A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel (The Doomsday Books, #2)

by K.J. Charles

Confident, too, excessively so in the circumstances. Rufus eyed him. “Stop me if I’m wrong, Doomsday, but I understand you bear a name of some notoriety on Romney Marsh. I hear your family are a pack of smugglers.” “Were,” Doomsday said calmly. He was well spoken, without the thick accent of this part of Kent. “There is some history to the family, but they operate as respectable traders these days.” “Moral reformation?” Rufus suggested sarcastically. “Lower taxes,” Doomsday retorted. “It makes all the difference.

Rufus had met Sir Gareth, a tall, thin, pale-haired fellow with a peculiar hobby. Beetles, that was it: he’d written a book about the beetles of Romney Marsh or some such thing.

He did it, by Jove!

Doomsday gave another of his slow blinks, which Rufus was starting to suspect were secretarial code for This man’s an idiot.

I love Luke Doomsday

He leaned in, deepening his voice. “And if this is a fraud and you are lying to me, I will make you sorry you were ever born.” Doomsday’s eyes widened. It might have been alarm, but Rufus didn’t think so. It looked almost like anticipation.

The game is afoot!

Doomsday rubbed a hand over his face in a thoughtful manner that hid his mouth. It did not hide the malicious amusement that brimmed in his eyes, and Rufus looked at him and thought, This man likes trouble.

Fvck

“What colours do you like?” “God, I don’t know. Red.” The room was north-facing, with its windows set in deep bays, and the wood panelling meant it was dark even at close to noon. “I’d recommend golds and greens.” “I’m sure I just said red. My mouth moved, and I distinctly heard sounds emerge.” “Yes, but you were guessing.”

Banter that i love

Lord Oxney was so obviously a man who gave people chances: there was a very kind heart under the thick muscle and temper. It made him staggeringly easy to manipulate. Luke made a silent vow that nobody else would be doing that while he was here.

"Yes, only I, the tricksy orphan, can manipulate this hunk!"

“I can’t help what people are saying.” “Like heck you can’t. Does Joss know what you’re about?” “I’m on the Isle, not the Marsh,” Luke pointed out. “It’s not Joss’s business.” “You tell him that,” she said firmly. “If he asks me, I’ll answer.” That was standard self-preservation for any Doomsday, so Luke didn’t argue.

Nice to know Joss still has the power

Miss Berengaria says that’s what communing with Nature is if you’re a proper romantic sort, like poets.” “Sir Gareth communes with Nature all the time, and he’s got enough sense to come in out of the rain.” “Maybe he’s not romantic.

Taking Doomsday on might have been the best idea Rufus had ever had, except for the calamitous parts.

Learning to fly was the best idea I'd ever had, except for all the long-distance falling.

(Rufus had asked how the devil he managed that. “I didn’t shout at him,” Doomsday said, “and I let him tell me all about the family history while we worked, in full detail. I think we reached the reign of Queen Anne.” Rufus had not pressed further: he could see when a man’s eyes held pain.)

Doomsday was an excellent secretary. He couldn’t help how he looked, or smiled, or the way his shameless insubordination tickled Rufus’s…call it, his fancy. And he was waiting downstairs, so Rufus needed to be the responsible nobleman he was and not slaver like some cursed predatorial rake over a man in his employ.

Oh but Luke would be so into it

He knew. He had to know, because that was close as dammit to Shall I read it out to you?, so why the hell wasn’t he saying anything? Rufus had a strong urge to snatch the papers from his hand just to show him he didn’t need any bloody help, and enough self-discipline to recall that, in fact, he did.

Ohh he actually struggles to read? Interesting character trait! And kind of rare, at that.

Doomsday hesitated. “If I might suggest…” “We both know you’re going to, whether I like it or not. Spit it out.” Doomsday grinned at him. “I will of course keep my opinions to myself if required, my lord.” “I’d like to see the day,” Rufus said darkly. “Go on.”

