Chapter Two
Christopher Godwin was in many ways Thomas Fitzroy's complete opposite and not just physically. He was blond, strong and broad, sure. But he was also proud and outgoing. The clothes Thomas found awkward, he peacocked. The people Thomas avoided, he flattered. The limelight Thomas feared, he relished. It was not only an effect of the extra nine years, either. He had always been a more confident person than almost anyone else he knew.
Looking in the mirror, he realized he needed a full shave again. He liked himself with a little stubble, but it was so hard to maintain that roguish look without ending up just plain scruffy. Between being a spoiled only child, being audacious from a young age, and being the son of a Duke, nobody had ever told him what to do, corrected him on important matters, or tried to push him into Sunday school. He had never been told he was in any way able to do wrong. On the contrary, he had been taught, through word and deed, that there was no law, rule, or sin out of which he could not buy his way.
He was also at much greater liberty to live his sexual and romantic life as he truly pleased. Secretively, of course. But an open secret if there ever was any. He took great pleasure in the company of women, and even more in the company of men. He knew that because of his status many people would be willing to give themselves to him. Some did so in hopes of marrying him. Some did so for presents. Some seemed to think it their duty to serve, or, better said, service the Duke's son. Some felt some perverse satisfaction upon sleeping with someone powerful. And some simply fell in love with him and hoped and prayed he would eventually fall in love with them too.
He did not.
Christopher Godwin had not fallen in love his entire life. In fact, his capacity for emotional bonding had diminished rather than increased as the years went by.
Unlike the Fitzroys, the Godwins had long given up on Christopher marrying. They were relieved enough that he was not starting an orgy in a public park. Which had been a genuine thought he had had at one point in his early twenties. But he was beginning to find his capacity for sexual desire was going the same way his emotional needs had gone. That was to say, it was going, full stop.
At one time, nothing could quench his libido. He had been in trouble many times over for disappearing into rooms and the woods with other young women and men from the village. In the end, his parents sent him to their Spanish finca and their French villa most of the year, where he could take local peasants and other tourists to bed as he pleased, get an education, and not have rumors of his activities reach home.
He had enjoyed that so much that as he grew older he made a habit out of traveling across Europe, America, and the Caribbean, finding lovers everywhere he stopped. There was nothing that he had not tried, nothing he believed beyond his ability to redeem himself. Every lascivious act was his to taste on the world's buffet.
And yet now none of that particularly interested him. He had not left the country in over a year. He had not felt the need.
He had gone from traveling the world to satisfy his most primitive urges... to traveling England to make polite conversation with his father's friends. It was funny how life turned around. Since turning thirty, he had found less and less satisfaction in his lifestyle and was slowly consumed by melancholy until he stopped traveling all together.
Truth be told, he didn't even want to see other people.
He nodded to the house maid as he left his room and she curtsied, then swept in to make his bed and clean his toilette station, so that everything would be impeccable when he returned.
He did not even keep much staff. Not compared to what his parents did, anyway. Walking into the drawing room, the butler bowed and waved toward his chair.
“Will Sir be eating this morning?” the butler asked as he pushed Christopher's chair in. “Or will Sir save himself for dinner tonight at the ball?”
Christopher looked at the spread of breads and cheeses. “No, thank you. I shall have some tea. Wouldn't want to spoil my appetite.”
“Of course, Sir,” the butler replied, gesturing to the servant waiting by the door that it was time to clear the table, then pouring the tea.
This ball was a simple formality, of course. He had to see countless high-ranking members of society anyway. Greet them. Wine and dine them. Let them feel they were heard and wanted and respected. That was his job, and it would only get worse when he inherited the Duchy. The ball was a convenient way to get it all done in one night, as far as he was concerned.
The footman, a tall, lanky man of around fifty, walked in through the open door just as Christopher was about to raise his teacup to his lips. He lifted an eyebrow questioningly.
“Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but there is another young lady at the gates today. A Miss Jarvis. She insists upon seeing you,” the footman explained.
Christopher pondered whether it would be worth it. On the one hand, he did not want or need company. On the other hand, if she was on the guest list for the night, he would not want to insult her. He sighed. “Bring her in.”
The young woman was stunning, well-dressed, and haughty to match. Her dress was a few inches too tight on her and revealed her full curves. Her hair was adorned with a bright chain of jewels. Her blue eyes lit up when she saw Christopher. Everyone was always pleased to see him. He was powerful, handsome, and young. And now that his father, the Duke, was growing older, they were descending like vultures.
She strode up to where he was sitting and leaned against the edge of the table, almost upsetting the teapot.
“I was wondering whether you would be needing company, now that you are in town again...” she began, trailing off when she saw him roll his eyes.
“I am a little busy,” he said as politely as he could.
“Are you not going to invite me to join you for tea?” she asked coyly. “Or... for something else?”
“No, I am not,” he insisted, remembering this girl. She was not invited. Insulting her would be no great problem.
“I could make it worth your time, Christopher...” she said in a low voice.
He shook his head. “You? You could not make it worth my time if you had all year. Please leave so that I may have my tea in peace.”
With a huff, the young lady stood up, knocked the teapot on the floor and, glaring at him over her shoulder, stormed out the room. She would not bother him again any time soon.
He did not mean to hurt and offend, but he had learned long ago that if he wanted to keep any of these women away from him he would have to essentially insult them. They did not get the message when he was kind and polite.
