The Duke's Companion Ch. 01

Petyr entered the tastefully decorated ballroom and paused as he took in the polished marble floors and the string quintet in the corner. He immediately ignored the simpering looks of the diamonds of the first water who seemed able to sniff out the men with the largest incomes. The Cunningham's ball was a bore.

As quickly as possible he retreated to the one place he thought he'd be safe from inane conversation and meddlings mamas.

The cardroom was hazy from the smoke of several cigars and men played in small groups around the room. Petyr didn't know how best to find someone to speak to when everyone seemed to have already formed their circles of acquaintances. He was debating whether to leave the whole affair when a man walked up to him and held out his hand.

"Marcus Avington, Marquis of Alton." The Marquis was an attractive man, Petyr thought absently. The same impressive height as Petyr with dark hair and thoughtful brown eyes.

The blunt introduction soothed Petyr's nerves. After getting to London he had come to loathe introductions. They seemed simply an excuse for who ever was introducing themselves to go on and on about themselves without end. A man of simple words was a more than welcome reprieve. Petyr introduced himself and they slowly began a conversation, finding each other's plain speech made them get along quite well.

"It seems we are both odd men out tonight." He said quite some time later as he surveyed the room, taking sight of someone he had not noticed before.

Petyr watched the man smoking on the other side of the card room. He was small with a lithe body that hinted at a restrained gracefulness. Petyr wondered what would be like to see him dance; he was sure that the sight would be beautiful.

"Who is that?" His words were still accented with remnants of his native tongue, but his English was perfect. His mother had made sure of it, tutoring him in the language of his father even as she wasted away in their country house.

Russia seemed like such a distant memory now...

"My brother, Calvin. The Earl of Carlisle." Marcus spoke slowly as if he measured each word before it passed his lips. Alton's voice was serious but warm as he spoke of his brother. It made Petyr acutely aware of how alone he was. No brothers or sisters, his parents dead.

He had to forcibly turn his thoughts elsewhere.

"He seems young enough to be out with friends. Going to clubs and ruining women. Why bring him here?" Petyr asked curiously even as he admitted reluctantly to himself he was glad that the Earl had come.

It was rare he indulged himself by drinking in the sight of a beautiful man like his throat was parched and on fire. And Calvin was definitely beautiful.

The same dark hair and brown eyes as his brother, but a more delicate bone structure. Elegant and tempting, from the fullness of his lips and the length of his lashes to the quiet air of confidence surrounding him.

But what was driving Petyr to distraction was something inscrutable about him. It made Petyr want to take him home and learn every inch of his body and soul until he figured it out. It was a strange desire, one Petyr tried to ignore.

"He is thirty six years old, though he might not look it." Alton turned away from watching his brother and looked at Petyr with the barest hint of a smile. "He is a good man." That seemed enough for Alton because he fell silent again. Petyr admired him for that. Not having that insecure need to fill the silence with useless chatter.

They remained on the far side of the room, sipping their drinks and discussing everything from politics to why Petyr was here.

"I recently inherited my father's title and moved to London." Petyr didn't mention that the only reason he did inherit because his father had no legitimate children, not even a nephew to take the title instead.

He was sure his father hated the fact that his half Russian bastard would take his estates and his seat at the House of Lords.

Marcus didn't inquire any more details and simply continued to discuss a recent bill dealing with the homeless. It was only a few minutes later that his brother decided to join them, apparently tired of keeping his own company.

"Shall we leave now, brother?"

The Earl's voice was even and low, soothing in a way that most people would overlook. In their need for drama or humor in a conversation, people in London needed such fast paced conversation to keep themselves occupied. he Earls slow drawl would no doubt grate on their nerves.

Petyr found the Earl's voice more refreshing than anything he'd heard or seen since he arrived in the bustling city.

When he turned his warm brown gaze to Petyr, the Earl didn't avert his eyes. Didn't shy away from the intensity of the stare of a man easily twice his size. Petyr looked over this man who was staring him down without batting an eye and nearly smiled. Many men hadn't been able to hold Petyr's stare for more than a moment. When he took too long to speak the Earl watched him intently.

"Tell me your name." The command seemed natural for him to give, and Petyr found himself strangely at ease as he obeyed.

"Petyr Miskov, Duke of SinClair." The Earl seemed pleased with his answer, clipped as it was. There was a gleam in his eye that made Petyr feel off balance. Carlisle is pleased with me.

He didn't know how he knew, or why it should matter to him that Carlisle seemed pleased. And it was that vague sense of not knowing that left Petyr questioning himself.

"Calvin Avington, Earl of Carlisle." Carlisle only nodded seemingly distracted, his brown eyes focused on studying Petyr for a long moment. What did Carlisle see when he looked at Petyr?

"Marcus, a friend of yours?" Carlisle turned to his brother who had been watching their exchange with his usual thoughtful expression. Petyr found it surprising they spoke so informally with each other. Especially in a society founded on rigid rules and regulations on appropriate behavior.

The Marquis took a moment to respond, considering both Petyr and his brother before he responded. "Time will tell."

Petyr let a wry smile curve his lips. He wasn't surprised in the slightest by Alton's blunt response. From what he knew of the man since meeting him, Alton was a painfully honest man. Petyr appreciated honesty in a place like London. A place where no one seemed to say what they meant and everyone was expected to figure out their intentions anyway.

Carlisle wasn't surprised either, and merely repeated his earlier question. "Shall we leave?" He addressed his brother but his eyes didn't leave Petyr. That stare. Something about the way Carlisle looked at Petyr made him feel that vague sense of something that left him feeling flushed and off balance. He didn't know what to make of it.

