A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (46 page)

“You have to want to live,” Theo said to the captives. “I will do my best to remove the obstacles in your path, but it is you who must walk the path. Do you understand?” The captives all understood. The light of passion was rekindled in their dull eyes.

The girl was alive but insensible. Dooley lifted her to her feet but she would not stand on her own. She wore nothing but the lurid kimono and a flimsy chemise. Dooley judged her quite beautiful.

“Oh, who cares about the girl?” Henry said petulantly. “The girls never stick around. No one will even remember her next month, so I don’t understand why they bother including her at all.”

“There must be some boys who like the idea of a romance,” Martin offered gently. “It
is
a more traditional outlook, after all.”

“Hmph.” Henry sulked and ate another piece of gingerbread.

Passing through the gruesome surgery, the captives armed themselves with any sharp instruments they could find. They met resistance at the top of the staircase and from there fought their way out of the house in heroic style. Of their large party, only Theo really knew anything about fighting and, while Dooley was proving valuable, he was still mostly untested, and hampered in his movements by the need to support the beautiful girl, who was growing more sensible by the minute but remained a liability.

“They should leave her,” Henry suggested. “For all they know, she’s another mad doctor.”

“An interesting possibility,” Martin said. “You have such a clever way of thinking, Henry.
You
should write a story.”

Henry loved that Martin thought him clever. “I could write one where the heroes actually
do
kiss.”

Martin laughed, pleased by the idea.

Fighting on the main floor of the house, they were outnumbered, meeting wave after wave of Order lackeys, and there was some suspense resulting from the situation, though Henry was confident Theo would prevail, as always, despite the odds. After a particularly close call, Theo fired his gun at the ceiling to alert the men waiting in the lane outside, and as they moved through the endless parlors and suites of the cavernous mansions, they heard the sound of wood splintering ahead of them, Theo’s men breaking down the front door.

The
Dauntless
men fought their way into the house to meet up with Theo and the captives and then they all fought their way back out again. In the confusion, Theo took a knife wound to the chest, a slice across his left pectoral that sent blood sheeting down his shirtfront but did not prevent him from killing the lackey who’d cut him.

Escaping from the mansion, they led the captives downhill to the relative safety of the dockside tavern. Every one of the captive slaves had been kidnapped elsewhere and brought to this place for nefarious purposes. Theo, who knew so well how close the bond between master and slave could be, determined to give help to all who wished to return to their rightful homes. They would not have the luxury of time to deliver the captives to their masters themselves, however; they needed to find Dr. DeSade’s Refuge and end him once and for all. Theo gave ample funds for sea passage to all he had freed and wished them the best.

The girl, however, was coming with them.

“
Why
?” Henry demanded. “What the hell for?”

“Dooley likes her. Maybe she’s for Dooley, not Theo?”

She had amnesia and didn’t know where she belonged, and none of the people in the tavern recognized her as coming from the town. She clearly had some special importance to DeSade’s organization, and Theo believed it possible she might have important information about the Order should her memory return.

The tavern-keeper’s wife gave her a dress to wear and a pair of shoes, and in exchange the girl gave the woman her floral kimono.

They boarded the
Dauntless
with the girl and sailed out of the harbor as dawn broke, with one of the nearest Order locations as destination. George got out of bed—

“The bed they
share
,” Henry reminded Martin.

“Oh, I remember!”

—and cleaned Theo’s wound, insisting that he sit still and let George take care of him. Satisfied that the wound would heal properly, he then helped Theo pore over the Order’s map, looking for any sign of this Refuge of DeSade’s. Finally, with Theo nearly asleep on his feet, George convinced him to lie down.

“Just for a moment, Sir,” George said very tenderly. “Just to rest your eyes.” Theo let himself be led to the bed and George tucked him in.

“That’s it for this month,” Martin said with a sigh. “To be continued. Oh, it’s really getting good, don’t you think?”

