The Knight's Tale - 1. Chapter 1

“Good morning, Mother.”

Lady Elizabeth Catherine Mary Sandringham, Countess of Westermere, looked up abruptly and made no effort to disguise her disbelief. She glanced over at the ormolu clock on the sidebar and turned to stare reproachfully at her son. As was usual on most mornings after he had been out carousing all night long, he was unkempt and bleary eyed.

At the age of 30, Lord Henry was six feet three inches tall, weighed a good fourteen stone, and had powerful muscles developed by a life of fencing, playing polo, and riding to the hounds.

With a shock of boyish blond hair and bright blue eyes, he was the archetypal scion of a noble family. Even in blue jeans, chambray shirt, and Adidas trainers, Henry absolutely oozed charm and grace, even when, as now, he was hungover and dissipated by a night of sexual excess – a reality his mother did her best to ignore.

“I must say, you’re up rather early,” Her Ladyship grumbled, not bothering to temper the sarcasm in her voice.

Henry responded with a hearty laugh because he knew it annoyed his mother.

“Well, since I’ve not yet been to bed, I’m not actually ‘up’ and it’s not really ‘early.’”

“Disgusting.”

As he filled his plate at the sidebar and seated himself across the table from his mother, she regarded his breakfast with disdain. “I had hoped you would eat something a bit healthier.”

Henry thought to himself: Wonderful. Here we go again. Mother will never be pleased with any fucking thing I do.

Smiling defiantly at his plate, heaped high with bacon, kippers, and sausages, he retorted, “Mmm. Meat is the staff of life, Mother. Besides, it helps to absorb the remaining alcohol in my system.” He leaned over the plate and wafted the fragrant odors of cooked meats toward his nose.

“Hmph.”

Henry’s mother put down her fork and considered him across the table. “You know, you are getting much too old for whatever takes you into London virtually every night.”

“How old does one have to be, to be too old for... whatever?”

“When he was 30, your father had already been given responsibility for the entire operations of the Westermere estate. He was married, and you were three years old.”

“He didn’t stay long on the job.” Henry knew this would set her off.

Her Ladyship grimaced. “Your father is far too ambitious and intelligent to be content with the life of a country gentleman. Running a farm, even one as immense as this, simply wasn’t enough of a challenge for him.”

“But you think it will be quite enough for me?”

She glared at her son. “On the contrary. I quite doubt you are up to the challenge of such a demanding task.”

Henry laughed. “Well, then, why are you mentioning it at all?”

“I am merely pointing out your misspent youth of carefree abandon is past, and you have accomplished exactly nothing at all. Your excellent education is wasted and your prospects are nonexistent.”

Stung by his mother’s harsh condemnation, Henry glared back at her. “You think I should have a job, a career, a purpose in life?”

“Naturally.”

He shot a quick glance at the footman standing at attention next to the breakfast buffet. The servant looked at him solemnly, then lowered his eyes.

I know. Don’t tell her anything. Don’t ever let on what I really do.

Taking his silence as acquiescence, she continued. “You wasted a perfect opportunity to join the foreign service, where your father distinguished himself until he had to assume his duties as Earl. He traveled the world in the service of Queen and Country.”

He took the job to have an excuse to spend time away from you.

Henry smiled meekly. “I’m more of a homebody, you see.”

“Is that how you describe it?” She shook her head in disparagement.

Lady Elizabeth finished her coddled egg, took a last draught of coffee, and carefully positioned her fork across her plate parallel to the table’s edge.

This was the signal for Weems, the handsome young footman, to step forward and slide her chair back as she rose gracefully.

Henry gazed at the servant with approval... and more.

He smiled to himself. You’re looking particularly fetching this morning, my good man.

Henry knew if he stared at the servant too intently, he would soon sport a stiffy, which would shock his mother and betray the secret the two men shared. Nevertheless, the memory of many hours spent in bed with the footman aroused him more than a little.

Once again, the Countess glowered at her son, oblivious to what he was thinking, and silently willing him to rise politely in respect as she stood.

Well aware of what his mother expected, he feigned ignorance, smiling blankly as she rose from the table and made her way to the door, striving to maintain her dignity.

Henry called after her, “Have a delightful day, Mummy Dear.”

“Hmph.” She left the breakfast room in a huff.

 

 

Moments later, from the other side of the room, a familiar voice called out jovially, “You damned smarmy prat! When will you stop antagonizing the poor dear woman?”