You are the earl, and, well, heirs.” “I couldn’t give two shits for that,” Rufus said, once again forgetting he was an earl, although in fairness, the most foul-mouthed of his fellow officers had been a marquess’s son. “And I’m not courting anyone. Wouldn’t know how to start.” “You could court!” Doomsday said with a touch of indignation. “Perhaps not in the most conventional manner, but you’d have no trouble.”

Luke is offended on Rufus's behalf by Rufus's shittalking of Rufus.

“What’s step two?” “That would be a compliment on the radiance of her complexion, or perhaps the lustre of her eyes.” “Madam, your eyes are as brown as, uh. I don’t know. Bread?” Doomsday’s downswept eyes swept right back up. “Bread?” “I couldn’t think of anything else brown. Hot chocolate? A good beef stew?” “Stop talking now,” Doomsday said, extracting his hand. “And by that I meant: Maybe I should send for an etiquette guide, my lord.”

He felt like an inexperienced terrier thrown into a ratting pit, so swamped by the sheer number of problems that he flailed and snapped frantically to no effect. Doomsday went in like a seasoned ratter: catch problem, break its back, catch the next.

He went through tasks and put things in motion as though he lived to get them done. If he’d been Rufus’s aide-de-camp in the war, they’d have been unstoppable. The difference was, in the war, Rufus had known what he was doing and been bloody good at it. So he wouldn’t have left important things undone or unaddressed, and a competent aide-de-camp wouldn’t have given him this vague sense he was being run rings round by a cleverer man.

Matilda was glaring at her daughter. “Hold your tongue.” “Tell that to Father and you might get somewhere. You’ve both shouted over him every time he opened his mouth. If I were Oxney, I’d want to know why you were bullying his staff. As I’m not, I’ll merely ask why I have to sit and watch it.”

Love Berengaria

Several people looking for her’,” Fulk mimicked unpleasantly, putting on a Kentish accent Doomsday didn’t have. “Ridiculous. She’s your mother. How can one lose one’s mother?” “Careful, Fulk,” Rufus said. “You sound like you’re asking for tips.”

[snort wheeze laugh snort]

“You are insulting the integrity of a man who is unable to return the compliment,” Rufus said. “I can and will do it for him. How dare you? How dare you assume I would bribe or bully to get my way, and how dare you assume he would take a bribe? It is a cursed insult to an honest man, and I am tired of insult at this family’s hands.”

Fuck yeah

The force of rage all but lifted Rufus off his feet.

I fucking LOVE a man fuelled by righteous anger.

“You are a usurper!” Conrad shouted. “The title was meant for me! You don’t belong here!” “Who the devil would want to? Every fucking one of you is worse than the next, you arrogant, whining, inbred pack of scrounging cu—What?”

I'm now wearing a tshirt that says #1 RUFUS FAN.

“I didn’t leave the Marsh until I was nearly fourteen, and then I went to school in Hastings. The first time I saw anything really geographical was when Lord Corvin brought me to his house in Derbyshire. I saw the land rise as we travelled of course, but when the carriage stopped in the Peaks, when I truly understood what a mountainous region looked like and that I had to live in it, I wanted to curl in a ball on the floor and cry.” “Really?” “I felt like being sick. It was awful. They just went up and up. Or one went up them, and then the land went down.”

“Unfortunately, and this is a devil of a thing for a man of my background to admit, I’ve no feeling for cloth or patterns at all. My stepfather despaired of ever making me a draper.” “How fortunate you had the earldom to fall back on.” Oxney gave a bark of laughter. “Yes, it was that or walking the streets. Sometimes I regret my decision.” “I’m sure you would have made an excellent lightskirt, my lord.” That was unquestionably going too far, except that Oxney simply swiped a hand at him, grinning. He gave himself a mental kick anyway. Stop flirting. You tried that and look what happened. Oxney’s hand on his, the brush of lips over his skin—Christ, he’d made a fool of himself, and it could have been a lot worse. Thank heaven his master had simply played along with the joke.

