Lessons section II

[maderr]

*~*~*

He suspected he was spying, or cheating, or something equally unbecoming his character.

Jude could not bring himself to care. In fact, the only thing which bothered him at present was that he still lacked an answer to the burning question that gave him no rest.

Who did Crispin love?

He stared at the gallery below, the people milling about, eyes following Crispin, hoping to catch some clue as to who had captured his fancy.

So far, he could not determine it. Crispin had spent the last quarter hour engaged in conversation with St. Rose. Jude had for a moment thought St. Rose was the one – and he would hardly be able to fault Crispin's taste, for St. Rose was lovely, indeed – but the ease with which they spoke to one another denoted a friendship, not a deeper infatuation.

Anyway, St. Rose was hardly a man of experience, and rumor had it he'd taken up with that duelist.

He didn't know why it nagged him so much. Well, he wanted to know who would ultimately benefit from the thorough education he was giving Crispin. He would be thoroughly annoyed to learn some foppish ninny or cold cynic would be reaping the benefits of his own hard labor.

Irritated with himself and his uncharacteristic behavior, Jude forced a halt to his spying and made for the grand staircase, descending with his usual air of bored detachment.

Crispin caught his eye, but then slowly turned away, returning his attention to St. Rose.

Good boy. Jude had not initially thought to carry their lessons into a public setting, but the instructor in him insisted upon thoroughness. It would do Crispin a great deal of good to grow at least moderately comfortable with flirting and playing in public.

He took a flute of champagne from a passing footman, sipping it as he made a circuit of the gallery, nodding to a few, murmuring brief words to another few, catching Crispin's eye here and there, smirking occasionally, chuckling at the flushed cheeks, the brief smiles, the sweet and simple way Crispin was oh so obediently flirting with him.

It made him want to take Crispin out into the garden and ravish him thoroughly.

His lessons were working all too well.

Stifling a sigh, utterly sick of his mood of late, Jude finished his champagne and snatched up a fresh flute.

It was time, he decided after a few generous sips, to move to the next stage.

He turned to make his way toward Crispin, only to find his way abruptly and pointedly blocked.

Bartholomew Ford glared at him, and though his coloring was fair to Crispin's dark, there was no mistaking they were siblings. "Prescott."

"Ford," Jude greeted. He did not know the Ford family well, though he and Bartholomew had attended school together. They had been too far apart in interests, however, to be more than passing acquaintances.

He recognized that look in Bartholomew's eyes, however. Too many times to count had he come up against one outraged relative or another. He was surprised only that it had taken the Fords this long to lodge a protest. "My brother is not one of your playthings, Prescott."

Jude shrugged. "He is a man full grown, and capable of making his own decisions. If he chooses to dally with me, that is his affair. Not yours."

"Crispin has no idea what he's gotten into."

He almost laughed, but checked the impulse. Crispin was neither as gullible nor naïve as his brother – family – seemed inclined to believe. Innocent, yes, but not so innocent as that, even before the lessons had begun.

Offered the chance, Crispin had taken up the offer of lessons. He was taking to them beautifully, and Jude did not doubt that in two more weeks Crispin would have the object of his desire bedded and thoroughly enamored.

That word hammered through him, and Jude shoved it back, buried it, furiously ignored it. "I assure you, Crispin knows precisely into what he's gotten himself."

Bartholomew glared, all but vibrating with anger. "Do not speak of him with such familiarity."

Jude nearly rolled his eyes. Bartholomew took issue with his calling Crispin by his given name? He fought a childish – suicidal – impulse to tell Bartholomew where precisely Crispin's mouth had been the previous night, and how eagerly Crispin had put it there. They were a bit past being formal in the matter of names.

He struggled to recall himself, unable to believe how easily distracted he had become. "He has given me leave to address him, thus, Ford. It is not your name to dictate who may or may not use it."

"Bart!" Crispin's voice broke in as he abruptly appeared at Jude's side.

There was nothing shy or hesitant about him at the moment, eyes pure blue fire as they focused on Bartholomew. "You had better be discussing the weather, Bart," Crispin snapped.

"What we are discussing is none of your business," Bartholomew snapped. "I told you—"

"Bugger off," Crispin replied, cutting him off. "I'm not in the schoolroom any longer, Bart. I haven't been for a long time. You don't have to like my decisions, but they are my decisions. Cease interfering right this moment or I will march across the gallery and tell Miss Merrick the real reason you cancelled your outing in the park last Saturday. Do I make myself clear?"

