A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (51 page)

“I don’t understand why he doesn’t just shoot him,” Lyle was saying. “And why doesn’t he ever seem to have a gun at hand when he’s fighting DeSade? Or his cutlass, for that matter? Why’s it always hand-to-hand fighting?”

Henry finished chewing his quenelles before replying. “But DeSade is a really good villain, don’t you think? If Theo just kills him, what’ll they do for a villain then? I don’t think they’ll come up with a better one. Besides, it’s not
just
hand-to-hand. Sometimes they have knives.”

Lyle seemed to consider this. “I suppose you’re right about DeSade, but it just seems ridiculous that Captain Drake can’t beat him. He beats everyone else!”

Jesse got the footman to pour more champagne in their flutes and then turned to offer his glass to Russ, who sipped and gave it back with a murmured thanks, and Henry was surprised again. He’d never before seen anyone treat a slave so indulgently for all to see, with such fond generosity, with such a lack of boundaries. He found it shockingly erotic and he blushed once again. He found that he desperately wanted to question Jesse about his relationship with Russ; it seemed impossible that they weren’t actually lovers in a real sense.

Eli raised an eyebrow. “If you’re sharing, I suppose we all need to share,” he said, handing his champagne up to Owen, who drank giving the impression that this sort of thing was nothing new to him, either.

Henry hesitated a moment, then passed his flute up to Martin, who smiled at him and mouthed, “Thank you, Sir.” Martin drank and Henry took the glass by the stem and brought it to his own lips. He imagined his lips were touching where Martin’s had been, and it seemed almost as exciting and apocalyptic as if they’d kissed in front of everyone. He turned his attention to his plate, hoping to hide the reddening of his cheeks by lowering his face over his turkey and cranberry relish.

“What’s in this stuffing?” Darwin asked, apparently noticing nothing odd about the older boys’ behavior.

“Oysters,” Jesse told him, passing his glass up to Russ again. “Don’t eat it if you don’t like it.”

Peering across the table and over Eli’s shoulder at the adult side of the party, Henry tried to see how the adult Wiltons treated their slaves. Were they sharing glasses with them? He wasn’t seeing the entire room, of course, but it seemed unlikely.

The turkey was followed by ham, sweet potato croquettes, broiled chicken, the pleasant surprise of macaroni and cheese, French peas, and a lettuce salad which did not interest any of the boys very much, though Henry took some to be polite. Slaves came to sweep the crumbs from the table and then brought out cheeses and fruit, mince and pumpkin pies, and fruitcake. All the adults had coffee and the older boys were allowed cups as well, including Lyle but not Darwin, whose parents had forbidden it.

“I’m not a baby,” Darwin complained. “I don’t know why they treat me like one.”

While the masters and their children took their dessert and coffee, the slaves went into the bowels of the house for their dinner, which would necessarily be a hurried affair. Henry watched Martin walk away, half a head taller than either Russ or Owen, bending to speak first to one, then the other. After the slaves had gone, the boys lolled in their chairs, feeling stuffed and leaden. Jesse told them about some French poet he liked, Arthur somebody and Henry was only half-listening, wondering what Martin was eating, whether he was getting along with the Wilton slaves.

After the slaves came back to clear away the last of the dishes and the companions rejoined their masters, the adult women went to the front parlor, accompanied by some of the older girls. The men disappeared into the library to smoke cigars. Jesse pushed his chair back and stood.

“Eli, Henry and Lyle come with me. The rest of you go to the nursery.”

Henry remembered what Jesse had implied about
after dinner
and felt increasingly apprehensive.

“Even
me
?” Darwin protested. “I’m not a baby, Jesse. Lyle’s not that much older; why does he get to go with you?”

“Lyle’s 16 next month,” Jesse offered as explanation. “Next year you can come.”

Jesse whispered something to Russ, who headed for the back of the house. The rest of them left Darwin with the younger boys, the next-oldest of whom was a very immature 11, and headed up the staircase. Darwin wore such a devastated expression that Henry almost felt sorry for him, except that he would have been relieved to also be excluded from whatever Jesse had planned.

Once they were inside his room, Jesse locked the door, lit some heavily-perfumed incense and threw a tattered red scarf over his bedside lamp, bathing them all in pink light. Henry felt increasingly ill-at-ease. He was going to have to excuse himself and take Martin with him, but he hesitated, unsure when he might be able to do this without looking hopelessly weak.

