"St. Germain." Warwick nodded to him as he approached. Standing casually near the dancing couples, Warwick had a young man attached to his cock, greedily sucking it as a young woman proved the same service to his ass. His pants were draped at half mast and Aristid smirked.

"Enjoying yourself, old man?"

"Makes a change from attending my wife’s blasted parties. Good of you to invite me." Lightly patting the young man’s head, Warwick encouraged continuation of the hungry devouring of his cock.

"St. Germain!" Gillian waved to get his attention. "Come over and see the new crop from London."

Though he doubted if he would indulge in the particular style of debauchery now prevalent in his ballroom, St. Germain nodded slightly to Warwick before he moved off in the direction of Gilly. The young man had latched onto St. Germain during the last season in London. It amused St. Germain considerably to provide new playthings to entertain the young man. Gilly had shown himself to be a quick study and quite avid for any new toys he could find.

"Isn’t she a beauty?" With fingers wrapped in a titian cloud of hair, Gilly pulled the young woman’s face to his then sharply bit her lips. A small protest from her quickly faded as the fingers tightened in her hair.

"Very young and lovely, Gilly. Wherever did you find her?"

"Madame Jessup’s. I bought her off the old witch before she had a chance to sell the girl off." If anything, Gilly had learned how to indulge his taste quite easily. "Stanton brought a few fillies. Clean and sweet they are. And St. Claire has been eager to show off the paces of one of the young stallions he just acquired."

From his speech, one could easily discern Gilly was horse-mad as well. "And where is St. Claire?"

"No doubt at the gaming table with Everett and the others." One of his hands casually slipped into the bodice of his companion’s dress, roughly kneading the tender flesh.

Leaving Gilly to his pleasure, Aristid headed for the card room. Some of his guests preferred the higher stakes of the tables over the pursuit of fleshly satiation. St. Claire tended to plunge madly into both. Spotting him at one of the table, nose buried in the cards, St. Germain picked up a glass of brandy from the tray of a passing waiter then stopped at the table.

"Ah, St. Germain. Been wondering when you would show up." Having lost the hand, St. Claire tossed his cards into the middle of the pile on the table.

"I was detained for a short time." Aristid politely bowed his head to the rest of the men at the table. "Gentlemen."

"Deuced good idea to hold one of our parties out here, St. Germain. We’ve staked your track for a race between St. Claire and Finchley. Noon tomorrow." Alvanley waved his thick cigar in the air, punctuating his words.

"Ten to one on Finchley." Something in the gleam of Anatole’s eyes gave Aristid the feeling that the man knew something the rest didn’t. Narrowing his gaze on the young opportunist, St. Germain said nothing.

"Later, fellows. I have more important business to discuss with St. Germain." Standing from the table, St. Claire moved to join him. In a low voice, he spoke as they walked away from the table. "I’ve got some prime ones. Ones I think you might be interested in."

"And what would that be this time? Horses or people?" Though it wasn’t often St. Claire convinced him to buy, he had once in a rare while come up with something that had intrigued Aristid.

"Twins. Two beautifully luscious men. They’re curious about how the other half lives and in more ways than one. I haven’t touched either of them. Thought I’d give you first crack if you want them."

Quirking a brow, he said mildly, "Well, let’s see these twins of yours. I might be interested."