Indulgence 2: One Glimpse (37 page)

Evers looked away as if his thoughts were scattered about the room rather than housed in his head. Michael could guess at the desperation weighing on him. Old Lord Grisby, Evers’s father, was the type of bastard tyrant everyone tolerated and no one liked. He could just imagine the sort of pressure bearing down on Evers’s shoulders. All the better for Michael.

“All right,” Evers choked out, gripping his hands together. “Let’s go, and I’ll hear what you have to say.”

Michael clapped Evers on the shoulder as he suggested a few places nearby. He no longer had regrets about seeing what he had through the glass that night. If anything, the only regret he did have was that he would not be the one to see Shaw’s face when his world came crashing down.

* * * *

“I have to say I’m not terribly surprised,” Sam grumbled, closing his eyes. “It makes a bit more sense at least.” He sighed as John placed another kiss to his temple. It felt so good, as if each warm press of his lips took a bit of the miserable day away.

John hummed his agreement, then added, “I suppose his father pressed him, though that is only a guess. Can’t say my opinion of Lord Grisby has ever been very high, so I wouldn’t put it past him. It’s no excuse for Evers, though.”

“It isn’t,” Sam agreed, snuggling against John’s chest. The carriage swayed along, rocking him against John. It would be so easy to fall asleep, but he would not waste the short time he had with him. Sam’s household, not to mention his family, was in too much of an uproar to risk another night away. He was troubled by how much that bothered him. It would seem that spending time with John had made him greedy.

“Do you know anything else about it?” Sam asked. “I remember my sister mentioning something weeks ago about several families falling prey to an investment scheme or some such, but I gave it little heed at the time.”

John shook his head. “This was the first I’ve heard any of it. I, eh…I heard it from Garrott.”

“Julian?” Sam raised his head. “You spoke to him today?”

“Ran into him at Boodles.” John looked suddenly uncomfortable. He took a deep breath, then said, “I told him about us.”

Sam sat back and must have been doing a fair impression of a fish.

John cringed. “Should I not have?”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Sam’s cheeks ached from the grin he held back. He wondered why John would have told Julian anything, and the various possibilities made him tremble with hope. “I am glad he knows. I mean, that you are comfortable with him knowing. Oh! John, you do realize Julian will tell people, don’t you? I don’t mean to say he’ll be shouting it in the park, but he won’t see any reason to keep it from other men we know, especially if the conversation should turn to me.”

“I did think of that after I told him, yes,” John acknowledged. “It troubled me, but I am easier with it now. If anyone had reason to keep such information restricted, it would be those who shared our, eh, interests.” He smirked. “But I am not worried, and, well, I rather like the idea of them knowing you’re mine.”

Sam’s vision blurred, perhaps for all the blood rushing to other parts of him. He snaked his hand around John’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. He had meant to make it playful and teasing, something to counter that bashful turn, but he found it impossible to hold back.
Mine.
That word seemed to reach into him and stroke the ache he had felt for so long he had become almost numb to it.
Mine, mine, yours.

John had his fingers in Sam’s hair. When he broke the kiss to breathe, John fell to sprinkling nips and kisses over his face. When he even kissed the side of his nose, Sam started to laugh.

“Stop it!” Sam gasped, though he was hardly helping with his own caresses. “We will be there soon, and I’m in a state!”

“
Quite
a state.” John chuckled as he palmed Sam through the front of his trousers.

Sam hissed and buried his face in John’s chest. Perhaps they didn’t need dinner. Perhaps the few spare hours they had would be better spent in their shabby oasis above the shop. Perhaps there Sam would be able to work up the courage to say the words echoing in his head.

I love you, John. You make me so happy I could weep.
Ah, well. Perhaps not the last part, but at least the first. Sam did love John, and that old cynicism he knew so well was weakening until he felt John just might love him too. He had already called Sam “love,” though he had said it in the throes of passion. And he’d said Sam was his, though it was man’s curse in life to be a possessive creature.

There you are, Cynicism, old friend.

“And here we are,” John said as the carriage began to slow. “Lucky it’s cold out. You can use your coat to hide your…state.”