The Earl’s Salon was every bit as dingy as Luke recalled. “Damned if I can see what you’d do to make this cheerful,” Oxney said, looking around. “Well, burn it. A fire would be cheerful while it lasted.”

Luke wasn’t sure either. He’d done well in life by making limitless assurances without worrying about how he’d fulfil them:

Relatable to me, and probably why i like Luke so much.

Oxney’s enthusiasm was a near-physical force, and Berengaria would have to be made of stone to not be delighted.

Also incredibly relatable to me. I also try to improve people's lives by sheer force of joy and enthusiasm, but I don't think I succeed nearly as much as Rufus.

It showed the Marsh, an endless plain of grey-green-brown, studded with gnarled black thorn trees and cut by dull grey dykes. It looked like February, a dead water-land in a dead month, except that over it stretched a rainbow so strong and bright that its stripes were reflected in the water below. Flashes of colour leapt from dyke to dyke, setting the Marsh aglow. It was just a painting. Just the Marsh, lit with imaginary beauty. All the same, he looked at it for a long time with a feeling he wasn’t sure how to interpret, and moved on because he had the oddest feeling, just for a second, that he wanted to cry.

“You should ask Pagan about it,” Berengaria went on, voice returning to normal. “No, you really should. Mithras was a soldier’s god, you see, just the thing for you, Oxney. And a trader’s god too, hence the temples across the far-flung corners of empire, wherever merchants and soldiers went. Lord of the Contract, he was called, and God of the Exchange. You like that?” She addressed that to Luke, startling him. “In what way, Miss Berengaria?” “God of the Exchange. You looked like you liked the sound of that.”

That wasn’t this. That was nothing like this, because while Luke had liked Corvin, he hadn’t cared for him in the slightest. That was why he’d fucked him: because for all his vaunted brains, Luke was painfully aware that he did not love intelligently. So he tried his best not to love at all. He chose as partners men who could fuck with friendliness and part without dramatics, because he had control of his life these days, and didn’t intend to lose it again. But there was still a kernel of him that was a desperate, lost, hungry thing, and no matter how hard he tried to starve it out, it was always there, poking its head out at a sniff of affection, howling for more, making him hopeful and vulnerable and stupid.

Love a character who knows their strengths AND their weaknesses.

“Yes. I see. The lines—a little further, maybe.” Oxney’s voice was rough and his grip had tightened almost painfully. “I get lost when they’re close. God damn it, Doomsday, are you proposing to change your hand for me?” Luke knew he should find a secretarial way to reply, some mass of polite words. What he said was, “Yes.” There was another long pause, and Oxney was so near, his body’s warmth burning across the space between them. His fingers were digging into Luke’s shoulder, and Luke could reach up and put his own hand over them. Just a few inches of space to cross.

THE LONGING!!!!!!!!!!!

Oxney looked equally at a loss, the unconvincing smile fading from his face, as if he’d startled himself with a truth.

People will give so much to be seen and protected and cared for. This emotional shock of Luke caring for Rufus and Rufus saying he would give up his fortune for Luke rings true.

It was his body and he’d use it as he pleased, whether that was with men or with nobody at all.

Doomsday folded his arms. “I don’t accept your authority in this. I told you the truth; if you don’t like it, dismiss me. But the only say you get in who or how or when I fuck, my lord, is—” He still sounded calm, but his chin went up a fraction. “If it’s you fucking me.”

Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh there it is

“Christ. You—Get your damn clothes off.” He clambered off the bed to make that possible. Luke sat up to remove his boots. Rufus went to pull off his nightshirt, and stopped. “Shit.” “What is it?” “I have scars,” Rufus said reluctantly. “Quite a few. Is that bad?” Luke’s head came up sharply, and the look on his face could have broken a man’s heart, so shocked and raw and yearning. “I,” he said, and then started again. “Thank you. Thank you for thinking of that, but there’s no need to worry.”

