Free A Gentleman's Position (Society of Gentlemen) by KJ Charles

damned well that their desires were in harmony as far as wanting each other went. The thought of that kiss made his breath catch still: Cyprian in his arms, the feel of his hair. His Mr. Fox, so warm, so willing.
    He wished to God he could talk to someone about this. But there was nobody. Certainly not Dominic, whose unequal affair Richard had condemned in the strongest terms. None of the few friends who knew he preferred men would consider a liaison with a servant anything but ludicrous. It would be the greatest joke: Richard Vane, so high in the instep, bedding a servant. Word would spread like wildfire, and once it spread, David would be fair game for looks and gropes and approaches, because servants who made themselves available to one man were fair game for all.
    Not that his closest friends would bother David, but there were others. Peter Arlett had commented more than once on
your pretty henchman,
and Richard knew his ways. He very much doubted he could make Peter, or Absalom, or the others who might not touch but would without doubt mock, understand his feelings went far deeper than lust.
    Nobody would believe that Richard left evening pleasures promptly because it gave him longer in his valet’s company, that he took such care over his clothing because it made two hours’ dressing with Cyprian unexceptional. That he would rather talk to a liveried servant than to any of the gentlemen who were his closest friends.
    He did not want his feelings to be the topic of jokes, or raised brows. He did not want coarse remarks at his valet’s expense any more than at his own. He did not want to bring any more misery to Cyprian.
    Because Richard knew damned well that he’d hurt him. Cyprian didn’t show it, except for an unusually tight set to his mouth, but he had retreated into his valet’s manner, correct and obedient and larding every sentence with
my lord
. One kiss, one single shameless indulgence of desire instead of duty, and Richard had destroyed their friendship. He couldn’t imagine what damage he might have done if the housekeeper hadn’t interrupted them.
    Or rather, he could. Cyprian on his back on the bed, gasping Richard’s name, and at his side forever after, with pleasure dancing in his brown eyes and no need to worry about freedom to choose because neither of them would ever change his mind. Kisses and caresses in the bedroom as he went about his duties. Richard’s beautiful, brilliant valet, making love to him all night—those skilled fingers, that clever mouth—and then getting up at five in the morning to black his boots.
    Richard had to push that last thought away for the nausea that rose in his throat at it.
    He stalked into his house and straight up to his room. He wasn’t tired, but nor did he want to stay up and read, or drink, or speak to anyone. He couldn’t imagine what he did want, except for what he couldn’t have: Cyprian’s body, Cyprian’s companionship, Cyprian.
    Time would soothe things down to where they were before. Richard had told himself that over and over again. Eventually, it might become true.
    Cyprian was, of course, waiting for him in the bedroom, his red hair caked in white powder, the visible sign of his position.
    “Good evening, my lord.”
    “Good evening.” Richard stood as he always did, felt Cyprian slide the coat off his shoulders, wished this were over.
    Cyprian moved around Richard in silence and stood in front of him. Richard stared at the opposite wall, so aware of his valet’s movements, of the way the powder clogged his fine, fiery hair, hiding it in a plaster shell. Cyprian’s fingers reached for the button of Richard’s waistcoat with just a little tremble, a little too much pressure. Richard inhaled sharply.
    And then, quite suddenly, Cyprian’s hands were on him, clasping his waist with desperation, and the valet was talking far too fast.
    “I can’t do this. I can’t, I won’t, it is not fair to ask it. For Christ’s sake, stop doing