A Wager of Love: M/M Historical Romance (6 page)

Laurie took his hand back from Gilbert’s hair, feeling that this must surely be some manner of jest, but Gilbert seemed so absolutely serious about it. He took the book from him, skimming ahead through the translation and its notes, which went on to talk about how Love inspired men to courage, for no man would wish to show disgraceful cowardice in front of his lover, and that armies and governments ought therefore to be made up of men and their lovers, which would inspire all of them to greater goodness and courage. If Gilbert’s translation was a jest or a forgery, it was a very thorough one.

“I didn’t know about this,” Laurie said. He returned the book into Gilbert’s hands, wondering how he had missed learning about such a thing, or if it had been hidden from him. He had heard of the sinful lust of buggery, but knew nothing of genuine romantic love existing between men.

Keeping his place with a finger, Gilbert closed the book. “Do you want me to continue?”

It seemed cowardly to hide from knowledge, no matter how unexpected. Laurie sighed, and returned his hand to Gilbert’s hair. “Yes.”

He listened as Gilbert read on, about the concept of love as one of the gods, eldest among them, and further regarding the love of Aphrodite Pandemos—common love, or base lust—and Aphrodite Urania—the love which transcends lust and fastens upon the wisdom and virtue in a lover’s soul. When there was a pause in the narrative, Laurie pressed the book down onto Gilbert’s chest to pause him in his reading, being too distracted by his own thoughts to focus on the text.

Pausing accordingly, Gilbert looked up with patient curiosity to see what Laurie had to say.

“Do you believe in this?” Laurie asked. His brow furrowed, and he looked off across the room, deeply uncertain.

“In love betwixt two men? I don’t see why not.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
If one loves the soul of a person, and not the body—or, perhaps, both, as I see no reason why love might be risen all the nobler if the love of Aphrodite Pandemos and Aphrodite Urania were united in one heart… I’ve lost track of my thoughts.” Gilbert gestured thoughtfully with one hand until he found his argument once again. “If one loves a soul, what does it matter the shape of their flesh? For our souls, once removed from the body, have no sex, do they?”

Laurie blinked at that, not well-informed on the religious theory and debate of whether the immortal soul might have innate gender or if it transcended such matters of the flesh, and not able to remember anything but a discussion about whether or not feminine weakness originated from the female soul or if the soul was inherently weakened and corrupted by being contained within female flesh, which was farther from the true form of God who had shaped man in his image. His sister Elizabeth had taken
heated
objection to that philosophy, being a passionate supporter of women’s suffrage, and Laurie found himself rather inclined to agree with her. “It’s a question of religious philosophy. I suppose I don’t know.”

“Regardless, then. I may assure you, that there are men in this world—and women likewise—who prefer the company and passion of their own sex, though whether their affections are of Aphrodite Pandemos, Urania, or the innocent love of friendship, I cannot at this time be certain.”

“Even if they do,” Laurie asked, having never given thought to the topic other than hearing the occasional mention in sermons on the temptations of lust and feeling grateful that he had never been tempted thusly, “are such things innately sinful?”

“I am an atheist, Laurie,” Gilbert reminded him, “and betimes a devotee of Lucifer, so I have little fear or concern for matters of sin. In regards to our wager, we have no business with sin, but only love: it is irrelevant to our philosophy as to whether or not such affection is sinful, we must strive to determine only if it is truly
love
.”

“If it is truly love,” Laurie decided, sighing, “then I do not believe it can be sin, for surely there is no greater virtue or blessing than love.”

Gilbert grinned up at him. “I entirely agree.
If
love exists, then by its nature love cannot be sin.”

“It is your turn next to furnish some proof,” Laurie reminded him. “Have you decided upon our next venture?”

“I have.” Gilbert’s grinned widened with wickedness and delight. “We are going to a brothel.”

Laurie groaned. “Oh,
Christ
.”

“
A
house of
sin
,” Laurie fretted, while the carriage bore them ever closer to their destination. “Gilbert, I don’t wish to engage in…” He cleared his throat, having considerable difficulty naming any of the specific practices that one might participate in at a brothel.

