A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (36 page)

Martin knelt with Henry’s cock softening in his mouth, and Henry stroked his hair and bent forward to whisper, “Thank you,” in his ear, as his cock slipped from between Martin’s lips.

“You’re very welcome, Henry.” Martin turned his face up to be kissed, and Henry licked the semen from his chin before kissing his mouth.

They kissed a few minutes before Martin broke away and got to his feet, crossing to the other armchair where he’d placed his clothing. He fished in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his watch. His cock was hard again but he seemed to be paying it no mind.

“It’s near lunchtime. Shall we dress to go down?” Martin cocked his head, expectant. Standing there naked, his tawny hair loose around his shoulders, he reminded Henry once again of the nymphs in the paintings at the museum, and he wished that he had some artistic talent so that he might immortalize Martin’s beauty for some future audience to marvel at.

Henry shook off the reverie. “Of course,” he said, pushing himself up out of the chair and pulling up his drawers. “We should get dressed.”

As he rearranged his clothes, he thought on his sister’s question, and he still didn’t know the answer, if only because he wasn’t sure what romantic love would feel like. He loved Nurse and he loved Timothy and he loved Louis, but he didn’t love anyone else, really—maybe Cora—and of course none of those were romantic loves. He believed he would know, that when the time came it would be obvious to him that what he was feeling was the real thing. He did know that Martin was precious and he’d do anything to keep him safe and close at hand. He did know that the idea of being without him was intolerable.

He watched Martin quickly dress himself, and when Martin recognized that he was being observed, he smiled at Henry with such open fondness that Henry was moved to take him in his arms. He probably didn’t deserve Martin’s affection, but it was his all the same.

Louis had been meeting Miss O’Malley regularly through November and early December, but now, midway through the month, he was souring on the relationship. She insisted on the use of prophylactics, and while Louis could see the sense in this, they interfered so much with his pleasure that he resented her insistence. He also noted that she was depending upon him to provide the little extras for her at the dance hall, food and drink, and felt that she was taking advantage.

What Henry thought was that it was no hardship for Louis to pay for the girl’s drinks, that it was money she likely could not spare, and that it was the least Louis could do out of gratitude for the sex they were having, but he did not say any of this. He couldn’t help but feel that his opinions about male-female relations were uninformed secondary to his own lack of interest in women and imagined that there were facets of Louis’ relationship that were necessarily opaque to him because of his queerness.

“I’m going to cut her loose,” Louis decided. “I’ll find a prettier one, I’ll bet.”

Henry thought that this was too bad and a wrong decision, that Miss O’Malley had been notably enthusiastic about Louis from the beginning despite
his
plain features, and that a prettier girl was
definitely
going to expect Louis to pay for all her extras at the dance hall, but again he did not say anything. After all, what did he know? Maybe he was wrong about girls?

Later, alone with Martin, playing poker on the floor before the fire, he broached the subject of girls with Martin.

“What do you know about girls, anyway? Women?”

“Girls?” Martin lay down two pair and Henry had nothing to show.

“I know there weren’t women around when you were growing up, but were you taught anything about them? Like, on my behalf? For your master?”

“Well, there actually were
some
women at Ganymede, though I didn’t have much to do with them.” He shuffled the cards and began to deal them out. “They were House staff, doing cooking and cleaning and the like, and we weren’t supposed to bother them while they were working.” He picked up his cards and looked happy about them. “And there were the breeders, of course, but we were told to stay clear of them.”

“Breeders?”

“Yes. The mothers of all the babies, the new slaves. Ganymede had arrangements with several women’s Houses. Exchanges, you see?”

With his familial history of failed pregnancies and maternal sadness, it was amazing to Henry that women might be so successful at having children that they did it as their work and he had, of course, never considered this before.

“Do you know who your mother was, then? Or your father?”

Martin smiled and shook his head. “No, I never knew. The female House staff were all retired breeders and we would try to guess which ones might be our mothers, but of course we were never sure.” He cocked his head and looked at Henry expectantly. “Are you going to bet, Henry?”

Henry hurriedly tossed his penny onto the carpet between them. “So about girls,” he began again. “What did they teach you about them?”

“General things, really. General ideas of what girls like. I was a gentle boy and liked what were considered girlish things anyway.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, flowers, little animals, being clean. Things like that. We were taught to be composed around girls, and discouraged from…well, from showing off, the way boys will do.”

“Like my friends.”

“Well, yes. It’s not a slave’s place to impress women. For me, it’s easy to follow that precept; I don’t care about impressing girls. But for other slaves, it’s difficult not to assert themselves and bask in the attention. It’s a mating dance, and it’s natural to want to participate, but slaves have to overcome that urge.” Martin raised Henry’s bet.

“Companions are all so good-looking,” Henry noted. “You all have a better chance of attracting girls, I think, even with the slave marks.”

“Girls do take note of handsome slaves, of course, though they’re not meant to do so. I hear things from my friends, things about girls they’ve met with their masters. Julian is always upsetting Mr. Lovejoy by flirting with girls, and he really should know better.”

“Well, I’m asking these questions, see, because I don’t feel qualified to give Louis any advice about Miss O’Malley. I
feel
like he’s handling this wrong, but I haven’t said anything because…because I just don’t know anything about girls! My sister is only 7, after all.” Henry met Martin’s bet despite having nothing in his hand at all.

Martin showed his cards: a straight. He collected his pennies and pushed the deck of cards to Henry.

“If it’s okay for me to say so, Henry, I think you’re right. I think Mr. Briggs is handling this all wrong.”

