An Earl's Desire

[haremfaery]

"Ah, Ambrose. I forget that while you are of an age with Thomas, your experience is far different. No wonder that you are fearful and nervous. Were I thrust on the streets at your age with nought but rags for clothes, I would be fearful and nervous there. Drink if you must, but be wary it not become a crutch. I hope you find yourself comfortable here in time to no longer need it."

"Now, let us get Ambrose dressed for the theatre." Orson sighed inwardly. It was clear Ambrose wished to please in order to stay in his household, which must seem heaven after his previous life. But Orson didn't want the lad in fear of being put back on the streets. Or to do things because he thought it would please Orson and not of his own accord. How to get that point through to the lad, that he didn't want to be served out of fear or gratitude, but because Ambrose wished it. Because Ambrose wished to be his.

Orson poured wine for the three of them and let Thomas dress Ambrose, though it was difficult not to think about undressing Ambrose later.

Orson watched Thomas help Ambrose put on braies while leaving his nightshirt on. Then he removed the nightshirt. Thomas was professional and efficient as always, but he took the time to explain the items of clothing and how to put them on and in what order so Ambrose could better serve their lord.

Orson smiled. It was no secret to the household that he was taken with the lad. They all surely thought Ambrose had been well and truly bedded by now since his spirits had been light now that Ambrose was on the mend. They all benefited from Orson's good mood as he handed out more tips. If he thought on it, Orson would realize that he called on Thomas less at all hours since Ambrose occupied his time. He was drinking less and winning more when he gambled. So ... Ambrose had been as much good for Orson as Orson was for Ambrose.

Thomas finished with Ambrose's ruff and helped him on with his doublet. The blue of the livery made the lad's eyes nearly as bright as Orson's own. He fairly took Orson's breath away. His fine features and golden curls indeed made him pretty as a maid, but his stance was that of a lad. A somewhat self-conscious lad, but a lad all the same. They would make a fine pair in their matching clothes.

Orson smiled with pleasure. He lifted his cup, "To Ambrose, my new yeoman of the chamber."

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose hadn't expected to be dressed in clothing so similar to his master's. He'd thought wearing the earl's colours meant simply colours, and that he would otherwise be given the most simple, serviceable, unassuming garments, to ensure no one would think him above his station.

But he was given everything, right up to the ruffly construction around his neck that made Orson look so wonderfully important. He reached up to touch it with his fingertips, as carefully as if it might break apart like cobwebs, amazed that such a delicate, beautiful thing could possibly crown his own neck.

Glancing aside to glimpse himself in the full-length mirror, he was shocked by the sight of the noble-looking figure he was hiding inside. It was a handsome young man, not a wretch or a waif that looked back at him, and he could scarcely believe the glass showed him truth. But when he smiled, so did the lad in the mirror.

He raised his eyes to his master as his master raised his cup. His heart lifted and swelled, and a searing lump returned to his throat, though this time the emotion was not embarrassment or sorrow. Beyond words, he took a step forward and knelt before the earl, taking one of the man's hands in both of his and kissing his knuckles before pressing his forehead to that battle-roughened hand.

"I am yours," he whispered.

 

[haremfaery]

Orson's heart swelled as he downed his wine in the toast to Ambrose and his new position. But when the lad knelt before him and made his declaration, it was more than his heart that swelled. “Gods Teeth, you are a handsome lad!” Orson held him at arm’s length. The bulk of the clothes, the velvet and lace helped fill out
the lad making his shoulders broader. He was already slim hipped and if his knees were still bony and his legs a bit thin, Orson did not care. It gave Ambrose a coltish look that made him more endearing. But Ambrose's overall beauty made his heart ache with want.

“Was Ganymede so handsome when he served the gods?” He twirled Ambrose around as in a dance to take in all of him. “I will have to keep you close, I fear you will have many admirers.”

Orson went to a small box on top of a chest and removed a few pennies. He handed one to Ambrose. He would have loved to shower the lad in gold but it would be unseemly. He gave another to Thomas, “For your service. With more to come as you train Ambrose.” He placed a third coin in Thomas’s hand, “This is for whoever gave up their clothes today. When is the tailor expected?”

