wanted to be here to see you promoted. You saved the life of his most trusted adviser. The life of Lord Richard is very valuable to the throne of England. Well done indeed, sir."

"If you please, Robert. Shed that tunic, lad," growled Foster, his Scottish accent coming out thicker than usual. "Captain Pellew has arrived. No reason to delay the inevitable."

"None indeed," said Lord Richard. "You deserve this, Robert. If it hadn't been for you, well, I wouldn't be standing here today."

Preston noticed only then that Captain Foster and Lord Grey were drunk, as were a few others of the gentlemen gathered around him. Pellew beamed proudly at him and it was obvious that he was sincerely happy for him. Foster removed Arthur's hand from Preston's shoulder and practically ripped the damn uniform off. Richard handed him over the new uniform, which Foster helped Preston into, then turned him around, smoothing his front so that the men could see the new captain. "Congratulations, Captain Preston," chimed one man after another.

The men closed in, shaking his hand, one at a time. "Long may you know command," said Edward. Then Foster added, "....and may you sink a thousand Frenchman while you're at it, lady." Whiskey glasses were raised and drained. Preston found himself embraced by Lord Richard and kissed on both cheeks. This was repeated by Foster, then Pellew, several others, and finally ended with Lord Arthur taking his turn. At his touch, however, Preston felt his cock harden and felt his cheeks flush. As the Duke of Wellington pulled back, he noticed the activity going on between the new captain's legs and knowing that he was the cause, he slipped his arm around Preston and ordered another round of drinks. He led Robert out a side door, taking him out onto the veranda, the officers and nobles following in their wake.

"You've impressed me," said Arthur. "That's not easily done, sir."

"I but did my duty, sir, by saving the lives of Lord Richard and his companions."

"That's not what I meant. Not entirely."

Preston lifted an eyebrow. He chewed on his cigar and momentarily considered taking off with Wellington and seducing him somewhere in the nearby woods. "I think I know. But now is not the time or place." He regretted saying it, for the merry shine in Wellington's eyes vanished at his rejection, but there was nothing to do about it. A look of supreme annoyance appeared on the Duke's handsome face that caused Preston to immediately reconsider. But voices caused him to turn around to welcome the incoming troops and was soon entertaining them all with stories of his own years at sea.

During Preston's story telling, he noticed the Duke of Wellington staring at him intently over the tops of the gathered men. There was a longing in his expression that tore at Preston's heart and made his cock quiver to life. He nearly stopped talking the moment the Duke nodded toward the wooded area, implying he wanted Preston to join him. He allowed his eyes to slide in that direction, taking note that there was a gazebo, then turned back to grin at something tawdry mentioned by Foster. As Dreadnaught took over the conversation, Robert noticed that Lord Richard was standing beside Edward and that their arms were touching; the same arm of Edward's that was adorned with his bracelet.

Preston felt a lump form in his throat. He saw red blur his vision as jealously swam up his back and bit him hard. There was a sly little look on Richard's face and while he deserved to be throttled, it was Edward that hurt him the most, for he kept looking at the duke in a way that suggested they were about to drift off together. He might have said something or returned to the ball to dance with a number of ridiculous girls, but at that moment, he felt someone staring at him. He looked up to the Duke of Wellington walking off down a flight of stairs into the garden, his boots crunching on the snowy path. Preston set down his empty glass, dropped the stub of his cigar, and making certain that Richard and Edward seemed so conveniently intent on break his heart yet again, he faded out and soon was heading after Lord Arthur with all haste.

"Your Grace," said Preston, a cloud of white coming out of his mouth as he spoke. He ran after the fast walking Duke, watched him turn a corner near a tall shrub that formed a blockade that ran a distance before stopped at the front of the gazebo. He watched the handsome Duke disappear from view and saw him again waiting for him at the entrance of the gazebo, then disappear inside.

Preston sped up, running down the snow covered walkway, entered the gazebo with his head down and immediately slammed into the back of the tall nobleman. Wellesley took the impact hard and nearly went flying to the ground. Preston's quick reflexes and ability to get his arms around the Duke's waist, kept him for falling. As he jerked the solidly built lord into his arms, he received a hearty chuckle in response to his gallant rescue effort.

"You move quite fast, sir," said Wellesley, in a voice that had the slightest of Irish accents. He turned around in Preston's arms, pleased he was not released for the maneuver and the embrace remained firm. "We'll be missed, so we must be quicker still, Captain Preston. I'm quite overwhelmed by your eagerness to join me. I dared not hope you were interested but for that hunter's look in your. You followed as you were meant too. Good."

