Indulgence 2: One Glimpse (17 page)

But he refused to let his spirits sink. He was happy and relieved and felt lighter than he had even before that disastrous night at the brothel. More than once during the performance, as his head grew fuzzy from glass after glass of champagne, he found himself gazing across the theater at Sam’s box.

How he ever could have seen Sam as mediocre, John did not know. His face was so kind and expressive when he wasn’t purposely scowling to hide the fact. Every now and then, he would laugh or perceive something in the performance before leaning over and whispering to his little sister. And John had not been dispensing false flattery when he said Sam had a fine figure. He was compact, sturdy, warm. John could just imagine how perfectly he would fit against him in an embrace—

“Still can’t believe you offered to be Shaw’s second, Darn,” Weir said suddenly, turning in his seat.

“He is a friend of mine,” John replied.

“Since when? I have never seen you exchange a word with him. He doesn’t even race or attend the clubroom at Tattersall’s. What’s to talk about with the man?” Weir laughed and his buxom paramour joined in.

“Something other than horses, I should think,” John snapped. It was entirely unlike him, which was why Weir balked at the response.

“Tell me you haven’t come down with an artistic streak,” Weir said with a mock sigh. “I hear Shaw is quite the fixture in poetry circles. Heaven save us from brooding bores.”

“And the nonbrooding ones,” John muttered. The orchestra hit a conclusive chord, and John was relieved to see the curtains swing down to end the first act. There was movement in the boxes as people rose.

John stood, then immediately grabbed the back of his chair. Perhaps he
had
taken one too many glasses.

“I see Mosley is here with Claudette. Shall we make a visit over?” John offered his hand to Lily. He knew she would be thankful for the reprieve from Weir’s company, and Claudette was one of the few mistresses within John’s circle of friends whose company Lily liked.

“Yes, I would like to say hello,” she said.

“If you stop by Shaw’s box, be sure to get a few lines from him. I’d love to hear his rhymes on a Jackson’s ring thrashing.” Weir roared with laughter at his own joke, taking the last of John’s drink-weakened tolerance.

“I’ll be sure to suggest he use smaller words for the purpose if you are to be his target reader,” John said. He thoroughly enjoyed the look of affront on Weir’s face as they escaped into the dim hallway.

“John, I’ve never heard you exchange a hot word with Mr. Weir before—”

“That’s because I’ve been a fool before. The man is too much even on his better days. I will ask Mosley if there is room in his box for the rest of the performance.”

Lily patted the top of his arm. “I am glad. I’ve not liked to say anything, but I have never enjoyed his company.”

“You are too kind, Lil, as always,” he assured her.

In his happy state, he almost admitted she was right about his drunkenness too. He was not too unsteady to walk, but the world was muffled, and he enjoyed a silly sense of excitement and cheer. He squeezed Lily’s hand again as they passed the curtained archways of the boxes.

“You are far too kind to me. Do you know?” he said stupidly. “You would have made a better man so happy.”

“Oh my, you are foxed, aren’t you?” she said, smiling. “But
has
something happened? I almost feel as if you are celebrating.”

“Ah, but I am celebrating! Something I thought was impossible has happened. So impossible that I never even thought about it before.”

She pressed her lips against a laugh. “All right. As you say.”

He laughed at himself too, but as they turned the corner to the second-floor stair landing, he nearly ran into the object of his elation.

“Sam! You almost ran into me again. Your hand isn’t bleeding this time, is it?” John laughed at his joke, then laughed a bit more at the look on Sam’s face.

“I see you have been enjoying the performance,” Sam offered, biting his lip. He glanced to his left, where John finally noticed his sister standing with him.

“Miss Shaw again. Good evening, my dear.” John took her hand almost before she could raise it. She was plain-looking, but he would just bet she had a sharp mind and kind heart, and probably many other hidden virtues. Just like her brother. “Lily, this is Miss Shaw, Sam’s little sister. She’s new to the London season and hating every minute of it.”

Lily dug her fingers into John’s arm, but it wasn’t until he saw the anxious look on Sam’s face that he realized what he had done. One did not introduced respectable ladies to mistresses. In fact, he should not have even stopped to exchange words when he had Lily at his side.