“Two says hence,” Thomas responded with a ducking bow of thanks. “He awaits a shipment of velvet and silk he believes my lord will wish to see.”

“Good, good. Make a list of who is in need of new clothes—who has outgrown theirs so they can passed along to others, and the clothes that cannot be, perhaps can be let out or remade to other purposes.” His eyes kept going back to Ambrose.

“I don’t mean to stare, Ambrose. But you are such a delight in your clothes that I could eat you. But a kiss will have to satisfy me.” He stepped to the lad and kissed his downy cheek and then laid a kiss full on his lips. He wanted to drink deep of that kiss but forced himself to remain chaste only brushing his lips with his own.

He would have to keep a watchful eye on Ambrose. There were others, men and women alike, who would want a taste of Ambrose. Orson admitted to himself that he was motivated by pride and selfishness. Pride in that he wanted to show the world that Ambrose served him, and selfishness in that he wanted no other to touch his golden lad.

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose's heart quickened at the kisses, and the coin that had been warming against his palm was soon forgotten. He began to understand then some aspect of what the earl truly felt toward him - it was desire. Real desire, not kindness or charity or some feigned charm to win a servant's loyalty. Orson truly did look at him as if he wanted to devour him, the same way Ambrose himself might look at a sumptuous meal. What was the word Orson had used, describing the way he ate...?

Amorous.

The lad's rapid heartbeat seemed to be skipping now, his head spinning. He felt as if he'd just taken a particularly potent draught. Now he didn't seem to need the laudanum, or the wine. Kisses had had an effect that was every bit as good, and more.

"How soon will we go, milord?" he asked breathlessly, his eyes shining with delight. Now he could hardly seem to wait to step out with his master, to be seen at his side, dressed in his livery.

 

[haremfaery]

"More relaxed now in my livery? Apparel oft proclaims the man and these proclaim you mine." Orson smiled. "Impatient as well. Thomas, see the small carouche is brought round. We'll take that since Ambrose does not know how to ride." He cocked his head at the lad. "Something else for you to learn--once your ribs are fully mended." He watched Thomas leave.

"I think you'll take to riding. There is nothing like having a powerful beast between your legs," he gave Ambrose a smirk. "And controlling it with the smallest touch." 'Sblood, he wanted to be the beast between Ambrose's legs.