“We are here strictly as observers,” Gilbert assured him. “Indeed, we may make it a condition of our wager that in the interests of impartiality, neither of us may touch any of the persons we encounter therein, and indeed that we shall make every effort to dissuade them from touching us.”

That calmed Laurie’s nerves. “Agreed,” he said gratefully, still fidgeting in his seat. “Have you…” he began, and then found himself at a loss for words.

“Have I?”

Laurie cleared his throat and tried again. “Do you visit such establishments often?”

The alarmed twitch that Gilbert made was satisfying all on its own, and Laurie rather suspected that he was blushing.

“No, certainly not,” Gilbert blurted, running a hand through his already-messy curls. “To be perfectly honest, Laurie, I have never, ah…” This time Gilbert cleared his throat, looking utterly sheepish, which was endearing. “I have only a general idea as to what I am getting us into, although I have been assured, from trustworthy sources, that we might, ahem, be able to procure a situation where we might…
observe
a, um,” he gestured awkwardly, at a loss for words, “performance of love-making.”

Hiccuping a nervous laugh, Laurie pressed his hand to his mouth, feeling much better about the whole adventure because Gilbert was almost as nervous and seeing Gilbert nervous was deeply charming.

They alighted on a dark street, in front of a house with drawn curtains, and Gilbert arranged with the carriage driver that he should return to pick them up in an hour’s time. Gilbert drew himself up, play-acting at being as recklessly courageous as ever, and Laurie kept close to him as they made their way up the stone steps of the house and rapped at the door.

A middle-aged woman opened it and smiled at them, immediately inviting them inside. “Here, now, sirs, do come in. Make yourselves comfortable.” She shut the door, guiding them into a haphazardly decorated parlour with red and pink decor, where several young women watched them with varying degrees of interest. Gilbert seemed perfectly relaxed under their scrutiny, while Laurie pressed warily against his side.

“What’ll it be, then?” said the older woman, resting her fists on her hips and giving them a businesslike smile.

“We wish for a spectacle,” Gilbert said, with calm assurance, “as I understand might be procured here. Two women, to counterfeit at love with each other. At no point will we come into any sort of physical contact with the performers. We wish only to observe. If the counterfeit is good enough to make us believe that there is truly love being portrayed, I will double the fee.”

“As you wish, sir,” the woman said, glancing over her girls and then nodding. “Amelia, Emma. Room two. May I offer you gentlemen any refreshment?”

“Wine,” Gilbert accepted, only glancing briefly at the young women selected before returning his attention to the matron. “Fresh fruit if you have it.”

The woman named a fee for the spectacle and the refreshments, which Gilbert paid, and then Amelia and Emma approached them, curtseying and smiling. Neither of the young women were especially pretty, and Emma in particular seemed pale and unhealthy, with her cheeks painted to give them colour.

Laurie felt more countrified than ever. The young women around the room looked varying degrees of sick or hungry, and he found himself wondering how any man might desire such miserable creatures. Laurie instead rather wanted to ply them with tea and sandwiches until their colour improved. He thought it likely that Gilbert had opinions aplenty on the subject of the London whorehouses and the particular social conditions which contributed to their poverty and ill-health, and perhaps even the sort of reforms necessary to improve the situation.

They were led upstairs to a private bedroom, and the matron soon provided a bottle of wine and a bowl of strawberries. Gilbert took up a seat upon a couch to one side of the room with a view of the bed, sprawled with a carelessness that was a little bit more contrived than usual, and Laurie sat nervously beside him.

The young women tittered uncertainly, staying close to each other as well and giving the young gentlemen flirtatious smiles. Gilbert saw and understood the trouble right away.

“We’d prefer to be ignored entirely, if you would,” he told them. “We’d like a spectacle of love, as if the two of you loved only each other, and we were naught but ghosts in the room.”

“As you will, sir,” Amelia said, curtseying again and then turning her full attention to Emma. The two of them began to kiss, seemingly no longer paying the slightest amount of attention to their guests.

Satisfied, Gilbert opened the bottle of wine and poured for himself and Laurie, offering his friend a glass. Laurie took a large gulp to fortify himself.