Bartholomew bristled. He pointed a finger at Jude. "You can do far better than this cold rake, Cris."

"I thank you for your concern, Bart," Crispin said softly, but firmly, "but it is my decision. You do not have to like it, but it's none of your business."

"Fine," Bartholomew said, then turned and stalked away.

Jude frowned, even as he noticed the hand that had wrapped around his upper arm and remained there even after Bartholomew vanished from sight. "I confess I knew it would likely please no one that I have apparently taken you as my latest paramour, but I did not intend to cause you such strife."

Crispin rolled his eyes, hand falling away from Jude's arm. "If they were not taking issue with my dalliance with you, it would be something else. I am the youngest, and will always be the youngest. They have trouble understanding that I am no longer a boy in the schoolroom." He rolled his eyes again, then smiled in rueful amusement. "You should have seen them when I was packing for my journey abroad. I half expected Bart to decide to accompany me, after all, as I was wholly incapable of caring for myself. My father is the only one who sees fit to give me a chance, and he finally had to drive them all from the house to give me a moment's peace." He held Jude's gaze a moment longer, then the pretty eyes skittered away. "They are none of them pleased that I have succumbed to your rakish wiles, but it is none of their business."

"Rakish wiles?" Jude asked, surprised laughter overtaking him.

It was not the first time Crispin had so managed to coax laughter from him, and the ease with which he managed it was in no small way distressing. He reached out to ever so lightly touch Crispin's hip with his fingers. "You were doing beautifully, pet. I was not the only admiring you, and I think were it not I, you would have offers aplenty to show you to the gardens." He meant to keep speaking, but the words stuck in his throat, unexpectedly. Furious, he forced them out. "If you want to call off the lessons at any time, you have only to say."

Something flickered across Crispin's face, too quickly for Jude to puzzle the emotion out. "Of course, my lord, if that is what you wish. Am I keeping you from some other dalliance?"

"Not at all," Jude replied. "Our lessons are vastly more amusing than a simple dalliance would be, at least so far." He motioned. "Speaking of lessons, we have thoroughly fallen out of today's lesson. Let us resume it, for it will be this public method you first employ the night of the Summer Gala. Now, does your beau favor dancing?"

Crispin shook his head. "No, he does not. I rarely see him anywhere but watching the festivities from a distance."

Well, that was some relief. Jude detested dancing. There were infinitely better ways to spend one's time than gallivanting across a crowded floor, getting one's toes smashed and other similar bothers. "All the easier then," he replied. In the back of his mind he shuffled through names and faces, drawing out a dozen or so likely candidates.

He found none of them pleasing, or worthy of the effort he was putting forth with Crispin. Not that it mattered to him, particularly. Still, for all his trouble…

Mentally giving himself a stern shake, he focused. "Let us resume where we would be had your charming brother not interrupted the lesson."

"Yes, Jude." Crispin brushed back a strand of hair which had fallen forward, then let his hand drop. He took a slow breath, gathering himself, then looked up again with one of his soft smiles. "Is my lord enjoying the gallery this evening?"

It was truly fascinating, how Crispin shifted from his quiet self to…being a good student, Jude supposed. He took to his lessons beautifully, even when it was obvious they discomfited him – always obvious by the flush to his cheeks, though right now they were only pink.

"Quite," Jude murmured, falling easily into his role of seducer. "Many of the pieces are not worth a glance, but one or two are most pleasing to look upon." He let his eyes wander slowly up and down Crispin's body, his own going tight and hot as flashes of their every intimate encounter chose that moment to invade his mind.

Crispin flushed, but he struggled to remain as cool as Jude. "Indeed, my lord. What pieces do you favor?"

A tidy reply. Jude could answer it at face value, and talk about the artwork, or he could be bold and make his feelings even plainer. The seducer was forcing his prey to make his wants clear. It was a bolder, simpler way to play the game, but for Crispin, that was probably best.

That Crispin obviously understood this was commendable. Nothing was more tedious than a man who played a game to which he was not suited.

However, Jude was not inclined to make it too easy. Lessons learned too easily did not truly take. "Perhaps you would care to make a guess?" he replied.