"You made the offer. I could not resist."

Preston suddenly jerked Wellington full against him, treating his physical equal as though he weighed no more than a small child, bringing him up against the erection pressing hard to be released from his trousers, holding him tight. Edward hated to be held in such a fashion, but the Duke seemed quite pleased to be embraced in such secure, strong arms. Preston gazed across at the handsome the lord and kissed him with a sudden unleashed passion. His tongue encouraged Arthur's lips to part and tongues met and entwined in the French fashion. The Duke was an ardent kisser and the two seemed lip-locked for an eternity, before he lifted his head back, ending the delicious sensation.

"I'm anxious to acquaint myself with you before returning to the ball, Robert," the Duke sighed, a sound that was sexually arousing. "I am normally not this bold. However, when I first heard about you from Lord Richard, I thought he was but exaggerating. The little tart that he is, I couldn't help but imagine what might transpire if we met face to face. Are you and Pellew?"

"He is my captain, sir," said Preston, a bit angry. "My captain."

"Ah, yes. Nothing more need be said in this regard. I understand fully." Arthur's hands anxiously slid down the younger man's body, cupping his firm buttocks and pushed him up against him, so there two massive cocks pressed against one another through the material of their britches. "It's damn cold. But it seems you have my full attention, Captain Preston."

"I should be whipped for breaking my vow."

"Vow? To whom? Your captain?"

"Say nothing more, least reason return to my befuddled mind." Robert started to rub himself against the Duke, enjoying the way their cocks rolled against one another. "But don't let me go back to the ball just yet, Your Grace. Not until you show me the gates of paradise itself."

"Be my guest," sighed Arthur, liking this love talk from the ruggedly handsome devil.

Robert caught the Duke of Wellington's face in one hand, kissing him repeatedly on the mouth, wanting to taste every bit of him while he could, then caught him about the front of his pants. He rubbed his cold hand against the duke's silk vest, moving quickly, warming it up, then when satisfied and a bit week for His Lordship's kisses, he slid his hand down the front of the man's pants. He connected with warm flesh and soft fuzz. His long fingers curled around the already hard shaft and he stroked it, his thumb on the head, pressing the seeping moisture down so it spread out beneath the pressure. Arthur wasted no further time and pulled out Robert's own cock, his hands chilly but doing little to diminish the size of the fully aroused cock. The Duke stroked Preston's cock with both his hands and closed his eyes, groaning with abandon. He suddenly sank to his knees in the gazebo and drew the cock into his mouth. He grabbed Robert's ass in both hands, pulling his head back in order to slide his mouth up and down the length. Robert smelled good and Arthur would have swallowed every last drop had he not wanted to use the extraordinary cock in another more fulfilling manner. But a hand to his shoulder stopped him for going further and he looked up, excitement dancing in his blue eyes.

"I'll be gentle," explained Robert. "I am prepared." He produced a small jar of oil recently purchased for just such an occasion. It had never been used.

"Lord, man. I don't want you to be gentle or I'd bed my wife. I want you to be exactly what I believe you to be, sir. A rutting boar." He kissed Preston on the lips. "Richard will hold his tongue. I promise you that. But you can never mention my name. Nor this." He kissed his cheeks, the sides of his face and turned to nibble on his neck above the line of his uniform.

"I am discreetness itself, sir."

"Then....?"

Robert reached down and pulled Arthur up by the arm. He held the man's eyes as he pulled his pants down off his hips, revealing white thighs that goose pimpled in the cold. He placed his warm hands on the lovely thighs, kissed Arthur on the lips, then turned him around. He kept his own loins close against the Duke's buttocks, keeping him warm, while he squirted oil onto his fingers. He moved back enough to allow him to slip his hand between the firm cheeks and finding the tight hole, he began to work it gentle. At the Duke's thrust backwards, he realized he was impatient and applied the oil to his own cock. Arthur rested his bare hands on the long bench in the gazebo, his ass left in full view of Robert as he came up behind it and slid his erection into the inner recess of the Duke's ass. He was surprised that the gorgeous lord was able to handle his entire length and eagerly started to coax him by bucking against him. In no time, he was pounding as fast and hard as possible, slamming into the Duke, using everything in his arsenal to set His Grace into a succession of soft little cries. The noise stayed within the gazebo but delighted Robert to hear and he kept at his work, happily, giving the Duke the ride of his life. He finally threw back his own head and let out a rumbling growl as he spewed hot cum inside of Arthur, then reached around and found his new lover had already ejaculated. He withdrew at once and used his kerchief to clean himself up, then carefully wiped the Duke clean. As the kerchief was not initialed, and he not wanting it with him, Preston tossed it aside and quickly dressed. The Duke did the same. Then both regarded one another, still hungering for each other, and stepping forward, they embraced and eagerly kissed.

