Indulgence 2: One Glimpse (9 page)

Sam frowned at his slip. He was hardly in a mood to discuss Henry. For weeks his idle thoughts had run to Henry, causing him grief and rage in near equal measures. If he had needed something dramatic enough to turn his attention, he had certainly encountered it last night.

“Something amusing?” Julian’s smile turned speculative. “I don’t suppose it would have to do with Brenleigh or with anything you would be willing to share with me?”

“You love gossip too much,” Sam replied, his frown setting back into place. “I swear, you are worse than my sisters.”

“Gossip.” Julian rolled his violet-blue eyes, the action making his generous lashes appear even longer. “Not exactly a sport which men like us can play much at, is it? Who would I tell?”

Sam huffed. He was actually rather sure that Julian would never repeat anything he told him in confidence. Julian might dabble in sarcastic barbs, but the man was never unfairly cruel. Still, that was not the point. Julian was precisely the sort of person with whom Sam would never want to share his humiliating history about Henry. Truth be told, everyone was that sort of person.

“Fine, fine. Keep your secrets,” Julian said airily as he rose to his feet. Sam moved to do the same, but before he could, Julian stepped into the space in front of his chair. He braced his hands on the arms and leaned down, effectively caging Sam into the seat. “I am much more interested in what is happening right here.”

Sam stared, more than a little dumbfounded as Julian pressed his soft lips to the side of Sam’s neck. A wave of heat rushed through Sam’s limbs, sending blood to his cheeks as well as more concealed places.

Julian chuckled, the sound deep and delicious. “What were you doing down in the kitchens? You smell like sandalwood soap.”

What on earth was Julian doing? The man was an expert seducer, a fact which Sam knew well from the unique parties they had both attended in wilder years, but he had never trotted those skills out for Sam’s sake. Why bother to seduce a sure thing?

“I think we should reinstate our, mmm, engagement that was interrupted the other day and set it for tonight. I believe I will be quite in the mood for dessert later this evening.” Julian pressed closer, his nose running along the curve of Sam’s ear. “Or even earlier.”

Sam shuddered, lust and confusion playing war over every surface of him. He placed an unsure hand on Julian’s hip, then a much surer one on the other.

“Earlier?” Sam said, his voice rough. “Are you saying
I
could actually tempt you into missing the Brighton returns this afternoon?”

Sam knew that the curricle races to Brighton and back were one of the few events on which Julian placed wagers since he found cards and dice games boring. Sam had to agree, but he also suspected that the races afforded Julian a prime opportunity to ogle the dashing, sportish men who participated in such things. Men like Darnish.

Darnish. Wait. Wasn’t he…?

“Mmm, no Brighton returns today.” Julian nuzzled him, his breath tickling the long hairs that fell over Sam’s ears. Even as Sam’s worries about Darnish resurfaced in force, he could not tamp down the arousal currently making his loosest pair of breeches feel tight.

“N-no returns?” Sam breathed, inhaling Julian’s spicy cologne. “Why not?”

Julian grumbled playfully, letting the hum vibrate through Sam’s neck. “Because Darnish did not show his face this morning, damn his hide.”

“What?” Sam’s entire body went stiff. “What do you mean he did not show his face?”

Julian pulled back, regarding Sam curiously. “Just what I said. Darnish and Weir were set to race this morning, but Darnish never made an appearance. Everyone waited till half past seven, but it was a forfeit. Damn shame too.”

“A damn shame” understated the matter. Curricle racing was not a game to many men, least of all to those who wagered fortunes on their outcomes. With Darnish failing to appear, everyone who had placed money on him had lost by default, and that was likely to be a lot of people since Darnish rarely lost.

“What excuses did he give?” Sam asked, trying to sound casual, though the rush of his words probably ruined it.

Julian’s curious look now had something of an irritated edge to it. “There were no excuses. No servant, no note, nothing. I can tell you, Darnish had better be half dead of worse; otherwise he did a poor service to his reputation today.”

