In the end, Stephen shouted several rounds at the White Hart, his need for a stiff drink greater than his desire to be alone. By the time he walked back to Moore Manor, he was comfortably numb. After a spot of supper, he retired to bed.
At the top of the stairs, he paused. His old room was to the left, and if he had any respect left for his father, he would have gone and slept in there. Sir Robert was barely in the ground, and the transfer of ownership to Stephen was yet to be finalized.
“Sod it,” he muttered.
As far as he was concerned, Moore Manor was his to do with as he pleased. The rest was mere legal formalities.
Tonight, he was going to sleep in the master bedroom.
Opening the door to a room he had never been permitted inside before today was a strange experience. For a moment, he wondered if he would sense his father’s presence. That Sir Robert’s long ownership would have somehow left a mark.
His gaze took in the simple dark blue coverlet and the matching curtains. There was a plain beige woolen rug on the floor. Unlike the rest of the house, where gilded paintings hung on almost every wall and in the case of the grand dining room, antlers, and boar heads prevailed, the master bedroom was completely devoid of adornment.
There was no sign of this room belonging to anyone from the Moore family.
This room could exist in a hundred different homes, and you wouldn’t ever pick that it was from here.
His father had always been a man of style and fastidious taste, yet the master bedroom of his family home was so plain that it bordered on austere.
“And yet again, Father, you reveal yourself to be a man who I never knew.”
Stephen shrugged out of his jacket and quickly rid himself of the rest of his clothes. From his satchel he retrieved a cheroot and lit it with a taper from the fire.
Someone thought to light it. Perhaps Granville read my mind.
Sleeping naked at home had only been a recent development for him. During his time as an agent for the British crown, he had always slept fully clothed, a pistol by his side. Even now when accompanying Gus on his yacht to Europe, he only ever removed his boots.
But tonight, he would indulge.
He pulled up a chair and took a seat by the fire. When his bare ass touched the soft fabric of the chair, he grinned. There was something deliciously wicked about lounging around in the buff.
During his tenure as Lord Harry Steele’s house guest, his host had complained whenever he found Stephen sitting naked in the drawing room at Grosvenor Street. Even society peacocks seemed to have their limits when it came to them returning home from a night of drinking and carousing only to stumble across their friends relaxing in their birthday suits.
But with Harry now married and Stephen living out of a small room at the RR Coaching Company offices, his opportunities for lazing about in the nude had of late been few. In the privacy of the master bedroom at Moore Manor, he was going to relish every moment of it.
As he settled in to enjoy his smoke, Stephen pondered the future. Moore Manor was too far from London for him to be able to use it as a permanent base. Like his father before him, this would be a place purely for the occasional visit. Its main purpose was to serve as a means to provide him with an ongoing income. To supplement his earnings from his other career.
And hopefully in time, allow him to do as Harry had done and step away from a life of shady dealings.
The land was fertile, able to support a good head of Southdown sheep whose wool had always fetched a good price with the merchants in Yorkshire.
Granville can handle the estate. Though I might look to close up the house and save some blunt. A small cottage in the village might be more to him and his wife’s taste.
In time, if he managed to cobble together enough money, he might be able to either buy or rent a nice place in town. Somewhere he could invite his friends to come and visit. And after they had all gone home, he would be at his leisure to smoke and drink in naked peace. A perfect plan.
Resting his head against the chair, he closed his eyes. The long, testing day had finally caught up with him. Sleep beckoned.
He opened his eyes long enough to flick the half-smoked cheroot into the fire before settling back to snooze.
Tomorrow he would be on the road to London and back to the fetching Lady Bridget Dyson.
She strikes me as the sort who might be in for a spot of naked lounging by the fire. Or perhaps she could be tempted into something more. Now there is an idea.
Stephen fell into a deep sleep. He dreamt of a naked, fair-haired woman, her legs either side of his hips as she rode him in front of a warm, blazing hearth. She wore a sultry smile as their bodies sought mutual sexual satisfaction.
He couldn’t wait to see Bridget again.