"Yes, we've stayed long enough." Alton nodded at his brother who said a quick but respectful goodbye to Petyr before heading out. But it was with one last look over his shoulder as if he simply couldn't look away from Petyr. Alton turned to Petyr with wry amusement in his eyes though his face remained the same somber mien it seemed to always be. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again, SinClair."

"I'm sure we shall. It was nice to have a decent conversation for once." Petyr said honestly. He knew Alton wouldn't mind his bluntness about his distaste for the usual vapid conversation that occurred at balls such as this. Alton took his leave as well shortly after. Petyr left as well after he realized the conversation with Alton and his brother had been the only interesting thing at the event.

In his carriage on the way back to his new estate, he allowed himself the indulgence of thinking of the beauty of Carlisle's brown eyes and mellow voice.

Calvin found himself thinking of the handsome foreigner Marcus had been speaking to much too often. His brother even began commenting on his absent mindedness.

At soirees and balls that his brother dragged him to he found himself looking for the towering man. Looking for the pale blonde hair and piercing jade eyes that had stuck in his memory. He spent weeks waiting for the man to show his face in Society again.

And then one day, he appeared at small get together hosted by a newly married woman whose name Calvin couldn't remember. A handful of nobility gathered in her drawing room in the early afternoon and there were small cakes and sandwiches served on the sideboard. Calvin had been waiting in a corner until it would be acceptable to leave without seeming rude. Just as he had been about to ask his brother if they could depart, the Duke of SinClair made his entrance.

He was a veritable mountain of a man. With wide shoulders and a well muscled physique that was only heightened by the severity of his black and white clothes. He immediately made his way to Marcus and Calvin, not bothering with pleasantries that most Englishman seemed to cherish so much. Calvin found himself liking the Russian's directness. It was uncommon in London, and therefore all the more valuable in Calvin's opinion.

"Alton, Carlisle." SinClair said once he stood before them, but Calvin noticed that there was a slight pause before the duke said his name.

"Petyr, I haven't seen much of you these past few weeks. Why?" Alton asked without preamble or formality, his dark eyes that were so similar to Calvin's watching SinClair calmly. Petyr, Calvin thought to himself, and found he liked the name.

"Handling the mess my father made of his finances. It sadly left me with little time to revel in London society." SinClair said sardonically and finally turned to look at Calvin. His eyes, Calvin saw in the bright lights of the drawing room, were tired. Why it worried him, even slightly, Calvin had no idea.

"Carlisle." With a respectful bow of his head Calvin almost imagined there was a brightening of SinClair's eyes when he looked at him.

"SinClair. I do say you're the most interesting person to show their face here today. Thank god you saved me from dying of severe boredom." Calvin smiled faintly and knew his voice was teasing but he couldn't help but feel comfortable with the duke already. Something about his calming presence and steady demeanor made him feel like an old friend.

"Glad to be of service. It would be quite unfortunate if something with as calming a presence as yours were to perish." SinClair's lips curved ever so slightly and yet Calvin swore he could feel his heart start to beat a little faster at the sight.

The three of them spoke in their corner of the drawing room for the entirety of the event. Calvin could admit that he spent more time focusing on the faint accent that made SinClair's words so pleasing to the ear.

By the time they were ready to leave Calvin was almost reluctant. It was a novel experience as usually he was the first to leave every event he was brought to, preferring to stay home and amuse himself in his studio.

He knew he didn't want to have to wait another unknowable amount of time just to see SinClair again and enjoy more of his fascinating company. So Calvin extended an invitation for dinner.

"We would be grateful to have you save us the trouble of dealing with other people just to enjoy your company." He said as the three of them made their way slowly to the door on the way out.

SinClair met Calvin's eyes with an unexpected intensity as he murmured calmly, "If you wish to have my company, you need only ask." Calvin didn't care that the comment had been made to the exclusion of his brother. He didn't care that he was probably reading much too much into the simple phrase. He only cared that SinClair said it with a sincerity that was undeniable.

"I would love to have you for dinner so I may enjoy your company then." Calvin repeated his invitation for a second time, letting his words ring with more truth. The invitation was a selfish one.

He wanted the duke's company for himself.

"Then I will be honored to attend." SinClair's eyes never left Calvin's until both of them realized at once they were standing in the foyer of lady such and such. Staring at each other in complete and almost intimate silence.

Immediately they looked away, both of them with slightly ruddy cheeks.

Marcus and Calvin made their way to their carriage after a murmured goodbye to the duke. Once inside their carriage Marcus, breaking his habitual silence to question his brother, asked, "You seem partial to the duke."

Marcus knew of Calvin's inclinations. After a 10 year old Calvin had foolishly told their father he was in love with the stable boy (5 years his senior) the whole family found out. Only Marcus and his mother still treated him like a human being after the disastrous fit their father threw.

Calvin usually limited acting upon his desires, as debauched as they were, to discreet meetings with like minded gentleman who he usually never spoke to again. He never felt much for the men he had liaisons with, so it was a shock to him that he seemed so eager for the duke's company.

Of course the duke was an attractive man, and Calvin could admit (if he was honest with himself) that he had found himself wondering more than once what it would be like to feel the duke's lips upon his own. What it would be like so see the duke's beautifully muscled body completely on display, sprawled on his bed for Calvin's own selfish pleasure.

But Calvin didn't want to be honest with himself just yet, he wanted to remain firmly in denial. Choosing to believe the only reason he was interested in the duke was for platonic friendship.

Nothing more.

Even he barely believed the lies he told himself.

"Something about him... I cannot explain it. But something about him makes me want to be near him." Calvin murmured slow, unsure as to his own feelings on the subject of the duke.

They were too complicated and difficult to pin down, so unlike his usual feelings when it came to attractive men. It was more than attraction or lust, and that left Calvin unable to describe what exactly it was he felt when he thought of the duke.

He didn't want to think on why his heart beat faster as he thought of seeing the duke again.