Locked together, neither was aware of the multiple footsteps coming down the path toward the gazebo. Not until the voices were upon them did the hairs rise on the nape of Robert's neck and he lifted his head to see Charles Foster leading a damn procession. He pushed the Duke off to the side, into shadows, and stepped forward into the entrance of the gazebo, hoping the fellow had sense enough to leave by the exist on the opposite side. Foster waved at Robert and lifted a bottle of wine high, hurrying toward the gazebo, followed by the Duke of Arrendale, several sea captains including Pellew. Trailing behind was his own brother, James, the Earl of Lester, on the arm of a nobleman whom Preston did not know.

"Good god! James? Is that you?"

James Preston stepped forward. He was short and of a medium build. He was neither handsome, nor unattractive. He dressed well, however, there was a bit of the brute about the narrowness of his dark blue eyes and the cut of his square jaw. He wore a sword, as did his companion, and both were stinking drunk. James pushed his companion aside, brushed by the naval officers and came up short in front of Robert as a tall shadow appeared behind the new captain.

"Oh, I didn't realize you weren't alone," said James, sounding as disapproved as his companion looked upon seeing the Duke of Wellington standing at the back of the gazebo. The side door was iced over and could not be opened. The earl and his companion joined the naval officers and noblemen within the gazebo. Most of the men remained standing, however, James sat down next to the now seated Wellesley and took the wine bottle from Foster. "Will you have a drink with us, Your Grace? We are celebrating my brother. Finally, he's made a captain. Of course, it took ten years longer than he wanted, but then again, there you are."

James took a swig and handed it over to his friend who joined him on the bench. He was so unlike his brother, so unpleasant, dark, and sullen, that only his friend seemed to enjoy his company. His companion had a girlish laugh and as he took the bottle from Lord James and offered it to Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington wrinkled his nose in distaste. He obviously knew the man, and well, and thought little of him. His refusal infuriated the smaller fellow.

"I think not, Lord Butte. I was about to return to the ball."

"Not good enough for you, is that it, Your Grace?" Asked Lord Butter, an effeminate man in his forties. His tone was nasty. His eyes were small and piggish. He smelled over ripe of perfume. "To think how many times I have had to listen to you make a speech on the necessities of building up the army and supplying even the lowest foot soldier with appropriate footwear, well, you think the least you could do was share a bottle with us. Typical of the Irish to refuse an outstretched hand from an Englishman. Yet, I'm handing you a bottle, not my hand. It must be personal then. Yes, that's it. You're so bloody obstinate and proud, Arthur. It surprised me, really, because you come from the poorest stock on the earth."

"Mind your tongue," growled Foster from the background.

"Oh, is one of the sailors talking. Do tell them to pipe down, Arthur. I don't like inferiors speaking to me. I am a member of the House of Lords, and I have every intention of being the next prime minister, so mind you keep your sea dogs on a leash."

"If that is all, Lord Butte?" Wellesley inclined his head and turned to leave. He sucked in his breath as he watched Butte notice something white on the ground. Reaching down, Lord Butte picked up the damp kerchief, held it to his nose and started to laugh.

"What is so amusing?" Asked Lord James Preston, but his friend merely waved the kerchief in the air like a trophy. He instead took the bottle back.

Lord Butte looked up at a scowling Wellington and shrugged. "Is this your's, Your Grace?" When Arthur did not answer, he turned toward Robert. "I wasn't aware, James, that you brother was so attractive. If he's made captain overnight, and from you've told me, it is nothing less than a miracle, then I shouldn't be surprised if he makes admiral in three years. Your grandfather was an admiral, James. Why not your brother, eh?"

"That's it," growled Robert. He stepped forward and appeared between Pellew and Foster, as ruffled and furious as a wolf in winter, ready to devour its prey. At the sound of his brother and Lord Butte's heckling laughter, he lifted his hands, ready to strangle James whom he'd barely seen in twenty years. He felt Edward Pellew grip his arm, pulling him back. Foster stepped in front of him, preventing him from reaching. "I don't care who he is. I won't allow him to address the Duke with that tone. James, you best rein in your friend before I rip his wind pipe out with my bare hands."

"You're addressing our next prime minister, Robert."

"I'm warning you, James."