Jesse said, “Come look at what I’ve been drawing, Henry,” so Henry went to see, looking over Jesse’s shoulder. It was a pencil sketch of a woman, nude to the waist, lounging on a chaise with her arms stretched overhead. She had the face of the girl from the cabinet card, Elizabeth. It showed a great deal of skill; Henry could see why Jesse was proud of it.

“She didn’t pose for this, did she?” Henry asked.

“Oh, no, of course not,” Jesse assured him. “But I’ve told her I’m doing it, and she’s very encouraging. She encourages me in everything I do, you see.” He smiled fondly at the drawing, as if it were the girl herself. “I’ve been writing her the most pornographic letters—you can’t even imagine!” He thought about it a moment, and added, “Well, maybe you can!” He laughed and nudged Henry with his shoulder. “She just keeps asking me for more, asking for the dirtiest details. I’ve told her she has to burn them after she reads them. If anyone else finds them, I’ll be in the worst trouble.”

There was a light knock at the door and Jesse went to let Russ in, bearing a nearly-full bottle of champagne. “Will this do, Sir?”

“Good boy,” Jesse told him, ruffling his hair. He took the bottle from Russ’ hand and took a swig, then passed it to Lyle. All the masters drank, then the slaves.

Jesse smiled at Lyle. “Are you ready, then? Ready to be initiated?”

Lyle flushed bright red. “Heck, yes!”

Jesse waved Lyle off toward Russ’ attached room. “Slaves, go with him. You know what to do.”

Martin looked to Henry, who shook his head.

Henry cleared his throat. “Martin stays with me,” he said. “I don’t share him.”

“Really?” Jesse looked surprised. “All right, then. Russ and Owen, you go.” He passed the champagne to Henry and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs.

Henry sat, too, and drank deeply, offering the bottle to Eli.

“No more for me,” Eli said. He stretched out on the floor, knees bent, hands behind his head. “I just want to digest for a bit.”

Henry gave the bottle to Martin, who took a sip.

“Do you never share him at all?” Jesse asked, nodding at Martin, who leaned forward to hand him the bottle.

“No, never. I try to stay away from all that.”

“Even with your best friends?”

“Really, I don’t share him. Honestly, Jesse, if I was going to swap him with anyone, I’d do it with you, but I just don’t. At all.”

In the silence following Henry’s words, they heard a fluttery moan emanating from Russ’ room. Jesse and Eli laughed; Henry blushed.

“Fair enough, Henry. I won’t try to convince you otherwise.” He gave Martin a long look, smiling. “I’m sure you get lots of requests, though.”

“Most people know better than to ask,” Henry said, tired of the subject. He found Martin indescribably desirable, of course, but he sometimes thought he would have liked it better if Martin’s appeal were less universal.

After a few more minutes, a rumpled Lyle emerged from Russ’ room with Russ and Owen, both nude. Lyle was wearing a huge, irrepressible grin. Rather than join the older boys on the floor, he flopped face-down on Jesse’s bed. Owen went to lounge beside his master, bending to murmur in his ear. Owen had more chest hair than Henry would have imagined, and his slim body was surprisingly muscular. Russ also looked different naked than Henry would have guessed, his limbs seeming especially well-formed and shapely. Russ stood in the middle of the room and drank from the champagne bottle, tilting it back, his half-hard cock commanding Henry’s attention. His immediate thought was that he’d like to suck it, to know what a different cock would feel like in his mouth, and he felt a flushing heat permeate his skin once again.

“Come here,” Jesse said, reaching for Russ. Russ went to sit by his side, within the curve of his arm. Jesse kissed the side of his head. “Thanks for doing that for me,” he said.

“Anything you want, Sir, you know that.” He smiled at Henry and then Martin in turn. “Is Martin really not going to play with us, Sir?”

“Shh. Henry doesn’t share.”

“It’s a shame, don’t you think, Sir?”

“Don’t make Henry any more uncomfortable than he already is,” Jesse warned him. “The subject is closed.”

“Very well, Sir. Do you want me to suck you, or would you rather have Owen?”

Jesse turned and asked, “Owen, are you busy?”

“No, Sir.” Owen was already getting to his feet. Eli lay motionless on his back with his forearm across his eyes.

“Come here, then. Come help Russ. Show me what you did to Lyle.” He began to unbutton his trousers.

“I should go.” Henry got hurriedly to his feet, Martin scrambling up behind him.