Henry felt relieved that Martin agreed with him. “She’s only asking for a little consideration, is what I think, and Louis can certainly afford to treat her. It’s just kindness. It’s not like she’s asking him to get her an account at a dressmaker or pay for her to have a carriage.” Henry had overheard furtive gossip to the effect that these were things his father did for Mrs. Murdock. Henry shuffled the cards and dealt them out.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Mr. Briggs gives too much weight to what his older brother does and says. The older Mr. Briggs—James, I mean—is a bit cold-hearted, I think.”

“I agree.” Henry had two pair, which was an exciting hand for him, and he struggled not to grin at the cards. He had been working at developing a poker face, but had not made much progress.

“I think you should share your feelings with Mr. Briggs, Henry. You’re his best friend and surely he’ll value your opinion.” Martin threw in his penny.

Henry wasn’t as sure. He thought that Louis would in fact discount his opinions because of his inexperience and demonstrated lack of interest in girls, and his efforts would be wasted. In any case, by this time Louis would have solidified his plans for the weekend with the rest of their friends, and probably would have even rehearsed what he would say to Miss O’Malley. Ugh, Henry hated imagining that conversation! But, honestly, Miss O’Malley would probably be better off without Louis and his arrogant suspicions, though with as happy as Louis had been lately, Henry wasn’t sure that the opposite was true. He matched Martin’s bet.

“Do you want to call Mr. Briggs?” Martin didn’t discard any cards and threw two pennies onto the carpet between them.

Henry checked his pocket watch. “They’ll be having dinner,” Henry said, which was true. “You know they eat early. Maybe I’ll telephone later.” He matched Martin’s bet, still happy about his two pair.

“Very well.” Martin laid his cards on the carpet. He had a full house.

“You win.
Again
.”

“If you’re tired of losing, we can play another game,” Martin suggested, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“So you
don’t
think I’ll ever win at poker, do you?”

“Based on the evidence, Henry…no, it doesn’t seem likely!” Martin laughed. “We could learn some other games, if you like.” He shuffled the cards a few times. “Should I deal?”

“Sure. Do you know any other games?”

“Just baby games. Old Maid, things like that. I could ask the others if there are any other good ones we could play. Everyone is so very fond of poker, though.” Martin dealt their cards quickly and picked his own hand up.

“I don’t mind always losing,” Henry admitted. “I just like playing with you.” He had a pair of threes.

Martin smiled at him so fondly, touched. “Did you ever imagine that you’d like your companion so well? I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me how much I’d care for you.”

“Why do you like me, anyway?” Henry had been sitting up, legs crossed, but now he shifted to sit on one hip, his legs stretched out to the side, like a mermaid on a rock. “Is it just your training making you want to do a good job, or do you have some deeper feeling for me?”

Martin frowned, pressing his lips tightly together and giving Henry a sharp look. “It
isn’t
just my training.” He seemed slightly disgusted with Henry for suggesting it and shook his head. “You know that full well. You know I was attracted to you right away.”

“Tell me about the auction again. When you first saw me,” Henry had heard this before, but he wanted to hear it again. He leaned back on his elbows and settled in to be flattered, having lost interest in his cards.

“I saw you across the room, Henry, and I
knew,
even without my glasses. I thought you were so very handsome, and you just got more and more attractive the closer you came and the better I could see you. I had a fantasy that you’d come looking just for me. You looked a little sad and I wondered if I could make you happy.”

“Did you really?” Henry laughed. He had heard this before, too.

“I did, and I thought I could, too! I thought I could make it my whole life, making you happy.”

“You do make me so happy,” Henry assured him. “More than anything or anyone else.”

Martin beamed at him fondly. “I’m so pleased to hear it.” After a little pause, he continued. “On auction day you were dressed so beautifully, and I wondered what it would be like to take care of those clothes. I could tell you were rich, of course—Mr. Paulsen wouldn't have brought anyone to see me who couldn't afford me—but I had no idea…” Martin's voice trailed off as he contemplated the Blackwell riches. “And of course you’re just my type, so dark and handsome. You have the face of a hero.” He smiled at Henry and asked, “What did you think when you saw
me
?”

“You drew my eye immediately. You were the best-looking boy I'd ever seen. You were the only one for me; I knew it at once. I didn’t even want to look at anybody else.” Martin had had a luminescence that made him shine like a beacon in that morass of oiled flesh. Henry recalled Martin standing on the dais before him, the other four boys in his group mere blurs. He knew that Martin's Charlie had been one of them, but he could not recall Charlie's face, only that he had dark hair and olive skin. He had an uncomfortable thought: “Martin, does Charlie look like me?”

Martin looked up from his cards, startled. “What?”

“It's all right if he does,” Henry reassured him, though it wasn't, really. “I just wondered.”

“No, of course not. Only superficially.”

“What do you mean? You’ve said he's dark and handsome…isn't that me, as well?”

Martin frowned in annoyance. “But you're handsome in different ways. Really, Henry, so many people are dark—even Mr. Briggs, and I certainly don't fancy Mr. Briggs.” It was a good point. He continued, saying, “Charlie was my childhood friend, and I will always have fond memories of him, but that's in my past. I belong to
you
. I will belong to you forever.”

“So you're not thinking of Charlie when we—”

Now Martin looked angry. “
No
. Henry, please. Don't you know how much I want you?”

Henry had not intended to make Martin mad. And while it continued to plague him that Martin had had sex with Charlie and Stuart and possibly others at Ganymede, there was no denying that Martin gave every sign of desiring him and enjoying their intimacy. “I'm sorry,” Henry said, genuinely contrite. “I didn't mean to accuse you.”

“You needn't apologize to
me
, Sir,” Martin reminded him, which he knew Henry didn't like, so perhaps they were even, then.