Indulgence 2: One Glimpse (10 page)

Since taking Julian up on his offer the day before last, Sam had spent damn near every waking moment with the man. They had dined at White’s and other clubs, sat a few rounds at the faro tables, and even perused the horses at Tattersall’s for half an afternoon. But all of it, every moment of it, had been laced with sex. Sam could swear he had had more risky, hurried, and downright stupid pleasure in the last two days than in his entire life.

“We’re almost there. Julian.” He groaned when Julian sucked his earlobe between his lips. “Julian, the footman is going to open the door any moment.” Sam forced some seriousness into his tone.

Julian grumbled and leaned back, his flushed lower lip protruding comically. “Ah, very well.” Like an expert dancer, Julian stepped back and fell into the other seat.

Sam panted and worked to straighten his cravat, as well as to covertly press down on the front of his trousers.

Julian chuckled. “Are you sure you have to go home? I’m quite certain I could be an adequate host, even if my humble rooms don’t compare to the Shaw household.”

Sam was sure that sleep was not a priority in Julian’s plans for the evening, should he take up his offer, but it was more than that. Sam waited, wondering if there was anything more to Julian’s offer, or to the last two days for that matter.

“You can’t possibly be tired,” Julian said, twitching his lips in a smile. “You’re a very
hard
man to exhaust.”

Good Lord, was Julian trying to kill him? Sam shook his head and grinned, but it was only to cover the fact that he was still waiting for Julian to give him some other reason to spend the night with him. Some finer reason, perhaps.

Sam was glad when the carriage stopped, for he did not like the sudden turn of his thoughts. Was he really looking for
fine
sentiments from Julian Garrott? From anyone? He could just imagine the taunting Julian would give him if he had an inkling of what Sam was thinking. Julian was in a lustful mood, and his preferred bedmates were probably out of town. There was nothing more to it than that.

The carriage door opened, and the footman stood back. Sam hopped down and turned casually. “Good evening, then, Julian. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“Afraid not, old boy. Other plans,” Julian replied with a sigh.

Sam felt surprisingly relieved but curious too. Whatever Julian’s plans were, he did not look pleased with them.

Julian bid good-bye with a wave as the footman closed the door. Sam was already drudging up the steps when the carriage moved off. He was damn exhausted, but it was still far too early to consider his bed. Even if it wasn’t, his guilt would probably keep him awake. He was neglecting his duties to his sister before he had even begun to undertake them, and the scathing note he had received from Kat that morning left him in no doubt of her opinion. He would have to give them his full attention starting tomorrow.

He headed upstairs to dress down into something clean and more comfortable, as well as to fawn over Mutton as she lounged on the settee in his dressing room. He was almost certain that the little wretch had been someone’s pet at some point, because she’d taken to the lap of luxury as if it was her due.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Sam greeted Mutton with a dignified bow. “Would you like to join me downstairs, or is my company no longer appropriate to your rank?”

Mutton rose on shaky legs and began to carefully negotiate the jump down from the settee. Though she was clean and groomed, she was still thin and quite weak. It would take far more than a few days for her to be leaping down from furniture. She wagged her tail, though, and it set a bit of guilt in Sam’s stomach. He had been ignoring his new charge.

“Come here, you,” he said, scooping her up. Sam did not miss the disapproving look from his valet, probably due to the carpet of hair Mutton had left behind on the settee. Sam carried her down to his study and placed her on the rug before the roaring fireplace, then settled behind his desk to see what correspondence had accumulated. He might not be a popular darling of the ton, but he was still a baronet and a man with a rather large family. Just reading the post was a daily occupation.

He was halfway through a pot of tea and one of his uncle’s mindlessly repetitive letters when a soft knock at the door was followed by his butler.

“Sir? A visitor for you.”

Sam frowned and looked at the mantel clock. It was already half past eight, well beyond the time of casual visitors. “Who is it?”

The butler glanced back into the hall. It was a subtle thing, but Sam detected a bit of unease in the servant. “Viscount Darnish, sir.”

Sam did not move except to wet his suddenly parched lips. Had he actually convinced himself that Darnish would not come? At some point over the last two days, he had. Or perhaps he had just been too distracted by Julian’s attention to think about anything else.