Sir Partman Hitchcock, KBE, a dear friend and the long-time solicitor of the family, entered the dining room through the open French door. As always, he was dressed to the nines in a dark blue wool suit, old school tie, and laced up Broughams.

Although he was far gone from 50, his hair was still bright ginger without a hint of gray. He carried himself well and got plenty of exercise playing golf and tennis – and also boxing, which Henry found amazing.

“Well, I’m damned if it isn’t dear old Uncle Party. How the hell are you?” Henry jumped to his feet and crushed his visitor in a tight embrace.

Wincing at the unwelcome nickname and bear hug, his visitor moaned, “All right, young man, I’ve had quite enough of your ersatz affection.”

With a hearty laugh, the younger man returned to his seat. Party Hitchcock took the seat opposite him at the table, a cup of coffee having been provided by Weems.

“A bit of overdoing it last night?” he inquired of the bleary-eyed young lord.

“Ah, Party, I never over-do, I rather do and do and do!”

“Until you drop from exhaustion or pass out drunk!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Henry grinned, knowing it pissed off the older man.

With a stern expression, Sir Partman fixed his gaze on his young friend’s eyes. “You do realize, my boy, someday you’ll be obliged to pack all this in, grow up, and assume your duties as the ninth Earl of Westermere.”

“Some day... but not today. And based on father’s splendid health, not any day soon.”

“Perhaps...” Hitchcock hesitated, weighing his words judiciously. “But seriously, Henry, you are beginning to make a name for yourself, and not a complimentary one.”

“At last! Against all odds, I have accomplished something!” The brash young nobleman laughed.

Sir Party cleared his throat and intoned sotto voce, “I mean... well, word has it... you’ve been observed frequenting some, shall we say, inappropriate establishments.”

“Do tell. Which establishments, and how inappropriate?”

Partman raised his voice in indignation. “Damn it, Henry, this is not a joking matter. You risk doing grave damage to the name and standing of Westermere and to the long tradition of respectability established by your forebears.”

“Oh, could you be referring to the three bastards sired by Grandpapa, or the mistress in London maintained en luxe by dear old Daddy?”

His face flushing, the old gentleman took a long drink of his coffee.

“Those are... well... to be expected, one supposes. Virile and powerful men have been known to indulge in such dalliances.” He regarded the young lord severely. “No, I’m speaking of...” He struggled to force the words to be spoken.

“Go on. Out with it. Of what are you speaking?” Whenever Henry used precise grammar, he was either teasing or about to make a lewd joke.

“Dash it all, I’m speaking, as you well know, of Madame Coy’s... er... establishment.” Hitchcock doled out the words as though it pained him to pronounce them.

“Ah. So you’ve heard of old Coy’s den of iniquity.”

Partman snapped, “As has the whole of London society, which is why you will never see gentlemen of breeding coming and going in such a... disreputable place.”

“Oh, Party, I’m sure you will never see them. The private entrance in the rear is much preferred by your ‘gentlemen of breeding’ – for most of whom ‘the private entrance in the rear’ is just what they are seeking.”

Hitchcock grimaced.

Henry continued his teasing. “And while I couldn’t say anything about the going, I can assure you a great deal of coming takes place within the shady confines of Coy’s. But I rather doubt ‘breeding’ is even... conceivable there.” He chuckled at his bawdy play on words.

Nearly choking on his coffee, Sir Partman put his napkin to his lips. “See here, Henry, you are perfectly well aware the place is a... whorehouse... where men...” He shuddered at the unspoken image and couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

With a glance in the direction of the servant standing like a figure in stone next to the sideboard, he lowered his voice and spit out the words with disgust, “You well know what I’m referring to.”

Henry also peeked at Weems and winked. The footman remained expressionless, as a proper servant must, but Henry noticed a rising bulge in the man’s tight trousers. Their mutual relationship was a closely-guarded secret, one which would have resulted in the immediate dismissal of the servant, had the goings-on with his master become known.

He turned to face the older man. “Yes, Party, I do know – and from personal experience. Coy’s is where men ‘do the nasty’ with other men.”

Another peek at Weems caught the footman in the tiniest grin, which was immediately replaced by the servant’s stoic see-nothing, hear-nothing stone face.

