Back Lane Behind Pickering Place Gambling Hell
Mayfair, London
As the mysterious, dark-haired man rose slowly to his feet, Ethan found himself doing the same.
When the stranger withdrew into the shadows behind the table rather than heading to the front of the hell, Ethan suspected the man's route out of the establishment.
He himself had come in the back entrance after having had Jack set him down in the lane that ran behind the buildings on Pickering Place.
Retracing his steps, he was soon in the little courtyard behind the establishment where his brother no doubt begged for credit even now. Gambling was a sickness with Elbridge one he kept from their father with threats to the servants and promises to his debtors to pay.
Ethan hurried to the back lane and spotted the man in the greatcoat striding down the cobblestones toward St. James Street.
The clatter of horses and carriage wheels announced Jack's arrival behind Ethan.
He swung up onto the box next to Claxton's nephew.
"Can you follow that man up ahead without giving us away?
" he asked softly. The young groom grinned.
Jack urged the pair of horses to a slow walk. He kept the gentleman just in sight and slowed almost to a stop from time to time as if he intended to stop. When the object of their pursuit ducked into one of the various alleys that ran behind James Street Jack pulled the horses to a halt.
"Missus Greene's," Jack said matter-of-factly. "Exclusive brothel. Not as fancy as Goodrum's or that Club Ambrosios, but caters to aristocrats and wealthy bankers and such."
"I'm not going to ask how you know all of that." Ethan climbed down from the carriage.
"And you won't be telling my uncle if you want me to keep me tongue behind me teeth," Jack replied.
"Fuck you," Ethan said and smiled.
"Sorry, me lord. I likes the ladies, if it's all the same to you. Shall I wait?"
"Go on with you. Too bloody cold out for someone of your delicate constitution. I can find my way home from here."
Jack snorted. "As you say, my lord. Have a care." He drew a small pistol from beneath the driver's bench and handed it to Ethan. With a brief nod he turned the horses around and headed back toward Grosvenor Street.
Ethan didn't bother to tell the young groom that he was well-acquainted with Missus Green's as she catered to both men in search of women for a night's companionship and men in search of other men.
Jack knew Ethan's taste in bed partners did not extend to the petticoat line.
That did not mean he wanted the boy to know the kinds of places he frequented.
He couldn't say precisely why that mattered, but it did. To him at least.
He hurried up the lane and slipped into the back door of Missus Green's. Ivan, one of the proprietress's strong men met him as he entered the main parlor.
"Evening, my lord. Shall I fetch Missus Green?"
"No need to trouble her tonight, Ivan." He slipped five gold guineas into the man's waistcoat pocket. "I've a taste to watch tonight. The gentleman who came in the back ahead of me. Might it be possible to--"
Ivan abruptly grabbed him by the elbow and half dragged him down the corridor and up a narrow staircase.
Once they reached the third floor, the muscled, bald bodyguard motioned Ethan to a narrow door between two large chambers.
Missus Green had created narrow little cells between the rooms on this floor where a man could lounge in a comfortable chair unseen and unheard and observe the activity in one of the chambers through a special viewing window.
Ethan took one step toward the door the bodyguard had indicated.
Ivan caught his elbow once more and drew him close.
"Watching that man will cost you another five guineas.
" The man glanced about furtively as if expecting trouble any moment.
Ethan fished the guineas out of his waistcoat pocket and dropped them into Ivan's free hand.
"For ten guineas you can give me the man's name," Ethan said, matching his tone to Ivan's hushed voice.
"Not for a hundred guineas, my lord. And if you are caught, you haven't seen me. Stumbled into that room by mistake, you did." The man continued to look up and down the dimly lit corridor.
"I won't let Missus Greene take your job, Ivan. Don't concern yourself about--"
"Not my job I'm worried about," he replied. He stared at the door where the stranger Ethan had followed was likely even now taking his pleasure with one of Missus Greene's ladies. "It's my life." For a man of his bulk Ivan disappeared down the stairs in the blink of an eye.
"What the devil did he mean by that?" Ethan rubbed his chin and crept quietly to the door between the chambers.
Once inside he locked the door behind him.
The room was dark as pitch save for the glow from the edges of the closed viewing window.
There was a carpeted ramp one ascended to reach the viewing window which was set high enough on the wall to afford the voyeur a good view of the room without being detected.