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Show him in. No refreshments, Barton.”

Barton nodded and closed the door. He was gone for but a few seconds before Darnish entered the room, his greatcoat flapping behind him. Sam, who had not yet even risen, leaped to his feet. He saw immediately why his butler had looked so anxious.

Darnish was a wreck.

The man still wore his coat and gloves and carried his hat in one hand, but his coat could not cover the fact that he was partially dressed at best. His waistcoat was half-unbuttoned, and his cravat was little more than a linen scarf tied around his neck. His thick bronze-brown locks were in limp disarray, and it was clear that he had not shaved in days. He stood halfway between the door and Sam’s desk, his feet shoulder-width apart as if preparing to flee.

Just as with their encounter at the brothel, neither said anything for an uncomfortable amount of time, until Darnish suddenly clenched his eyes shut and said, in a cracked voice, “Well? I’m here.”

“Yes. I see that,” Sam said carefully. He had expected Darnish’s threats, but there was very little about Darnish at that moment that projected intimidation. If the man’s shoulders were hunched any higher, they would be above his ears.

What the hell is going on?

Sam fumbled with the letters on his desk and touched the teapot. “Um, if you would care for some tea or coffee, I could ring for—”

“Just tell me what you want.”

The teapot clattered against Sam’s hand. “What? What do I—”

“Just tell me. Please. I want done with this.”

Sam cast his gaze around the room, desperate to examine Darnish yet afraid to look at him. “My lord, I’m not sure I understand—”

“Shaw, please.
Please
.” Darnish moved forward, covering half the distance between them before he stopped and took a wide step back, as if assuring Shaw that he meant no harm. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. The brim of his hat was a mangled mess in his twisting hands.

“L-listen to me. I know what you must think. I know how I must disgust you.”

Lord, no.

“But, I’ve already made arrangements with my man about funds. Four days, six at the most if he can’t make it happen before Saturday. And…and there are properties too.
Good
properties—” Darnish seemed to choke on his words and released one hand from the hat only to rake it through his hair. “I can’t give you everything, because of the entailment, but anything else.
Anything.
It’s yours.”

Understanding hit Sam like a sledgehammer. He couldn’t possibly be hearing what he thought he was hearing. But Sam saw the truth behind Darnish’s red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands. He was terrified.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

Rather than calm him, Sam’s words only seemed to slice at Darnish. His face twisted in agony, and he pressed his fists to his forehead, his hat falling forgotten to the floor.

“Please. I’m begging you, don’t do this. Don’t do this to my family!” Darnish was breaking now, tears clouding over his fear-worn eyes. Sam felt his stomach lurch. He wanted to wrap his arms around Darnish and assure him that everything was all right, that he didn’t have to be afraid.

“My sisters, my mother,” Darnish continued, pleading, “they don’t deserve this. Me, I-I’ll leave the country if that’s what you want, but don’t do this to them. They’ll never be able to show their faces in society again. This will kill my mother—”

“Darnish, stop.” Sam crossed the space between them and gripped his shoulders. “Dear God, man. You think I’m blackmailing you? No.
No
.”

Darnish had raised his hands as if to fend off an attack, but at Sam’s declaration, he went still. Their eyes locked again. Darnish’s warm amber-brown depths ran over Sam’s face as if trying to read him.

“Forgive me.” Sam released his hold and stepping back. The fear he saw in Darnish’s eyes was too familiar. Sam knew that kind of fear. So many years had passed, but one never forgot it.

“I don’t understand.” Darnish’s voice was hollow. “If you don’t want anything, what are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? What do you mean—”

“I am not going to tell anyone about your, eh, about what I saw.” Sam pressed his hand to his chest. “Never.”

Darnish moved his jaw, words starting and stopping as if trapped in his throat, before he seemed to give up and said, “Why?”

“Because I—” Sam snapped his mouth shut on the words
Because I prefer men too.
He could not say it, and he was not sure why. It would make sense; it was the thing most likely to squelch Darnish’s worries. And yet, something held him back.