His Lordship grinned. He could see the conversation was revving the footman up. It would not be long before the two of them would have an intimate tête-à-tête in Henry’s rooms, and the footman’s enticing bulge was going to get a good what-for.

Sir Partman rose to his feet indignant and pounded the ancient oak table with a fist.

“Now listen to me, young sir, and listen well. What goes on within those doors is notorious, and the fact that you are a member of the nobility will not spare you, should this matter become grist for those damnable tabloids.”

Hitchcock threw his napkin down on the table, walked around, stood over Henry, and lectured him sternly. “See here, Henry, you had better be sure you are using that back entrance, if you can’t control your impure passions.”

“What about my pure passions, are they worthy of passing through the front door?”

Party scowled at him for a few seconds, sighed, shook his head, and surrendered. He smiled down with kindness and affection at the young man he had known since birth and tried a different tack.

Reasoning with his young friend, he smiled patiently, “Henry, my dear boy, I am only concerned for your welfare and future. I am aware... sometimes... the things men... may have done while schoolboys... can persist as a habit when they grow up, but... Oh, for heaven’s sake, can’t you get as much satisfaction from a woman?”

Henry rose to his feet and frowned. What the fuck did you just say?

He spoke with barely restrained anger. “Although it’s really none of your concern, kind sir, I have had more than my share of the perfumed and powdered princesses of so-called polite society. I am rarely interested in being polite, and I abhor the fucking delicate dance of courtship they require before spreading their legs and giving up their sweet fannies.”

Hitchcock sputtered. “Henry! Such language is entirely uncalled-for.”

Stiffening his back and growing serious, Lord William Henry Charles Philip Sandringham, Viscount Lockham of Westermere, locked eyes with his old acquaintance.

“Party, some things are best not spoken of between friends, and I count you as one of my oldest and dearest,” he stated solemnly.

Placing a hand on Sir Partman’s shoulder, Henry relented a bit. “It pisses me off when so-called polite society, which turns a blind eye to anything a man does with a woman – or women – frowns upon equally intimate relationships between men. However, I am not in the least ashamed of my attractions, nor do I accept any obligation to go out of my way to conceal them.”

He smiled at his old friend. “As for the things schoolboys do for release and companionship, I fail to grasp the difference if, when those lads become men, they continue to enjoy the intimacies offered by male companions.” And I try to enjoy those intimacies as frequently as possible!

Hitchcock sighed and spoke quietly, “Henry, I shall rely upon your good sense and discretion, at a minimum. I fear you may suffer a rude awakening unless you cease these activities, or at least work harder to keep them from the public eye.”

With a warm smile, his young friend conceded, “All right, Party, I grant you’ve won your innings. I swear I will henceforth use only the back door and do my best to restrain my impulses when around tout le monde.”

He winked, “But I make no such assurances about my behavior within the confines of Coy’s!”

“I can ask nothing more of you.” Sir Partman nodded his head in a quick bow, turned to glare at Weems as if to command his silence regarding all he had overheard, and left the room without another word.

Henry sat down, nibbled a bite of sausage, and slammed his fork down on his plate. He pushed his chair roughly back from the table.

“Will there be anything else, Your Lordship?” The footman had taken up station at Henry’s side.

With a naughty grin, he smiled up at the footman. You know bloody well there will be something else, and damned soon.

He reached across and patted the man’s crotch. Feeling a stirring under Weems’ crisp uniform, Henry smiled. “That will be all for now, Weems. But after your duties here are concluded, there is something in my rooms which requires your attention.”

Without so much as a hint of his eagerness for what he knew would await in his master’s chamber, the servant responded formally, “As you wish, milord. I shall endeavor not to keep you waiting.”

 

 

Ten minutes after breakfast was cleared, the handsome footman knocked respectfully on the door to Henry’s quarters – a sitting room, bed chamber, and bath.

“Enter.”

The footman opened the door and stepped in. He closed and locked the door behind him.

The viscount was seated on a plush divan facing the tall windows, smoking a filterless Gauloise. Outside, the day was sunny and bright. He was still wearing jeans and an open shirt, but his feet were already bare, as he expected to be completely nude in a short while.

Without turning to his servant, Henry crisply barked an order. “Come over here.”

The man complied at once in silence.

He stood at attention in front of Henry, a hint of his prior military service in the Earl of Westermere’s battalion in Afghanistan.

Henry admired the handsome young man standing before him.