“Use your mouth to hide my state,” Sam quipped, then slapped his hand over his mouth. Blood that had rushed south only moments before now surged back to redden his face.

“Sam, Sam,” John chided in a singsong voice. He took hold of Sam’s wrist and gently pulled his hand away from his mouth. Sam was still shocked that he had said such a thing, but then John kissed his parted lips once and said, “We will soon see just how much of your state my mouth can hide. Until then, I’m afraid your coat will have to do.”

Then John, the grinning, handsome bastard, opened the carriage door and hopped out before the footman could even drop the step. Sam had not even realized the carriage had stopped outside the dull exterior of Fladong’s Coffee-House.

He took a few moments to compose himself by pretending to search for a glove in the seat while his footman looked on. Once his breathing had calmed, he wrapped his coat front around him and stepped down. The sight that met him was like a rude shove, reminding him that today was not a good day.

“Sam.” Henry almost had to step around John, who was not blocking him but was also not making his advance easy. Henry’s face was a mask of concern. “Sam, I heard about Miss Shaw and that bastard Evers. I’m sorry.”

It would have been so easy to keep walking, to cut Henry and feel a little spark of satisfaction over it, but Sam was not sure he would enjoy it. He looked past Henry to see Richard standing not too far away. He had a pained look on his face as he watched Henry, and Sam guessed he wanted to pull Henry back before they could engage in a repeat of their meeting in the park. A glance at John, whose look was similarly apprehensive, caused shame to swirl in Sam’s stomach. Shame because he knew he had been behaving badly with regard to Henry, but also because he knew he could not forgive.

With his gaze still on the ground, he cleared his throat and muttered a greeting. There might have been a nod there too. He gave a vague signal to his coachman to move on, and in the process, caught the shocked smile on Henry’s face.

“I know how these things go for young ladies.” Henry took another step toward him. “It’s damned unfair, and I have to think Evers schemed her into it. Either way, I want you to know that my sisters will receive her, regardless of what anyone might say about it. And Lady Anne—eh, Mrs. Cayson now—was adamant she would not snub Miss Shaw if she saw her.”

That Sam was shocked was an understatement. Receiving someone beyond the pale was no light matter, especially for ladies. For Henry to show such a defense of Sam’s family even with their bad history was difficult to accept. He swallowed hard and yanked his gaze away from those powder-blue eyes he remembered so well.

“Um, t-thank you. I’ll tell her,” Sam managed to say, all while picking at the cuff of his coat like some shy child, damn it all. When he saw the look of pure joy on Henry’s face, all over nothing more than a muttered thanks, he felt rotten to the core.
You still wear your heart like a breast button, Henry.

“Henry,” Richard called, stepping closer, “we must be off if we’re not to be late.”

Sam wondered if they were really chasing the clock or if Richard was trying to end the encounter on a high note. The way he kept shifting his arm, as if he wanted to reach out and pull Henry away from Sam, suggested the latter.

“And we’re late to fill our stomachs,” John added with a laugh. He placed a guiding hand on Sam’s shoulder and pressed him toward the steps. The touch only lasted a moment, but Sam wondered at it. He looked back, unable to see Henry’s face as he was turned away, but he did see Richard’s. His head was cocked, and he stared curiously at John and, if Sam was not mistaken, his shoulder where John had touched him.

Sam kept walking, fully aware that he had not bade either man a good evening. It would be a long time before he was capable of common civility with Henry. Or perhaps he never would be. No matter how much he might wish it otherwise in his mind, his heart refused to soften.

“Are you all right?” John whispered as they gave their coats to the footmen.

Sam shot him a smile. “Of course. It’s only Henry. I have made disliking him a well-practiced art.” John smiled back, but did not seem convinced. Sam continued. “I have so many things to think about other than Henry Cortland right. I will save all that for another day.”

John sighed, but nodded anyway. He would not press it, and for that Sam was thankful. As they made their way through the candlelit club side by side, Sam was also thankful that the first rotten day was drawing to a close.

Chapter Twenty

Crash

“How is Lily, old boy?”