Instead, he retreated to the side of his desk and let his gaze fall to its surface. “Because it’s none of my business. It isn’t anyone’s business.”

He wasn’t surprised when Darnish didn’t respond. If Sam had heard the same words from another man, a supposedly normal man who had just discovered his most-guarded secret, he would be skeptical of them too. The world just didn’t work that way, not for the likes of them.

“You don’t want anything, and you aren’t going to tell anyone.” It wasn’t a question. It was as if Darnish was testing the notion by saying the words aloud.

Sam looked up to see the tension drain from Darnish’s form, like a massive burden had slipped from his shoulders. He ran his hands over his face and struggled to steady his breath. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Say I have done you no favor?” Sam forced a clumsy laugh. “Respecting another man’s privacy, surely that is what any decent man would do.”

“Decent man.” Darnish laughed too, madly. “If that is so, then I think the list of decent men must be very short.”

Darnish turned his back, but Sam could see him wiping at his face with his sleeves. His humiliation was contagious, and Sam’s heart ached for him. He opened his mouth to say something, though God help him if he knew what, when Darnish made a sound of surprise. Sam followed his gaze and saw that Mutton had joined them from her place near the fire.

“Well,” Darnish said thickly, “if it isn’t the fob-stealing little cur.”

Oh, God.
Heat rushed over Sam’s face.

Darnish took a knee as Mutton approached him and gave a thorough inspection to the hat he had dropped earlier. Sam watched, stomach knotting, as Darnish laid a gloved hand on the dog’s head and stroked her. Mutton immediately forgot the hat and turned her adoring eyes on him.

“Don’t you clean up well? Lucky little wretch.” At those words, Darnish lifted his gaze and gave Sam a strange, watery smile. It vanished almost immediately, but not before Sam’s heart bounced into his throat. When Darnish stood and faced him again, his glossy brown depths were full of knowing.

“Yes, well,” Sam mumbled. “I’m sure you will, eh, want to be going. It’s the dinner hour and I, um, I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
The dinner hour? Good Lord.

“Yes. I won’t keep you,” Darnish replied. He retrieved his mangled hat and gave Mutton one last scratch behind her ear.

Such warm eyes
. The thought entered Sam’s mind uninvited, but wasn’t it the truth? He swore he could feel the heat of Darnish’s gaze on him as he moved around the desk and pretended to straighten things that were already in order. Oh, certainly not
that
sort of heat. It was a beautiful, calming warmth, like a small fire on a brisk autumn day. He wondered what thoughts were playing behind those warm eyes just then.

Drop down from your cloud, fool.
Sam shook himself and crossed the room to open the door. He expected Darnish to simply go and be thankful to make his escape. Instead, he stopped in the doorway next to Sam, causing him to look up. Darnish’s eyes were still swimming, but the life that had been absent from him only minutes before filled them now.

“Shaw.” Darnish drew a deep breath. “Thank you. You have no idea how grateful I am for this.”

I do. Believe me, I do.

Sam nodded and made a tense smile, for if he allowed himself to say anything, he just might say everything. Sam watched as Darnish crossed the hall and passed the footman at the open door. The clicking of tiny of nails sent Sam’s attention down to Mutton, who had come to stand next to him.

“You couldn’t stay quiet on your rug, could you?” Sam grumbled, but there was no anger in it. He bent down and lifted her pathetic weight into his arms, immediately receiving a few licks for his trouble. The look in Darnish’s eyes had all but announced he was aware of the farce with the dog, as if that stupid incident held any importance now. Still, if there was anything from the whole terrible business that Sam could be sure of, it was that Darnish would not tell a single soul.

Chapter Five

Acquaintances

“I hate this, Sam. Is it wrong that I hate this?”

He managed a smile of sorts. “It’s not all that bad, is it? It’s just a ball. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, is
that
the purpose of a ball?” Flor snorted.

The girl was too clever for her own good, though Sam only really believed the first half of that sentiment. It was his other sisters, mother, aunt, and basically every other member of the family who saw her wit as a flaw.

“I stand corrected,” he said. “The only people who enjoy themselves at balls are those who are already married and those who are too old for marriage to be a consideration.”