Chapter 4

Billy knew it wasn’t a time for more laughter. That this large house having no servants to keep it running smoothly was very serious indeed.

But the valet’s comment that the servants must have been stolen was so ludicrous, he was unable to hold back a grin as he turned to the duke, eyebrows raised and questioning.

A duke who obviously did not share his amusement as he instead glared at his valet.

Billy was inwardly feeling less than congenial toward the Frenchman himself when it had seemed, just for a moment before the valet burst into the room, that the duke had been about to kiss him.

But that couldn’t really have been a possibility, could it?

Wulfram Edmund Fitzherbert, the toplofty Duke of Wulferston, would not want to kiss a lowly underfootman—correction, a temporary secretary.

The haughty Duke of Wulferston would not want to kiss either of those lowly beings!

Billy must have imagined the intensity of the duke’s gaze upon his lips, and the way it had seemed as if the other man might be lowering his head so that his lips were on a level with Billy’s.

Disappointment weighed like a heavy presence in Billy’s chest as he answered the totally incensed valet. “The servants have not been stolen, but were dismissed by the duke.”

“Dismissed?” He stared at their employer. “But why?”

“The why is irrelevant,” the duke snapped, obviously still deeply angry at the deception that had been practiced upon him by Moreland.

Billy nodded to the valet. “You and I will have to bear the brunt of the household chores until such time as I have managed to engage new servants.”

“I?” Valentin’s spine straightened, and he seemed to quiver all over with indignation. “Pfft, I am a valet, not a maid.”

“Nevertheless, until new servants have been engaged, you will be responsible for lighting your own fire in your bedchamber and providing what food you consider necessary for yourself,” the duke said firmly.

“No more of Mrs. Hodges’s pastries,” the valet lamented.

“Not unless you are able to cook them yourself.”

The valet puffed out his chest. “I do not cook, Monsieur le Duc.”

“Then you will go hungry,” Wulferston dismissed.

Billy thought the fussy little man was going to burst out of his purple jacket, his face having turned a mottled red at the duke’s heartless tone. Either that or the man was about to have a heart seizure.

“Let’s you and I see to the lighting of the fire in your bedchamber.” Billy crossed the room to grasp the valet’s arm and turn him toward the still-open doorway. “And leave the duke to contemplate the folly of his actions.” He shot Wulferston a cheeky grin over his shoulder before closing the door softly behind himself.

Before this evening, Billy’s interactions with Valentin had been minimal. Mainly because the Frenchman obviously thought of himself as being above the servants within the duke’s household.

During the next half an hour, Billy learned that the Frenchman definitely considered him to be less than the valet of a duke. But as he was the only household servant left, Valentin also believed it was Billy’s job not only to light the fire in his bedchamber, but to then also prepare him a nightcap of the hot chocolate he favored, laced with the duke’s brandy.

Billy had left the indignantly spluttering valet with a tinderbox to light the fire and politely suggested the Frenchman go down to the kitchen and prepare his own drink.

His grin faded as he stepped out into the hallway, knowing the next few days were going to be something of a trial. And not the sort of trial the duke usually presided over.

* * *

When Wulf entered the kitchen in the middle of the night, with the intention of going down into the cellar to collect a fresh bottle of brandy—someone seemed to have emptied the decanter in the library earlier!—he had not expected that the room would already be lit by a single candle placed in the middle of the work table in the center of the room.

Or that a familiar and deliciously rounded arse would be turned toward him as Billy bent over the range.

The younger man was so preoccupied with whatever he was doing that he was initially unaware of Wulf’s presence behind him. Allowing Wulf to take a moment to admire the way the material of the cream pantaloons stretched tautly across Billy’s perfect arse. Almost, but not quite, revealing the crevice between those cheeks.

Wulf’s cock engorged beneath the brocade robe he had pulled on over his nightshirt before coming down the stairs.

“What the ’ell are you lookin’ at?”

Billy’s indignant comment immediately startled Wulf out of his lustful admiration.