He clapped his hand on Ambrose's shoulder. "Let us go down to the carouche and to the theatre."

~~~~~~~~​

Orson and Ambrose sat side-by-side and thigh-to-thigh in the carouche. Orson pointed out buildings of interest along the way. He also offered some advice for the evening. "Speak when spoken to by the others. That is, if they speak to you. You've show you have good manners. If you are unsure about anything, look me to. Ask. But mostly, I want you to enjoy the play." He patted Ambrose's knee.

They arrived at the theatre at at the entrance where other coaches were letting off nobles. Orson took Ambrose's hand so they wouldn't be separated while trying to enter.

 

[tamgreen]

The Globe and its surroundings were far from being Ambrose's usual haunts - in fact, he had never even set foot on the south side of the Thames until he'd come into Orson's life. Crowds he was used to, but this was a different kind of crowd, the energy was completely different, and for once, he was here to be seen instead of keeping his head down and trying to stay out of trouble.

The people flowing into the theatre were a sight to behold - all around them were other nobles, opulently decked out for the occasion, though not too far away Ambrose could also see plenty of ordinary-looking people crowding toward a different entrance. He'd never seen so many different types of people all in one place.

When he felt the earl's strong hand enfold his, the lad immediately broke his eyes away from the throngs and trained it upon Orson's comforting gaze. He squeezed the man's callused hand and smiled with a little flutter of nervousness.

Soon they were walking inside among a small procession of nobles. Ambrose had never felt so out of place, yet he felt an immediate thrill knowing he was actually accepted nonetheless. Already there were eyes pointing his way, scoping out the new blood and silently forming theories and opinions about the fresh-faced lad on the arm of the Earl of Camberwick. Ambrose found it hard to make eye contact with anyone but Orson at the moment, and each time someone looked his way, he lowered his eyes demurely, whether he intended to or not, and the roses never seemed to leave his cheeks.

"They're looking at me," he whispered, looking upon Orson once again.

 

[haremfaery]

Orson smiled down at Ambrose. "They look at everyone. But especially at anyone new and," He nearly said beautiful. "Handsome."

Orson greeted acquaintances and shook hands as they moved toward the stage.

"Camberwick! You have spent too long away from us." The tall thin noble dressed in green and black looked Ambrose up and down." And now I see why. Who is this who clings upon your arm? I would say like an oyster, but 'tis clear he is a pearl."

Orson put a protective arm around Ambrose. "Wessex, this is Ambrose, my new servant."

"Comely and fair. Finally, found yourself an ingle, eh?" A red-faced noble joined them in more somber clothes of dark indigo.

"He is my servant."

A noble in bright xanthine and crimson minced over to Orson. "Cuz, we have missed thee sorely. What kept thou away?" He kissed him on the mouth. "But oh, what sweetmeat hast thou brought us in recompense?" He patted Ambrose's cheek.

"How now, Barwick, thou lewdster, I have missed thee as well. I was tending to matters of my household. Meet my new yeoman, Ambrose."

"Country matters, plowing furrows, I'll wager."

"A mind in the gutter as always." Orson snorted and shook his head. "Let us sit."

They moved to the stage and took their seats. "Pay them no mind," Orson advised Ambrose. "They enjoy gossip and will create it if none presents itself. Lord Barwick is an old friend." He pointed behind the chairs "The table has food and wine. Fetch me a cup and one for yourself."

Barwick sat leaving an empty chair between them. "For the Amb-rose between two thorns." He grinned.

Orson sat back and watched Ambrose. He remembered his first visit to the theatre, The Rose, he thought. He had been captivated by the actors and the tales they told. Had he been born to another life, he might have become an actor. Although he couldn't imagine that he could ever play the part of a woman.

_______
Edited to fix an errant "thee" to "thou."

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose tried to follow the snippets of conversation, but he wasn't sure he understood half of what was being said. Nonetheless, he received the message that his appearance was acceptable, and he could only respond to the florid comments and affectionate touches with shy smiles and blushes, while he continued clinging to Orson's arm.

He faltered for a moment when he saw one of the nobles kiss Orson on the mouth. Were these sorts of kisses a common greeting after all? Perhaps he'd gotten a touch overexcited about how special he might actually be to the earl.

Being on the actual stage was even more intimidating than the initial interactions - he felt eyes all over the theatre watching him, and it was hard not to be constantly distracted looking around at all the different tiers of seating that were filling up with spectators, all of whom had a view directly toward where he and Orson were settling.

