her brother, James. She was barely over five feet tall, her fashionably styled hair a pale gold, and her eyes were the same bluish-green as her high-waisted gown. Her figure was slender where her brother was wide and muscular. Her complexion was creamy, her nose small and pert, with rosy cheeks beneath high cheekbones, where James’s countenance was rugged and tanned from years of coping with the outside elements. Her mouth—dear God, Bethany had a mouth that was surely meant for sin. Plump red lips which Julius could easily imagine stretched about his cock as it was sucked down her long and slender throat.
Family likeness or not, there was no denying this was James’s sister, Julius recalled, disgusted with himself for having such lascivious thoughts about her. He had known James for only a week or so, but their new friendship meant he could not lust after the other man’s sister. It simply was not done.
Except…
James himself had fallen in love with their friend Benedict’s sister. That love was the very reason for them being here to reclaim James’s title.
Which did not make it acceptable for Julius to fall in lust with James’s beautiful younger sister. His friend’s very young sister, Julius reminded himself sternly, knowing himself to be fully thirteen years her senior.
The same difference in age as Bastian is to his wife, Abigail.
The same difference in age as Gabriel is to his wife, Victory.
The same difference in age Benedict is to his soon-to-be wife, Chloe.
Perhaps, Julius acknowledged stiffly, but that did not make his own instant feelings of lust toward Bethany Metford any more acceptable.
He was here on a mission, and whilst part of that mission was to now reunite James with his sister, it was not an invitation for Julius to feel an instant desire for her and want to devour every delicious inch of that young lady.
Which Julius would be telling his cock most sternly once the two of them were alone.
He held back a smile at how ridiculous his thoughts had become. He did not talk to his cock, sternly or otherwise. It was utterly preposterous of him to—
“—bit out of your way in Suffolk?”
Julius was jolted back to an awareness that his host was speaking and he hadn’t been listening. Hopefully, his reply would be a fitting one. “I paid a belated duty Christmas call on a maiden great-aunt who lives in Lowestoft. But as we drove through Lavenham, my carriage hit a rut in the road, and we broke the back axle. The smithy in the village assures me he can fix it, but that it will take several days.”
Metford nodded. “Johnson is very good.”
“Rather than sit about the inn all day with nothing to do but converse with my valet, I decided to go for a ride,” Julius continued lightly. “Then I remembered you live in the area and decided to call upon you. I hope I am not intruding?” The last was said only as a nod to politeness. As the wealthy and powerful Earl of Andover, Julius’s actions might not always have Society’s approval, but as a close friend of the Prince Regent, his company would never be openly shunned either. Certainly, a social whore like Adrian Metford would never refuse him.
“Not at all.” The older man, very tall and thin, with iron-gray hair, and a marked similarity to his nephew James in facial features, had returned to the comfort of his armchair now that his niece had resumed pouring his tea. “The inn, you say?” He wrinkled his nose with distaste. “I think you would be far more comfortable staying here whilst you are waiting for the repair to your carriage.”
Julius feigned surprise. “I could not possibly intrude to that degree.”
“I would deem it an honor,” the other man assured.
“Indeed?”
“Absolutely.” Metford—Julius really could not think of the older man as anything other than his surname when he had wrenched the Ipswich title from what he had believed to be the dead hands of the nephew he had paid to have killed—was barely able to contain his pleasure at the thought of this social coup. Society, ignorant of Julius’s years of spying for the Crown, might view Julius with a somewhat jaundiced eye, but he was still one of the Prince Regent’s closest friends.
“I am sure my uncle would welcome the male company, my lord,” Bethany interjected shyly.
“Forgive my bad manners,” Metford scolded himself as he once again rose to his feet. “Andover, this is my niece, Lady Bethany Metford,”