He raised his guilty gaze, taking a moment to enjoy Billy’s half-unfastened pantaloons and his shirt unbuttoned at the throat to reveal a flat chest and stomach covered in a slight dusting of red-gold hair, before he reluctantly lifted his eyes to the level of the younger man’s accusing gaze.

Wulf even, briefly, considered not telling the truth. But he knew from the challenge in Billy’s narrowed eyes that he would be wasting his time.

Instead, he merely delayed giving that answer for several seconds by stepping farther into the room and placing the candle he carried on the table beside the other one.

He straightened before speaking. “You have a very nice arse,” he finally admitted.

“I ’ave a— What the ’ell!” Billy’s voice lost all modicum of refinement in his agitation, his cheeks blazing a fiery red. “You can’t go round makin’ comments like that in the middle of the fuckin’ night.”

“I would have thought the middle of a night spent fucking was the perfect time to make such an observation,” Wulf drawled.

The blush deepened in Billy’s cheeks. “Ya twisting my words now, to suit yaself,” he accused.

Wulf gave a rueful smile. “I apologize. But the temptation to do so was too severe, I am afraid.”

“Ha-de-bloody-ha, so pleased ya find me so bleedin’ amusin’,” Billy muttered.

“The humor was aimed at myself, Billy, not you,” he acknowledged ruefully, so very aware that his cock was still fully erect and aching.

Billy stilled. “You? Why?”

Why indeed.

Wulf had desired this young man almost from the moment he first set eyes on him. He had certainly desired him from the moment Billy opened his beautiful lips and Wulf had heard him tell an overly familiar gentleman in the Apollo exactly why he would be well advised to remove his hand from Billy’s arse.

If the man hadn’t immediately done as asked, then Wulf would have taken great pleasure in breaking several bones in that overfamiliar hand.

Instead, Wulf had later taken the man aside and explained to him that the servers of the club were not there for his amusement. He had also made it clear that the man was not welcome to enter the doors of the Apollo Club ever again.

Wulf grimaced. “For the same reason I said earlier it would be more likely that I would be the one to bring you breakfast in bed rather than the other way about.”

Billy eyed him dubiously. “Which is?”

His eyes became hooded as he avoided meeting those piercing green ones. “What were you doing when I entered the kitchen?”

Billy frowned. “Well, as I was lying on me mattress in the attic earlier, trying to get to sleep despite the fact it’s freezin’ bloody cold up there, I realized that if someone didn’t come down to the kitchen and bank the fire, it would likely have gone out come morning. Then no one would be having breakfast nor anything else in bed.”

There was rather a lot of information contained in the explanation. Wulf decided to deal with it all one at a time. “You have been sleeping in the attic?” As far as he was aware, that space was only used to store excess furniture and the like.

“It’s a bigger room than I’m used to.” Billy shrugged. “Lots of space amongst the dusty bits of furniture lying around. But I only have a mattress to sleep on and a single blanket to cover meself with, and there ain’t—isn’t, a fireplace up there, so I can’t light a fire to warm the place.” He gave a shiver. “It’s almost winter, so it can get bloody cold at the top of the ’ouse.”

Wulf took several minutes to further digest this explanation. “Moreland put you in the attic, with only a mattress to sleep on and a single blanket to cover yourself? Nor is there a fireplace?” The evenness of his tone concealed the fury rising within him.

“Not initially, but none of the other male servants wanted to share a bedchamber with me.”

On the information Wulf now had regarding those servants he could easily guess why that was.

Billy huffed before continuing. “It’s still a damn sight better than being squashed in a bed with me two younger brothers. Although I was at least warm during winter, then,” he conceded ruefully.

If Wulf hadn’t already dismissed Moreland, he would have taken great pleasure in doing so now. “I gave distinct instructions that you were to be given one of the guest bedchambers for the duration of your stay here.”

Billy grimaced. “I can see why Moreland wouldn’t be too happy about doing that, not when I was only an underfootman.”

“Then as my temporary secretary, I will ensure you are now given a bedchamber suitable to your position,” Wulf bit out.

