Indulgence 2: One Glimpse (36 page)

By midday he decided to visit Boodles for a glass of brandy and a much-needed rest near the hearth, but when he arrived, he spotted a familiar figure slumped down in one of the deep leather chairs. It was Garrott. He was dressed with his usual attention, this time in a suit of palest green with embroidered cuffs, but his slouched posture and circled eyes suggested a long lack of sleep.

John hesitated, unsure if he should say anything to the man, when an idea came to him. That John and Sam’s relationship remain secret in general was a given, but what about other men like themselves? Sam knew other men of their persuasion, was friends with them, and as reluctant as John was to have anyone know, he did not like the idea of Sam feeling he must make lies or keep John hidden even from them. Sam had kept John’s name from Garrott out of concern for John’s wishes. Perhaps that, at least, should not be necessary.

“Afternoon, Garrott,” John said, stopping into an empty chair. “Care for company?”

Garrott sat up and smiled, both with apparent effort. “Certainly, Darn. I could do with some conversation.”

John wondered at the melancholy note in his words and hoped the cause was not what he suspected. A quick glance verified they were far enough away from the other men playing cards and reading the papers.

“Did you happen to hear about the unfortunate business last night with Sam’s sister?” John asked.

Garrott cocked an eyebrow. “It is hard not to hear gossip, even when one has no interest in doing so.”

Well.
“Eh, yes. Sam told me that his sister has refused to marry Evers. She would rather be ruined than have him.”

At this, Garrott’s second eyebrow joined the first. “Now that I had not heard, although it has not been even a full day. Sam told you this directly?”

John swallowed. He could back out and keep his comfortable secrecy, but he wanted Sam to feel free with their relationship. Well, as free as any men like them could. Plus, a greedy part of him wanted other men to know that Sam was taken, and his.

“Yes. He told me last night.” A lie. Sam had not spoken to him till that morning, but this would be easier.

“Last night.” Garrott tasted the words, his expression sharpening as he rested an elbow on the arm of the chair, leaning toward John. “You know, one of the favorite bits of gossip people like to share is the reaction someone has when they hear terrible news. ‘Oh, did you see Lady so-and-so when she heard?’ That sort of thing. I’ve already heard about Miss Shaw leaving the party last night from several people, but one thing I have not heard word of is how Sam reacted when he found out.” He made a dramatic shrug. “No one knows where he was.”

“Well”—John met Garrott’s gaze—”he was with me.”

“Ah. Some boxing mill by the docks, or a gambling hell, perhaps?”

“No.” John’s heart pounded. He could see the wheels turning behind Garrott’s indigo eyes. “Just with me.”

Garrott sat frozen for a moment, and then his eyes widened and his pinkish lips parted. “I…see?” He examined John from head to toe, giving him the bizarre sensation of being naked. But there was nothing lewd in Garrott’s gaze, only searching. “I had no idea. How long?”

“Forever, I suppose,” John quipped.

Garrott smirked. “Undoubtedly. But I meant you and Sam.”

“Not even two weeks.” It was the truth. John did not want Garrott to believe Sam had been dallying with him while hiding another lover. The thought reminded John, though he would like to forget, that Sam had bedded the beautiful man now sitting before him.

Garrott made a strange, thoughtful smile. “In that case, I must say my pride is soothed. If I was going to be thrown over, best to be for someone well worth the throw.”

John shifted uncomfortably. “Was that a compliment?”

“Yes, but for myself. Did you notice how clever I was about it?” Garrott chuckled, but must have seen John’s concern, for he sobered. “I harbor no ill will, so do not worry yourself about it. Tell me, are you just dallying with him or do you care for him?”

John balked. It was certainly none of Garrott’s business, but lest the man think he only needed to wait John out until he was done with Sam, he chose to answer. “It is no dalliance on my part. Of that I can be quite clear.”

“I’m glad. Sam is not made for it, not like some of us. He thought he was, and he made a very good show of it for a long time.” Garrott wagged his eyebrows meaningfully.

“So glad you approve.” John snarled, Garrott’s insinuation putting his hackles up.

“Sam’s heart is too big. Big and open, like a cathedral with no supports. It will cave in if someone shakes the walls hard enough.”