“
Yes
,” Henry said, feeling deeply satisfied by the direction things were going at the end. Theo and George taking care of each other, the girl maybe meant for Dooley, DeSade’s nefarious plans taking on more dimension…it was all great.

Martin shoved a piece of gingerbread in his mouth and laughed when it came apart in his hand. Henry felt such affection for him that he could hardly contain himself. He tackled Martin, pushing him down on the bed, getting crumbs everywhere.

“Henry…” Martin tried to sit up and Henry pushed him down again.

“Lie back,” Henry said. “Lie back and have your cock sucked.” He began to work at the placket of Martin’s trousers, feeling Martin’s cock grow hard beneath his fingers. For so long, fictional George had been his ideal of a companion slave, but his own Martin was a thousand times better.

“Lick my fingers.” Martin held out his hand, crumbs and frosting on his fingertips. “Lick them clean and then you can lick my cock.”

Henry wasn’t sure if that had been a suggestion or an order, but he did it regardless, and gladly.

On Saturday afternoon, Henry and Martin walked up to the Briggs house. Henry understood that James should have been home by now, but there was none of James’ sort of havoc in evidence when Patrick opened the front door. The smaller Briggses made up for it, however: Robbie and Teddy shouting at one another and little Edward wailing as if someone had just told him there was no Santa Claus, which was in fact what had happened.

Alice was with Grandma Ida and Mrs. Briggs in the front parlor, next to the Christmas tree, but upon sighting Henry she went pale with mortification and ducked behind her grandmother’s chair. Henry pretended he had not seen her—it seemed the best choice for both of them—and paid his respects to Louis’ grandmother, whom he had always liked quite well. Likewise, Grandma Ida had always been fond of Henry, thinking him a civilized young man and comparing him favorably to her ruffian grandsons.

After Grandma Ida had exclaimed over Henry’s growth since she’d last seen him and complimented him on his choice of slave, Louis impatiently tugged on his arm.

“Let’s go to my room,” Louis said, heading for the stairway.

Henry stood prepared to head down the hall to the game room. “I thought we were going to play billiards?”

“James is in there. We don’t want to bother him.”

“Why not? Is he still mad at me about Halloween? That’s crazy!
I’m
the one who should be—”

“No, it’s not that. Come on. I’ll tell you upstairs.”

Once Louis’ bedroom door was closed behind them, Louis turned to Henry with his lips in a grim line and said, “All right. You have to promise not to tell anyone at school what I’m going to tell you.”

“I promise. What is it?”

“James is in trouble.”

This did not surprise Henry. “James is
always
in trouble,” he scoffed.

“Not like this.” Louis lowered his voice. “He’s been expelled from college for conduct. And he might have to get married to some barmaid.”

“No!” Henry was properly horrified.

“
Yes
. I don’t even know what he did, exactly. Something to do with property damage and the things the slaves were being made to do at one of the parties he organized. One of them was hurt pretty badly, I guess, and the owner is threatening to sue both James and the school. Of course the thing with the barmaid didn’t help any. She missed her monthlies and might have a baby, and he’ll have to marry her if she does. Her family is making a big stink about it.”

“That’s horrible.” It wasn’t just horrible for James, though. Poor slaves. Poor barmaid. Henry darted a glance at Martin, who was bloodlessly pale and seemed transfixed by what he’d heard.

“He’s been holed up in the game room drinking and sulking since he got home last night with all of his trunks, everything he had at college. He’s only letting Joseph go in and out to bring him food. He hasn’t talked to any of his friends, but they’ve been calling for him and no one knows what to say. We’ve just been lying and saying he’s not home yet.”

“What’s your father going to do?”

“Dad’s furious at James for embarrassing him like this. If James ends up married to this girl and has a baby, we’ll be tied forever to some tavern-keeper, and how will that look for Dad?”

Henry didn’t really see why it should matter, but understood that it did. “Not good,” he said.

“He’s ruining Christmas,” Louis complained. “He takes things too far, every time.”

This was entirely true, Henry thought.

