Page 12 of A Very Surrey SFS Christmas

“I’d better go,” said Bea. “It was so lovely of Lady Portia to arrange this. My hair is a bit of a bird’s nest at the moment.”

“Quite,” said Fairfield, nodding sagely, and Bea poked her tongue out at him.

The duke looked briefly startled, before thumping his cane and cackling. “Run along, gel. I’ve spare wigs if the scissors slip.”

Clayton did laugh then, as Bea sauntered away and he shifted an increasingly heavy-eyed David to rest against his shoulder. “You are wicked, Your Grace.”

“I am, aren’t I? Only way to keep the mind sharp, m’boy. Remember that.”

He nodded and made his way out of the parlor, the unexpected advice echoing in his head. Perhaps Fairfield had a point. Since David’s birth, they’d all been too bloody tired and overwhelmed for wicked bedchamber antics. But things were starting to settle down, and Lady Portia had thoughtfully provided an experienced nursery maid. Maddy and Dare made use of the maid; the way the two of them had strolled into breakfast this morning, it was obvious they’d had more fun upstairs than playing whist.

Indeed, some wickedness with his lovers might just be exactly what was needed to set them all back on the right path, and get him painting again.

The exact right time was now.

* * *

“You’ve done a magnificent job, Fenton. Truly magnificent.”

Lord Joseph Fenton tried not to preen at Lady Portia’s reaction to the demi mask he’d handmade for her, and failed utterly. The white satin masterpiece with silver bead and sequin detail, stiffened inside with wire, and with two further pieces of wire stretching back to tuck into her coiffure so the mask rested on her face like spectacles, did indeed look magnificent. Especially with her brown hair. And he could tell by the way she twirled in front of the looking glass, inspecting the mask from every angle, that her pleasure was genuine. “Thank you, my lady. I hope Denham’s mask suits equally well.”

Lady Portia looked down at the black satin demi mask studded with silver sequins she held in her hand. “Denham will look like a pirate,” she replied with a little shiver. “A dashing, swashbuckling pirate…”

“Do you need a moment, Lady Portia?” drawled a wicked voice from the door of the antechamber Joseph had commandeered for his tailoring, and they turned to see Clayton enter the room with David curled against his shoulder.

“Oh, hush,” she replied, but the glint in her eyes told another story, that when Denham returned from the barracks where he’d gone to deliver baskets crammed full of brandy, sweets, oranges, gingerbread, cured ham and other treats for tomorrow’s Christmas feast, he could well be receiving a treat of his own.

Fiercely suppressing a sigh of envy, Joseph beckoned his lover over. “Come and sit, Clay. I have your mask here. Emerald-green sequins, to ah, match your eyes.”

“How thoughtful,” replied Clayton as he settled himself in the chair, careful not to jolt David from his drowsy state. Yet while his tone was light, the hot lust in his gaze was unexpected. Even more so, the hand that reached out and tugged him down for a lingering kiss.

“Oh,” he said, his wits scrambling, and he glanced at Lady Portia with reddened cheeks. “Excuse us, my lady.”

“Don’t mind me,” she said archly. “I’m off to find Denham so we might discuss this mask. But might I humbly suggest you two and dear Susanna make use of the nursery maid? I didn’t lure an excellent woman all the way from London for her to sit and twiddle her thumbs. She birthed eight of her own, you know. Eight! And they’re all grown now. David will be expertly cared for while the three of you…talk.”

“Oh, hush,” said Clayton. “Although I’ll secretly admit to being in favor of the idea.”

Lady Portia nodded. “Then fit your mask and go. Let’s all spend the afternoon with our loved ones…talking. Then Christmas day will be quite perfect.”

And with that pronouncement, she smiled and swept from the antechamber.

“What do you think, Joseph?”

Not wanting to appear overeager, he busied himself fitting Clayton’s mask. Although that wasn’t overly successful, as his disobedient hands kept caressing Clayton’s face and stroking his hair. In truth, he’d been ready to make the suggestion. While his love for David knew no bounds, between a newborn and managing the demands of an ever-expanding textile business, he’d felt a little adrift from his wife and lover lately. He certainly didn’t want to fall into old habits and neglect them in favor of emotionless, transactional business because he found expressing sentiment difficult.

Sure, they still slept together in their rather ridiculous-sized bed, but they hadn’t indulged their lusts since before David’s birth and he missed the intense, passionate connection. He and Clay had been content to wait until Susie fully recovered from the birth, as it only ever felt completely right when the three of them were together. Alas, though, his hand was a very poor substitute compared to the hours of white-hot pleasure in their ménage. Even the thought of resuming such activities made his cock throb unmercifully.

“Ah, I would like that, sure,” he blurted, his Irish brogue in full voice. True excitement, and the carefully cultivated Etonian blue blood accent he used in London flew straight out the window. “Shall we see what Susie thinks? She’ll be back after getting her hair trimmed with the other ladies.”

“Yes,” said Clayton. “At once. My arm is starting to cramp a little.”

Joseph laughed, removed the mask, and helped Clayton ease to his feet. “I swear after a while holding David, he starts gaining a pound by the moment. Or perhaps I need to exercise more. One of the two.”

The upstairs hallway had probably never been walked so quickly; only an aversion to waking David halted them from running to find Susanna.

They found her in their bedchamber.

Wearing nothing but a loosely tied quilted robe and a sultry smile.