Chapter 7

Ambrose

If yesterday had been a strange, unsettling day, then today had been even more so. It was as if the universe were playing some sort of trick on him. First, he had met the most handsome and infuriating man on this earth. Then that same man had tried to seduce him. It was unheard of. Preposterous. Terrifying. And a tiny bit thrilling.

As they rode back towards Stanton Hall, Ambrose found himself still in a state of profound shock. This was so outside the scope of his usual staid life, he could barely believe it. Had Daniel Stanton really declared his attraction and proposed they conduct an illicit relationship? Why would he do such a thing? A troubling thought occurred to him. Was there something in his appearance or manner that hinted he would welcome the advances of another man? Ambrose recoiled inwardly in horror. No! That could not be so.

Though perhaps he should consider growing whiskers and a moustache as was becoming increasingly fashionable. He had always preferred the look and feel of being clean shaven, but now, surely it was time to change this. Maybe then Daniel Stanton would stop looking at him in that unnerving way.

They reached Stanton Hall and dismounted from their horses, handing them over to the care of the grooms in the stable. As they walked out, Ambrose finally turned to address Daniel. "I shall bid you good day, Mr Stanton," he said punctiliously.

"Will you not join us for luncheon?" asked Daniel, his dark eyes solemn. "It is the least we can do to feed you after you have so kindly allowed me to accompany you today."

"I thank you, Mr Stanton, but I have work to do still and my sister expects me for our meal." Ambrose made a determined effort to meet Daniel's gaze as he spoke, schooling his features to look politely indifferent.

In contrast, Daniel made no effort to hide his consternation. "Ambrose—Mr Cranshaw," he corrected, "please forgive me. I do not want to bid you farewell today under a cloud of enmity."

"There is none, I assure you. Whatever happened is over and done with now. I would that we could forget all about it."

Daniel took a step closer and stood facing him, his face set along stern lines, his earlier mischievousness gone. "I cannot easily forget, Mr Cranshaw," he said in a mournfully low voice. "Please know that I have never before spoken so to any other gentleman. It is only you that has sparked this reaction in me." He sighed heavily. "I cannot promise to eliminate my desire, for that may prove to be beyond my human capacity, but I will endeavour not to speak of it again or cause you any further discomfort. I—I was in earnest when I spoke of my wish for us to be friends. I hope one day, you will honour me with your trust and friendship."

He looked so disheartened that Ambrose could not help but soften his stance. "It is my hope too," he murmured. "Good day, Mr Stanton."

"Good day, Mr Cranshaw." Daniel bowed, and with one final smile, turned to walk towards the main house. Ambrose cast one last look in his direction, then he too began to walk, heading towards Ivy Cottage.

His journey home was sombre, a pall having been cast on his mood. He had done the right thing to rebuff Daniel's advances. There could not have been any other reaction to that most startling of propositions. After all, he was not going to consort with another man. How absurd! While it was true that in the past, he had had occasion to admire other men, he had always kept a tight rein on such feelings, never letting them overcome the rational and sensible way he chose to comport himself.

Today, however, he was finding it more difficult than ever to maintain this discipline, and it was all that handsome man's fault. Daniel Stanton was like a whirlwind, capable of wrecking all the carefully erected structures of his life. That was why it was imperative he stand on his guard and never let his defences down when it came to that man. His earlier assessment had been correct. Daniel Stanton was dangerous, though not in a vindictive way.

Oh, he was willing to accept that Daniel had been sincere in assuring him he could be discreet, that he would let no harm befall him should Ambrose be foolish enough to enter into a sordid liaison with him. How na?ve! Daniel was young and had grown up coddled in the heart of his wealthy family. He knew nothing of the realities of the world. If he did, then he would know that nothing could be kept secret for long in villages populated by busybodies. Ambrose would not be risking his reputation, his livelihood and the entire fabric of his existence for a few moments of stolen pleasure. That would be madness. He had his life neatly ordered, and that was the way it would stay.

