Greetings, all! Another weekend is upon us, which means some more Seductive Studs and Sirens!

It is time to return to The Greek Room. This week we get to see things from James’ perspective. For a refresher or to catch up, click here.

James could feel the Greek’s eyes on his back.

He did feel kinda bad for the blighter—James was a wanton eavesdropper and had overheard Christos’ story—but he was still jealous. Six years he’d worked for the randy old bender, come with him up here to north bum fuck Egypt, leaving behind the posh and comfy townhouse in London—and now this bloke shows up outta nowhere and gets a suite! It was horse shite!

Not that this Greek chap wouldn’t be a handsome addition to the household—certainly easier to look at than Charlie the groom. Although Charlie did fuck like a grenadier.

But… if the bleedin’ muck snipe did have somethin’ in with the old man, then it probably wouldn’t hurt to be on his good side. Bloody diplomacy!

James paused on the landing and faced the newcomer. “Look ‘ere, mate. Sorry ‘bout that bit at the front door—old man Evans don’t like being’ disturbed over much. Jus’ doin’ my job, ya know.” He extended his hand. “I’m James.”

“Christos Stefanopolous.”

The hand that grasped James’ was long-fingered, rough and callused. Definitely not the poncey kind of hand that James had expected. “Welcome to Dunbarton ‘All.”

“Thank you, James,” replied Christos, matching his gaze with wide, green eyes.

James especially liked those green eyes. The footman looked at the young man, actually took a moment to see him—and what he saw was quite nice. Perhaps his bein’ here won’t be so bad after all.

Thanks for reading!

Be sure to check out more Seductive Studs and Sirens here.

‘Til next time!

Greetings, all! It’s time for some Seductive Studs!

This week we are rejoining The Greek Room. To catch up or for a refresher, click here.

Robert Evans, Earl of Corbridge, was not a young man—not quite a geezer, but almost. Grey-haired and professorial looking, he wore a polka-dot bow tie, burgundy silk waistcoat with charcoal-grey trousers and coat. Still tall and straight, he placed the book he had been holding on the desk next to the opened letter and came around the expanse of wood, extending a hand.

“Good day, young man.”

Christos had never met an earl. He didn’t know if he was to bow over the proffered hand or to shake it. Lord Evans seemed affable enough, so he matched the handshake. The Englishman’s grip was firm and dry. “And… and to you, your Lordship.”

The earl smiled. “Have a seat. What’s your name, lad?”

Credit: artur84 | FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“Christos, sir. Christos Stefanopolous.” He took the indicated chair, perching on the very edge, despite its plush invitation.

“So Agamemnon is—“

“Was, sir.” Christos interrupted, holding the memories at bay. “He was my father.”

“Ah, I see.” Lord Evans seemed to deflate a bit, as if his years weighed a little more heavily. ”My condolences.”

“Thank you, sir,” the young man whispered. That seemed the millionth time he’d heard those words. Their entire village had attended the funeral, crammed into the small church of St. Sebastian alongside men from his father’s army command. So many murmurs of sympathy, so much sadness. 

Thanks for reading!

Be sure to read about more Studs and Sirens here.

‘Til next time!

Greetings, all! It’s Saturday and time for some more Seductive Studs!

Today we rejoin Christos in The Greek Room. To catch up, click here.

The footman grabbed the letter from Christos’ hand. His lips moved as he read the address. The Honourable Robert Evans, Dunbarton Hall, Corbridge, Northumberland. Duty warred with distaste across the footman’s well-proportioned face. “Wait here,” he mumbled. He turned on his heel and disappeared into the depths of the house, straightening his hair and coat as he went.

Anxiety returned, roiling Christos’ gut. It was a mistake to have let the letter out of his sight. It was all he had—the only thing left from his father. But it was too late to call the footman back. He could only believe in his father’s conviction, in his trust of this man Robert Evans. To distract himself Christos wandered about the entry hall.