His first assigned task provided an opportunity to temporarily turn his back to the huge open area thronging with onlookers, and so he wasn't too nervous to have to let go of Orson for a minute or two to step over to the elegant table.

He had just poured a second cup when he felt a presence very close behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder to notice the tall man Orson had called Wessex hovering over him with a thirsty smile.

"M'lord," Ambrose spoke up shyly, and immediately blushed, wondering if it was a mistake to address another man as such, since Wessex certainly wasn't his lord. Damnation - he should have asked Orson how to properly address the nobles he would meet today.

"My lad," the man purred in response, brushing a tickling hand against the small of Ambrose's back.

Ambrose wasn't sure whether to be friendly or step away, flattered or cautious. He needed something to interrupt this pregnant pause and instinctively turned to offer the man one of the cups of wine.

"A drink, sir?"

Again, Ambrose was lost as to whether he'd done right or wrong, but surely there was no harm in being polite and helpful.

 

[haremfaery]

"Aye." Wessex took the cup and let his fingers linger on Ambrose's. "Thank you, Ambrose, is it? Pray tell, what position is it that you take with Camberwick? You seem most accommodating. Have you learned French? Surely you know Greek."

Orson came up behind the two. Bringing Ambrose may have been a mistake. The lad was still far too naive. "Wessex, leave the lad be. You'll frighten him. I want him to enjoy his day at the theatre. Let's dine tomorrow and I will catch you up on what I've been doing." He took a cup from Ambrose and the three walked back to their seats.

"Come to my home--you have been too long away. If the lad is still ... naive, you must be longing for a night with a friend."

Orson laughed and sat down with Wessex on one side and Ambrose on the other.

"This is As You Like It by my friend Will. You will meet him later when we go to the Mermaid after." Orson leaned close and whispered to Ambrose. He took the lad's hand in his and rested them both upon his knee.

The play began with a fanfare. A hush fell over the crowd. Orson found himself watching Ambrose watch the play. It doubled his enjoyment to watch the lad.

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose was bewildered by the questions from Wessex and relieved when Orson came to his rescue. French? Greek? Was he supposed to know these? He was still working on his command of English, and had been struggling through reading and writing. Would he embarrass his master by admitting to this?

Fortunately, he didn't have to decide - soon they were seated with their drinks and Ambrose held onto Orson as the show began. At first he found it difficult to follow, with all of the different names and characters to keep track of, and the often complicated way they all spoke, but once the action moved into the forest of Arden, he began to settle in and enjoy the convoluted, playful plot.

In particular he found himself amused to point of giggles once the shepherd Phebe had fallen in love with Ganymede, as Rosalind - a boy playing a girl, romantically pursuing another boy playing as a girl disguised as a boy was simply too delightful to bear. On and on went the romantic complications, misunderstandings, and absurd antics.

Midway through, Ambrose looked up at Orson with a huge grin, feeling flooded with happiness just to be here with him, enjoying this wonderful spectacle.

 

[haremfaery]

Orson laughed louder and longer than he had in some time. It wasn't the play that made him laugh heartily, although it was amusing enough. It was Ambrose's enjoyment of it, Ambrose's giggles and laughs that made Orson laugh harder. The giggles were so genuine, so un-selfconscious. He wanted to hug the lad to him. Instead he would squeeze his hand so Ambrose would look his way.

Orson felt less jaded when he was with Ambrose. The world seemed a bright new place with Ambrose in it.

He didn't have the heart to ask the lad to fill his cup when the actors were on stage, but in between the acts, he did ask. He used the time to tell Wessex and Barwick how he came to have Ambrose in his household and to tell them to leave the lad alone. They promised, but it didn't stop them from continuing to tease Orson.

When the play was over, plans were made to meet at the Mermaid. "You will meet the playwright and some of the actors." Orson told Ambrose. He took the lad's hand again to keep him close as they made their way out of the theatre and to the carouche.

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose's heart leaped at the promise of getting up close and personal with the talented individuals responsible for this production - not only the actors he'd just seen bring the delightful tale to life, but a real, actual playwright! He hoped the gentleman wouldn't try to talk to him - he would only embarrass himself in front of someone so adept with words.