Half dead or worse. Those words bounced around Sam’s mind with a sickening volume, causing him to barely hear when Julian extended his offer once more, this time with fingers crawling through the hairs at the nape of Sam’s neck.

Sam nodded. “Yes. A-absolutely.”

“Mmm, I thought you might be tempted.” Julian chuckled and pulled Sam in for another brush of lips when the almost inaudible click of the door latch caused Julian to launch back and away. Sam would not even have acknowledged the sound but for Julian’s quick action. In half a second, Julian faced the windows, lazily fingering the curtain back as if there was something interesting to see on the street below.

“Tea, sir?” Marie, one of the youngest and newest maids in Sam’s employ, entered the room with a tea tray that looked to weigh almost as much as she. Without thinking, Sam took the tray from her hands and placed it on the low table.

“Oh. Thank you, sir,” Marie said, her apple cheeks coloring. She left, and as soon as the door closed behind her, Julian let out an amused
tut
sound.

“What?” Sam faced him.

“Oh, nothing. Just yet another pretty young girl slain by your charms.”

Sam made a disgusted noise and set about pouring his tea. He was not in the mood to be mocked.

“If only the world could see you in your home, Sam, they would know that you are not nearly the curmudgeon you pretend to be. I get to see all of your sides. Laid bare.”

“Curm…” Sam scowled. “Since you’ve had your breakfast, I think I’m going to be horribly rude and eat in front of you.”

“Oh?” Julian ran his finger over the carved wood at the back of the sofa. “I believe I shall have a little tea, at least. You know, to keep up my strength for later.”

Sam smiled at the insinuation, but it was more forced than it should have been. He should be thrilled to be receiving such particular attention from Julian, which was much more than he had received in the past, but it was the abruptness of the attention that left him more confused than pleased.

But even Julian’s inexplicable turn was not enough to take Sam’s mind from his larger concerns, and the revelation about that morning’s race was not sitting well with him. Why would Darnish not show up to a curricle race and then not even send his excuses? It would be ridiculous of Sam to think that their encounter last night was not involved. It would be too much of a coincidence if something else dire enough had come up to cause Darnish to make such a social blunder as to forfeit a race.

“Half dead or worse.”

No. That was absurd. If anything, Darnish was probably busy figuring out how best to terrify Sam into keeping his mouth shut, though how Darnish could possibly think Sam would spread any rumor about him was near laughable. Compared to John Darnish, Sam was nobody. Who would believe him if he chose to spread tales? If anything, Sam would be the one to ruin himself with such a stupid act. Surely Darnish could see that.

“If you were thinking any louder, I would have to stop my ears,” Julian said over his cup. “Something troubling you?”

“What? No, no. I’m just trying to remember if I had money on the race this morning.” Sam shrugged. “I’ll check the betting books at White’s later. I hardly remember sometimes what I write in the damn thing.”

“Ah.” Julian nodded and sipped his tea, making it more than obvious with his raised brow that he did not believe a word Sam said.

* * * *

“Conway! Who was that?”

The butler nearly jumped out of his skin at the barked words. He held a stack of letters that had been delivered a moment ago by a courier. John eyed them and the front door Conway had just closed. He had not gotten a look at the courier. Was he wearing livery? Was it a legitimate servant, or some criminal person who would delivery unsavory correspondence?

“Give me those!” John snapped as he dashed across the marble tiles of the entrance hall. Conway held out the letters with a guarded motion that John did not miss. The butler was on edge. The entire household was on edge. It was to be expected, considering that their titled employer had clearly lost his mind.

But John did not care. He did not have the energy to care about anyone or anything, save one thing. He clutched the letters to his chest and hurried back to his study, slamming and locking the door behind him. The room was stuffy and a bit rank with the mingled scents of the fireplace, liquor, and the untouched trays of food his servants had insisted on bringing. He had not left the study since that awful night except to use the damn chamber pot now and then or to poke his head into the front hall and demand to know if any letters had come.