Crispin blinked, clearly startled by the response, but he rallied quickly. "Oh, now that is entirely unfair, my lord. There are one hundred and seven pieces on display this evening. Won’t you at least be kind enough to narrow down the choices? It is hard to guess a man's mind when it comes to art." He paused ever so briefly before that last word, a beautiful execution.

Jude barely kept back the grin that fought to overtake his face. Truly, he'd not had this much fun in longer than he cared to recall. Crispin was a fine student. "I would hate to make it too easy."

"Yet if you make it too difficult, I shall spend the night guessing and never land upon the answer. I would hate for the night to end in disappointment."

He stepped a bit closer. "I would hate for you to guess too quickly, and the night end early. There too lies disappointment."

Crispin chuckled. "An impasse, then, my lord?"

"I fear most discussions of art usually end thus," Jude replied. "Art is engaging only for those who do the creating, I feel. The role of observer is rather lacking."

"My lord would prefer to be an artist? You did not seem the type to take up such an active role."

Jude's mouth curved in a smile of unmistakable intent. "I prefer action to observation in all things."

"Indeed, my lord," Crispin replied, cheeks hot but meeting his eyes all the same, pushing on, flirting back. "Yet I seldom see you take part in anything. Indeed, you have been inactive this entire night."

"All action requires…motivation…perhaps inspiration would be the better word." He gave Crispin a long thorough look.

"I see. Where does my lord most frequently find his inspiration?"

Jude motioned. "The outdoors, naturally. Gardens, I find, are particularly inspiring."

Instead of the expected reply of some request or demand to be shown the gardens, essentially the goal of their playacting, Crispin said, "I cannot see what there is to inspire in a summer shower, my lord."

"What?" Jude said, surprise jolting him from his role. He looked toward the balcony, and realized abruptly that he was far more distracted than he had realized. Horribly, distressingly distracted if he had failed to notice that it had begun to rain. Bugger it, he was heartily sick of these summer showers.

He finally laughed. "I suppose inspiration has abandoned me this night, gone to drier places."

"Myself," Crispin replied, "I have always found inspiration comes best when there are no distractions about. The outdoors offer far too many distractions."

Jude quirked one brow. "There is distraction no matter where one goes."

"Not if one knows of a room with a lock that would forbid entrance to all distractions, and keep inspiration firmly within."

Well played indeed. He would never be a rake, or even remotely close to one, but Jude could not comprehend why Crispin had been so hopeless that first day. He could seduce away the heart of whomever he wanted, truly.

"I find myself in doubt," he finally replied.

"Come, my lord," Crispin replied. "I shall prove it to you."

Jude sketched a playful bow and held out his arm, allowing Crispin to guide him from the gallery. At his back, he could all but feel a burning, angry glare, but he paid it no mind.

When they reached a small office, he waited just long enough for Crispin to lock the door, then shoved him up against it and took his mouth.

He was dismayed to realize the groan he heard was his own, but then Crispin's blended with it, and he kissed harder, deeper, thrusting a leg between Crispin's thighs, feeling the hard heat of him.

Crispin's fingers dug into his shoulders, then slid up to tangle in his hair, clinging for dear life, whimpering as he rubbed against Jude like a cat in heat.

Jude slid his hands down Crispin's sides, circling around to his back, then down to his ass, grabbing it firmly and tugging hard, making Crispin buck and gasp at the increased contact. Gods in heaven, he wanted this man.

So far they had done much, but that which he most wanted…he held back. He did not know why, or perhaps did not want to address why. Normally he did not shy away from matters in his own head…with Crispin, however, he was hiding from things more and more.

He didn't intend to stop hiding now. No, at the moment he had matters more interesting than the contents of his own head to attend. Releasing his hold on Crispin, he shifted enough to get his hands on the front, swiftly undoing Crispin's breeches. Shoving away bothersome fabric, tugging the breeches and smallclothes down just enough to be out of his way, he took Crispin's cock firmly in hand and stroked it briefly, teasing and tormenting.

The needy moans fed into his mouth were untutored and all the more heady for it. In this, of all things, he should be teaching Crispin how to play the jade – yet he could not bring himself to do it. He liked too much the noises and responses so freely offered, given up simply because it would never occur to Crispin not to surrender them.

Heady. Intoxicating. Jude turned away from thinking about it, instead dropping to his knees and replacing hand with mouth.

Crispin let out a hoarse shout, muffling it too late with the sleeve of his jacket. Jude would have laughed, were he not otherwise engaged. He licked and sucked, wrapping one hand around Crispin's hip, using the other to tease his balls, to slip just behind them, drawing out every last response he could, until with another cry Crispin found his release.