John could not deny the loyalty behind Garrott’s words. He was still Sam’s friend. “I have no intention of hurting him.”

“Good. I won’t pretend to make threats. There’s not a damn thing I could do about it if you ever did hurt him.” Garrott snorted a laugh suddenly, then waved one of his slim hands. “Pay me no mind. I’m just making the conversation unnecessarily difficult because I
am
a little bitter. But my pride will rebound, don’t you worry.”

Garrott stood and stretched his catlike form. He looked down at John with a tired smile. “I hope to still be Sam’s friend, after a while. He is too good a soul to give up. Before I go, a gift of goodwill. Does Sam know about the Evers clan? Not many do.”

“What do you mean?”

Garrott bent toward him, and his smile turned so bitter John swore he smelled lemons. “They are broke,” Julian crooned, smirking. “Penniless, beggared, pockets to let. It would seem that the good earl fell victim to his inability to live within his means, and like all respectable gentlemen, he decided to engage in trade secretly. And some unscrupulous cit has made off with every penny of the investment just as secretly. Such irony, isn’t it? A peer of the realm too proud to dirty his name with wealth from trade loses everything by doing just that under dark of night. Rather like the moralizer dying drunk in a gutter, wouldn’t you say?”

Then, in another shift of demeanor that left John’s head spinning, Garrott stood straight and laughed. “Sorry, must be off. My best regards to our lovely Sam.”

John wrinkled his nose at that, which Garrott met with another laugh as he walked away. John fell back into the leather chair and frowned at the crackling fire. Garrott was a strange one. Even still, John felt relieved. And now he had vital information to share with Sam.

Chapter Nineteen

Betrayal

Michael Sills walked in a daze. He could feel the strain of his eyes peeled wide, though he looked at nothing and saw even less. And he was exhausted. Exhausted despite having spent the better part of the last week asleep. He didn’t dream, and his waking thoughts were empty. No, they were not truly empty. They were simply too many, loud and overlapping like voices in a crowd, until one could decipher no particular voice. Silence and chaos were rather the same in that regard.

What he had seen that night left him numb, until the numbness had turned to the cold rage of betrayal. Everything he had thought he knew about his longest, closest friend was a lie. A disgusting lie. John kissing Shaw, holding him, the way a man did a woman. Michael’s empty stomach lurched.

A part of him wished he had never seen it. It would have been better to not know, but the rest of him could not regret it. He was glad he had seen Garrott slipping away from the glass doors that night, glad he had decided to hide himself and see if he could witness anything untoward. Oh, he had. He had seen far more than he wished when he’d sneaked back to the doors and peered inside. The moonlight had made it too easy. Had the night been cloudy or the moon less full he probably never would have seen John’s fingers laced through Shaw’s hair or his lips slanted over Shaw’s in sensual intrusion. He never would have seen Shaw caressing John’s face.

Sods! Gutless, disgusting…
Michael wanted to throw something. He wanted to go back to his encounter with John that morning and do much more than just cut him. He wanted to
cut
him. Cut him and watch the diseased blood spill on the floor…

Diseased.
The word echoed through Michael’s mind, causing him to stop short. Someone—devil if he gave a damn who—ran into his shoulder and shot him a disgruntled look, causing Michael to remember he was in White’s. The week-long daze had taken him from his rooms to his club, from the club to the park, and from meal to meal without him hardly noticing. But, as he made his way to one of the dim readings rooms usually empty at this hour, the daze lifted. The world around him came back into focus, and with it, a firm grasp of that word. Diseased.

Diseases were something a person caught, spread by the filthy and low. Good people who allowed themselves to mingle with the wrong sort caught diseases.

Shaw did this to him.
It made perfect sense. Somehow that uppity little baronet shit had managed to twist John’s mind to perversion. It had to be so! There was no way John could have been engaging is such filth all this time and Michael only discovering it now. And what of John’s mistress and that brat he had fathered? There was proof in the flesh that John had not always been so…had not always done such…

“Sod off if you’re just going to mutter to yourself, Sills!”

Michael snapped his gaze across the room. He had not realized he was cursing under his breath and gnashing his teeth, nor that he had fallen into a chair and started clawing his nails into the fine leather.