Both excited and nervous, he held tightly to Orson as their transport carried them to the tavern known as the Mermaid, where Ambrose knew his master spent many a night gambling and heaven knew what else. Perhaps, tonight, the lad would find out what else. He only hoped that the earl wouldn't leave him too much to himself.

The place itself was noisy and chaotic, but as they entered they seemed to pass straight through the worst of the chaos to a large room in the rear of the building, which seemed to be set aside for only certain patrons. It was here that many of the nobles gathered, some of whom Ambrose recognized as Orson's friends, and others who were new to him. Wine and ale flowed freely, and before long the actors began to arrive in twos and threes, to much hearty welcome and applause.

Ambrose hung even more tightly to his master, awed by their presence. They seemed to have hastily changed out of their costumes, though some still showed remnants of stage makeup. One, however, seemed to still be in costume, Ambrose noticed - the boy who portrayed Phebe the shepherdess. Or was he in costume after all? Ambrose didn't recognize the dress as being one worn during the production, and he was perplexed.

He tugged on Orson's sleeve, standing up on his toes to ask his master a question: "Do some players come in the guise of their characters, even now?"

He gestured shyly to the dark-haired, rosy-cheeked Phebe, giggling and bouncing about with his (her?) fellow players.

 

[haremfaery]

Orson enjoyed the way Ambrose hung on him. As they manoeuvered through the throng, he put his hand on the small of Ambrose's back, or around his waist, guiding him as if in a dance.

Ambrose tugged on Orson's sleeve, standing up on his toes to ask his master a question: "Do some players come in the guise of their characters, even now?"

He gestured shyly to the dark-haired, rosy-cheeked Phebe, giggling and bouncing about with his (her?) fellow players.

Ambrose's warm breath across his ear sent a frisson down Orson's spine. "Ah," he waved at the actor. "That is William Phillips, but she prefers to be called Belle. She is one of the boy players, apprenticed to the Lord Chamberlain's Men. I saw her play Juliet when she first joined the company. She'll play the girl's part until her voice breaks. Though if she could be a girl in truth, she would leap on't. " Orson lowered his voice, "Do call her Belle and speak to her as if she were indeed a girl."

Belle bounced over to the pair in high spirits after performing. Orson pressed a few pennies into her hand which she tucked into her padded bodice. She gave him a cheeky grin and a curtsy. "Lord Camberwick, so good to have you back in our company." She looked at Ambrose, "Who is this who shines like the sun in a summer sky?" She turned her grin full on Ambrose. "I think there were two Ganymedes on stage tonight and this the fairer of the two."

"Belle, let me introduce my new yeoman, Ambrose."

Belle held out her hand to Ambrose as if she were a noblewoman. "Well met, Yeoman Ambrose."

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose had certainly seen young men dress in women's clothing before today, but never had he considered that a man would do so for the inherent pleasure of it. For most of his life he'd been mocked by other boys for not being 'boyish' enough, and he'd taken for granted that having feminine qualities must be a negative thing. Here was one who had been born a boy but wished otherwise, embracing and emphasizing his girlish traits. It was inescapably charming and made his heart ache in a lovely way. He found himself grinning with delight for reasons entirely other than the extravagant compliment Belle was bestowing upon him.

If he hadn't had to worry constantly about protecting himself as a boy, could he have grown up something more like this William/Belle? He felt somewhat ashamed of himself for ever taking offense at being called pretty.

"Hail and well met... fair Belle," Ambrose replied, trying to remember everything he had been taught, as well as observed, with regard to appropriate greetings. He took the offered hand and dipped down to brush his lips across it, noticing in the process how slender and pale Belle's hand was. He could easily have been convinced that Belle was every inch a lady.

"You are far too kind. It's my first time at the theatre. You were... very fine. Very... very fine."

Feeling like a dolt, Ambrose looked for a better word than 'fine' - he examined his memory for something fancier.

"Magnificent!" he quickly added once the word had come to him.

 

[haremfaery]

"His first time at the theatre?Not just the Globe, but any theatre! Shame on you, milord." Belle tsked and looked at Orson. "We are to present a new play to the queen for Twelfth Night. I'm to be Viola, a girl who is shipwrecked and is counseled to dress as a boy for her protection. She becomes a retainer to Lord Orsino." She smirked as if she knew something that Orson didn't.

She turned back to Ambrose and fluttered her eyelashes playing the coquette. "You flatter me, Yeoman Ambrose. And I love you for it." She leaned close and got on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

