Indulgence 2: One Glimpse
Loose Id Titles by Lydia Gastrell
Indulgence 2:
ONE GLIMPSE
Lydia Gastrell
www.loose-id.com
Indulgence 2: One Glimpse
Copyright © October 2015 by Lydia Gastrell
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Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
eISBN 9781623009953
Editor: Larke Butler
Cover Artist: April Martinez
Published in the United States of America
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * *
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Dedication
To all the readers and fellow authors who made my first publishing experience such a joy. You gave me the encouragement to continue pursuing the career I have always wanted. And to my STAG friends for their particular brand of humorous support; they know who they are and only they know what STAG means. ;)
Acknowledgment
I would like thank the wonderful staff at Loose Id for being incredibly skilled, professional, and doing all the nitty-gritty work that would make me curl up into a ball and cry. I would especially like to thank my editor, Larke Butler, whose invaluable expertise reminds me that I am not nearly the grammar smarty-pants I think I am.
Prologue
Harrow, 1799
The young man’s hands trembled as he smoothed his lapels and checked the lace at his cuffs. He had brushed and rebrushed his coat until it was pristine, though the wind whipping around his ears was destroying all the efforts made with his hair. It was the best he could do. He only hoped he looked smart enough, dashing enough. No. He was not dashing. That was reserved for
him. He
always looked so dashing.
So beautiful.
He approached the low stone wall separating the cricket pitch from the rest of the school grounds. Classes had been let out early, and a number of his fellow classmates had decided to use the remaining daylight for a game. For most of them, it was their last year. Some would go to university for professions or intellectual interest, while others would go home and wait to inherit. Each day brought their parting closer, which was all the more reason to go forward.
The boy looked over the field and then the group of spectators lounging against the wall. Fate favored him, for
he
was among the boys standing idle.
Henry.
The other boys called him Cortland, as everyone went by surnames, but he called him Henry, Hen, when they were alone. And Henry called him Sam. It was their little secret, just one among so many. It was their secret to share biscuits after the lamps had been put out and the dormitories were quiet. It was their secret to sit together in one of the vacant instructor chambers, reading or putting on their impressions of their stodgy Latin master until neither of them could breathe from laughing. It was their secret to smile at each other, to mope together when the other boys were cruel, to hold hands when—
The young man, Sam, trembled again, but not from the cold. It had happened last night, the hand holding. He had been reading poetry again from the books his aunt gave him. They were books his father called womanish. Books filled with joy and pain, love and hate, all enough to make a man’s heart burst. And it had. The words had reached inside Sam and squeezed until he could no longer hold back the tears. He had been so embarrassed for Henry to see such a thing, for they had been alone in the empty chambers again. But when Sam had gone to hide his face and wipe the tears away with his sleeve, Henry had taken his hand. Held it. Squeezed it. He had rubbed his thumb over Sam’s knuckles in little circles as he spoke.
“Keep reading, Sam. It’s beautiful. The sound of your voice with those words, it’s beautiful.”
Sam still had trouble breathing with the memory. For months, from the day Henry had arrived at the school and taken the seat next to him for breakfast, Sam had prayed that their silent looks and sometimes touches would become something more. He had once been confused and troubled about such thoughts, but at seventeen Sam knew his heart. He knew he was not like other boys, and extra attention to the euphemisms in his Greek studies told him that such feelings were not unique to him.
But he had been cowardly. What if he was imagining all of it? What if Henry’s looks and quick touches meant nothing? Such worries had been put to rest last night. Henry had held his hand, caressing his fingers and palm for
hours
as they read over their lessons and wrote lines. There was no mistake in that; there couldn’t be.
Which was why Sam had decided to take the leap. With classes done early and tomorrow being a free day, neither of them were required to be anywhere. They would not be missed for a few hours.
Look at me, Henry. Please.
Fate was indeed smiling on Sam. Henry looked up at that moment and met his eyes. Sam’s skin prickled with heat, as if he had been caught in a guilty act. He could stop his plan, just walk over and join the other boys in the game.
No.
