Indulgence 2: One Glimpse (30 page)

Lord, he is gorgeous.

Kat made an effort to keep up the kind of pointless conversation that prevailed in mixed company. No doubt she was trying to ignore the tension radiating from Sam over their earlier quarrel. He might as well help if he could.

“Miss Shaw? While I have you captive from the other gentlemen, may I request a dance tonight? I doubt I will be given half a chance if I wait till we’re inside.” He affected his best dandyish tone, bringing an amused glint to Flor’s eye.

“Oh, yes, you should reserve a place without delay,” Flor replied, mimicking him. “You know I am
ever
so in demand I can hardly feel my feet at the end of the night.”

John slapped his thigh. “Capital! The dinner set, then?”

“Oh.” Flor’s smile dropped. “That set is already reserved with El—Mr. Evers. Perhaps the set after?”

John nodded and looked at Sam, who had stiffened the moment his sister said Evers’s name. They rode in silence after, the unspoken words almost thickening the air between Sam and his sister. John only hoped Sam resolved the issue that evening, and it left his thoughts. He wanted to see Sam happy and carefree. He wanted to see that magnificent smile.

They arrived and made the slow crawl through the reception line, as one always did at such grand balls. They were fashionably late, and the various rooms were already jammed with guests sipping punch and sharing the latest gossip. Sam and John parted company with the ladies as the two were sucked into conversation with a group of Kat’s friends.

One of the downsides of being a tall man was that everyone saw John, and he was forced to pause and acknowledge people lest he unintentionally cut someone. It also meant he was less likely to miss those he would rather not see.

Michael. Damn it.

“Michael is heading toward us,” John said with a sigh. A part of him felt guilty for such a reaction to an old friend, but Michael had been quite the fair-weather chum recently.

Sam frowned. “He dislikes me, you know.”

John snorted. He knew.

“John, there you are,” Michael said brightly. When he turned to Sam, his expression made a theatrical shift to sneering. “And Shaw, evening.”

John wanted to punch that snide look right off his old friend’s face.

“Farny and Leeds are setting up a game in the card room, if you want to avoid the scheming mamas and their daughters for a few hours.” Michael gave Sam a less than subtle look as he spoke the last words, almost making John laugh. So Michael was still on that theory, was he?

“Afraid I’ll have to decline,” John said. “I’m promised for dances already.”

“Ah, too bad.” Sills’s forced nonchalance was a joke, especially when he turned hard eyes on Sam and said, “Care to take his place, Shaw? Can’t imagine there are too many debutantes out to snag you.”

Bloody hell…

“I would rather not,” Sam said flatly.

Michael glared at him, then cast his gaze to John. All he would see was John’s blank stare. Without another word, Michael turned on his heel and disappeared through the crowd.

“I would apologize again for causing trouble between you and your friends. But I won’t.” Sam’s lips twitched into a smile.

“No apology necessary.” John leaned close and whispered, “He believes we are merely friends, and if he has the snobbery to treat a friend of mine in such a way, I am well rid of him.”

Something passed over Sam’s eyes when John met them. “What?”

“Nothing.” Sam shook his head, smiling. It was only the crowd around them that kept John from pursuing it.

They passed into the hall just outside the main dining room when John ran into one of his father’s old friends and the owner of the neighboring estate. Within seconds, the boorish old coot, whom everyone knew pretended to be hard of hearing so he could ignore the finer points of etiquette, trapped John into listening to a monologue about the crumbling stone wall separating their lands. John was on his third polite attempt to escape when Sam touched his arm.

“Pardon me a moment,” Sam said, speaking for those listening as well. “I see someone I have to have a word with.”

John was about to ask who and why, but stopped himself. What the devil was the matter with him? He did not own Sam. He answered with a friendly nod and turned his head, though not his attention, back to the blustering complaints about his property line. He watched in the corner of his vision as Sam headed down the grand hall outside the ballroom and disappeared down one of the less lit side halls. Where was he going?

Stop it.
John’s thoughts suddenly turned to what Sam had told him in the carriage. If Brenleigh and Richard preferred men and Sam knew about it, did it not stand to reason that Sam would know about other men too? Of course it did. In fact, it was perfectly reasonable to assume Sam knew many men who shared their inclinations, and even counted them as friends. Or as more than friends.