Edward “Ned” Weems was the same age as his master. An inch or two taller than Henry, he weighed in at a trim twelve stone. His light brown hair was cropped short, military-style, and his face was clean-shaven, although on many a pre-dawn morning Henry had awakened to see the footman with a night’s dark growth of beard lying naked next to him in bed.

Weems was only a footman in the household, which was not a significant position, but he was also Henry’s personal attendant – in all the important ways.

“Your duties have been attended to?”

“They have. Sir!” came the crisp reply.

“Am I to assume you are at leisure for the moment?”

“I am completely at Your Lordship’s disposal.”

Henry regarded the man with a lascivious leer.

“Then I think you should dispense with that uncomfortable uniform.”

Wordlessly, Weems began to remove his footman’s formal wear. In less than a minute, he stood before his master, barefoot and garbed only in his one-piece woolens. His hardening penis was clearly outlined in the soft flannel. A wet patch betrayed the pre-cum oozing from his prick.

“Are you more comfortable now?”

Still standing at attention and looking straight ahead, but with a naughty grin, the footman replied, “Yes, milord, but I would prefer to shed these, too.”

“By all means, my good man, shed away.”

Weems unbuttoned the underwear from the top, all the way down to his crotch.

This revealed a manly chest, the top lightly covered with tawny hairs, a washboard abdomen, and a line of thick brown fur leading downward from his navel into the as-yet-unopened lower half of the long-johns.

The footman made a show of pulling each arm out of its sleeve and let the topmost part of the garment fall away. As he did so, his master inhaled the manly scent of skin, sweat, and musk, which caused an irresistible stirring in his groin.

Henry chuckled, “Something appears to be obstructing the bottoms from sliding down.”

“Yes, milord, something does seem to be presenting an obstacle.”

“Perhaps I should undertake a closer inspection.”

“Yes, Your Lordship, perhaps you should.”

Henry, imitating a Sergeant Major, ordered, “One step forward. March!”

Weems took a crisp step nearer, stomped his two feet, and stood between Henry’s parted knees.

Henry placed a hand on Weems’ right knee and began to slowly inch it upward.

When his palm reached the man’s crotch, it encountered a hard fleshy object.

“What have we here?” He grasped the footman’s erection and gave it a squeeze.

Weems moaned softly and threw his head back.

Henry freed the erect penis, and the woolen underwear fell all the way down.

Without releasing his grip on the man’s cock, Henry helped the footman step out of his last garment.

Naked in front of his master, Weems was proud of his body. His time in the Army had hardened his muscles, and the manual work in the earl’s household kept him in prime shape.

His pubic hair was trimmed short, and the full seven inches of his erect penis were pointed directly at His Lordship’s face.

“What indeed have we here?” Henry repeated, feigning amazement as he leaned forward and curiously examined the hard cock in his hand. The footman didn’t answer.

His Lordship tenderly slid the foreskin back, exposing the purple head. Leaning forward, he drew it over his tongue and into his mouth.

Weems moaned with desire but kept his back straight in a military posture, as if resisting some exquisite torture.

Henry felt the cock in his mouth grow even harder, and he heard Weems’ breathing become rougher, all of which told him the man was close to the very edge of release. Henry intended to delay Weems’ gratification, so after teasing the footman’s cock for a moment longer, he slowly leaned back, releasing the pulsing shaft and looking up at his breathless manservant.

“I think we shall pause for now. There is something you need to attend to in my bedchamber.”

“As you wish, milord.”

Henry rose to his feet, took hold of Weems’ still-erect penis and drew him into the adjacent bed chamber.

When they were standing next to Henry’s massive oak bed, he turned to face his servant.

Without another word, Henry forcefully pulled the man into his arms and kissed him hard.

Weems opened his mouth eagerly and their tongues did battle as their hands roughly groped each other’s bodies.

Henry’s tongue tasted of the cigarette he had been smoking, and Weems had apparently had a healthy nip of the whiskey on the sideboard before joining His Lordship. The two savors mingled as both men eagerly anticipated what was about to happen.

Henry stepped back, and together they relieved him of his clothes, tossing them wildly to the floor.

In only seconds, Henry, too, was naked and hard.

He took hold of Weems by the shoulders and tugged him toward himself as he lay back on the bed.

His body was fiery with desire, but the silken sheets were refreshingly cool on his back as he gazed up into the eyes of his lover with a lustful grin.