Sam held Henry’s gaze and continued to hold it until Henry’s eyes widened and he pushed himself away from the wall.
Sam turned away and started to walk back toward the main yard. His stomach rolled until he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Henry was following him. He had to force himself not to quicken his pace, or even worse, turn and join Henry. He kept walking, every so often looking back to see Henry still followed.
Inside the church he made wide steps on the pads of his feet to keep his heels from clicking on the stones. Just as he reached the back of the altar, he heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of Henry’s footsteps.
“Sam?” Henry called in a whisper.
“Shh.” Sam waved him over to the narrow arch leading away from the altar. Halfway down the corridor, the light from the chapel windows was all but gone, but Sam had prepared for that. He pulled a short candle from his pocket and lit it with a match. The light fell on Henry’s golden curls just as he stopped next to Sam.
“What is it?” Henry asked, his brow pinched with curiosity. There was something more in his face, though. His wide blue eyes, so beautiful, seemed to be examining every inch of Sam’s face.
Sam swallowed hard. “There’s a room in the cellar that I found. It’s an old storage room that no one uses. It’s, um, the door locks. I mean, it has a lock. You can lock it.”
Oh God.
His voice died in his throat. What had he meant to say? Lord, he had rehearsed so many times.
“Oh?” Henry bit his lip and stepped closer. Their eyes were locked again, and Sam prayed that Henry could read him, that he would just
know
. Just when Sam was sure that was not working, he felt warm skin brush over his hand, tentatively.
“D-do you want to show me?” Henry’s breathing quickened. His eyes were wide as saucers, looking almost frightened.
“Yes.” Sam breathed out the word, shaking with hope.
Henry licked his lips, then turned them up in a smile that left Sam dizzy. “Yes, show me.”
It was as if all the joy Sam had ever felt in his daydreams came bursting out of him at once. His grasped Henry’s hand while making a stupidly happy sound, somewhere between a laugh and a moan. He did not care. With the candle in one hand and Henry’s in the other, he led him to the cellar steps.
Heading down into the dark, cool passageway below, Sam could not help but look back at Henry every few seconds. He knew he must look idiotic with the grin on his face, plastered so wide that his cheeks ached. And Henry smiled back. That was all that mattered.
They reached the room that Sam had known about for weeks, and stepped in. Henry hesitated at the door, pulling Sam’s hand.
“Oh, just a moment.” Sam released Henry’s hand reluctantly and found the oil lamp he had hidden behind the door earlier in the day. He lit it with the candle and set it on a stack of crates next to the door so that the little room was thrown into light. The walls were rough brown stone, except in the places where years of water drips had turned them smooth and gray. The far side of the room was stacked with dusty piles of broken furniture and crumbling papers.
“There, not so scary now.” Sam laughed happily and took Henry’s hand again.
As soon as they were both inside, Sam closed the door and dropped the little rudimentary handle that served as a lock. They were alone and safe, and Henry had come with him. Sam could hardly believe it.
“Hen,” Sam said the moment he turned around, “we can be alone here, whenever we want. No one ever comes here. You should have seen when I first found it. The door would barely open, and the inside was covered with cobwebs. I cleared most of them out and left the oil lamp just in case.” Sam pressed his lips together at the admission. “I wasn’t presumptuous. Just hopeful.”
Henry stood in the middle of the room, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. He looked nervous, which served to make Sam’s heart swell even more. He was nervous too. Yes, they would get through it, both of them, together. It would be so wonderful, Henry would see. He had so many things he wanted to ask him. Did he think about him when they weren’t together, the way Sam did? Did he think about him at night? Sam did that too.
“Don’t worry.” Sam smiled as he moved toward Henry, his precious Hen, standing so close that the tips of their shoes touched. “You have been so kind to me. I like being with you.”
“I-I like that too,” Henry stammered. “Being with you, I mean.” He looked next to terrified at his own words, and Sam could not bear it. Henry was taller than him by several inches, with loose golden curls and an athlete’s body. He was always so confident and easy, a true favorite among the boys. It made Sam sad to see him subdued.