“I…” John floundered. His damned muffled brain kept telling him to laugh it off, but his last remnants of sobriety were panicking.

“Oh! Well, he’s absolutely right,” Miss Shaw said suddenly. “I am hating every minute of it. Though the performance tonight is entertaining.”

John was shocked to see that Miss Shaw had addressed her words to Lily. She was smiling kindly, though the wideness of her eyes told that she knew she was doing something bad.

Lily glanced at both men nervously. “I can imagine it is trying. I am told the invitations pile up so.”

“Yes,” Miss Shaw said, apparently delighted. “I must go to a card party tomorrow evening, though I would really rather not. But what choice do I have in the matter?”

Sam’s anxious expression only deepened, and he kept looking over his shoulder as if expecting someone. Then John remembered the older sister, Lady Crowl. Oh, she would not be so pleased with their little sister speaking on friendly terms with a fallen woman.

“At least I will not have to rely entirely on my sister to arrange all my dance partners this Friday,” Miss Shaw continued, though John had missed the start of the topic.

“Oh?” Lily said, still seemingly nervous yet also strangely happy. It made John’s heart ache to see her so touched over a few civil words.

“Yes. Mr. Evers had reserved two dances with me, including the dinner waltz.” Flor smiled sheepishly. “Do you know Mr. Evers?”

John watched Sam, who now seemed more angry than anxious. Ah, Evers. Yes. John had almost forgotten about all that.

“Flor, I see Kat coming down from the upper boxes. Join her, would you?” The girl was not ignorant of the situation, for she gave Lily another quick smile and rushed to the stairs before their sister could notice where she had come from.

“Sorry about that,” John muttered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Think nothing of it,” Sam assured him. He then turned to Lily. “Good evening, miss. Forgive me, but I don’t know your surname.”

“Bellows,” she said with some emotion in her voice.

“Miss Bellows.” Sam bowed over her hand, as he would any lady.

“Goodness, sir. Your face.” Lily’s voice was filled with concern. “Did you suffer an accident?”

“An accident of my own making, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Lily nodded her understanding.

“Sam, join us to Mosley’s box, won’t you?” John said. He would have given a reason, but he didn’t really have one. He just wasn’t ready to part with Sam yet. Sam agreed and, as they turned to walk on, John extended his free arm toward Sam as if inviting him to hold it, then quickly pulled it back. What the devil was he thinking?

“I’ve had far too much to drink,” he said to no one.

Sam and Lily laughed, then smiled at each other as if sharing the joke. “I would say so. Perhaps a bit,” Sam said.

They reached Mosley’s box, and Lily moved to visit with Claudette, a tiny redheaded woman with features like a china doll. Mosley, a good-natured fellow in his late thirties with sandy-brown hair, barely said hello before making a fuss over Sam.

“Shaw, well! Heard about your row with Brenleigh. Don’t want to alarm you, but there is a growing list of wagers in the book at White’s on just what your quarrel is about. Brenleigh isn’t saying a word on it.”

Sam only smiled and shrugged, which Mosley took to be a clever show and started laughing. He was a boisterous man too, but without Weir’s grating attitude.

“I think he acquitted himself quite well,” John declared. “Brenleigh is sporting a few marks of his own, don’t doubt it.”

“Oh, he is too. Saw him at the auction yesterday,” Mosley said. “So, no hints at all on the manner of your quarrel? You wouldn’t begrudge me inside information for a wager, would you?”

It was all good fun, which Sam acknowledged with another shake of his head. “I’m afraid not. You will just have to be wrong with everyone else.”

“Ho! And gloat over them about it, eh? Very well.”

It was another few minutes before a group of men entered the box, all laughing and a fair bit into their cups. Though, not as deep as John, he suspected. He was still flying high with delight and resisting the urge to touch. He had always been so when drinking, but Sam’s presence at his side was beginning to feel almost painful. Would it be so bad if he placed a hand on his shoulder, perhaps only when he spoke of him? That would not be untoward, would it?

Stop it.

Michael and several of John’s other usual mates from the riding clubs had entered the box. Just as at the ball, Michael seemed determined to ignore Sam entirely while he and the others drew Mosley into a discussion about the annual hunting party he threw at his estate near Andover. Which was in only ten days.

Another thing John had forgotten about.