"Why don't we all return to the ball?" Foster suggested. He turned around and this time threw his arms around Preston, battling back several feet, while Pellew pulled on the young man's arm, both trying to get him out of harms way. Wellington observed their efforts and found himself admiring Captain Preston far more than he'd initially was inclined to do. For pretty faces normally meant a shallowness of character, however, Arthur could tell that Preston was prepared to fight his private battles for him, and for that single act of blind heroics, he pledged to himself to return the favor one day.

"A fine idea," replied Arthur, coming over to join the sea captains. He caught Foster's eyes and shook his head. Foster understood, it was time to go, and nodded. But as they started toward the entrance, filing out one by one, Arthur caught the horrified look on Robert's face and turned back. He stiffened from head to toe at the sight of Lord Butte sniffing at the kerchief like a dog in heat. He reacted then and grabbing the damp cloth from the man's grasp, he stuffed it into his own coat pocket. "Anything to renew our disagreement, eh, Howard? I'll see you in hell before I see you as the next prime minister. You have quite a few enemies in the House of Lords. I'll see if I can't further incite a rebellion in the House of Commons. I am, after all, Irish." "Do that, Arthur, and I'll let it leek at Parliament that your wife does indeed have great cause to be worried about her husband's reputation. Boys with boys. What do you think the lords would have to say about that, Wellesley? Indeed, what would the public think?"

"Threats do not interest me, Lord Butte," replied Wellington, unshaken. "Many men have tried to tarnish my reputation, and of far less character than your own. However, I wouldn't recommend your causing any waves. Two can play this game. Don't push me, Howard."

"I'll do what I like, Arthur, as long as it brings you sorrow and hardship."

Lord Butte rose, dwarfed by Wellington. He reached up and struck the Duke across the face with the back of his hand. Wellington quivered but said nothing. Robert strained forward and felt Pellew's hand clasp his arm harder, holding him back. Foster noticed their young friend was about to defend the honor of the Duke and roughly pushed him out of the gazebo, before returning to stand before Wellington and address the two snickering lords on the bench.

"Lord James, you're friend has struck the Duke. Of course there will be a duel. I will play the part of his second, as you will do the same for Lord Butte. However, there is a matter of discreetness. Obviously, His Grace will not fight on his own behalf, but will have a champion. I expect you'll be fight in place of Lord Butte, considering your own reputation with the sword, so if you please, name your own second."

"My brother, of course," said the Earl of Lester. He stood up, finished off the bottle of wine and slammed it onto the ground, shattering it into pieces. Wellington and Foster glanced at one another, startled by the announcement. Outside, Robert heard his name mentioned, broke free from Edward and came charging in. His brother laughed and said, "Robert, you will second me, won't you dear, brother? If you don't, I'll tell our brother, John. The dear little cardinal will have no other choice, as I am an earl now, but to write the Pope and ask him to excommunicate you from the Church."

"It was my intention to defend the Duke," said Robert, not at all intending to lift one finger to assist his brother and his abhorrent little friend. Foster put his hand upon Robert's arm, very impressed, while Wellesley regarded his new friend with complete shock and appreciation. Robert smiled thinly. "Your Grace, it would be an honor to fight on your behalf."

"You already are, Robert. You're a captain now in his King's Royal Navy."

"But I mean...."

"Yes, lad. I know what you meant. Foster will fight in my stead."

Foster cackled loudly. "Indeed, I shall, my friend. Pellew? You'll second me."

"On second thought," purred James, coming up off the bench, Lord Butte at his side. He walked up to Robert, mindless that Wellington and Foster were in close approximation, and a third naval officer had appeared in the doorway. He thrust his finger into Robert's chest. "You'll fight in my place, brother. I am still recovering from an injury."

"Me? Against Charles? You damn well know that Charles is family," snarled Robert. "He raised me, practically. No. I'll not lift a sword against my dearest friend."

"I'm touched," said Foster. "I didn't know you cared so much, Robert."

"You've been a father to me. More than that. Because you've shown me nothing but kindness and love since I can remember. I'll not harm a hair on your head."

Robert glared down at his brother and grabbed him by the front of his coat, lifting him several inches off the ground, then with all his might, he hurled him across the gazebo. The tiny Lord Butte flayed his arms at him, trying to fight back, but all Robert did was push the fellow over the bench, knocking both on their butts and sending the group of men into peels of laughter. Wellington threw his arm around Robert, hugging him close, and released him just as fast as a jolt of electricity shot up from his groan and entered the body of the young man. Robert smiled at him, somewhat discomforted but also pleased to receive such attention, but he was too soon thrown out the door by Foster into the waiting arms of Edward Pellew.