Swallowing all evidence of pleasure, Jude once more stood and took Crispin's mouth, and the deep moan that earned him was the sweetest sound on earth. He allowed one hand to stray, caressing the flesh now bared, pressing every so slightly.

Fingers dug into his jacket, Crispin clinging for dear life. "Jude…"

"You are the finest of students, pet," Jude replied, pressing his fingers into hidden places, drunk on the expression that overcame Crispin's face.

Crispin shivered and kissed him, and the unexpected initiative was nearly Jude's undoing.

Then a hand ran lightly over his prick, and he gasped. "Crispin—"

"You never—" Crispin broke off, and even in the dim light Jude could see he was flushing.

"I never what?"

"Finish these lessons," Crispin said, staring hard at Jude's jacket. "I-I'm not wholly ignorant, you know. I have books my parents and brothers don't know about it." He shifted, pressing against Jude's fingers still teasing ever so slightly at his entrance. "I've seen—I know—you never—"

Jude groaned and kissed Crispin hard. The most experienced men and women in the world had never so deeply affected him as this single, inexperienced young man. He'd always stayed away from innocents for a reason – he hadn't known this was that reason. "Is that what you want, pet?"

Crispin nodded, hiding his face against Jude's shoulder.

Kissing the small bit of exposed neck, Jude forced himself to withdraw his hands, pushing Crispin up to right his clothes, give them both some semblance of respectability. "Come, then, and we will continue tonight's lesson at my home. Not here." As fine an idea as it was to take him hard and fast against the door, that was not even remotely appropriate for the first lesson.

Holding fast to Crispin's hand, unable to make himself let go, he avoided the main gallery in taking them to the entrance, and when he called for his carriage it did not come nearly as fast as he would have liked.

The ride home was interminable, though he was at least compensated with stolen kisses and fevered caresses. When they finally arrived home, he barely waited for the carriage to come to a halt before threw the door open and Crispin out.

Inside, he attempted to regain some of his control, taken aback at how easy it had been to lose. He drew Crispin close for a deep kiss, wrapping an arm around his waist, sinking the other into his hair, drunk on the taste and feel, the open, needy sounds.

It all combined to want to make him drop his own long-established walls. Shivering, he broke the kiss and turned away to lead Crispin up the stairs. He tried to recall the last time he'd actually bothered to take anyone to his room. Though he often brought lovers home, most often they wound up in one of the other bedrooms.

For this, however, that somehow struck him poor form. He was…a good teacher, and would not do things by half.

His valet had lit the lamps, casting a rich, warm glow across the deep crimson and rich brown of his room. Turning, he drew Crispin close for another kiss, undone the hundredth time as easily as the first by the simple open eagerness with which Crispin responded.

It took some effort to divest them both of clothing, effort and a fair bit of swearing, and he was at least grateful the gallery fete meant they'd not been required to wear boots. Crispin's skin positively glowed in the warm light, looking all the finer as Jude pushed him gently down upon the crimson coverlet of his enormous bed.

He had seen all that lovely flesh before, had become thoroughly acquainted with it in the past fortnight…but never quite like this, or for this purpose. It should not be so thrilling; he had taken and been taken more times than he could count in his life. His sole missions in life had ever been to see that his sister married well and happily, and his own pleasure. The first was long ago taken care of, and the second an eternal pursuit.

Smoothing his hands along Crispin's thighs, stomach, chest, he slowly joined him on the bed, making them both gasp at the contact, taking a kiss to distract himself from doing or saying something foolish.

He nuzzled the soft skin of Crispin's throat, stroking his chest and stomach, fingers sliding through the early evidence of desire smeared there. "Ah, pet, you are the finest of students."

"You are the finest of teachers," Crispin said, twisting and writhing, struggling to touch and pet in his turn. Untutored, though more experienced than when they had first begun such things, and all the more delicious for it.

Catching one hand up, Jude pressed a kiss to the palm, the wrist, trailing his way slowly to the fine shoulder, back to the soft skin of his throat. Fingers sank into his hair as he moved lower, Crispin groaning low and long, growing clumsy as Jude got the better of him, consumed him.

Jude reared up abruptly to kiss him, not breaking it until the need to breathe became urgent, then tore away only to fetch the oil he would need very shortly. He took another kiss as he rejoined Crispin. "Are you certain this is what you want, pet?"