“Given to me by who—whom?” Billy corrected when Wulf frowned at him. “There’s only you and me here now.”

A fact Wulf was becoming increasingly aware of with each minute that passed.

His desire for Billy had somehow not seemed so immediate with the diversion of having other people in the house. Now they were alone here, Wulf was aware of, and feeling, nothing but that desire.

“Then we will go upstairs together and find a suitable bedchamber for you.” Wulf wished he might suggest Billy share the warmth of his own bedchamber, having lit the fire there the moment he retired for the night. But he doubted the younger man would appreciate such forwardness.

For a young man brought up in the London slums, Billy displayed a noticeable prudishness when it came to matters of intimacy and sex.

Leading Wulf to once again question Billy’s sexual preference.

A frown creased Billy’s brow. “You did it again,” he realized. “I asked you a question, and you avoided answering it by asking a completely different one of your own. Probably in the hope I would forget what I asked you.”

He smiled. “You’re very astute, Billy.”

“I’m also still waiting for an answer.”

“I have forgotten the question.”

“It’s old age as does that,” Billy taunted.

Wulf sobered at the reminder of the eighteen years difference in their ages. “Circumstances dictate it would not be appropriate for me to give you an honest answer.”

Billy snorted. “That’s never stopped you from saying exactly what you pleased to me in the past.”

That was blatantly untrue.

Wulf had realized some time ago that his dealings with Billy were different to the way in which he reacted and related to others.

Probably because he cared for Billy, and his opinion, more than he ever had for anyone else.

With others, including his three closest friends, Wulf had zero tolerance for any infraction in manners or behavior, and he always dealt with the guilty party accordingly.

It was not by chance people knew him for his aloofness and air of authority.

But Billy seemed to do and say exactly as he pleased in his company, and Wulf would react with either indulgence or humor.

He sighed heavily. “If I do answer honestly, I first want your promise that you will not also decide to leave this house.”

Billy grimaced. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Wulf winced. “I would prefer you to remain here because you wish to stay, not because of expediency.”

The younger man seemed to give the statement some thought. “I suppose I could always ask Christopher—the Earl of Hampshire—if I might sleep in his attic,” Billy speculated. “He did offer for me to stay with him and the Duke of Sheffield after the Apollo burned to the ground.”

Billy would leave here, to stay with Hampshire and Sheffield, or indeed anyone else, over Wulf dead’s body!

“But I didn’t want to intrude when the two of them had only just realized they was in love with each other,” Billy added dismissively.

Wulf bristled at that being the only reason Billy had chosen to take him up on his offer of a temporary home and employment. “So you thought you would intrude upon me instead?” he bit out.

* * *

“There’s no need to take that tone,” Billy admonished, more hurt by the duke’s harshness than he cared to reveal. “Oh, and before you insult me any further, I was right about Valentin.”

The duke frowned. “In what way?”

“He skipped furtively out of the house about an hour ago, bag in hand. I shouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t taken the other half of the family silver with him!”

“I did not believe this night could get any worse,” the duke muttered wearily.

“Oh, believe me, a situation can always get worse,” Billy assured cheerfully. “Now answer the bloody question so we can both get back to bed. I have a lot to do tomorrow if you are to have a houseful of new servants by nightfall.”

“No, I do not think I will answer you, after all,” the duke snapped before turning to reclaim the candle he had brought into the room with him. “Instead, I will wish you a good night.”

Billy shook his head as he watched Wulferston stride from the room without waiting for Billy to reply.

Changeable bastard.

And so much for Wulferston allocating him a suitable bedchamber for the night.

One minute, the duke was all “yes, Billy, no, Billy,” and the next he was “know your place, Billy. Do not overstep Billy.”

Just as well that Billy fully intended to carry on exactly as he’d always done. Which meant he wasn’t about to accept a put-down from anyone. Even the arrogant bloody Duke of Wulferston.

He did wonder, as he sat and dozed off in the chair beside the warmth of the kitchen range, exactly what answer Wulf might have given to the question the other man had now twice avoided answering.