The young women continued their sweet, lingering kisses as they began to undress each other. Laurie found his eyes lingering with embarrassed blushes. He had never seen a woman unclad, outside of paintings or sculptures, and took another swallow of the wine.

Gilbert leaned against his shoulder, making himself comfortable and reaching for the strawberries. Where Laurie’s eyes skittered away or hesitated from looking, Gilbert gazed openly, watching the spectacle with the same sort of calm as if they were watching a new and somewhat risqué opera.

Their performers murmured between themselves, shared little whispers and giggles that were charmingly done. Laurie felt more strongly as if he was watching something private, a shared sweetness where he had no place. The same concerns did not appear to affect Gilbert, who ate strawberries calmly as he watched, offering up a berry on his fingertips to Laurie’s lips.

Blushing at the odd sort of presumption in that, Laurie took the fruit with lips and tongue, chewing on it and dropping the stem into the little dish set beside for the purpose. Gilbert watched him as he did it, a wry smile on his lips, and offered another. Feeling teased, Laurie elbowed him and got an unapologetic laugh of delight.

Naked now, the women tumbled onto the bed, kissing and touching each other intimately. Squirming with embarrassment, Laurie pressed closer to Gilbert, as though Gilbert would provide defence against the scene.

As the women’s activities grew more heated, the sweetness remained, though Laurie was uncertain whether it was feigned.

“I feel like a peeping tom,” Laurie murmured to Gilbert, who smiled with playful mirth and held up another strawberry to his lips. Grumbling, Laurie bit into it, tucking the bite into his cheek as he muttered. “You are
irrepressible
.”

“And gladly so.” Gilbert ate a berry, licking the juice from his fingertips. “Do you find yourself convinced by the performance?”

One of the women gave a moan of pleasure that made Laurie twitch and fidget. Gilbert laughed, sitting up enough that he could murmur in Laurie’s ear. “What is it about this that makes you squirm so? The sight of naked women? The sight of two women together? Or simply the fact that we are watching while they perform?”

Laurie shook his head, scowling. “I’m not certain.”

“Do you wish you were participating?” Gilbert asked.

“No,” Laurie said, not having to hesitate on that, though he wasn’t certain what it was about the situation which repelled him.

“Have you seen enough?” Gilbert offered, still murmuring in Laurie’s ear. His tone was more serious now. “We can have them cease.”

Laurie bit the inside of his cheek, taking another sip of wine as he considered. They were here to establish the question of love, as presented or counterfeited within a brothel. “Yes,” he decided, turning his attention fully toward Gilbert and away from the performance.

“Ladies,” Gilbert said, rising smoothly to his feet. “That will be quite enough, and thank you.”

The women promptly broke apart, fetched their clothing, and began to dress. Laurie watched them only from the corner of his eyes, preferring to focus on Gilbert. His friend placed a protective hand between Laurie’s shoulder blades and smiled at him. “All right?”

Unable to speak, Laurie nodded once.

Gilbert took out his wallet, giving the young women some coins and then steering Laurie out of the room and back down the steps. The matron of the house looked surprised to see them again, but Gilbert handled the situation gracefully, assuring her of their satisfaction with the presentation. He tipped her, as well, and guided Laurie out the front door, keeping a hand on him the entire time.

They lingered on the steps, as their carriage had not yet reappeared. Gilbert cupped Laurie’s cheek in his hand to study his face in the dim light. “How are you faring?”

“Well enough, Gilbert,” Laurie murmured, keeping half an eye on the street for fear of footpads and in hope of their transport. “I’m not traumatised.”

“I might indeed have to tease you were you traumatised by the sight of a woman’s muff,” Gilbert said, keeping protectively close to him and only relaxing once they caught sight of their carriage approaching.

The two of them slipped inside, glad to be back inside its safety, and their driver turned the carriage toward Gilbert’s residence.

“So,” Gilbert prompted, “what is it that you saw tonight? Was love counterfeited or truly performed?”