Crispin nodded, eyes bright and sharp, unflinching even as his cheeks burned hotter than they ever had before, the flush consuming his skin right down to his chest. "I want thorough instruction. In everything."

There it was again, that sudden boldness even as he was obviously embarrassed. Then again, when one was naked and spread and hard, there was little sense in remaining hesitant.

Jude laughed softly and spread Crispin's legs, settling between them and slicking his fingers. "Here I thought you would be a bit frightened. You are not even overwhelmed."

Crispin blinked at him. "Why would I be frightened of you?"

Oh. That was unexpected, and Jude realized that he had well and truly lost the battle against those things he had avoided thinking upon. He bent to give a kiss, taking Crispin's mouth hard enough to bruise, as he pushed one finger inside.

He had teased and pressed before, but always halted before matters went too far. Not tonight, and he pressed the finger deeper, swallowing every gasp and cry. Breaking the kiss, he studied Crispin's flushed face, the eyes as dark as an evening sky.

"Pretty, pretty," he murmured, and added a second finger, beginning to stretch and prepare Crispin in earnest now. Beneath him, Crispin moved and pleaded, a sheen of sweat making his skin shine. He seemed made for pleasure, and something hot and fierce made it suddenly hard for Jude to breathe.

When he added a third, Crispin's entire body rippled, and he cried Jude's name in a desperate, eager plea.

A few moments more was all he could take, and Jude shifted to arrange himself properly. "Breathe, pet," he murmured, then slowly began to push inside. The tight heat, the hot eyes watching him even as he saw Crispin struggle with the foreign sensation, the initial pain, was nearly his undoing.

Nearly. Who was he fooling? Certainly not himself, any longer. Crispin had, indeed, proven himself to be a natural at seducing away hearts. Even hearts he did not want.

Shoving back unwelcome thoughts, for they had no place here, he finally seated himself fully within and stopped. "Good, pet?" he asked, taking a soft kiss.

"Uh huh," Crispin said, lips warm and pliant, but the fingers diggers into Jude's shoulders belied the mellow nature of the kiss. "Shouldn't you…move?"

Jude laughed and kissed him again, then braced his hands and slowly withdrew before thrusting back in. Mm, yes. That was a beautiful sight. "As you command, pet." He began to move in earnest, slowly at first, but rapidly moving faster, harder, as Crispin quickly proved how much of a natural he truly was, meeting every thrust, finding their rhythm so easily.

It was not long before Jude found his release, wrapping a hand around Crispin's prick, their cries tangling together, filling the bedchamber, and the only thing finer was collapsing atop his lover – his student -- and inhaling their mingled scents.

He stirred a moment later only to fetch a rag to clean them both. It was all too easy, after, to bundle Crispin close and let sleep snatch him away from those thoughts he still did not want to linger upon.

*~*~*

Jude conceded, if only in his own head, that it was exactly what he deserved.

Once upon a time, he had met with one of his teachers after classes. Halfway through the interview, the naïve youth he'd been had stumbled upon the realization his teacher was attempting to seduce him. Surprised, Jude had given in to it.

That had opened up a world he had never wanted to abandon. By the end of his school days, he had excelled at lessons precious few knew were on offer. Set loose upon the world, he had only broadened his education.

The only useful thing he'd ever done with his skills was use them to mark and weed out the rakes and the cads from among his sister's multitude of suitors. Beyond that…well, up to the very day they'd died, his parents had said he was nothing but a spoiled brat, and they should have taken the strap to his backside a bit more often.

Jude had privately agreed, though the devil in him had been tempted to horrify his proper parents by telling them that in school, he'd had a strap applied to his lovely backside many a time. Such games had lost their charm as he grew older, but they had amused him for a time.

So at four and thirty, he supposed he was long due for a comeuppance. He had no one but himself to blame for this, and perhaps that would finally teach him there were worse things than being bored.

He sighed softly as the hallway clock struck the seventeenth hour, sipping at his brandy, wishing the night were already over. One last meeting, and then Crispin would be off to seduce the man he really wanted.

Jude wished he knew the object of Crispin's affections, so he at least had a face to put to the man he hated, but all his attempts, both subtle and overt, had failed miserably. Well, no matter, he would learn the secret in a few hours. He had told Crispin he'd no interest in attending the Gala, for typically such events bored him, but he fully intended now to linger just long enough to learn the identity of Crispin's beloved.

