Brook Street: Fortune Hunter by Ava March

over their bellies, and with them was Oscar’s uncle…which meant his aunt and likely Alice and Caroline were also in attendance. He was bound to run into them eventually, though that didn’t mean he was in any way required to voluntarily speak with them.
    One of the gentlemen caught his eye and smiled. Before the man could motion for him to stop, Oscar gave him a friendly tip of the head and continued on, toward the far end of the ballroom, where he found a somewhat out-of-the-way spot with an unobstructed view of the dance floor.
    He could seek out Parker for a chat—he’d seen the man arrive a good half hour ago. Or he could survey the fare in the supper room, or slip out the doors to the terrace and escape the heat for a moment. But he’d rather wait.
    Shoulder resting against the column behind him, he had just settled in when Radcliffe’s tall form rounded a nearby cluster of guests.
    “Evening, Woodhaven.” The man took up a place next to Oscar. “I’ve heard you have taken in a house guest.”
    “Yes. Julian Parker. He’s Parker’s cousin.”
    Radcliffe nodded once. “Met him a few days ago.” Bringing his glass to his lips, he took a sip of whisky. “What time does he retire for the night?” he asked, slanting Oscar a glance.
    A glance Oscar recognized. “Radcliffe, I have a guest.”
    “Upstairs then?” he countered in an undertone. “The Hunts have a nice reading room. Very quiet. Rarely used.”
    “Except by you?”
    “Perhaps by us.”
    Radcliffe was nothing if not persistent when he was of a mind to get a man in his bed…or bent over the arm of a couch, or pushed up against a bookshelf. A week ago Oscar would have accepted his offer without hesitation. Now though?
    As if of its own volition, his gaze strayed to the dance floor, to Julian, handsome as ever in black evening attire. His dark hair was combed back, providing no distraction at all from his perfect features. The straight line of his nose, his chiseled jaw and his beautiful mouth.
    That gorgeous man had actually sucked him off last night. Then after they had returned home, buggered him until he’d been reduced to incomprehensible moans.
    A shiver of delight raced up Oscar’s spine.
    “I’m not much for reading a book tonight.”
    Radcliffe opened his mouth then shut it. A slight furrow on his brow, he looked to the dance floor, then back to Oscar and to the parquet floor again. “Ah. He’s that sort of guest, is he?”
    Heat rushed up Oscar’s neck, stinging his cheeks.
    Foolish to be embarrassed. Above all, Radcliffe was his friend, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t know Oscar preferred men. Radcliffe had also always been open about his dalliances with others. So there was no reason whatsoever for Oscar to blush simply because Radcliffe suspected he was dallying with Julian.
    And he trusted Radcliffe to keep such knowledge to himself. The man might have intimate knowledge of most every gentleman under the age of forty who was open to male partners, but he was always discreet. Likely kept more confidences than anyone else in the ton.
    Wishing to turn the conversation away from his choice of bed partner, Oscar asked, “Have you been down to Sussex of late?” Radcliffe had been raised by his grandparents and occasionally visited his grandfather in the country.
    “Not of late.” He took another sip of his whisky, his gaze going back out to the dancers. “I hear he is one of the Lord Albert Parker Parkers.”
    Oscar’s hackles rose, stiff and bristly. “And he’s newly returned from Philadelphia. I’m certain you’ve heard every bit of gossip about his family.” At twenty-eight years of age, Radcliffe was old enough to have been in Town when the gossip was fresh, and to have heard it firsthand. “He, however, is not his grandfather or his father.”
    Radcliffe arched an elegant brow. “If you insist.”
    “I do insist.”
    A shrug, then Radcliffe said, “He appears to be well received.”
    If Radcliffe thought