John nearly spilled the teacup an inch from his lips. He managed to set it on the saucer before Michael slipped into the seat across from him. John looked around, expecting the club walls and other diners to fade into fog, for surely he must be dreaming.

“The devil do you care?” John spat, glaring over the fine china. “Can’t say I’m used to getting friendly inquiries from people who give me the cut direct.”

Michael coughed and at least had the good grace to look cowed. He fumbled with the stem of an empty glass. “I didn’t cut you. I know it must have looked that way, but I have to beg my excuses. I had no business being out that day as it was, and when I ran into you, I was already two breaths from paying up my accounts on the hall floor. You won’t let me apologize?”

John watched his old friend shift again and look over the table as if he could not meet John’s eyes. Perhaps he really was repentant. “You were ill?”

Michael made a bitter laugh. “Oh, sick to my stomach, have no doubt. Don’t think I’d eaten a damn thing since…” He smirked. “Since the Featherton ball, I think.”

John remembered Sam telling him about Michael’s strange behavior at the ball that night. Perhaps he really had been under the weather. Illness did strange things to a man. The thought about Sam had John pulling his watch from his pocket. It was only just past eight in the evening. He had wanted Sam to dine with him before they made their way to the empty shop that was their haven, but Sam planned to take dinner with his sisters and the few other kindhearted members of his family who were showing their support. John had been disappointed but understanding. It had been more than a week since the night of Miss Shaw’s disgrace, and John had already spent three of those nights and one afternoon with Sam. By any standard that was already reckless.

“I see,” John hedged, not wishing to forgive too quickly. “You are on the mend?”

“Yes, yes, I’m well. In fact I’ve spent much of the last week making a lot of plans.” At that, Michael finally met John’s eyes. Something in Michael’s tone and the way he intently met John’s gaze where he would not look at him before made him feel uneasy.

“What sort of plans?”

“My brother Mark is taking a tour in Sweden and left his place in Kensington to my use. I’m thinking of making a week’s party out of it, though nothing too proper. If you get my meaning. That was why I asked after Lily. You could get away from town and bring her along too.”

John relaxed now, for it was not the first time Michael had shown his liking for demimonde gatherings. No doubt he would invite other men and their mistresses and perhaps additional
ladies
too.

“I’ll look over my invitations and speak to Lily, if you already know what dates you like,” John said, intending to do no such thing. Lily had suffered such parties for him in the past when their arrangement had still been new, but it had been years. Then, because he could not help but press the issue, he added, “And I’ll ask Sam if he can get away.”

Michael stared ahead, his expression unchanging. “If you like, though Shaw strikes me as a bit too stiff in the collar for such company. If he’s able to attend, tell him to bring his bird along too.”

“Sam doesn’t have a m— um, time, probably, to leave town. You know about his sister.” John reached for his cup again, burning his tongue with the scalding tea. There were plenty of men who didn’t keep mistresses, but saying so about Sam felt unwise.

“Shame. But all for the best anyway.” Michael laid his hands on the edge of the table as if to lean forward and whisper, but he moved no closer to John. He patted the table. “Listen, we’ve been friends since we were boys, and I must say, I think it would be best if you distanced yourself from Shaw.”

The hell?
“We have had this discussion already,” John said through his teeth. “I will not submit for approval whom I choose to socialize with, to you or anyone else.”

“I know,” Michael said, raising his hands. “It isn’t what you think. I admit Shaw and I don’t get on particularly, but it’s more than that. I’ve heard things.”

Ice water flooded John’s veins. “What things?”

“I don’t like to repeat nonsense like that. Such filth, you know?”

“No, Michael, I do not
know.
What are you saying?” John was growing angry, but also afraid. Was it possible people suspected Sam? He could not see how.

“All right, if you want to force me. But I am merely saying what I’ve heard. There are a few men who think that Shaw is, well, a molly.”

Cold ravaged John until he could swear his arms had gone numb. Worse still, he could feel blood rushing to his face and knew Michael could see it.

“That is absurd,” John choked out. “I refuse to even hear such things.”

“I didn’t say it. I’m only repeating—”