No doubt it was the poorest of form for the teacher to observe his pupil so, given what Crispin would be about…but Jude wanted to know against whom he had never stood a chance. He was not opposed to fighting a battle…he was opposed to the idea that he had lost before he'd known there was something worth the fight.

Try as he might, for he was not above a bit of seduction of his own, Crispin remained unmoved. Whoever held his heart, he held it truly. For all eternity, as the poets would say. The knowledge soured Jude's stomach.

He listened, heavy hearted, as Feathers answered the sharp knock upon the door. Generally inclined toward silence, Feathers was as charmed as the rest of the household by Crispin, and Jude could hear them chatting amiably as Feathers escorted Crispin to the study.

Ah, Crispin did cut so very fine a figure, now that he was dressed in clothing worthy of him. The evening jacket was a deep wine red, the breeches a blue dark enough to almost pass for black, pale gold shining from the folds of his intricately knotted cravat. Jude wore a shade of green he knew very well matched his eyes, the rest of his ensemble black. He always made certain he looked his finest, but the hot approval in Crispin's eyes was pleasing all the same.

A sudden, powerful urge rose up to beg Crispin to stay with him, forget the damnable lover too stupid to have failed to notice Crispin all this time. He was the most notorious rake in the country, far more experienced a lover by far than the other cads running about the place.

He ignored the impulse. Many a time had he been called cold, even cruel, though he had always struggled never to stoop so low. It was only one reason he had avoided innocents – they did not know how to hold partly back, how to remain detached.

If he had known an innocent would prove his undoing, he would have remained firmly against dallying with one. Ah, well. The mistake was made, he would have to live with the consequences. "You are a sight to behold, pet," he finally said, standing and moving around his desk. "A prize pupil indeed."

True to form, Crispin flushed at the praise, even as he proved his lessons were well-learned by lifting his head just so in silent request for a kiss.

Jude gave it, tasting a hint of wine, sharing the flavor of brandy which lingered on his own tongue.

"Well, pet, I would say you have surpassed any lessons I might give you. Tonight you are on your own, and I have not a doubt you will succeed beautifully." He stepped back, lest he give in to temptation to touch. Worse, he was yet again dangerously close to begging Crispin to give up this foolishness and remain with him.

Pathetic, that's what he had become. He was a notorious rake, mothers hid their sons and daughters from him whenever he drew too close. Only men as jaded as he, or those who thought they wanted to be so hardened, dared approach him.

And here he was, disgustingly smitten over a man who saw him only as the means to an end.

It was, he could not help but concede, exactly what he deserved. His parents would heartily approve of such just desserts. Were it anyone else, Jude would appreciate the delicious dark humor in it.

As it were, he wanted to be left alone to drink himself to oblivion, or possibly he would skip oblivion and go straight on toward death.

Oh, he was falling beautifully into the role of scorned and heartbroken lover, wasn't he?

Disgusted with himself, Jude reached out to tweak and adjust Crispin's neck cloth. "Ready for your evening, pet?"

Crispin nodded, eyes sliding away. Nervous, no doubt.

"You should not fret so, pet," Jude said. "You have done beautifully, you will continue to shine. By this time tomorrow, you will have your man composing sonnets."

That earned him a weak laugh.

"Come now, pet, show me that boldness I know hides beneath those flushed cheeks."

He really would miss the way that face turned so red at even the slightest intimacies. It was at the tip of his tongue to ask, to beg, Crispin to stay, and he fought them back only with years of discipline. He was a rake, but not a complete scoundrel. If Crispin's heart lay elsewhere, he would have to accept that.

Reaching out, he tilted Crispin's face up, dredging up a taunting smirk. "Come now, you should not retreat to your letter-writing days now. I know you hesitate, pet, but you are more than capable of taking what you want."

Crispin nodded, but did not look wholly convinced. In fact, he looked rather as though he had already lost the battle. Such a case of nerves would never do – though he hated Crispin was not staying with him, he wanted more than anything for Crispin to be happy.

He managed a teasing laugh. "Come now, pet. I have taught you better than that. This panic will never do, your man might think he must tie you to the bed in order to have his wicked way."

The gasp and shudder that extracted were heartbreaking. If Crispin found the idea of such submission to his man so appealing…then he was well and truly beyond Jude's reach. He had known it, but such a hard final blow was more than he could take – was more than he thought it fair for him to endure.