"We best get you away," said Edward. Behind him stood Richard Grey, anxious as were his friends, to leave the gazebo and return to the party. Richard pressed up against Edward in an intimate fashion that nearly incited Robert into another fit of fury. "If you don't get away now, lad, Lord Butte will have your butt in irons. He's a very powerful man. Best let Wellington handle it and make haste back to your new ship, Captain. I love you dearly, that I do, but I'll not go against Butte if it comes to that. Not even for you."

"I will," said Wellington. "In fact, I look forward to it." He came down the sidewalk, falling into step beside Foster and Preston. Pellew and Richard Grey walked directly ahead of them, as the rest of their companions had already hurried inside and disappeared in the ballroom.

"You should learn to pick your battles better, Richard, and defend those you care about instead of cowering before Lord Butte. Once he is made prime minister, if he can manage it, and believe me I'll throw whatever I can in his way to prevent it, you're going to find yourself acting as his henchman. I wouldn't want that for you, Richard."

"Butte has many friends, including the king," said the Duke of Arrendale, over his shoulder. "I can't help being a little afraid of him. And the Earl of Lester is a deadly blade. Do you really think you can take him, Foster?"

"I'm to fight, Robert. Or didn't you hear that?" Asked the Scotsman, laughing.

"I'll not fight you. I'll not fight any of James' battles or that perfumed little queer he associates with. I'm going back in there and giving James a piece of my mind."

Robert looked over his shoulder, prepared to return to the gazebo and resume his fight, but both Wellington and Foster grabbed him by either arm and propelled him up to the veranda.

"No, you're not," the two gentleman said in unison.

The two men hauled Robert down the sidewalk, protesting all the way. Once they arrived at the palace, Richard and Edward paused at the door that led into the ballroom, allowing Foster the opportunity to give Robert a hard shove that propelled him first to enter. Robert collected his balance, righted himself, then strode into the room, his head held high. The moment he entered, a stir was caused among the crowd. Beautiful women and eager young men all seemed to creep toward Robert. He walked through them as if in a daze, until the young lady he'd danced with earlier appeared before him, holding up her dance card.

"You did promise, sir."

"So I did," replied Robert. He took her hand, kissed it, then escorted her to the dance floor for the next waltz. He kept his eyes, however, on Wellington, Pellew, Foster and Grey as the four men walked around the dance floor and took up a stationary position beside the punch bowl. But the Duke was soon drawn away by others, leaving the naval captains to spike the punch and drink it without him. Robert felt the woman step on his toes and he looked down, angry at himself for not having guided her better. "My apologies. I should watch what I'm doing."

"But...it was I?"

"A good dance partner never should take his eyes off his partner. It is only because I did that we missed our step. It is Margarete, is that right? Lady Margarete...Butte?"

"Yes, you remember quite well."

"And you're say sixteen years of age?"

"Why, yes, sir. Exactly. How did you know?"

"Because I met your father a few minutes ago," said Robert, his heart settling at the bottom of his stomach with a sickening thud. Right then, Lord Butte and Lord Preston came walking into the ballroom, smoking cigars, despite the disgust with which they were viewed by the elite crowd who moved aside for the smoke cloud. Both men stood on the edge of the dance floor, curiously watching Robert and the young lady dancing together. "How long has your father been friend's with my brother?" She blinked at him. "The Earl of Lester is my older brother, my dear. Made so by the sudden death of my great aunt, Duchess Sinclair. But we are not blood relations, so it is not all that impressive."

"You're so humble. And so gallant. I think you are the nicest man here." Margarete blushed and looked down, missing her step and slamming hard against Robert. He held her up firmly but nothing she was closer to him that he'd wanted. "I hope my father sees us."

"Yes. Well, I'm afraid he has."

Robert frowned as Lord Butte tossed his cigar on the dance floor, as did James, then commence to shoulder his way through the dancers, headed in their direction. His eye quick to find relief, Robert pulled a young fellow standing idly by out of the crowd, thrust him into the arms of Margarete, and hurried off in the opposite direction. He heard voices raising on the dance floor, knew that Lord Butte was causing quite the scene, and ducked into the foyer of the palace. The servant he'd earlier paid was there, as if by magic, his cloak and hat in his hands. He thanked the man and rushed out the front doors, passing several Beefeaters guarding the entrance and starling them in his eagerness to escape.