It was not long before he arrived at Ivy Cottage, letting himself in through the front door. He took off his coat, hanging it on a nearby peg, and placed his hat on the side table. As he did so, Elsie, his housemaid, came out of the kitchen. Ambrose gave her a friendly smile. "Good afternoon, Elsie."

"Afternoon, sir," she replied with a curtsy.

"What is it we are having for luncheon and is it nearly ready? I am famished."

"There's turnip soup, sir, followed by steak pudding," said Elsie. "It be ready to serve now."

"Excellent! Then we shall sit for luncheon shortly."

Some minutes later, brother and sister sat down to their meal in Ivy Cottage's snug dining parlour. As Elsie brought in the turnip soup, Sarah asked Ambrose, "How was your day with the earl's grandson? Tell me all about it."

He kept his eyes on the soup being ladled into the bowl in front of him. As close to his sister as Ambrose was, there were some things he could not reveal to her. She was a vicar's daughter after all, with a firm understanding of right and wrong as dictated by the Church. Like other people in the village, and in wider society in general, she would not condone—even worse, she would condemn in the strongest of terms—the feelings he kept hidden in his breast. He dipped his spoon in the soup and tasted it. "Mmm, this is good," he said, stalling for time.

Sarah regarded him impatiently. "Oh, do tell," she urged.

"There is nothing to tell," he replied blandly. "He accompanied me on my rounds but did not say much, merely observed." He took another spoonful of soup.

Sarah though, was not to be pacified. "You are being very sparse with your information. There must be more you can tell me about him. Is he crass, full of himself, intelligent or stupid? What about his looks. Is he handsome? Come on, Ambrose, tell me more!"

Putting on an air of nonchalance he did not quite feel, Ambrose replied, "He is a well-turned out gentleman with an easy manner, a little on the informal side, but that is to be expected, I suppose. He seemed well informed—in fact, he was familiar with Pasteur's germ theory."

"Oh really!" Sarah's interest sharpened. "I think I like him already, which is more than can be said for that cousin of his. Did you know we met the Stanton ladies in town?"

"I was not aware, but it makes sense. Lady Stanton did say she was going to Witney today."

"We met them at the Angel Inn," explained Sarah, "and Mr Templeton was there too."

"And that is when you developed a dislike for one of the Miss Stantons?" enquired Ambrose. "Which one was it? The pretty blonde one?"

"Do not tell me you too have fallen under her spell," muttered Sarah in disgust.

He chuckled. "Nothing of the sort. However, it is an objective truth that Grace Stanton is a very good looking woman. I would have to be blind not to have noticed. But surely you are not going to hold her looks against her." As an afterthought, he added, "You need not worry about being outshined, you know, for you can look very fetching indeed when you put the effort into it."

Sarah made an inelegant snort. "As if I care about such things!" she protested. "All I meant to say is that she seemed a little flighty and shallow. Mr Templeton was very taken with her though."

Ah, thought Ambrose. There was the crux of the matter—nothing more than good old fashioned jealousy. He forbore to comment, choosing instead to pose the question, "And how about Benedict? Was he as charmed by the delightful but flighty Miss Stanton?"

Sarah scrunched her nose in thought. "Do you know, I cannot say. He sat next to Grace, but I did not notice him conversing with her." She smiled in satisfaction. "In fact, I did not see him look her way at all."

To Ambrose's mind, that raised all manner of interesting questions. He knew only too well that to avoid looking at a person was not in itself evidence of disinterest. It could be an act of self-preservation. He wondered if poor Benedict had fallen for beautiful and vivacious Grace. He hoped not, as Ambrose still dreamed of a match between Sarah and Benedict.

They finished their meal in companiable conversation, then Ambrose adjourned to his study to write out some reports for the earl—or rather, for the viscount, now that the earl was incapacitated. His progress was slow, for he stopped every so often as a memory of today's events flashed into his mind. The fifth time it happened, he tossed his pen down in disgust and sat back in his chair. Closing his eyes, he relived the moment he had knelt down beside Daniel and taken his hand in his.

