Indulgence 2: One Glimpse (7 page)

“John!”

He cringed just before he put on an easy smile and lifted his chin toward Michael, who pushed his way through the crowd toward him.

“Planning to wager on the next round?” Michael said, his eyes scanning over the empty ring. “I’m putting down twenty myself.”

“I don’t think so,” John replied. “I’m done in for the night.”

“What? Already?” Michael blurted, his voice pitched far too high. It was then John remembered that Michael had arrived with him in his carriage.

“I’ll leave my carriage for you and find myself a cab,” John said with a shrug, still holding out the front of his coat like a shield. His mind was already firmly on the delights that awaited him in a seedier part of town. Very firmly.

“Are you sure?” Michael said, shifting his weight. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“Think nothing of it,” John said dismissively. In fact, the turn of events was perfect. He had had no intention of using his own coach to reach his final destination that night, so this would save him the circular trip of dropping Michael off and returning home only to turn around and search for a cab in the middle of the night.

“Off to Lily’s house, is it?” Michael said, waggling his eyebrows. “So be it. While you’re there spending money, I’ll be here making some.”

John clenched his jaw, a nasty retort just lingering on the tip of his tongue. He hated hearing Lily referred to in such a way, like a whore, but he hated even more the fact that he needed her to be seen that way.

So he put on his usual cocky smile and said, “At least my purchase is guaranteed. You, however, may be in dun territory by dawn.”

“We shall see. Fair winds, then.” Michael waved his hand over his shoulder, still laughing and making faces.

John left Michael to his laughter and innuendos as he shouldered his way through the crowd and out into the damp street. The cool air was a godsend, even if that part of London reeked of the fish docks and rotting wood. After sending his coachman off into the night to find a cab, John let his mind drift. Soon, he would be in a warm, candlelit room, the air smelling of a mixture of beeswax and subtle cologne. Not perfume. Cologne.

But as it was taking his man rather long to find a cab, some of his thoughts strayed from the coming night of pleasure to the events of earlier that day. He did not want to admit it for whatever strange reason, but he was disappointed over the encounter with Shaw. He had no earthly idea why he should care, but the show of emotion he had seen in Shaw at the concert had left him feeling strange. Or hopeful? Relieved? Yes, relieved that there might actually be men in the ton who were sincere, who were alive, who weren’t putting on airs and acting a script of detached sophistication every waking moment.

Men unlike me.

But thoughts like that were pointless. John did only what he had to do, and besides, the nasty display he had seen with Shaw and that wretched dog was probably the most genuine thing he had seen in a while. The man had come off as quite
genuinely
callous and mean. It would appear that everything John had heard about Shaw, little though it was thus far, was true. He was a sneering little brute and best to be avoided.

John lifted his face to the damp night air and drew a deep breath. He was reaching that moment when the thrill of anticipation and his ever-present terror mixed to make him downright shaky. No matter how long he waited and worried, though, the anticipation always won.

* * * *

Sam raked his fingers through the whore’s soft chestnut curls and applied only the slightest pressure to the back of the man’s skull. It was an act of consideration as well as delicious self-torment. All of his instincts told him to thrust his cock to the back of the whore’s throat, but restraint held its own kind of pleasure.

The man hummed approval as he sank farther down, sending a shudder up Sam’s spine. He groaned and stumbled, thankful for the bedpost just behind him. Pierre, the beautiful creature currently pressing the tip of his tongue to the most sensitive underside of Sam’s flesh, was probably pretending to enjoy the act just as much as he pretended to be French. A man visited a brothel to purchase fantasy, after all.

Pierre drew back, allowing the flushed head of Sam’s cock to rest just against his pink lips. Sam clenched his jaw and tried to keep the beautiful sight from sending him over the edge. He was not quite ready for the evening to come to such a schoolboy end, but the thought was futile. He was not going to last much longer, and Pierre appeared to be utilizing ever bit of his salacious skill to make certain he did not.

“I was wondering when you would visit me again,” Pierre said, his lips close enough to tease Sam as he spoke. “It has been a while.”