Behind him grew a clatter that was alarming. Robert put on his cloak on the move, then his cap, moving through the carriages, trying to find one for hire. His cape swirled around him as he moved through the swirling snow. He heard his name being shouted from the entrance of the palace and cringed as he recognized his brother's angry voice. Not wanting a scene or to involve his friends further, Robert hurried in and out of the cabs and horses. Through the breaks between the carriages, he could see a crowd coming out of the doors of the palace, while his brother and Lord Butte argued with the royal guards. Cursing, Robert headed through the large iron gates that surrounded the palace, passing several stone still guards at their posts, and stormed across the main street, hoping to vanish into the wide, dark expanse of Hyde Park.

At night he knew it was pure madness to walk through the park. While it was close to the palace and a number of rows of government buildings mingled with mansions, it was also home to cutthroats and thieves. Lanterns lit the cobble stone walkway and a light snow fell. He pulled his cloak closed and put his head forward, driving through the wind, intent on finding a cab on the opposite end of the park. But despite his attempts to make himself scarce, his name floated to him on the breeze, bringing him to a final halt. He turned around, lifted his head and waited for the inevitable. His brother and Lord Butte, followed by an entourage of richly clad men and several ladies, curious to see blood, hurried down the walkway and met him in the middle of the park. Robert saw not a single friendly face in the crowd but held his ground.

"What is it, James? Can you not leave well enough alone? Must you follow after me like the mongrel you are, hankering for a scrap of meat off my bones?" Robert eyed the tiny Lord Butte who was nervously fingering the hilt of his sword. "Have you really the backbone, my Lord? If so, I'm not armed. Now is your chance, man. Strike fast or be gone with you."

James Preston drew his sword and threw it down on the walkway where it clattered loudly. Robert glanced down at it. The weapon rested near the toe of his boots. He made no effort to pick it up, resigned to watch the scene unfold, which resulted in his furious brother turned to Lord Butte and requesting his weapon. Lord Butte signaled several lackeys forward. James removed his cloak and tossed it at a man, taking the sword from Howard Butte and while the crowd applauded his seemingly brave actions, none thought to mention that his conduct was nothing less than cowardice. For Robert was without any seconds to offer assistance and his brother was a legendary swordsman, with a string of deaths behind him to prove his skill.

"Pick it up," snarled James.

"You have no fight with me, brother. You're an earl now. Act like it."

"And you're a sea captain. Good for you, Robert. Now pick up the sword. Or, are you too yellow to fight me? I admit, I have never lost. And you're no swordsman."

"I do prefer pistols, it is true."

As if by prayer, through the crowd pressed the Duke of Wellington, Foster, Pellew, and Lord Richard. Several royal guards were in tow. The Duke snapped his fingers and the guards lowered this muskets at the Earl of Lester where he stood before the pack, his sword arm raised, poised in a fencer's stance, ready to engage. Robert slowly removed his cloak and let it slide off his shoulders to the ground. He bent down and picked up the weapon. He stood. The guards closed upon Wellington's orders, but Robert angrily waved them back.

"We'll not wait until morning to embrace, brother," said Captain Preston. "You've long held a grudge against me, though you were our father's favorite. I'll not air our dirty laundry before this good people, but I'd like to remind you that you are a nobleman, with certain duties and responsibilities. That does not include fighting in the streets like a ruffian."

"Don't preach at me! I have waited for this moment for years, Robert. I think you know why. I'll not mention the reason, for I am a gentleman and I do not wish to hear gossip at court. But you have insulted Lord Butte, as well as me, and I'll not allow you to simply run away and return to sea without repaying insult with injury." James slashed the air with his sword, taking a step forward, then shouted, "En garde," and struck.

Up came Robert's sword in a quick parry. His brother was smaller but fast. And he was well practiced with the use of the sword. However, Robert had not spent years at sea tying knots in ropes and had learned how to defend himself. His sword countered and parried every move made by James. His large frame moved with grace and ease as he started forward, pushing James back toward the crowd. On his brother's face was a look of pure hatred. The fight brought him great joy and he laughed when his sword slipped under Robert's guard, slicing the front of his new uniform. Robert countered and thrust upwards. James jumped backwards, avoiding the lunge and played with great dramatics to the crowd.

"Lack of a proper education will lead to the early destruction of any proud man. You have pride, Robert. But you lack any refined skill with a sword."

Lord Butte felt someone glaring at him. He looked around and found Wellington, flanked by Foster and Pellew, behind him. He gulped and pulled up the collar of his cloak, trembling beneath the heavy wool. The guards stood off to the side, muskets lowered. The crowd behind them drank champagne and applauded every time James slipped under Robert's guard and added another cut in the fabric of his uniform.