And yet... Normally he would not have turned her away. A few years ago, he would have thrown her down on the table and had her right there. A few months ago, he would have at least taken her to his room. He was not sure what was coming over him. He had felt no surge of desire when he was approached. No need. He just wanted to drink his tea and be left in peace.
It was all just so boring now. The very idea of bedding these promiscuous young men and women had become dull. Back when he used to be breaking rules, when it used to be a challenge to persuade them to break their rules and undress before him... back then it was fun. Pushing their limits every time, discovering themselves with one another.
But now nobody, man or woman, would refuse him anything. They knew what he wanted and they would give it up instantly. No matter how depraved, they were willing. All for a slice of his fortune. And that had ruined the fun for him.
Or maybe he was just getting old.
***
The candles in the chandeliers were so many and so bright, it was as though the sun had been brought indoors. The table was laden with meats and breads and glistening bright fruits, like a barbarian feast. And the people, in their fine, light clothes and sparkling jewels, weaved among each other, preparing to dance, or to eat, or do whatever they wished to indulge their bodies.
The ball began wonderfully. Christopher, as the host, would ordinarily be expected to greet his guests as they entered. But it was cold and he was thirsty, so, like a king, he sat at the chair at the head of the dining table, drinking wine and ignoring them all as they paraded in and were guided to their seats.
He spied a number of people he knew he had to speak to, many who would be satisfied to have simply been in his presence a few hours, and a handful he had never met before. As they crowded around the table, seemingly disappointed that seats had been assigned and they would therefore not be able to sit beside him, he raised his glass and smiled.
Everyone was so incredibly... dull. Over dinner, he did not concern himself with too much conversation. He listened; he nodded politely, and he drank his wine. These people just wanted to feel as though they mattered to their betters. And he was there to make them feel cared for.
After dinner, they again began to crowd around him on the way to the hall where the dancing would begin. He excused himself upstairs briefly, to get away from the fuss. They really did not seem to understand that he had not invited them round to be his personal guests. Every single one seemed to believe that the whole ball had been thrown as some sort of an excuse to invite them personally to be by him.
Everyone had delusions of grandeur. Everyone had their hopes. He would simply do his duty, no more, no less.
Walking into the hall a few minutes later, he was relieved to find that his guests were talking among themselves and dancing at last. A few would greet him and try to strike up conversation, but the hungry crowd had dissipated and he was free to walk among them talking in a more relaxed manner. He began to methodically make his way from person to person, ensuring everyone was content.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spied something which, for the first time in years, stirred his heart and his loins at once. “Why hello,” he said under his breath as his eyes followed the young man around the room.
This was someone he had never seen around before. Someone fairly young, but not exactly a child any more either. He was probably someone's plus one, and he seemed genuinely like a fish out of water. Whoever had invited him had long since wandered off into the crowd, leaving the young man standing at the side of the room, observing everything with nervous awe. His bright blue eyes darted around the room, taking it all in. There was a faint smile on his lips. He was enjoying the ball, whether he knew what he was doing or not.
All Christopher could think of was how beautiful he looked. This young man with dark hair, blue eyes, and soft pink lips. He was so pure and angelic. So nervous and happy. So uncorrupted by the world around him. Among all these vultures and peacocks, he stood out like a lone white dove.
Ignoring his duties, Christopher strode over to where the young man was standing, stepping right in front of him, causing him to startle.
“I am Christopher Godwin. Pleased to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
The younger man blushed a little. “Um... Good evening. Pleased to meet you also.” He quickly seemed to realize who he was talking to and bowed. “This is a splendid ball, Your Grace,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you. I do not believe we have met before,” Christopher continued, stepping in a little closer.
Thomas looked rather uncomfortable. There was no mistaking it. The blush, the awkward aversion of his gaze, the tongue darting over his lips... Christopher had seen it often enough in men and women alike. The subtle signs of naive desire.
“No, we have not, Your Grace,” the young man replied. “I am Thomas Fitzroy, son of Baron Fitzroy. I... I do not go out much.”
“Ah, I see...” Christopher replied. “It is a little loud here. And if the other guests see me talking with you for too long they may become jealous. Perhaps we ought to speak somewhere more... private,” he suggested.
A panicked look overcame Thomas’ face. “Is Your Grace sure Your Grace would not rather spend more time with Your Grace's other guests?” he asked nervously.
“Call me Chris. And I am sure. I would like to get to know you better,” Christopher replied.
Thomas looked around. “I came here with a friend. She... she said she would very much like to meet you, Your Grace.”
“Please, just call me Chris, you can drop the formalities,” Christopher insisted.
Thomas was blushing very heavily now, and his breathing was labored He smiled softly, then forced his smile away. It was becoming quickly clear that the young man had not yet discovered all he had license to do. Sure, the church would insist upon one thing, and all of society would voice their disapproval of two men being lovers. But being a member of the upper classes offered a certain level of protection against that judgment.
“Come, let us go outside,” Christopher insisted, placing his hand on the small of Thomas’ back and nudging him toward the door.
The younger man parted his lips as though about to protest, but he thought better of it and quietly followed Christopher out of the room. Everything about him was so beautiful, so graceful, so perfect. Christopher knew that he needed to have him. He needed to make Thomas his own. It had been so long since he had felt such a passion for anyone at all, and he was not about to waste this surge of energy.
Looking up and down the room to make sure nobody had watched them leave, he slipped out the door into the hallway, quietly closing it behind Thomas.