Breathing coarsely, he lifted his legs into the air and bent his knees forward, holding them tightly with his elbows. He used his hands to spread open his cheeks, revealing his quivering arsehole.

Accepting the invitation, Weems moved in close, leaning over his master.

His erect cock brushed lightly on Henry’s tender opening. The viscount shivered with delight, and his sphincter contracted involuntarily at the sensuous touch.

“Permission to enter, Sir?”

“Permission granted, goddammit. Now bugger me!”

Head down, Weems slowly eased his erect penis into his lord and master.

“Mmm, yes.” Henry moaned with raw carnal pleasure. He always relished the moment when he and his lover became one.

Once the fullness of his manhood was deep inside His Lordship, Weems began to slowly glide it in deep and almost all the way out.

He gazed up at Henry, who was smiling widely with his eyes closed, indicating he was enjoying the sex as much as his servant was.

Weems increased the pace and force of his thrusting, reaching the point where his master’s naked body was propelled toward the head of the bed with each powerful lunge.

With each rough penetration Henry grunted softly, but his smile never faded. He had long ago learned to accept a bit of pain, because the thrill of what his lover was doing greatly surpassed any discomfort.

Weems slowed and then stopped with his cock all the way in, his thighs pressing firmly against Henry’s buttocks. He knew this position, in which his lover was tightly holding his knees up and fully exposing his arse, was not something his master could sustain indefinitely.

The footman leaned forward and kissed his master.

Henry opened his eyes in surprise, grinned, and opened his mouth to receive the kiss.

“Roll over,” Weems ordered quietly, and Henry complied at once.

With His Lordship lying flat on his stomach, the servant-master entered him once again and extended his body full-length, resting his whole weight on Henry’s back.

In this position, they could both relax somewhat and just enjoy the fucking.

As he shagged his lover, Weems kissed Henry repeatedly – on the back of the neck, the ears, and the shoulders.

Henry turned his head to one side and his lips met the footman’s.

They both enjoyed this position but ultimately needed to change once more.

This time, Henry turned to his side and Weems wedged in beside and behind him. Placing one arm across His Lordship’s chest and tightly snuggling his own chest against Henry’s back, Ned again inserted his erection into his master’s now fully-relaxed hole.

He resumed his powerful rhythm, eliciting another gasp from Henry each time his penis reached its full depth inside him.

Henry began furiously wanking his own cock, which had remained hard the whole time.

Out of respect for the maid, and also not to bring attention to what he was getting up to in his bed, Henry retrieved a clean handkerchief from under his pillow. He placed one there every night, in anticipation of the likelihood he and Weems might have a go at it.

Shortly, Henry felt himself nearing climax.

“Fill me, damn it!” he groaned with passion, and the servant obediently thrust himself all the way in.

Henry held his breath as his cock swelled, his prostate contracted powerfully, and he shot six or seven pulses of hot semen into the handkerchief in his hand.

His master’s ass muscles contracting tightly around his erection triggered Weems to ejaculate inside Henry. As he came, he gripped his master in a tight embrace and held him tight as his cock softened.

After a few minutes, Weems reached over and took the handkerchief out of Henry’s hand. Slowly slipping his flaccid prick out, he pressed the cum-covered square of silk into the crack of Henry’s ass, catching his own semen as it oozed out.

 

 

After their love-making, Henry rolled onto his back, stretched his arms above his head, and sighed with contentment.

Weems turned to the bedside table and withdrew two cigarettes from the pack. Lighting them both, he lovingly placed one in Henry’s mouth.

The viscount turned his head and leered wickedly at the naked man lying next to him.

The footman smiled back. “I trust I performed to milord’s satisfaction?”

“As always, Weems, as always.”

They lay smoking in silence.

“That was most enjoyable... Footman.”

“Thank you... Your Lordship. It is ever my honor, duty, and pleasure, to serve you.” They both laughed, enjoying the little ritual they repeated every time they made love.

Henry slid up into a sitting position, his back against the carved mahogany headboard with the handsome footman stretched out beside him. For a while, they rested in silence, looking up at the damask canopy above the bed.

Henry reached over and clasped his hand in Weems’, who turned to his master and inquired with a sly smile. “I trust your escapades at Madame Coy’s last night were fruitful?”