"Could have broken a man's heart, so shocked and raw and yearning" -- [muffled screaming and crying]

Luke gave a whispered cry, pushing back toward him, golden head bowed. Rufus did it again, and Luke sobbed his name, and he had said mercilessly. So Rufus fucked him harder and deeper, thrusting as forcefully as he dared until Luke was shuddering, thrashing, begging incoherently, and Rufus put one hand between his secretary’s shoulders, put his whole weight on that hand, and pushed him down onto the ancient bed. Fuck me like you own me. “You,” he said. “Mine.”

[chanting] FACE DOWN ASS UP! FACE DOWN ASS UP!!!!!!

“What?” Luke grinned sleepily. “There’s a book, a cross between a Gothic novel and Fanny Hill, but for men’s men. The hero goes through many tribulations, including spending about half the story in a castle at the mercy of a wicked earl. And also the earl’s henchman, and occasionally his groom. Sometimes all three at once.”

Wait whats the book

Jonathan: A Novel, by A Gentleman.

Ahhhhhhh i guess i have to read the other KJ Charleses to get the reference properly

“I do wish to do it again,” he said. “I’d sodding love to do it again, repeatedly. Just not at the cost of your job, or your well-being, or our friendship. I hope you count us friends.” “Yes,” Luke said, voice rather constricted. “Yes, I…have come to do that.” “As

Actually punched the air here

“Some might call that a rather mercantile approach,” Fulk remarked with a curling lip. “Don’t think of it as a transaction,” Rufus assured him. “It’s a bribe.” Fulk stared at him, then gave a sudden, sharp crack of laughter. “You’re a piece of work, coz. You’ll pay up if I smooth your way with the old folk? Well, I dare say I might speak to them on your behalf.”

Excellent

“It would be in their interests more than mine. Right now, I’m strongly tempted to say that anyone who can’t make themselves either pleasant or useful will soon be required to make themselves scarce. Pass that on however you see fit.” Fulk nodded and rose. “Very well. Although, do you know, it’s rather a shame you didn’t address that last to Mother directly? She might have been pleased. It was Grandfather to the very life.”

i laffed

He was considerate in ways that made Luke feel stupidly soft and vulnerable and cared for;

He’d almost cried with relief when Rufus had finally crooked a finger. Come here. Suck me. Bring yourself off while you do it.

Ooooooofffffffffffffff

Rufus had hung the rainbow painting of the Marsh opposite the chair he’d designated as Luke’s, so he could sit and look at it as he pleased. A painting on his own walls for Luke’s pleasure, and nothing about that was fair.

“Consequences? I haven’t seen any—” Rufus didn’t even release his hands. He simply moved with unexpected speed and strength, heaving Luke up, over, and down, so he thumped onto his back on the bed, hands still trapped. Rufus knelt over him, smiling into his eyes. “You will, my End of Days. You will.”

[bites fist] i cant deal with thjssssssssss

As it was his right sometimes to sit with his eyes on Berengaria’s Marsh picture for long stretches of the evening, sometimes to shift position so he couldn’t see it at all. Rufus had noticed that and hadn’t commented, and felt vaguely proud of himself for both.

There were just those other moments, when something twitched behind his eyes, when the confidence slipped and he looked almost furtive. Almost afraid.

For all his talk about how hes not good with feelings, Rufus catches a lot, actually

He checked the bookshelf. There were a few novels, all Gothic trash. Vathek, The Monk, The Italian, Melmoth the Wanderer. Absurd but within the bounds of decency;

Everything had been a lie. Every word. Every smile. Every touch. And Rufus had been so easily lied to. He’d wanted an ally, a friend in the house; he’d wanted Luke, with his wicked laughing eyes. He’d taken every crumb Luke threw his way, and counted himself blessed beyond all men. Glorious Luke Doomsday, changing his hand for Rufus, taking his side, sharing his bed: oh, he’d been so perfect. A wiser man might have wondered about that. Not Rufus d’Aumesty, the blundering oaf he was, led by the nose by a clever trickster. Luke had lied, and lied, and lied, and Rufus had swallowed it all.