Captured by Him ~ The fourth novelette from "Different Desire", a Gay Victorian Romance and Erotic novelette collection

they ask, young sir,” Mr Baker tried to whispered to his master, who clearly had lost his mind.
    “Yes,” one of the other men said , who had overheard the driver , “ j ust do what they ask, young sir , and everything will be fine . ” The men laughed roughly.
    “Take off the waistcoat , too,” the highwayman said , gesturing towards him with the flintlock gun.
    Milton gave him such an icy glare that the summer temperature should have dropped several degrees, but obeyed him with stiff and angry motions.
    “Happy?” h e asked sarcastically and let the waistcoat join the frock jacket in a heap by his feet.
    “Not quite. Take off your pretty shirt as well. I think I will keep it. It does look very nice,” the highwayman said , to the vast amusement of his vulgar companions.
    Milton hesitated. Getting robbed was one thing, humiliated another.
    “You are an idiot,” he informed the other man between clenched jaws as he untied the silk cravat. “Do you even know who I am? Do you have any idea? I am Milton Huntington. My father is the Duke of Huntington , and my uncle is the local magistrate in the parish! This will get you all hanged!”
    There was a short pause of silence before one of the men said in disbelief , “You? You are the son of Duke of Huntington? The richest manufacturer and coal miner in Derbyshire?”
    Mr Baker groaned again , and Milton silently cursed himself as he tore off the shirt in a jerky motion, paying no attention to removing the expensive cufflinks that held the sleeves together. He hoped they would rip off and disappear among the stones and pebbles on the road.
    “Yes. I am,” he admitted and regained some of his composure . Milton calmly straightened his back and lifted his head high, completely refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was indecently bare-chested. He held out the elegant shirt in front of him. “Here, thief. If you want it , at least come and get it!”
    Milton stared at the highwayman in disgust, challenging him. He could see the villain pause, perhaps sensing the trap, but moving forward nonetheless. And then, when he finally was within reach, Milton suddenly flew recklessly at the man, giving free rein to his undammed anger.
    A shot rang out, but harmlessly so ; however , the unexpected loud sound frightened the horses , and one of them reared in panic. And even though Milton was both shorter and much leaner tha n the other man, he still managed to hit him with a well-earned blow across his chin and tackle him to the ground. In fact, Milton was almost starting to enjoy the pure madness and turmoil when he suddenly realized that something had gone horribly wrong on the way. He hesitated for a short second, still straddling the other man, with his fist in the air ready to punch him again.
    The highwayman noticed what was wrong first and swore.
    “That was very, very stupidly done,” the villain said in his hoarse voice, which was tight with anger.
    Milton was almost ready to agree with him as he looked down on his bare chest and saw the hilt of the rapier sticking out from his left side, just by the ribs. Blood was already flowing freely from the wound. His valet would have a fit when he saw what Milton had managed to do to the carefully selected and brushed grey breeches, Milton noted absentmindedly as the fabric started to soak up the blood. Strangely there was no pain, even though the there was quite a lot of blood.
    Was that not odd, that it did not hurt? Milton thought and felt almost giddy. All the anger had left him. Surely a wound like that should have hurt quite a bit, yes?
    “It is rather cold today, is it not?” Milton whispered softly to the highwayman for no reason at all.
    Rea li ty seemed to waver a couple of times before it winked out. This truly must be the worst day ever , Milton thought before the dark veil of unconsciousness crept up around the edges of his world and oblivion wrapped itself around him , and he resolutely collapsed into the arms of the cursing highwayman.
     
    *
     
    Gradually Milton emerged to consciousness again and opened his eyes slowly. He had been dreaming, or at least he thought so. He remembered short sequences of fragmented memories: strong arms around him, holding him tightly on horseback. Someone carrying him with ease, calling at him to stay awake when he was so tired, so exhausted. And then later , a husky voice who gently told him that “This is going to hurt.”
    T hen it had felt like someone had tried