Page 2 of Master of Paradise

He did not have an ounce of muscle upon his whole, pale body.

He was handsome enough, almost too pretty for a boy, almost angelic. Nick smiled to himself as he saw their twin reflections in the water. The angel and the devil. We make unlikely brothers.

"Thanks Nicko.

It's mother you know.

She wants to keep me a baby forever," he said with sullen resentment.

Nicholas's ready smile softened.

"Lady Pamela is so gentle and quiet, you must try to understand the very real and natural fears a mother suffers. Don't be too resentful Philip; a mother's love isn't something to scoff at."

It was Philip's turn to feel a twinge of pity for the brother who had never known a mother, yet try as he might, he could not summon pity for Nicholas.

He was a true man, full grown, who exuded confidence and courage and seemed to need no one.

He laughed at life and had no fear in him for any man.

A true measure of his courage was that he wasn't afraid of their father, Lord Peacock, while Philip was rendered to a trembling mass of jelly by the stern man, and often thought he might faint from fear while receiving the whiplash of his cutting tongue.

"If you swam to the island and back every day it would develop your chest and arm muscles." God but the boy was slight as a girl.

I realize he's only sixteen, but even at that age I was developed.

I had my first sexual encounter at fourteen, he remembered wryly, recalling an arousing picture of the girl he had laid.

Philip set out for the island and Nick schooled himself to slow down and pace him.

His brother's arms thrashed wildly in his effort to go the distance, and Nick realized if he kept it up, he wasn't going to make it.

"If you slow down a bit, Phil, and take longer strokes, you'll have more breath and the momentum will carry you along. That's it," he encouraged.

"a clean stroke uses less energy."

He could tell that Philip had gained in confidence by the time he swam back from the island.

Nicholas splashed him playfully, then allowed himself to be ducked twice.

They scrambled from the lake, laughing like young boys and Nicholas rubbed his brother's pale golden hair until it was completely dry, then pulled on the damp shirt, and they started off for the Hall.

Nick left Philip on the driveway.

"We won't go in together, then she won't be angry at you for keeping such disreputable company."

"She never tells me to keep away from you, Nick."

The ready smile flashed.

"That's because she's too well-bred, but nevertheless we both know she doesn't quite approve of me," he said, amused.

The family dined formally at seven each evening.

No matter what pursuits each member followed during the day, this was the one tradition they kept without exception.

The dining room was formal with a superb eight-foot Queen Anne dining table with plate-glass top.

The matching chairs with graceful legs had tapestry-covered seats depicting an abundance of fruits that were also carved into the arms and legs of the chairs and side tables.

The deeply polished mahogany pieces were set off beautifully by a golden Aubusson carpet and a magnificent chandelier, from which hung long, crystal prisms.

Most usually they had dinner guests.

Peacock Hall was famed for its hospitality and the fair hostess who presided at the Peacock table was unsurpassed in cool beauty, quiet charm, and flawless graciousness.

As was her wont, she was there first to greet everyone, even though tonight they dined en famille.

Nicholas arrived close upon the heels of his young brother.

He would never offer his stepmother the discourtesy of being late.

He bent his dark head and brushed a dutiful kiss across her brow and marveled for the thousandth time how such a cool, elegant and quiet lady of breeding came to be the wife of his full-bloodied, powerful, rather vulgar father.

Lady Pamela murmured a soft greeting to welcome Nicholas at the table.

She was always serene; her face set in a lovely, pleasing, half-smile, that displayed no emotion whatever.

Lord Harry strode in now, late as usual.

Philip shrank into himself slightly, but his father's eyes passed over him, unseeing, as he briskly made his way to the head of the table.

He was shorter and thicker than his attractive son, Nicholas, and his temper was much quicker, always ready there beneath the surface to erupt at a moment's provocation.

He was a handsome man, or had been in his younger salad days, before a passion for claret and port had turned his complexion florid.

He kissed Lady Pamela's cheek absently, murmuring.

"M'dear," and turned his attention to the light of his life, Nicholas.

"By God, I knew you'd get it done while I was away.

Superb job, Nick.

Couldn't have done it better m'self!" His eyes took in Nicholas's flawless formal evening clothes with appreciation.

"Glad you didn't forget we're playing cards at Knole tonight," he boomed.

Nick looked him straight in the eye.

"Actually, I did. I planned to go up to London tonight."

Harry banged his beefy fist on the table, making Philip jump and his wife press her lips together slightly.

"Damn it all, no! Make an exception for your poor old man, Nick. I'll tell you why. Lord Sackville has Prince Edward staying with him and you know what an unholy passion he has for Baccarat. I'd like to whip him clean, stap me if I wouldn't. But I don't stand a chance in Hell of doing it. Sorry for the language m'dear. But you could beat him hollow, Nick. It would give me damned near as much satisfaction if you did it!"

Nick's eyes, an odd shade of aqua between blue and green, which his father insisted were Peacock blue, watched his father's enthusiasm closely.

"Well, I prefer Faro or Vingt et un, but go on, if you were counting on me, I'll come."

"Good lad. Let the lass in London wait, she'll be panting after ye harder than ever."

At Nick's slight warning frown, Harry bethought himself and again said.

"Oh yes quite, forgive my indelicate reference to the demi-monde. Ye should be used to my slips by now, Pamela."

All the while the two men were discussing their affairs, Lady Pamela directed the footmen to serve by imperceptible signals.

She had trained them well in their duties, so that the meal proceeded smoothly from the soup course, through the fish, and on through the main, so unobtrusive were their movements.

"Harry," Lady Pamela's lovely modulated voice said low.

"the peacocks were in my herb garden again."

"Damned place holds a fascination for them." He laughed heartily at the mischief they caused, then he advised.

"Get one of the gardeners' children to stand guard and shoo them out. 'Tis a simple enough matter, surely."

She sighed.

She realized it was hopeless to expect him to get rid of the noisy, destructive peacocks, as they had become symbolic of the place and of Lord Harry's own pride.

She gave Philip the look that meant he was to make interesting dinner conversation with his father, then lowered her eyes demurely.

Nicholas noticed her profile and the golden hair folded into its graceful chignon and the only word that he could think of to describe her was perfection.

Philip searched his mind desperately, then picked up on the fact that his father would be seeing Prince Edward.

"The Prince of Wales's brother is at Eton with me this year."

Harry snorted.

"The sheer numbers of the Royal progeny never cease to amaze me. How do ye keep 'em all straight?" he quipped.

At mention of Eton, Nick's thoughts sped back to the day three years ago when he had had a man-to-man talk with his father about not returning to school.

"Father, I hate the damned place, and most of the thick-headed fags who go there. I don't intend to go on to Cambridge this year. So let's hear your thundering match now and clear the air. What I really want to do is start learning the management of this place. There's nothing like first-hand, practical experience. You've done it so long, it comes naturally, but it's a vast undertaking, and I might just as well learn sooner as later."

His father's eyes became pained as he sat him down and furnished him with the facts of life.

"Nick, there's something I should have told you long ago, and I'm a damned scoundrel not to have done so. Pure cowardice on my part, if you want the truth."

Nicholas knew he was somehow the cause of his father's anguish and wished he could ease the telling of this thing that lay heavily upon the older man. He grinned encouragement to his father.

"Come on Harry; I can face it if you can."

"The fact of the matter is, I made the biggest mistake of my life by not marrying your mother." He let that sink in for a moment or two.

I'm a bastard, thought Nicholas, incredulously. I can't believe I've been in ignorance all these years, he thought dispassionately.

Lord Harry looked his son straight in the eyes.