Louis turned then to Martin. “You’d better not say anything, not to Tom or anyone, or you’ll be sorry.”

“Yes, Sir, of course,” Martin said, lowering his gaze and looking properly chastised.

Annoyed, Henry said, “Don’t threaten him, Louis. He wouldn’t tell anyway.”

“Maybe not.” Louis shrugged and chewed his lip, preoccupied with his brother’s situation. “But I already
know
he’s a gossip.”

That hardly seemed fair; Martin had only gossiped to cheer Louis up. “Look, maybe we should just leave,” Henry said, fed-up. “Are you sure you even want company right now?”

“Let’s play cards,” Louis said, as if he hadn’t heard. “It’s more fun with four people.”

Peter got the cards and a tray of poker chips down from the shelf and they passed a few hours in this way. Midway through the afternoon, Louis sent Peter and Martin down for some snacks and they came back with slices of yellow cake that Henry did not think were as good as what his own cook made, but he ate his piece all the same. Even with Martin surreptitiously slipping him chips, Henry eventually lost all his markers. Peter was out next. Henry willed Martin to lose to Louis, to give his friend just a little lift.

Peter checked his pocket watch. “Sir? Might I go down for my dinner?”

Louis waved him off, not looking up from his cards. “Go. Eat.”

Henry checked his own watch. It would soon be time for Martin’s dinner, as well. “Martin needs to eat, too.”

“We’re playing, though,” Louis said.

“Who’s winning?” Henry demanded.

Louis did not answer.

“Mr. Briggs is, Sir,” Martin said. “I’ve lost the last five hands.”

Louis frowned at his pile of markers, then Martin’s. “We’d have to count our chips to know for sure.”

“So Louis wins,” Henry said, pretending he hadn’t heard Louis. He stood and said, “Come on, Martin. Let’s get you home.”

Louis seemed vaguely disgruntled at the way Henry hustled Martin out the door, but he did not protest their departure.

On the way home, Martin said, “Thank you, Sir. I’m sure I would have been playing for hours if you hadn’t intervened.”

“I feel bad for Louis,” Henry said, “but that’s no reason for you to go hungry.” He paused and then said, “I noticed you were upset when Louis was telling us about James’ trouble.”

“Yes, Sir. I feel badly for the slaves that he hurt, and for this barmaid, as well. I don’t believe they’d have a happy marriage, Sir, do you?”

“Not at all. I can’t imagine James married, period. I want to talk more about this whole James situation,” Henry said as they walked through the Blackwell gate. “but I guess it will have to wait until after our dinners.”

“Certainly, Sir.” Martin hurried up the front steps and rang the bell and Paul let them inside.

“Hurry or you’ll miss dinner,” Paul said to Martin. To Henry, he said, “Good evening, Sir.”

Martin said, “I’ll see you soon, Sir.” He shed his coat into Paul’s hands and headed for the rear of the house at a near-run.

They had little time to talk when Martin joined Henry upstairs to help him dress, as they were running late—still—and Martin had special news that he wished to impart.

“I’ve arranged a treat for you, Henry,” Martin said, smiling, as he tied Henry’s tie.

“Is it food?” Henry asked hopefully. “Is it—?”

Martin’s grin widened. “
Yes
. It’s macaroni and cheese. I ate so much at my dinner! I feel quite overstuffed.”

“You’re so fat now,” Henry told him, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “I can barely get my arms around you.” Martin laughed and squirmed in his arms.

“Let me finish dressing you, or you’ll be late.”

At the table, Henry barely tasted anything offered to him, his taste buds thoroughly primed for his macaroni and cheese. When he got his macaroni at last, following a
fillet de boeuf a la Rossine
, the pleasure he took in eating it was almost sexual, so closely tied was it to Martin and Martin’s desire to please him. He embarrassed himself with an inadvertent growl that expressed his immense satisfaction, and as the sound escaped his throat, both his parents looked at him with eyebrows raised.