In a chair near the fire, with a half-empty bottle of port at his side, sat Evers. The man fell back into position, giving Michael one last glare before taking another gulp from his glass.

Evers. The man was an acquaintance and little else, mostly because John had never liked him. That was enough praise in itself. And hadn’t Michael heard something a few days ago in the park, something he had barely made out through the haze of voices and his numb responses? Something about Shaw’s sister.

“Ha!” Laughter erupted from Michael’s lips. He surprised even himself, and when Evers twisted in his seat and gave him another furious glare, Michael stood. “Drowning your sorrows, eh? I heard the Shaw chit opted for shunned spinsterhood rather than be your little wifey.”

Evers shot up from his chair and slung his glass into the hearth, shattering it against the stones. He was halfway across the room when Michael saw his bloodshot eyes and realized he had poked the wrong bear. He scrambled for what to do, for despite their matched sizes Michael did not believe he would be the victor.

“I’d bet he’s lying, you know,” Michael said quickly. “Shaw. I’d bet anything he was the one who refused the marriage.”

Evers faltered, his hands already raised to shove at him. “What? What do you mean?”

“Think about it, Ev,” Michael said, playing friendly. “Do you really think that girl would choose a life of nothing just to spite you? It’s hardly a secret that Shaw despises you, and I’m guessing he made sure to keep you from that fat dowry any way he had to. I—forgive me for saying this—but I know you needed it. I’ve heard rumors about your father’s situation.”

Michael smiled to himself when Evers dropped his hands and took a step back. The man’s gaze worked across the floor, his expression shifting, and he was not the only one thinking. An idea began to form in Michael’s brain, a mix of revenge and rescue. Shaw had ruined John somehow, sickened him, and Michael was going to correct it.

“Did you speak to the girl afterward?” Michael continued. “Did Shaw let you see her? I’m guessing not. He didn’t want you to know he was the one making all the decisions. He’s probably already bundled her off to the country. And if she never marries, he can keep the forty thousand that was meant for her dowry. You know these baronets. Almost worst than cits, the way they pile up money any way they can just to lord it over their betters.”

Evers ran a shaky hand through his blond locks. “You think he would do that? To his sister?”

“Why not? You know his reputation as well as I. Miserable lout, always looking to be offended, always thinking someone is looking down on him. No wonder he is such a climber.” Michael was thinking of Sam’s relationship with John, a viscount, but the way Evers snapped his eyes up made him wonder what Evers was thinking.

“A climber,” Evers repeated. “Oh, I know he is that. Even when we were boys he forgot everyone the moment Brenleigh showed him a bit of atten— Never mind.”

Michael watched Evers closely. He would have to tell him what he knew about Shaw and John for this to work, but he had to be cautious. There was no telling how Evers might react, and if he decided to run wild with his outrage, it could ruin everything. Michael stepped in close, then made a show of checking the empty room.

“I think there are some things you don’t know about Shaw. Things he would do
anything
to keep quiet. After this scandal with his sister, there is no way you’ll be able to turn to other prospects. The mamas wouldn’t let their darlings so much as dance with you now, especially not when word of your family’s debts become better known.”

“What are you suggesting?” Evers turned away and snatched up the port bottle. “Blackmail? What could possibly be damning enough to make him change his mind? And what if he wasn’t lying about the girl turning on me? What could be bad enough to make him force the issue with his sister?”

Michael reached for the bottle, which Evers let go with a look of confusion. He placed it back on the table. “I think it’s best if we go somewhere else to discuss this, but let me assure you it’s bad enough. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, but if that isn’t enough for you I can hire a runner to follow Shaw around for a few days to get his own proof. Those Bow Street hounds are always doing less respectable work on the side for a bit of coin. Believe me. If you go to Shaw with what I have, he’ll have you and his sister standing at the altar within a day.”

“But why would you care to have any part in something like that? What is any of this to you?”

There would be no denying his hatred of Shaw once he revealed everything, so there was no sense in lying. “There is no love lost between Shaw and me, and besides, I won’t pretend to be philanthropic. I would expect something in return after it’s all seen through. Miss Shaw’s dowry is generous enough for you to chip a few bits off the edges.”