Jealousy heated John’s skin.

“Blast it. I hate to be rude, old chap, but I’m afraid nature won’t be ignored,” John announced, nodding in the direction of the relieving rooms.

He left with barely a word of farewell and headed down the main hall and to the narrow corridor. Only one candle lit the passage from a wall sconce. It was not really a corridor, but a heavily recessed doorway, no doubt a quirk of architecture created by the servant passages between walls. There was a single door past the light of the candle slightly open. He saw movement inside and stepped forward.

Shame assaulted him for what he was doing, reminding him that Sam had made no promises to him. For all John’s limited experience, he had no idea if men like them even made such promises or kept exclusive relationships. What did he know beyond the average fee of a male whore? He felt like a drowning fool who had never known water.

There was movement past the door again, and he crept slowly forward, peering one eye around the wood. It was a sitting room with glass doors leading out to a stone terrace. There was no light save for the moonlight coming through the wavy panes. Sam stood near the window, half his face illuminated blue-white as he spoke to a shorter man.

“Is something wrong? The way you were on the road last week…” Sam’s face wrinkled with worry.

“Wrong? No, no. Nothing in particular. I suppose I was just harried from travel. I do hate it, you know.” John recognized the elegant tenor voice. It was Julian Garrott.

“You’re sure?” Sam laid a hand on Garrott’s shoulder. “You didn’t seem like yourself.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t.” Garrott laughed, but it sounded nervous. Even in the dim light, John could see that Garrott was once again dressed to his usual art-study perfection. The lace at his cuff cut the moonlight into patterns as he lifted his hand to Sam’s neck, caressing his jaw. “I think my thoughts were troubling me a bit. I was thinking about you a great deal while I was trapped in Somerset.”

John’s nostrils flared. The sight of Garrott’s slim fingers on Sam’s skin made him want to fling the door open and roar. There was no mistaking Garrott’s intentions.

Sam shrugged out of the touch. “Julian, I think we need to talk.”

“Oh, there is no problem with that. I love it when you talk
during
.” Garrott chuckled and moved closer, bringing his other hand to Sam’s waist. “Are you escorting your sisters tonight? Hopefully they won’t wish to stay too long. I’ve been thinking about getting you alone again for weeks.”

“I-I can’t.” Sam took another step back, his hands now on Julian’s wrists.

“Ah. You think your sister will wish to stay too long? Tomorrow, then. I have no plans, and I can’t think of anything I would rather do than waste the day in bed with you. Though, I think it would hardly be a waste.” Julian hummed a laugh and moved to slide his arms around Sam’s neck. John was near beside himself with jealousy. Just as he was about to pull open the door and do God-knew-what, Sam grabbed Julian’s shoulders and held him back.

“Julian, stop. I’ve met someone, and it’s different. I want to keep faith with him.” Sam separated them with a tentative smile. “I think it’s best if we’re just friends now.”

A long silence followed, during which Garrott did not move an inch and John could not see his face. Eventually, Sam wrung his hands together in a flustered motion.

“Jules?”

“Who is he?” Garrott’s voice was flat.

“It’s not simple. I’m not sure if he would want me to say.”

“I see. You wanted something more…” Garrott took a shaky step back. “Just more.”

Sam followed him, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “I can’t think you’re disappointed or— Wait!”

Sam called after Garrott as he turned and dashed toward one of the glass doors. Sam reached him just as he had the door pulled open an inch. John still could not see Garrott’s face, but Sam’s was twisted with worry.

“Wait, please. We’ve always, um, dallied together, enjoyed ourselves, but there were always others too, and you never seemed very particular about me. I never thought you were.” Distress rang in his voice. “Please tell me I wasn’t mistaken.”

“No. You didn’t mistake anything. I did.” Garrott’s voice was raspy, as if battling for calm. “It’s all right. You know me. I’ll be quite fine.” He made a small a laugh, but the sound only deepened the lines on Sam’s face. “Really. I’m fine. Now, I think I will take my leave before I embarrass myself any further.”