It had indeed. Sam knew more than enough like-minded men with insatiable appetites that he need never visit a brothel for companionship if he did not wish to. Still, there were times when he craved the honesty. In a brothel, a man paid and received what he paid for, and if there was any illusion, it was an illusion both had agreed upon, like paying to see an actor perform on the stage. Some of the men Sam sported with only called on him when they were bored or when other options were out of town. And there were times when he was made to feel, in the most subtle of ways, that he should be
grateful
for their notice.

It was amazing how some men could manage an attitude of haughty superiority while being bent over a desk.

“Oh, I don’t like that face.” Pierre pouted. “It looks like you’re thinking about something dull. Here, let me distract you.”

Sam gasped before he released a long, deep moan. If Pierre was good at anything, it was distraction.

His focus on the skilled movements of Pierre’s tongue broke when a loud thump sounded through the nearby wall. It was followed by a second thump and the distinct rumble of male laughter. Sam rolled his head against the bedpost and chuckled.

“Clearly I am not the only man enjoying himself tonight,” he said and ran his fingers through Pierre’s silky curls again.

“If you were not so restrained,” Pierre drawled, kissing Sam’s flushed tip again, “we could compete with them.”

Sam laughed but with no intent to encourage him. Pierre suddenly resumed his task, taking Sam deep until he felt the back of Pierre’s throat working around him. He had had such plans for the evening, mostly involving fucking Pierre through the fine feather mattress, but to hell with it. He was already too far gone. His crisis kept building until his legs trembled and sweat beaded his forehead. At last, he thrust deep into Pierre’s mouth and made a barely audible grunt as he found his release. As always, he did not lose control. His grip in Pierre’s hair was still gentle, his restrained sounds proof that even in the throes of pleasure he could never truly let go.

Drawing back, Pierre sent a shudder through Sam’s body with one last playful lick. The minx. Even as he trembled over the aftereffects, Sam felt a good portion of his tension fall away. He chuckled, more to himself than anything, and began the awkward process of straightening his clothes. Pierre rose to his feet and sauntered over to the fine mahogany sideboard.

“Brandy?” he said casually, as if he had not just sucked Sam to completion in record time.

“Thank you.” Sam fell into one of the wingback chairs near the fireplace. He always lingered for a bit afterward. He didn’t like to make his way out still damp with sweat and breathing as if he had just run a flight of stairs. Pierre handed him the glass of deep amber liquid and took a step back. He smiled, but Sam did not miss Pierre’s nervous glance at the mantel clock.

“If you have to be going, that’s fine.”

Pierre’s cheeks pinked. “No, no. I don’t want to go anywhere,” he assured him and ran his hand over Sam’s shoulder.

Sam was tempted to drop his head back and allow Pierre to pamper him, but tender caresses and allusions to sentiment were one form of fantasy that Sam refused to buy. He stopped Pierre’s hand in a gentle grip.

“Really. If there is someone waiting on you, don’t keep them on my account.” Seeing Pierre’s indecision, he added, “I think you’ve more than earned something extra tonight. I’ll leave it for you.”

Pierre’s face brightened, and that mask of lustful rakishness fell back into place. As Sam had suspected, the man’s concern was with losing the generous tip Sam always left for him. Pierre retrieved his coat from the bed where he had tossed it earlier and proceeded to pull it on. On his way back, he leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to the side of Sam’s neck.

“I do always enjoy our time together, Sir Samuel.”

“I am sure,” Sam replied, his tone not at all sarcastic or cutting. “As do I.”

Pierre issued another pleased grin, then left with a soft click of the door latch. Sam turned back to the dim room and took a deep swallow of the brandy. It burned a path through his chest and settled into his near-empty stomach. He had neglected to eat dinner, owed mostly to the fact that his arrival at the kitchen door with a filthy, starved, frightened dog had thrown the entire house into disorder. His cook had cursed up a storm, and the scullery maid had gotten a fine scratch on her arm when the mouser cat had decided to show its outrage over the situation. Never mind the huff of disapproval he had received from his valet when the man had seen his ruined clothes.