They were interrupted by cheers as an older balding man entered. "Master Will! He called out, then he leaned down to Ambrose. "That is the playwright, William Shakespeare. Let me introduce you." He once again negotiated the throng with Ambrose.

He pressed a shilling into the playwright's hand. "Excellent play, Master Will. I have not laughed so in a long while. And my yeoman--'Sblood, I thought he might fall off his chair from too much merriment."

"I did call it As You Like It for a reason. It has all the elements that pleases the audience." Will sounded a bit jaded. "But look you! Handsome as ever and still no wife? What have I told you? Do not let your image die with you. You deny the world a multiplication of your fine looks."

Orson scoffed. "I am not ready to take a wife. I've more wild oats to sow." Orson smiled. "Enough of this. We have chewed this bone before. Meet my new yeoman, Ambrose. He enjoyed your play very much."

William's eyebrows went up at the sight of the lad. "What a fair youth, you have found. Is he the source of the laughter I heard from the side of the stage? What a breath of summer you are, with your golden locks."

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose turned bright red when Belle kissed his cheek. He had so many questions about Belle that he wasn't sure he could ask. He was silently torn between his curiosity and his concern for being polite when there was a bit of an uproar at the arrival of the mind behind the production.

Shifting to a new curiosity, Ambrose stood on his toes, straining to get a view of the much celebrated man, but once he finally came into view, the lad was surprised to see that the man looked perfectly ordinary.

He felt a sense of pride swelling in his chest when the bard greeted Orson, making flattering comments about his looks. Somehow it made Ambrose happier to hear his master praised than to receive praise himself. The blush immediately returned to his cheeks the moment Shakespeare shifted his eyes from Orson to himself.

A bashful smile twitched at his lips. Had the writer actually heard him laughing? A breath of summer? Could he truly be deserving of such flattery?

"Well met... Master Playwright," he stammered. "What a gift you have for words. I am hardly worthy of them."

 

[haremfaery]

"Sweet Youth, you are most worthy of all the words. Oh, what a pretty Muse you might become. How may I praise your worth with modesty?" Will grinned. "Lord Camberwick, your yeoman has me composing extemporaneously."

Orson chuckled. "Were I a poet, I might write odes to Ambrose as well." At this rate, Orson could let others woo Ambrose for him.

Bell pouted. "How fickle men are going from one pretty face to another."

"Then why don't the two prettiest here get some refreshments," Orson nodded toward the table spread with food and pitchers of wine, "While I speak to Master William." He leaned into the man and lowered his voice. "If ever you loved me, I need your help."

The two walked away. Belle took Ambrose's arm. Another noble followed in their wake dressed in tawny and straw velvet. "What a lovely pair you make." He made to step between them. "Bookends to make my thick tome stand straight."

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose was speechless at the bard's spontaneous poetry. He could not imagine how he had inspired it, but he was quite enjoying all this attention, even if he was also relieved to have a means of escape from it.

He felt reasonably comfortable with Belle, enjoying her hand on his arm as well as the fascinating thought of the boy-parts that hid beneath her skirts and his secret curiosities about whether she bedded men. So many questions, none of which he had the gall to speak aloud.

He looked up with surprise at the sudden intimately close presence of a gentleman he hadn't met before. He wasn't sure what the man meant about bookends, but there were so many things that slipped past Ambrose.

"M'lord?" he spoke up, trying to be as polite as he could, though he stole a glance toward Belle, wanting to see how at ease she was so he could gauge how he ought to react.

 

[haremfaery]

Belle boldly looked the noble up and down. "I do not think bookends will starch your wilted pages, my lord ... ?"

"Cambria. Henry Milton, Earl of Cambria." He gave them an oily smile. "Perhaps I began on the wrong foot. I would trade angels* for you two cherubs." He hefted his coin purse to make it jingle.

"I beg your pardon, Lord Cambria, I think you have mistaken me for a 'common woman.' I am far from common." Belle laughed. "Fly away with your angels. We have no desire for them."

Poor Ambrose looked like a lost lamb. Belle stepped past Cambria and took his arm. She led him away to the groaning board. "The earl thinks to make whores of us. I am no man's whore. Although I do have ... patrons." She giggled. "I would happily have someone like Lord Camberwick as a patron. So handsome, is he not? But I am not exactly to his liking. He treats me like a sister."