He let go of Crispin's chin and stepped back, wrapping himself in the familiar role of bored rake. "Our month is officially at an end, Ford. I see nothing in you which requires further refinement on my part. You have been an excellent pupil, and I like to think I was a sufficient instructor.

Crispin was obviously taken aback by the sudden coolness of his tone, but after a moment, he only nodded. "Thank you, Lord Prescott, for all that you have done. I will always appreciate it." He hesitated, then nodded. "I bid you farewell."

"Farewell," Jude replied, and allowed himself one last touch, bending to brush the softest of kisses to one warm cheek. Then he withdrew, putting a distance between them that he would never again breach.

He watched in stiff, miserable silence as Crispin departed, sagging against his desk only when he heard the front door close. Twisting slightly, he snatched up his glass and drained the brandy all at once. It burned as it went down, and he welcomed it.

When the alcohol added its warm dullness to his pain, he barked for Feathers and ordered his carriage brought 'round.

A half hour was all it took to get him to the palace, and another quarter hour found him skulking in the shadows of a balcony, looking down upon the fete below.

He looked and looked, but nearly an hour later he still could not spy Crispin. Where was he? Surely he had not given in to his nerves…? No. A man who agreed to lessons in seduction and passion would not at the final hour abandon his plans. He must be about somewhere.

The scuff of boots turned his attention, and Jude turned to see Bartholomew glaring at him with a level of anger Jude had rarely seen. "We need to talk, and if you attempt to argue with me, Prescott, you will regret it."

Jude quirked one brow, but nodded. He was not up to his usual games tonight – though he resented being taken away from his chance to learn who Crispin loved.

He followed Bartholomew through the palace, deserted while everyone enjoyed the grand fete in the garden, until they at last stopped in what proved to be a small parlor.

"You are bloody fortunate I do not simply call you out, Prescott," Bartholomew snapped, all but bellowing the words. "What you have done to my brother is unforgivable. He is not of your world, you bastard."

Jude bristled. "I did nothing that he did not want, and you know nothing of the matter."

"Nothing of the matter?" Bartholomew roared. "You seduce and discard my brother, and leave him heartbroken, and you say I know nothing of the matter? I am two seconds away from challenging you, Prescott, and I am not sure you deserve that much respect."

"What?" Jude asked, dumbfounded. "I have done no such thing! I am guilty of many a crime, but not that."

"Forgive me if I do not believe you," Bartholomew sneered.

"No, I will not," Jude snapped. "Your brother claimed he stood no chance of attracting the man he loved for want of experience. I offered to teach him seduction and pleasure. He agreed. That was our arrangement. It ended this very night, that he might seduce his man at the Gala."

Bartholomew opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. "That bloody idiot," he finally snarled. "I am going to wring his neck."

Jude glared. "I sense there is something here I am missing."

"You—is that truly what this past month has been about?" Bartholomew asked. "I could never get two words on the matter out of Cris."

"That was the arrangement," Jude said stiffly. "If your brother is heartbroken, it has nothing to do with me. He left my home this evening fully intending to come here and seduce the object of his affection."

Bartholomew's glare reached new levels of anger. "Bloody fool! My brother hates these affairs. He never agreed to go, and in fact said quite pointedly not to include his name on the RSVP. Not once did he ever plan to attend the Gala."

Jude frowned. "That…cannot be…why would he not come? He agreed that it was the perfect chance…"

"He's in love with you, bastard!" Bartholomew shouted the words loud enough Jude swore the glass in the room trembled with it. "He thinks he hides it, but we know him better than he likes to acknowledge. That bloody idiot has pined after you from the moment we dragged him to his first real fete."

"W-what?" Jude asked, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. That was impossible. He would have noticed, surely… "That cannot be. You must be mistaken."

"I am most certainly not mistaken," Bartholomew hissed, snatching Jude by the front of his jacket and snatching him close. "He is all too good at hiding his deepest feelings beneath all those he lets surface. Our mother is the same way. Now I ask of you, Prescott – what are you going to do about it? If I do not like your answer, I will put a shot in you here and now."

He really was the greatest of fools.

Shoving hard, he sent Bartholomew stumbling back, then bolted to the door.

"Where in the hell—"

"To find him," Jude said, cutting through Bartholomew's anger. "Apparently, we are not as finished as I thought."