“Darny, do you plan to bring that beautiful chestnut mare out to my place next week?” Mosley said. “I still have a mind to buy her from you, though you keep refusing. Or I could ask now. You seem foxed enough to agree.”

“Not so much as all that,” John countered, then fortuitously stumbled over the leg of a chair and grabbed Sam’s shoulder.

This set the men to laughing while John took the briefest of moments to inhale Sam’s cologne. Subtle, natural, and only noticeable up close. Such a perfect match to him.

Sam steadied him and said, “Ask him, Mosley. I think he might pay
you
to take the horse.”

Everyone laughed again, except Michael, who cast Sam an irritated look. What manner of superiority did Michael imagine he had over Sam anyway? John suddenly felt immensely insulted. And protective. He scowled and was about to step forward and give Michael a few hot words, when Sam squeezed his arm.

“Don’t say anything. It’s nothing,” Sam whispered.

That Sam had noticed John’s pique was embarrassing. He needed to remember himself, but that did not mean he wasn’t going to make a point.

“I say, Mosley, you have any more room for the hunt?” John said.

“You know me, Darn. The more the merrier.”

“Then what do you say, Sam?” John turned to him as the words spilled out. “You’ve been the doting brother for long enough. Surely you could use a break from the season.”

Sam looked startled and glanced at Mosley as if he expected him to object. John hated that.

“A fine idea.” Mosley clapped his hands. “I wager that after a few days of shameless prying, I’ll get you to admit something on those bets, eh? And if not, it’s good sport. I fancy my bird stock is among the finest in the country.”

John held his breath as Sam hesitated and a series of thoughts seemed to dance behind those green eyes. Did he not wish to travel with John? Was that it? Traveling! He had not even thought of that.

“I think you’re right,” Sam said. “I should take a holiday. I believe my sister will refuse to be seen with me in public again unless it is at a masquerade.” He waved a hand at his black eye.

The men all laughed again, though at this point John suspected they were so tipsy as to find anything amusing. Still, it was amusing, and he was pleased that Sam could make light of it.

“I’ll wager Brenleigh’s sporting quite a plum himself,” John said with some satisfaction.

“Careful there, Darn,” Michael warned. “Were the wrong people to hear you, they might think you had some sort of quarrel with Brenleigh.”

“Nothing of the sort. I hardly know the man.”

Michael was right to give the warning, though. John had sounded just as satisfied as he felt. He was not in a humor to be fair and unbiased, especially not where Sam was concerned. Whatever had happened, Brenleigh was at fault, and that was that.

“Too true, too true,” Mosley seconded. “I know him little myself, being still new to town and keeping a small company as he does, but the man
is
an earl, you know. Best to not be rash with taking sides.”

Throughout this small speech, John kept glancing at Sam, to see him grow increasingly uncomfortable. Sam looked to the archway, and John could already see him formulating an excuse to leave.

“That is no impugnment on you, sir, I assure you,” Mosley added quickly, giving Sam a respectful nod.

Thank you, Mos.

“No offense taken,” Sam said. “My, eh, disagreement with Lord Brenleigh is my own concern. I’ve no wish to drag others into it.”

“Too right,” Mosley agreed.

It was clear that Sam planned to make his escape. John sighed, unhappy to be parted from Sam so soon, but the intermission was almost at an end regardless.

“Wait a moment,” Michael said suddenly, his chiseled features pulling up in a grin. “If memory serves, I believe you and Brenleigh were at Harrow at the same time, were you not, Shaw? Yes, I’m certain Evers mentioned something about Brenleigh being there. He was telling me a different story at the time, though. An entertaining anecdote having to do with you getting locked in a cellar or some such?”

Sam’s expression turned to stone, and then John saw that damned protective mask slide over his face until he was all but scowling at Michael.

“Yes, I remember something about that,” Sam said flatly. “Boys. They do incredibly stupid things. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I must get back.” He turned to face Lily. “Miss Bellows, it was a pleasure.”

Lily’s smile was genuine. “Mine too, Sir Samuel. Good evening.”

Sam nodded, then left without so much as looking at anyone else.

No!
John felt a sudden wave of panic, though he could not explain it. Seeing the smirk on Michael’s face made him livid.