__________
*An Angel was a gold coin worth 6 shillings, 8 pence.

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose's eyes widened when Belle clarified the man's intent. Was Cambria truly trying to pay to use them, as if they'd been displaying themselves on a street corner? He knew nobles could be bold, but this still surprised him.

For a moment he considered telling Belle that his own mother had been a "common woman", but perhaps it was best to keep that to himself for now.

"My master is... indeed handsome," he agreed in a distant, somewhat dreamy tone. "Surely he has all the lovers he wishes, angels or no angels."

He gave Belle a curious look at the talk of patrons. In context, it sounded like she was referring to lovers, but would Belle, presumably with the body of a lad beneath her skirts, actually look for such attention from men? Would it be only a game of pretend, a little light sport, sweet words and kisses, as opposed to the violent acts he had now and then witnessed men with monstrous tastes inflicting on lads in dark alleys?

Ambrose paused to select a tempting looking pastry from the laden table before asking bashfully, "What mean you by... 'patron'?"

 

[haremfaery]

"My master is... indeed handsome," he agreed in a distant, somewhat dreamy tone. "Surely he has all the lovers he wishes, angels or no angels."

Belle shrugged. "Lord Camberwick was like a bee going from flower to flower. He always had someone on his arm. Mostly men, sometimes women." She leaned in conspiratorially, "I was told that he and Master William were lovers before the earl's father died. However, these last weeks, he has been mostly alone. And now he is here with you. Methinks you dote upon your lord the way he dotes upon you." She sighed making her false bosom rise and fall in a dramatic fashion.

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose watched her curiously, still fairly lost as to exactly what was meant by "patron" and "lover" and everything in between. If they had been talking of men and women only it might have been less confusing for the lad, and he felt increasingly embarrassed, beginning to feel as if there was something everyone in this room knew but him.

"I am fond of him," he admitted between bites of various sweets. "He has been very sweet to me. Surely you do not mean to say that we are... lovers? Are we?"

His cheeks went dark as he admitted to just how ignorant he was. At least Belle had not made sport of him. He leaned closer to whisper to her:

"What means this, that he and the playwright were lovers? How is it... known? You mean more than that they are friends who... are affectionate with one another?"

 

[haremfaery]

Belle blinked at Ambrose. "Are you saying that you aren't lovers? But ... the way he looks at you ... the way you blush when you speak of him. The way he touches you, his hand on your waist ..."

She looked him over again while popping a piece of hard cheese into her mouth. "By my troth!" She lowered her voice, "Art thou yet a ... virgin?" She covered her mouth to hide her grin. "Methinks your education is lacking, Ambrose. But I could teach you--" She gave him a wink and then decided should probably change the subject.

"As to your lord and Master William, they were obvious that their affection was more than mutual respect. Lord Camberwick gave him gifts. Master William wrote him some rather ardent sonnets. Or so I've heard." She warmed to the gossip. "Lord Camberwick, it seems to me, likes men as well women. I have seen him with both. Of late, however, I have not seen him with anyone on his arm--until today."

 

[tamgreen]

Ambrose's eyes wandered, trying to find his master and the playwright in the crowd. Had they truly been in some sort of romance? And was romance what his master now sought with him? More than romance?

Belle surely spoke of sex when she spoke of educating him, but he thought he knew more than enough of the subject. And he'd seen enough to doubt that what men inflict upon desperate or unwilling lads was nothing a poet would compose sonnets about. Yet, there remained some part of it he was obviously missing, and it brought a blush to his cheeks, especially after her apparent shock over his sexual inexperience. He turned his gaze back to Belle.

"Mean you to say... you think my master has buggered me?" he whispered, looking slightly horrified.

"How can any man do that to someone they have any fondness for?"

 

[haremfaery]

"Oh, Ambrose." Belle touched his arm. "You make it sound so crude. It's unbecoming. When fondness turns to something more passionate, how else may men please each other? I quite like taking the woman's part." She wiggled her bottom a little.

"But you aren't his ingle after all, then? The two of you have never ... ? He hasn't touched you? You haven't used your mouth on him?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Chaste. The two of you are chaste?" Belle could not imagine anyone having Lord Camberwick's attention and not responding in kind. But then she had been infatuated with him since she first saw him. "You must be very special to Lord Camberwick."