Up close, he had breathed in the scent of him, the masculine musk of his sweat underpinning the light lemony fragrance of his cologne. Daniel's hand had felt warm, the skin smooth with a little roughness on the pads of his fingers denoting manual work, which was unusual in a gentleman. Ambrose had focused his attention on the effort of pulling out that splinter, but when the task had been completed, he had glanced back fleetingly at Daniel's lap and seen a thickening in his groin. Ambrose's proximity had made him hard.

Now, it was Ambrose's turn to become hard. Without volition, his hand slipped down to grasp his thickening shaft. He stroked himself through the fabric of his trousers as his mind conjured up a forbidden fantasy. What if he had leaned his head a few inches further and brought his face to that hard length that had strained beneath Daniel's trousers? His cock jerked under his hand. Quickly, he fumbled with the fastenings and pulled it out. His hand wrapped around the throbbing length, squeezing it tight, then moved to the tip, collecting the sticky emission that had gathered there and spreading it over his length.

With his eyes closed, he imagined Daniel pulling his own cock free while Ambrose knelt at his feet. He imagined his lips descending on the velvety tip and licking it clean. What would it taste like? If it was anything as good as Daniel's musky scent, it would taste heavenly. His strokes quickened on his aching shaft as his mind continued weaving the fantasy. He would lick the tip, circling his tongue over and over it. Then, inch by glorious inch, he would slip that smooth hard penis into his mouth. He would take as much of it as he could until it hit the back of his throat. He would bury his nose in the hair of Daniel's groin and inhale. His cock pulsed under his hand at the thought.

His hand stroked frantically, chasing his release. He would suck that velvety shaft in his mouth and make Daniel cry out in ecstasy. On and on he would suck until Daniel gushed his sweet release into his welcoming mouth. On that tantalising vision, his own cock shot a stream of his seed into his hand. He gasped in the throes of a powerful climax.

When finally it was over, he let out a long breath. And that was when the guilt came. He should not have let his mind wander to such a dangerous place. He could not afford to. He needed to clamp down and suppress all illicit thoughts of Daniel. No good would ever come from giving in to such desires. Had he not witnessed for himself what happened to men that were in thrall to such unnatural impulses?

It had been during his first year at Oxford. His friend, John Driscoll, a gifted mathematician, had developed strong feelings for Henry Staines, another student who was in the final year of his studies. Ambrose had observed John's growing infatuation for Henry and understood it, nay shared it, for Henry was dangerously handsome and wickedly charming. In the event, it was John that had captured Henry's fancy, not Ambrose. The two had engaged in a passionate and indiscreet love affair which had culminated in their inevitable discovery.

There had followed quite the scandal. Henry's powerful family had acted quickly to hush it up, placing all the blame for the affair on poor John, who was expelled from the college in disgrace. Henry's marriage to a young lady of his connection was hastily brought forward. He had graduated shortly afterwards and left with his bride. Over the ensuing weeks, Ambrose had tried to console his heartbroken friend but to no avail. Distraught over his lover's departure, ostracised by society over the affair and facing penury, John had elected to end his life.

The whole episode had had a profound effect on Ambrose. Not only had he lost a dear friend, but he had learned an enduring lesson about the high cost of giving in to those deep, dark desires that lurked within his breast. It was why Ambrose was clear in his mind that he should and would resist all amorous overtures from Daniel Stanton.

With a sigh now, he used his handkerchief to clean the mess he had made. He tucked himself back into his trousers and refastened them. Already, his mind was rationalising his actions and making excuses. It had been too long since he had achieved sexual release. His body had been in need of it, and the recent memories of Daniel's attempted seduction had put ideas of him into his head. That was all it was. Still, it was a good thing he would be travelling to Oxford next week and paying Lexie a visit.