He settled into the plush armchair on the viewing platform, the only furnishing in the narrow room, and slid the viewing window open.
The thinnest of veils dyed to match the spot in the painting that hung in the chamber next-door could be pushed aside and dropped back into place to avoid detection.
With a deep breath and a suddenly shaky hand he pushed the veil aside and leaned forward to take in the opulent-to-the-point-of-gaudy chamber.
The velvet-embossed wall covering glared in a blood red hue under the light of several oil lamps and branches of candles.
Ethan found the amount of light a bit disconcerting.
Most men, himself included, preferred dim lighting for this sort of liaison.
The large, canopied four-poster bed, hung in curtains of garish purple silk, stood empty.
Ethan leaned closer to the viewing window.
He clapped his hand over his mouth to smother a sudden gasp.
The lithe young blond-haired man in the blue silk banyan he recognized at once.
He'd availed himself of Derek's services more than once on his visits to Missus Greene's.
Derek had a well-deserved reputation as a skilled and ardent player of the hornpipe, so to speak.
He had not gasped at the sight of Derek's familiar face and form, not even when the deft male whore had shrugged out of his robe and knelt naked at the feet of the other man in the room.
The other man in the room, the man with whom Elbridge had met, divested of his greatcoat now sat in the ornate high-backed red and gold brocade chair next to the bed.
His black hair shown nearly blue in the light of the lamps and candles scattered about the room.
His sharp features were sinister and harsh.
He wore his white lawn shirt open at the throat which exposed a V of tanned skin and muscled chest. Though Derek wore not a stitch of clothing, the intriguing stranger was still dressed not only in his shirt, but in a pair of tight buckskins and Hessian boots.
Ethan licked his lips and used the heel of his hand to reposition his hardening cock in his breeches.
The man was beautiful in a harsh and somewhat dangerous way.
What the devil was Elbridge doing meeting with a man like this?
Derek unbuttoned the man's falls and a thick, heavy cock sprang into his hand.
Dear God. Ethan's breath quickened. He bit his lip to keep from making a sound.
After a few strokes of Derek's talented hand, the dark-haired man rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.
Once Derek applied his mouth to that long, heavy cock, the gentleman pushed back against the chair and gripped the brocade covered arms in a white-knuckled grip.
The viewing window afforded Ethan a perfect gaze at Derek's lips pumping up and down that veined length.
The wet rhythmic sound as he sucked and hummed erotically threatened to send Ethan himself over the edge.
Then he took in the stranger's face. He discerned no pleasure in Derek's customer's face.
He appeared almost to be in pain or perhaps enraged.
His saturnine features grew sharper and more intense even as Derek increased the rhythm of his strokes, braced one hand on the muscled buckskin-clad thigh, and squeezed.
Ethan could not look away from the man's face.
He looked like a fallen angel, thrown from heaven and determined to suffer for some unnamed sin.
So intently did he concentrate on that face, that when the man's body locked and he finally pumped himself into Derek's eager mouth, Ehtan was startled to realize this dark man of mystery had reached completion.
More astonishing, Derek quickly rose, swiped his hand across his lips, and snatched his banyan from the floor to quickly don and tie closed.
Ethan glanced down at his own lap. Derek had managed to bring both him and the stranger off, though he suspected the stranger had more to do with it than the young male whore.
The man rose and deftly buttoned his falls, his face an icy wasteland, devoid of expression.
He picked up his greatcoat from the back of the chair and searched the pockets until he found the purse Ethan had seen Elbridge give him.
He poured a handful of guineas into his hand and dropped them onto the untouched bed as he left the room in long, quick strides.
He had not uttered a sound. Nor had he looked at Derek at all.
Derek scooped up the money and tucked the coins into the pocket of his banyan before he quit the room as well.
Once he'd pushed the veil back into place and closed the window, Ethan sat in the little cell for a long time.
He went over every moment of the interlude in his mind.
He found himself trying to decide which was more intriguing--that his brother had met with someone like the stranger or the stranger himself.
He'd seen him at what should have been his most vulnerable and raw moment, and all he'd seen was a virulent rage.
A rage directed not at Elbridge nor at Derek, but within.
What manner of man hated the world and everyone in it, most of all himself? And what business did Elbridge have with such a man?