“You don’t have to.” Jesse let the slaves finish undoing his trousers and ran his fingers through Owen’s hair, looking up at Henry wide-eyed and guileless. “You can stay and watch if you want.”

Henry was shocked and aroused in equal amounts. “No, I’d better go.” If he didn’t go, he’d do something he’d regret. “I’ll come and say goodbye before we leave, all right?” He went to the door and fumbled with the lock. Martin reached around and turned it for him and they escaped into the hall. They heard Jesse ask Russ to lock the door behind them and listened as the bolt slid into place.

“Let’s go to the music room,” Henry suggested. It seemed like neutral territory, safe. Thankfully, there was no one else there. Henry sat in the armchair and Martin went to sit on the piano bench, where he picked out a tune.

“I didn’t know you played piano, too.”

“Just a bit, Sir.” He then belied that assessment of his skill by playing something beautiful and lingering with a pellucid calm that soothed Henry’s jangled nerves.

Henry slumped in the armchair with his eyes closed, dazed, unaware that Martin had stopped playing until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Sir? Are you feeling all right?”

Henry put his hand over Martin’s fingers so that he couldn’t pull them away. “Say my name, Martin.”

Martin bent over him, his mouth close to Henry’s ear. “Henry,” he said in a low voice. “
My
Henry.”

Henry opened his eyes and looked up at him. “I want to fuck you so badly right now.”

Martin liked the idea, it was clear. “Maybe, Sir, if we could find a private place…”

Henry shook his head. “I’m too scared of being caught.” Even if they did only what was allowed, it would still reflect very poorly on his entire family if he were found fucking his slave while a guest in someone else’s home. Such bad manners! It would have been different, however, if he’d stayed in Jesse’s room with the other boys, if he’d stayed to fuck Martin while they watched. He shuddered at the thought and shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “My cock won’t stop being hard,” he complained.

Martin laughed and perched on the arm of the chair at Henry’s side.

“So, I like my cousin a lot,” Henry began, “but I don’t quite understand what’s going on with him. Do you think he and Russ…do you think they’re like us? He seems very fond of this Elizabeth, too.”

“I couldn’t say, Sir. He’s a bit of a bohemian, is what I think.”

“A bohemian?” Henry had heard the word, but didn’t know how it might apply.

“It means an unconventional person, Sir. A person with an artistic temperament. There’s perhaps a hint of…of sexual freedom associated with the term, if it’s all right to say that about your cousin.” Martin grinned, seeming to like the idea of sexual freedom, and Henry wondered with a jealous pang if Martin had wished to stay in Jesse’s room.

“Do you think he’s handsome?”

“All of the Wiltons are very attractive, Sir,” Martin told him. “So, yes, your cousin is quite handsome, but not so much as you. At least not to me, Sir.”

“Do you wish I would act more like Jesse?”

“Sir?” Martin cocked his head, his expression the very definition of quizzical. He was doing that thing he did, stalling while he scrambled for an answer, and Henry felt a little annoyed. He liked to think he could handle the unfiltered truth.

“Do you wish I was a bohemian?” Henry tried again.

“If that meant you wouldn’t be so jealous, Sir, then maybe I would wish that,” Martin offered gently. “I don’t like it when you’re suspicious of me. I am very devoted to you.” They both thought on this a few moments, then Martin said, “I don’t need you to draw nude pictures of me, if that’s what you mean, Sir.”

Henry snorted. “I certainly don’t have that talent,” he remarked. “I’m very boring compared to Jesse, aren’t I?”

“You’re not boring at all, Sir,” Martin reassured him. “You’re not as…dramatic as Mr. Wilton, but dramatic people can be very tiring.”

Henry leaned over and laid his head on Martin’s thigh and Martin petted his hair.

After a few quiet minutes, Martin said, “Your uncle is just as you described him, Sir. I can see why you’ve always loved him so.”

“I was afraid he would hate me,” Henry admitted. “After what Jesse said.”

“There may be more to the story, Sir. I don’t think you should take all the blame without first talking to your uncle, or even your father.”

“I can’t talk to my father about anything,” Henry scoffed. “He’s the one who sent Reggie away.” He didn’t want to argue with Martin about his father. “I’m glad you like Reggie.”

“Benjamin is lovely, as well, Sir.”

“You noticed he’s from Ganymede, I assume.”

“Yes, Sir.”