Sam turned his head when the crackle of the fireplace was joined by another performance from next door. Instead of laughter, it was muffled moans of pleasure and someone shouting out the word “please.” Sam shook his head and took another sip of brandy. It did not escape his notice that both voices sounded distinctly male, which was not surprising. That particular brothel tended to reserve the third floor for patrons with less common requests.

He stood and threw back the last swallow. As he retrieved money from his pocket to count out the fee and Pierre’s generous tip, the door flew open. A woman draped in the most transparent and provocative of filmy pink gowns rushed across the room and toward the bed. It wasn’t until she had already pulled back the coverlet that she spotted Sam and shrieked.

“Goodness! I’m sorry. I didn’t know this room was still occupied.”

Sam knew the woman well enough, for she had been working at the house for some years and had first started as one of the wide-eyed maids whose job it was to escort men up to their particular rooms. More than once she had escorted Sam to the third floor.

“No harm, Lizzy,” Sam said, smiling to calm her. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, flaming red curls jumping. “No, sir. I just, well, I think I lost my locket necklace in this room earlier today, and Lord Rigby is waiting for me, and if I’m not wearing it, he’ll be angry. He gave it to me as a particular gift, and…”

Sam considered leaving her to her search, but seeing the frantic look on the poor girl’s face made him stop. What harm would it do to help her look for a few minutes? It wasn’t as if he was pressed to be anywhere. Though, if he did not “do something about that dog,” in his cook’s words, his household might be in a state of warfare by the time he returned.

“Well, let’s just have a look around,” he said with a shrug. “Is it gold or silver?”

“What? Oh, gold, and it has a circle of rubies on the face,” she said as she began pulling the pillows away from the headboard and running her hands along the sheets.

Seeing that the bed had been made since it was last occupied, Sam doubted she would find anything there. Still, it was a possibility. He took a candle from the holder nearby and knelt next to the bed, doing his best to shine the flickering light underneath. The space between the mattress and headboard was always the place where wanted items were most likely to fall. Sure enough, a glint of gold winked at him from against the wall, where the necklace had probably fallen through the bedding from above. Sam grunted as he strained to reach the locket.

“Here we are,” he said, swinging the locket slowly from its chain as he stood.

Lizzy hopped in place, then bounded across the bed like a cat to retrieve it from him. She pressed the cold metal to her lips and beamed. “Thank you, sir. You’ve saved me tonight, more than you know. I promise I’ll remember to thank you. Next time.” She grinned and her light blue eyes sparkled as she laid her hands on his chest. She slid them up to his shoulders and brushed the underside of his jaw with her fingers.

Sam held his hands behind his back with a bemused look.

“Oh, pooh!” She huffed, playfully offended. “It’s just not fair, not with you having those beautiful green eyes of yours. Sure you can’t be tempted?”

Sam rolled his aforementioned beautiful eyes. “I am sure you will survive the disappointment. I think I’ll be on my way.”

Lizzy hummed a giddy little tune and skipped to the mirror over the mantel. She began the complex operation of putting on her locket, as well are arranging her hair to just the proper state.

The hallway was dim and quiet as he stepped out and closed the door behind him. He was already thinking of that mangy dog and the generous remonstrations he would have to make to appease his stern-faced cook, when the next door down the hall swung open and two men stumbled halfway out. The taller one was in his shirtsleeves, his cravat draped loose around his neck and his waistcoat unbuttoned, while the shorter man was naked from the waist up. The tall one laughed drunkenly under his breath and shushed the shorter man, who was busy hanging his arms around the taller man’s neck and kissing his chest.

All of this Sam saw and absorbed in mere fractions of a second, but it was the next realization that left him frozen, unable to breathe. The taller man, the man laughing and muttering provocative words as another
man
kissed him, was Darnish. Lord John Darnish.

Sam gasped, causing Darnish to snap his head toward him. Darnish’s eyes went wide as saucers. He leaped back from the shorter man with a stumbling step. Even in the dim light of the corridor it was possible to see the blood drain from his face.

“It’s…eh…” Darnish croaked unintelligibly, while Sam did nothing,
could
do nothing, but stare.