"Tired yet, brother?" James taunted, growing confident he'd soon see blood.

Robert snarled and came forward. He slipped on a black patch of ice and fell hard to the ground, landing on his side. He rolled off of his sword and lifted it, seeing a shadow race toward him, blocking a blow that would have impaled him. Cries of foul play were shouted by the gentlemen and the few ladies in attendance gasped loudly in shock. Robert struggled to stand on the ice and felt the tip of a sword stab into his thigh. Blood spurted out from the wound once the blade was withdrawn, turning his white pants red. He managed to get his footing and moved off of the cobble stone to the snow covered grass, where the duel was resumed.

"You must stop it," Edward Pellew finally said to Wellington. "This is your fault entirely. I'll hold you accountable should Robert....you know well what I mean, Your Grace."

"Have faith, Captain Pellew," replied Arthur, his voice calm, though inside, his heart was slamming hard against his ribs. "I think we both know who is the better man."

Foster put his hand on Pellew's shoulder, but it brought him little comfort. For James was on the offense, pushing Robert ever backwards, making a butcher shop out of his new uniform, so that it hung in shreds upon the hulking body of his brother. A strange smile appeared on Robert's face as he glanced down at his destroyed uniform, then looked back up at James. He suddenly stopped in his tracks and lifted his sword arm out as far as it would go, holding his brother at bay.

"This is your last chance, James. I'd apologize for the past, but I'm fresh out of apologies. Maybe next year."

"Don't stop, you fool! Everyone is watching!"

"We are brothers. I don't want it to end like this between us."

James laughed loudly. "Do you hear that? We are brothers, he says. After twenty years of not hearing from me, Robert, I think you'd realize by now that I have never loved you. You were always mother's little pride and joy. I don't want your apology. I want you dead."

"Then do your best," said Robert, his voice tinged with sorrow. "But you heard me offer to stop this, Lord Butte! This is the end of it. If you have any further grievances, then you can make them formally to King George himself, otherwise, this matter is official closed."

"If you can kill the Earl, all will be forgiven."

James shuttered and turned. "What are you saying?"

"Dear lord above, mad. Kill him and be quick about it, you idiot," said Lord Butte, glaring at his lover hostilely. "You're embarrassing me, and I'm cold. Get it over with, James."

With a savage cry, James charged at Robert, slashing the air before him like a pirate. Robert held his ground and met every parry, flipping it aside, increasing the speed of their duel until the swords moved so swiftly, they were difficult to follow in the glow of the lanterns. Yet, as the two men continued to fence, showing the utmost skill and precision, it soon became obvious to everyone that the naval officer was growing exhausted. As he'd exhibited great proficiency with the blade, he began to falter, allowing James to dart in and strike again. His blade sank into Robert's sword arm. He grunted out loud in pain as his brother jerked the blade back out, laughing in triumphant.

"Good bye, James," said Robert, with a sigh. He switched hands and fought with his left, drawing a cry of delight from the crowd and worried glances from his friends. But he proved just as efficient with the left hand, a tactic which James was not prepared for and could not defend against. As he knocked aside each of Robert's lunges, his laughter faded and he looked close to panic. He made one last lunge, jumping forward lightly on his feet like a dancer, that Robert met with a counter-stroke that slipped beneath the other's defense and penetrated through his heart. James dropped his sword with a loud outcry and collapsed in a heap, not to stir again. Robert broke his own sword across his knee, throwing it down in disgust as Lord Butte rushed toward his slain friend. Butte knelt down, checked James' pulse and announced he was dead.

"You'll pay for this," shouted Lord Butte.

"I think not," Wellington said, sternly. "It's over, Howard. Take your friend's body and deliver it to the morgue. We're through here." He gazed out at the crowd. "All of you return to the ball or go home. I could really care less."

Edward Pellew was first to reach Robert. He put his arm around the wounded man, offering himself as support and helped him walk over to Wellesley and Grey. Foster silently walked over and picked up Robert's discarded cloak and hat. He helped Robert put on his cloak and placed the hat upon the tall blonde's head, grinning at him with pride.

"You never told me you were ambidextrous, lad."

"You never asked," said Robert, offering a thin smile. He gave Edward a hard squeeze, depending on him completely however for support. His leg was killing him far worse than his arm and he was afraid it would go out from under him at any moment. But he managed to summon the last of his strength as the two dukes approached him.