“Yes. This is good,” he muttered to himself as he pressed the stack of letters between his hands. This had to be it, finally. Everything would be all right. He had already sent notes to his solicitor and man of business, ordering them to make arrangements for several of his investment accounts to be liquidated. He had also instructed them to make inquires about buyer interest on most of his unentailed properties. They were good properties, well kept and profitable, and he was sure they would sell quickly. Yes, everything would be fine.

He stopped behind his desk, which was littered with business documents and crumpled papers covered with figures, and grabbed his letter opener. Prying away the wax seal of the first letter, he scanned it, then threw it aside. It was nothing more than a list of inquiries from one of his stewards. He pried open the second, then crushed it in his hand. A mindless note from his Aunt Caroline! The last one. This one must be it. Unfolding it quickly, he did not even have to read it to see that it was an invitation to a soiree. An invitation to a bloody party?

He slammed his fists on the desk as he fell, hopeless and exhausted, into his seat. Why hadn’t Shaw sent anything yet? What in God’s name was the man waiting for? It had already been three days. Or two? He was so exhausted he was not sure if the waning light coming through the drapes signaled dusk or dawn. He was being ridiculous. The courier had just come, so it was obviously not dawn.

“Just tell me what you want,” he moaned, the words muffled as he dropped his face into his hands. There was virtually nothing he was not willing to part with. Even if it meant selling the clothes off his back and living like a pauper, he would do it. Anything was better than the alternative.

But it
had
been three days. He was sure of it, and yet Shaw had sent no word. What game was he playing at? John leaned forward, letting his head rest against his crossed arms, and tried to think. Why would he wait? Why would he not have already sent a note with his demands—

“Idiot.” John lifted his head and raked his fingers through his limp hair. How could he have been so stupid? Of course no note had come. A note, anything in writing, would be evidence of blackmail. No, Shaw was clearly too smart for that. But if he had no plans to contact John himself, then he must be expecting John to find him.

“God, no.” He cringed. In the last three days he had lost track of the number of times that hard, sneering face had entered his mind, along with every bad thing he had ever heard about the man. John saw Shaw shaking that pathetic dog and heard Michael talking casually about the angry brute who had more money than he ought.

If John was lucky, money would be his saving grace.

He stood, nearly causing his chair to fall over, and rushed to the bellpull near the door. A minute later there was a soft knock at the door and Conway poked his head in.

“My lord?” he said cautiously.

“Have the carriage prepared right away. I have to make a call. And…” He hesitated. “And tell them to remove my crest from the doors.”

“Yes, my lord. Right away.” Conway stepped back as John passed him and headed for the stairs. As he took them two at a time, his heart pounding into his throat, he prayed that everything would be all right, but he had little hope. Even if he was able to meet the demands, whatever they were, he would still have to contend with the repercussions. How would he explain to his little sister that her dowry was gone and she could not be presented at court? How would he tell his mother he had sold her home out from under her and she would have to move back to the drafty ancestral estate that was barely large enough for the servants? Ah, but space would not be a problem since there would be no money to pay servants. And Lily. Dear God, how would he tell Lily that he could no longer protect her and no longer provide the future he had promised for Sophie?

He caught the sob before it could pass his lips. This was his fault. He was weak and unnatural, and now he was paying the price. His entire family was going to pay the price no matter which choice he made. Ruined by poverty or disgrace.

As he entered his dressing room, much to the shock of his idle valet, John snorted a mad, disgusted laugh at himself. It just occurred to him at that moment that he did not even know where Shaw lived.

* * * *

Sam dropped his head back against the velvet pads of the carriage seat and groaned. He was half amazed and half irritated that he was getting hard again.
Again
, after damn near two days of endless enticement.

Julian wiggled in Sam’s lap and laughed as he dragged his tongue across the exposed top of Sam’s neck.

“We-we’re almost there.” Sam huffed and put his hands on Julian’s hips as if to guide him away, but he did not quite make it that far.

“Really? You are already ‘almost there’?” Julian’s laugh vibrated against Sam’s neck, sending shivers down his back and directly to his cock.

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam countered. Though he was hard and panting and more than tempted to flip Julian onto the opposite seat, exhaustion overwhelmed him. And it was more than just physical exhaustion.