Laurie removed his hat and rested his elbows on his thighs, dropping his head forward as he thought. “Either way, I find myself troubled by it, Gilbert.”

“Expand upon your reasons.”

His steady, logical tone helped to calm Laurie, since it brought them back to the impartial logic of their philosophical discussions and out of the uncertain roil of emotions that the visit to the brothel had inspired.

Sitting up again, Laurie played the brim of his hat through his fingers, thinking it over. “It is within the realm of possibility that the women were indeed lovers. The … madame of the place had her choice of the … women, when she selected Amelia and Emma, and we know not if they are, as you have postulated, the sort of women who prefer the passion and company of their own sex, regardless of their profession.”

“I agree,” Gilbert said. “It is improbable, but well within possibility that our performers were indeed lovers and selected accordingly.”

“You took care, I think, not to rule out either possibility.”

Gilbert’s teeth flashed in a smile. “It would have eliminated half our possibilities of discussion if I had. Continue, please. If they were lovers, what then?”

“If they are indeed lovers,” Laurie said, taking up the thread of discussion, “then they are nonetheless constrained to accept strange men into their beds, separately or together, and cannot by any measure be capable of remaining faithful to each other, if they must for whatever reason continue in prostitution.”

“For the same reason I imagine that you would, in their circumstances.”

Laurie flushed with startled indignation at the suggestion that he would under any circumstances prostitute himself. “I would never.”

“Wouldn’t you? You’re pretty enough for it, I do assure you, and there are young men aplenty in the profession. If you found yourself destitute and you might venture either the exhaustion and starvation of a workhouse or the relative comfort of selling your body for as long as your health and youth remained to you, which might you then choose?”

Feeling sick at the thought, Laurie pressed his knuckles to his mouth and forced himself miserably to consider the question. “I don’t know, Gilbert,” he resolved at last.

“Forgive me,” Gilbert said. “I’m eternally striving to destroy your sweet optimism, aren’t I? And then you’ll be as bitter as I am. Disregard the question, Laurie. Once more—if they are indeed lovers, then…”

“If they are indeed lovers,” Laurie repeated, taking a breath and retreating into the safety of neutral philosophy as much as he could, “then their love was bought and made a farce for our amusement. If they are lovers, then indeed they are doomed to misery within it.”

“Such nihilism, my dear Laurie,” Gilbert said, voice gentle. “If they are indeed lovers, or if they love any thing or person else, then perhaps their love provides them some hope and goodness in their life which they might otherwise not possess.”

That was a reassuring thought. Laurie nodded acceptance. “And if they are not lovers, then they were forced to fake such affection.”

“To make a performance of it,” Gilbert agreed, “as certain as any play-actor in the theatre. Is there not a necessary performance of theatre in whoring? They must indeed counterfeit pleasure and affection toward their clients, or else learn to do without a clientele.”

“Do they?” Laurie asked. “Christ. I think I’d rather have mere base lust as a true sensation rather than a counterfeit love.”

“Are you so resigned? That’s honest of you.”

“To be sure, Gilbert, it is the very basis of my involvement in our wager. If you are correct, and there is indeed no love in the world but only lust and dependency, then I would rather know the truth of it than to continue believing a falsehood.”

“You sound as though you’re half prepared already to concede the wager to me.”

Laurie sat back miserably in his seat, thinking of all the poverty and neglect he’d seen in London, all the love crushed or abandoned, all the folly and cruelty of the world. “Perhaps I am.”

“I beg that you won’t, Laurie.”

The earnestness in his voice was a surprise, and Laurie looked up, wishing that he could read Gilbert’s expression in the darkness.

“I most desperately want you to win the wager,” Gilbert said, voice very soft. “If I win, and do so drag you down into my doubt and bitterness, then I shall indeed lose all hope that I am wrong, and that there is such a thing as love, or that I might ever be able to feel such a thing. All the love poems in my library and engraved in my memory would be no more than words to a false idol, and the image of the most priceless sentiment in our world would be no more than filth and ash. I need you to win. You have to prove to me that the shred of hope in my bitter heart is worth keeping. Even unrequited, Laurie—I want to be in love.”