Benningbrough Hall, Yorkshire

The foyer was immense. Dominated by a gigantic chandelier, the circular space was larger—and more richly appointed—than any place Christos had ever seen, even in Athens. Enormous oil paintings showed a variety of men and women in all manners of dress, some standing, looking stiffly posed; others astride horses or holding dogs; a few depicted children seeming stuffy and over-dressed. Every surface he examined gleamed with polished marble or gold or silver. The clack of boot heels returned, and Christos scuttled back to his appointed place near the door.

He took the opportunity to examine the young servant. Tall, dark-haired with broad shoulders and a trim waist, he was quite attractive, now that his face wasn’t distorted. Smooth skin and a fine straight nose made Christos curious about tasting the footman’s full lips.

“The Earl will receive you.” Clearly the young man thought his master had gone totally potty to see this stranger who had appeared out of the morning mist. “Follow me.”

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While you’re here, check out When Sparks Fly for a chance to win free stuff!

‘Til next time!

 Greetings, all! It’s Saturday and time for some Seductive Studs! I’ve decided to stay with The Greek Room this week.

We rejoin Christos, standing before the pale, ochre door of Dunbarton Hall:

Christos attempted to relax, but his heart raced while he waited. Surely someone was at home. He was reaching for the knocker when the door opened to reveal a tall young man in a cutaway coat and black tie who squinted into the sunlight.

Christos smiled what he hoped was a charming smile, “Good—“

“Tradesmen at the rear!” The footman sneered and shut the door.

Taken aback, Christos stared at the entrance. He removed his hat, ran a hand through his blond curls, and knocked again.

As soon as the portal cracked open, Christos spoke, “I am no tradesman! I have come a great distance to see Robert Evans!”

The same young man replied, “Lord Evans is not at home… for you!” Again the door slammed in his face.

Frustration and despair surged in his chest. He had no other options. No home to go back to, no connections, no references—other than the old letter in his pocket. Christos vented that misery and vexation on the knocker as if he were beating it through the very wood.

The door flew open. “Oi, mate! Bugger off! Ye’ haf’ no bidness ‘ere!” Anger contorted the footman’s face, and his accent belied his fancy dress.

Christos shoved his small valise across the threshold and dug in his breast pocket. Meeting the footman face to face, he waved a crumpled envelope at the servant. “I have a letter for Robert Evans! I must speak to him!”

Thanks for reading!

Be sure to check out more Studs & Sirens here.

‘Til next time!

Greetings, all! It’s Saturday and time for some Seductive Studs!

Today, I’m stepping away from Summer of History for a moment to share a clip from a short work in progress, titled The Greek Room. This is its opening:

Dunbarton Hall stood like a stone nipple atop the breast of Northumberland.

Belsay Castle, Belsay, Northumberland

The grey pile was a dog’s breakfast of architectural styles, which did nothing to make it less intimidating as Christos trudged up the long, dusty roadway. He’d walked from the train stop—the small shack along the North Eastern Railway line hardly qualified as a station, unlike the grandly vaulted building he’d left behind in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. After disembarking from the Son of Macedonia, he’d possessed just enough money for a one-way fare to Dunbarton.

The dusty road transitioned to a white, pea gravel circular yard the nearer Christos came to the hall. Terraces of grass and flowers interspersed with finely manicured bushes drew the eye toward the large, pale ochre front door. Christos brushed at the dust on his trousers and boots. It wouldn’t do to look too rough shod.

He’d stopped behind a hedge and changed to his better shirt before approaching the great house. He could only hope that no one looked too closely at his jacket and trousers—the mending was all that seemed to hold them together. He took a deep breath. Months of travel from Greece—made more difficult by the war with the Ottomans—were ending here on this porch. He had no more money. With a quick prayer he lifted the lion-headed knocker and let it fall.

Thanks for reading!

Be sure to check out more Studs here.

‘Til next time!