Lord Grey grabbed him and kissed him full on the mouth in his excitement. "I have never seen a duel more thrilling. You know what this means, Robert? Your brother John is a cardinal and will not leave the fold. But you, my dear friend, in one stroke have changed yourself from a naval officer to an earl. You are the new Earl of Lester, with all the lands and wealth to go with it. And I'll help you, I will. While you're at sea, I'll attend to everything for you."

"No, Richard. I will," interrupted Arthur. He held out his hand and Robert reached out with his left and shook it hard. "You are to report to your ship tomorrow, Captain. However, I will make arrangements so that you and Captain Pellew may have an extra day. I'm sure you would like to rest before bidding farewell to your old crew. Foster, you'll send word to both ships? I'll deal with the Admiralty personally." He removed a kerchief from his coat pocket and lifted it to his nose, catching Robert's surprised gaze, then put it back, keeping it as a memento. Robert was both flattered and embarrassed by the gesture. No one else noticed.

"Certainly," said Captain Foster. "It will be my pleasure."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Robert said, his voice fading with his strength. He sagged against Edward and nearly carried him to the ground. Both Wellesley and Foster grabbed hold of Robert before he dropped, all three men working together to support the large man.

"It is I who should thank you, Captain Preston. You have defended my honor with the utmost sacrifice. Your brother. And these poor wounds that will need tending." Arthur glanced at Pellew, rather slyly. "I'm sure you will attend to his needs, Captain. In fact, I count on it, sir. You may write me and tell me how our friend is after he is rested."

Pellew nodded. "I shall, Your Grace. You may count on it."

"We'll meet again," said Arthur, holding Robert's eyes. "I give you my word of honor, sir." Then the duke cried out, for the young man had lost consciousness.

* * * *

Waking to the rumble and jolt of a carriage ride, Robert opened his blurry eyes and saw Charles Foster staring back at him, a smile on his craggy face. Foster pointed and he slowly turned his head, seeing Edward at his side, his arms full around his body, keeping him propped up and warmed during the ride back to the inn. Then he faded out again. He woke later to find himself in the bed and the soft spoken voices of men. His eyes gazed across the room, finding Foster and Pellew seated before a roaring fireplace, smoking cigars and drinking brandy. He said nothing as he raised the sheet, saw that he was bandaged as well as being nude. He laughed softly at this and aroused the attention of the two captains.

"He's alive after all," said Foster. He leaned back in his chair. "You'll need a new uniform, Robert. Your's is in shreds. But don't worry. I'll take care of it myself, lad." He winked over at Edward. "Well, old friend, what are you waiting for? I sent the lad to you myself to take care of and see how it ends? You've caused two holes to be put into his handsome flesh. Go console him, and be nice, Edward. I'd hate to have to challenge you myself to a duel."

"I have every intention of making amends to Robert," said Pellew. He rose from the chair, his jacket shed, wearing all white. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside Robert. As he lifted his hand to touch Robert's feverish brow, the injured man saw the bracelet on his wrist and sighed contentedly. "It takes little to please you," said Pellew, noticing where he looked. "Thank you for the gift. I have no intention of ever taking it off."

"But...but I hurt you...tonight."

"No. Wellesley is an awesome specimen of a man. You wouldn't be human, lad, if you hadn't noticed. Let's not talk about him though. Or Lord Richard for that matter." Edward leaned over and kissed Robert full on the lips. Behind them Foster cackled with glee. "Never mind that old goat. He's the one who brought us together, so let him watch. I care not."

"Edward...you have no idea, none at all, how I feel about you."

"Oh, I think I do."

Robert lifted up his left arm and touched Edward's sea weathered face. Edward kissed the palm of his hand, then bent down and holding him close, kissed Robert on the mouth, hard and passionate. Robert wanted to do more, far more, but Edward chided him softly and placed his uninjured arm back upon his chest. He remained at Robert's side, refusing to let him go and kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, Robert. More than I've loved anyone."

"Even...Charles?"

"Especially Charles," said Edward Pellew, loud enough for the Scottish rover to hear. Foster only laughed and sipped on his brandy, gazing at the fire to give them privacy. Edward turned back and gazed into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. "I trust you, Robert. I learned that tonight. You are a man of honor, and you place your friends first before yourself. You're not at all the man I thought you to be when you boarded the Indie. You have heart, lad. A grand heart which I'm holding close to my own, for as long as you love me."

"If that is all it takes, Edward, then you'll be holding it for an eternity."

A look of astonishment swept over Pellew's face, then he smiled warmly. All walls vanished and any doubts were laid to rest as he claimed Robert's lips once more, gently and tenderly, showing him all the love that he so well deserved.

THE END

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