Ah, now the fun is over, and we get down to business. Henry smiled back, nodding. “The target was there, and I was able to observe him in several, er... compromising situations...”

“Photographs?”

“Of course. Those glasses you gave me are a bloody miracle. I can be starkers in a room full of naked men and take pictures in every possible direction, simply by adjusting my spectacles. Fucking brilliant!”

“I’ll inform the Special Projects Team how pleased you are with them.”

They both laughed.

Henry became serious and turned to look wistfully into his lover’s eyes.

“I’m well aware I’m serving Her Majesty by participating in the deeds done there, but I feel so sodding unfaithful to you the whole time, Ned.”

Weems shook his head and smiled kindly. “Now, now, Harry. After all, you didn’t enter into this career a virgin when it comes to sex with men. I’m delighted you feel a connection with me, as do I with you, but you’ll never convince me the work you do at Coy’s is an unwelcome diversion.”

Henry chuckled.

“No, I couldn’t honestly say it is, but you know what I mean... what we have is... Dammit! It’s bloody important to me.”

Weems answered carefully. “And to me. But we have both understood from the start it would be necessary to compartmentalize our lives and roles.”

“Roles indeed! I’m your master, Neddie, but I take orders from you. You are my servant, but you fuck me?”

“Such is precisely how it works, Harry milord.” He leaned in and kissed his master affectionately.

Henry leaned in and kissed Weems on the lips. Time to say it – if I dare. “Ned, I know what I am – a randy gay young blade who eagerly bounces from one cock to the next... but I’m getting older, you know, much as it pains me to admit Mother is right.”

“Oh, come now, Harry, you’re barely 30.”

“True, and I haven’t really given this much thought until now. It’s just... I sometimes wonder... will I ever fall in love and have someone love me back?”

Ned was silent.

“Oh shit, I suppose I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“No, Harry. It’s fine. Only I didn’t realize you were thinking along those lines.”

“So...?”

The naked footman turned to face His Lordship. “Harry, what we have between us is brilliant. We know each other’s needs and fancies, and we do our best to satisfy them. We have bully sex almost every day, and we never seem to tire of each other. I would say we’re a perfect match in the fucking department.”

Henry nodded hopefully.

“But we are still servant and master, and will always be. What we have now is all there can be for us. We could never transform it into anything more than a casual relationship. The gap between us is insurmountable, and its revelation would cause a tremendous fucking scandal.”

“Not to mention we’d both be run out of the Service quicker than you can say ‘off with their heads!’”

“Precisely.”

Henry was crestfallen.

Ned leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t despair, Harry. You will find the right person somewhere, some day, and then you won’t even look back at me.”

Startled, Henry turned to him. “Never!”

“Well, we’ll just have to see what happens. But for now, what we have is just what we want, right?”

“I suppose it is.” But it isn’t what I need.

They both paused to ponder their curious state of affairs.

Their relationship was unusual to say the least.

Henry, Viscount Lockham was an agent of MI6 – formally styled as The Secret Intelligence Service, or SIS – the counterpart of the American CIA.

Henry had inherited a sizable trust fund from his grandparents and didn’t need to work for a living, but he enjoyed the thrill of espionage and had honorably served Queen and Country for nigh onto ten years.

Weems was his handler, and it was simply “not done” for the person in such a role to have a sexual connection with an agent under his control. Both agents were discreet and careful to keep their secret safe.

Weems served as the only connection between the viscount and the Service. He brought assignments to his master and reported on their success to his superiors in Vauxhall.

Henry was first to speak. “Am I at leave for now, or do the vaunted powers-that-be have more tasks for me?”

“Nothing for the moment, which I know disappoints you, Harry. By and by, though, I’m sure there will be more excitement in your spoiled posh-boy’s life.”

“I can’t wait.” He smiled wanly. “I suppose we’d best be up and about now. Wouldn’t want to break your cover, eh Weems?”

“No, My Lord.”

 

 

They dressed, the footman helping His Lordship put his pants back on. Before opening the door, they paused for a long kiss.

The footman adjusted his starched ruffle, opened the door and inquired loudly, “Will that be all, Your Lordship?”

“Quite enough for now, Weems. Now get on with your duties.”

Softly, he added, “If Mother misses you, she’ll nail your knickers to the church tower.”

Weems responded respectfully, “Very good, My Lord, as you wish.”

He winked as he stepped into the hallway and Henry closed the door behind him.