Page 7 of Their Master

Smith didn’t understand how he’d managed to overlook her for so long; she was so much his perfect physical type that she might have been specially designed to tempt him.

Too bloody tempting, as it turned out.

He’d wanted to take Moira the next time he’d gone to Bernina’s—indeed, he’d gone there specifically with the intention of working her out of his system. But, at the last moment, he’d decided to thwart his burgeoning obsession and take herandanother whore, whose name he could no longer remember. Although he’d denied her both his touch and an orgasm that night it had been Smith who’d left the brothel feeling irritable and out of sorts.

And here he was, days later, still thinking about her.

He heaved an irritated sigh. His few months with Jojo had left him raw—far more emotionally bruised than he’d been in his adult life—and he had no interest in repeating the experience so soon.

Obsession was… exhausting.

What he needed was a distraction that did not involve Moira.

What he needed was an evening at home, for a change.

His lips curved into a smile.

What he needed was Luke.

He threw back the rest of his drink and left his study and unfinished work behind.

Knox, Smith’s current valet, was busy in the dressing room when he entered his chambers but immediately came into the bedroom when he heard Smith enter.

“Good evening, sir. Shall I dress you for dinner?”

Smith pulled off necktie and shook his head. “I won’t need you tonight, Knox. Have Luke sent to me and then tell Cook that I’ll dine in my room and that he should send enough for two.”

“Very good, sir.”

Smith unbuttoned his collar and went to his dressing room to deposit his garments on the valet stand Knox kept for that purpose.

The room was huge but spartan, all his garments spaced an exact half-inch apart. Not a stray hair or dust mote sullied the glossy black wood floor.

Smith knew that his servants believed his obsession with cleanliness and order was the mere whimsy of a wealthy man. But he had kept his person and space scrupulously clean long before he was wealthy—ever since he was ten years, one month, and four days old, to be precise.

His mania for cleanliness—and that is what it was, a mania—wasn’t whimsy; it was necessary for his sanity and survival.

But he saw no reason to disabuse either his servants or anyone else of their assumptions.

Smith removed only his coat and necktie, leaving the rest for Luke.

He had considered offering Luke the position of valet after Jojo left, but he was tired of replacing valets just when they began to know his habits, so he’d decided that he would not fuck the next valet he engaged. That had ruled out Luke, whom Smith enjoyed fucking very much.

Luke filled a unique position in Smith’s house: part-footman and part-whore.

He’d first met the other man at the Birch Palace, a brothel he occasionally visited. Once the employees reached a certain age the madam who owed the Birch Palace—a Prussian woman—helped them find private positions with her clients. Many took domestic positions or amorous arrangements, or anything in between. A few years at the Birch Palace turned out men and women rigorously trained to anticipate and satisfy their employers’ every desire.

Smith knew that Luke’s personal preference was to serve—indeed, he seemed toneedit—but he could convincingly provide whatever a master or mistress might want from him: obedient slave, cruel master, or anything in between.

Not only was Luke efficient, intelligent, and possessed of a burning desire to please his employer—in every capacity—but he was glorious to look at, too.

When Luke had first come to work for him, Smith had enjoyed his body almost nightly, unable to get enough of him. But then he had moved Charles into the house.

Charles had taken an immediately dislike to Luke and so—to keep the peace—Smith had dispensed with Luke’s sexual services.

After Charles left his house, Smith had found himself traveling a great deal for business.

And then Jojo had briefly come into his life…

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