“Jul—” Sam started to block the door, but Garrott swept around him in a graceful twist, putting his back to the terrace and filling the doorway. John could see his face finally, and the elegant coldness he had always associated with Garrott was gone, replaced with a watery smile.

“Whoever he is, he’s very lucky.” With that, Garrott stepped out and shut the door with hardly a sound. John watched as Sam reached the door handle, then let his hand fall away as Garrott disappeared into the dark.

John felt the sweat on his palm as he released the wood of the door. He must have been holding his breath, for he felt winded and tense. He knew he should step back, return to the ballroom as if he had seen nothing, but he could not. Not when Sam wiped a shaky hand over his face and fished in his pocket for a handkerchief.

“Damn it,” Sam cursed, rubbing his eyes with the linen before snapping it out.

John squeezed through the door and closed it behind him. The soft click might as well have been a gunshot.

“Ah!” Sam jumped back, bumping a spindly side table and sending a candelabra to the carpeted floor.

“It’s all right, it’s me.”

“John? Christ. How long have you been there?”

John considered lying, but could think of no good reason for it. “Long enough. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Or I did. I’m sorry.”

Sam wrung the handkerchief in his hands against his stomach, as if to hold himself together. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, I suppose we can both say you lied to me about Garrott.” John had meant to laugh about it, but the words sounded more like an accusation. He cringed.

“I did. I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready when you asked me about him that day, and I was already lying about myself. I didn’t know how to tell you about him without it making more of a mess.” Sam rubbed one hand over his face. “W-what else did you hear?”

Everything.
But John had a good idea what portion worried him. He crossed the room and stood in front of Sam. “You slept with Garrott.”

Sam flinched, but his also lifted his chin in a challenge. “Yes. Before I knew you. We’ve been, eh, friendly for some time.”

“But not any longer.”

“No.”

“Because you want to keep faith with me.” John used Sam’s words, and even without the light to see, he knew Sam flushed red.

“I said that.” Sam took a step back. “And I, um, I don’t expect you to feel the same way. I d-don’t demand anything.”

Like hell.
John cupped the back of Sam’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. Their lips mashed, hard and hurting. Sam stiffened and pressed his hands against John’s chest, but the reaction died almost as soon as John felt it. Sam melted against him. He slid his hands up John’s chest and over his shoulders until he clung to his neck.

The kiss spoke. The way Sam yielded completely, tilting his face up as if begging for anything and everything, was like an admission of what he had said to Garrott. He only wanted John, no one else. John could only hope Sam was feeling the same admission from him with every deep swipe of his tongue and moaning suck of his bottom lip. Sam broke away first.

“John.” He gasped, pressing their foreheads together. “I don’t want others. Not for me or for you. I’m jealous and selfish. We’ve hardly spent any time together, and I have no right to—”

“You have every right to ask, just as I may take the right to refuse. But I won’t. I wanted to barge through that door and break Garrott’s dandyish fingers the moment he touched you. Does that not say where I stand?”

Sam looked dumbfounded, then overwhelmed before he finally wrapped his arms around John again, this time pressing his face against John’s neck.

Oh, my dear. Why do you seem so shocked?
John kissed the top of Sam’s head because it felt right and good and made his insides ache in a way he was sure he had never known. He knew lust. Lord almighty, there had been days and weeks at a time when he thought he knew little else. This wasn’t lust.

Sam pulled back enough to see him. His eyes glistened, but no tears fell, and he was smiling. “I think you should kiss me again.”

John wholeheartedly agreed. He made it gentle, an exploration of its own rather than a race to somewhere else. Sam had his arms over John’s shoulders again, his head tilted at just the perfect angle. It occurred to John, as he swiped his tongue across Sam’s and savored the taste, that people were made for this position. One set of arms up, the other down, faces tilted in opposite directions, and then, perfection. Lovers coming together like puzzle pieces.

Lovers.
The word shook him to the core.

“We should get back,” Sam grumbled when they finally stopped to breathe. “We’re being far too reckless.”

“I know.” John forced his hands to his sides. “I must agree with Garrott about one thing, though.”