"Truly, Prescott?" Bartholomew asked. "I do not like you, or trust you, but I would see my brother happy."

Jude nodded. "Truly." He departed before Bartholomew could say anything further.

Where would Crispin be? Why had the bloody idiot not said something?

The better question was – how could Jude have been so blind? Looking back, it now seemed so painfully obvious…

Really, it was almost amusing. Poor Crispin, sitting on that bench, struggling to write a letter, only to be startled by…

Ah. That's where Crispin would be. Of course.

Eschewing his carriage, or even a horse, Jude made his way as quickly as he could across the royal lawn and finally reached the royal park.

Normally he would not be able to resist admiring, if only briefly, the way the long rows of cherry trees looked in the moonlight. Tonight, he could not have cared less about them. At last reaching the end of the trees, he made straight for the pond, and the bench where boredom and curiosity had first compelled him to stop.

Crispin sat facing the pond, arms resting on his spread thighs, folded hands falling lifelessly between them.

"You are not penning letters?" Jude asked softly, and almost laughed at the way Crispin startled, yelped, nearly toppling over as he shot to his feet. "I suppose the moonlight is not sufficient enough for it."

"M-my lord," Crispin said, eyes fastened upon the ground. "I did not expect to see you here."

"I could say the same," Jude said slowly, moving around the bench, drawing close, wanting so badly to touch. Was it true? Did he dare believe it? What if Bartholomew was mistaken? "You are supposed to be seducing your true love this very moment. Why are you brooding alone in the park?"

Crispin laughed sadly. "Because I have already failed, as I always knew I would."

"How do you know you failed?" Jude asked, moving closer, capturing Crispin's chin as he had so many times before, wishing it were not so dark for he ached to see the deep, deep blue of those eyes.

"My lord?"

Jude smiled gently. "Perhaps, pet, you simply never realized how beautifully you succeeded."

Crispin's eyes widened. "That's impossible. How—who told? Bart did, didn't he? I'll kill him."

Jude threw his head back and laughed, then released Crispin's shoulders to yank him close, kissing him deeply, ravenously. When they finally broke apart, it took him a moment to recall how to breathe. "Ah, pet, how did I never realize?"

"I don't know," Crispin said. "Every moment, every word, I expected you to finally discern the truth. When you never did, I assumed it was simply because you had no interest beyond amusing yourself with the lessons."

He could not help but take another kiss, near dizzy with the knowledge that he would be able to take all the kisses he desired for a long time to come. "I was seething with jealousy, pet, that you loved another."

Crispin shook his head. "You have never favored innocents."

"You are hardly an innocent," Jude replied. "Any man so willing to take up such lessons was never truly innocent – merely awaiting an opportunity to finally gain experience."

Even in the dark, he knew Crispin flushed. "I—you came upon me that day, and I could scarcely manage to string my words together. When you offered the lessons…I figured it was my one chance to be with you. An entire month to pretend we were lovers…" Crispin looked away, staring at the rippling reflection of the moon. "It was not an opportunity I was strong enough to resist, my lord, even as I knew it would end in pain."

Jude stroked his cheek, turning his head back around. "Well, you have well and proven yourself to be a natural in the romantic arts, pet. Despite my best efforts to resist, I find myself quite thoroughly and happily snared."

The fingers buried in his sleeves tightened. "I can scarcely believe it." Crispin leaned toward him, however, silently begging assurance.

He gave it gladly, kissing him until they were both rendered breathless once more. "You may believe it, and depend upon it, pet." He brushed a soft kiss across the wet, swollen lips. "I know it is not the done thing, pet, but would you consider taking up permanently with your tutor?"

"Yes," Crispin replied, arms wrapping tightly around Jude's neck, the force of the gesture all but knocking them over, and Jude held him just as fiercely.

He laughed softly. "I guess this means I am no longer a rake. I am not certain I know how to be anything else."

Crispin smiled, still clinging, the press of his body a divine thing. "I can give you lessons on how to be a boring, ordinary noble."

Jude laughed again, a sound that only Crispin could draw so easily from him. "You are many things, pet, but boring and ordinary are not among them. I'm sure I'll find ways to adjust." He took another searing kiss, leaving no doubt as to what those ways would be. "Come home?"

"Yes," Crispin said fervently, and strode alongside him as they quickly returned to the palace and Jude's carriage.