A Husband for Hartwell (The Lords of Bucknall Club Book 1)

by J. A. Rock

  Gale attempted an escape, but somehow found himself even closer to the dance floor where the crowd thickened. He was glad of his black coat despite the sudden heat of the crowd, for his underarms were sweating excessively.

  A young lady bumped him into the path of a young man, who jostled him into a small group. He stumbled away, and two young ladies walking side by side parted neatly to pass around him. His breath became harsher. Where was Clarissa? He’d lost track of her, and it seemed at once that everyone in the room, or none of them at all, might be Clarissa. A voice behind him said, “Excuse me, I was wondering if I might ask you—”

  “No,” he barked, closing his eyes as his anger reached a boiling point. “I am not going to find your sister’s missing necklace, or cleanse your opera house of its roving spirit, or locate your missing dog. I have had quite enough questions for one night, and I will thank you to leave me alone!"

  Though the ton went on chattering around him, and music still played, it seemed as though his words had landed in a horrible silence. Surely the force of his anger and frustration should have cut through the gaiety of the ball. But nobody seemed to have noticed his outburst. Nobody except for the man who had spoken and whose presence Gale could still feel behind him.

  He whirled, prepared to give the fellow an earful, then froze.

  The man he faced was a few inches shorter than himself. Large boned and well built, wearing silk knee breeches that fit snugly, and clung wonderfully to the shape of his thighs. His black coat was well fitted, yet his cravat was tied loosely, almost sloppily, which set him quite apart from all the men here who looked as though their cravats were strangling them. Just seeing the looseness of the knot made Gale breathe a little more easily.

  But it was the man’s face that truly held his attention. There were lines at the corners of his eyes, and slight furrows running from his nose to the corners of his lips as though he spent a great deal of time laughing. Personally, Gale hated laughter, but it was oddly pleasing to think that this man enjoyed it as a pastime. The fellow’s eyes caught the light of the room and held it. They were a deep blue, narrow but tremendously alive. And the corners of his well-shaped mouth curved upward just slightly as though he were privately amused by everything he saw. He had a sharp widow’s peak, and wore his gold hair—for that was its colour; not wheat or flaxen or ash or any such thing, but a pure and shining gold—longer than was fashionable, tied at his nape with a ribbon.

  As Gale stood and stared mutely, the gentleman spoke. “I was going to ask if you would like to dance?”

  Now Gale was well and truly frozen to his spot. This man actually wanted to dance with him? This man? He reminded himself sharply that the whole thing was likely a ploy. Perhaps the man had recently had a priceless family heirloom stolen or a younger brother kidnapped by bandits. Once he got Gale on the dance floor, he would request his aid; nobody spoke to Gale unless they wanted something from him.

  Yet his initial shock at the request was so great, and his confusion so complete, that he dipped his head in a manner that probably looked to the stranger like a nod. It most certainly did because the stranger said, “Wonderful” as though it truly were wonderful, and took his hand to lead him onto the dance floor.

  The Honourable Benjamin Chant wondered if Lord Christmas Gale planned to ask his name at any point. They did not know each other—well, Chant knew of Gale from glimpses here and there at Bucknall’s, and more recently, from the Gazette—and while he had intended to do the polite thing and introduce himself right away, he had become a bit lost in Gale’s eyes, which were soft and dark as a hound’s. He found that an absolute delight since the rest of the man was so sharp. Long limbs, bony elbows poking at the fabric of his coat, cheekbones like blades. A cravat he wore as if it were a bandage keeping his head attached to his long, slim neck. But oh, those eyes were an agony of softness. As was his hair, from the look of it. Thick, shiny. A dark red when the light hit it just right. Brown when the light couldn’t quite catch it.

  Yes, Chant had spent a good bit of time admiring Gale before approaching him. The sketch in the Gazette did not do the man justice at all.

  Gale moved with a rigid determination that was echoed in the set of his jaw. It’s as though he’s never danced before, Chant thought, hiding a smile. Ah, well. Chant would continue his relaxed, happy turns about the floor and hope his companion might soon uncoil.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me whatever it is you’ve got to ask me?” Gale’s tone was weary but with a hint of belligerence that made Chant’s brows lift. “What is it? Did your grandfather leave behind a box of mysterious letters? Do the doors in your house open and close by themselves? Does your portrait of the queen have a treasure map hidden behind it?”

  “I have already asked you to dance,” Chant replied. “Which was what I wished to ask you. Do you wish to ask my name?”

  “Not particularly,” Gale replied. But Chant was well versed in the difference between rudeness for rudeness’s sake and rudeness born from an anxiety that was rapidly becoming unmanageable.

  When the music shifted, he took Gale’s elbow. “I could use some air. What do you say we go out to the terrace?”

  Gale looked as though he might like to bash Chant over the head, but he was far too pale for the glare to be fully effective. Chant led him toward the French doors in back. Behind them, the band struck up a rousing tune, and revellers flocked to dance. By the time Chant drew Gale outside, they were nearly the only two on the terrace. He let go of Gale’s elbow and watched carefully as Gale went to the balustrade and leaned with his forearms braced upon it. Bent slightly like this, it was apparent just how thin he was.

  Chant quietly approached the rail and leaned on it as well. Gale’s breathing had become more laboured, and he passed a hand over his mouth. “I don’t know what is the matter with me,” he said tersely.

  “It is quite noisy in there,” Chant replied. “And too stuffy.”

  Gale made no reply. When his lungs truly began to rattle, Chant stepped closer and placed a hand between his shoulder blades. He half expected Gale to buck him off, but all that happened was that the fellow tensed as though he had never been touched before in his life.

  “Draw your breath in slowly,” Chant advised.

  “I do not require instruction on how to breathe.”

  “Of course not. But perhaps you could humour a new friend.”

  Gale gripped the balustrade and dragged in a breath through his nose.

  “That’s very good. Now let it out as slowly as you can manage.”

  Gale exhaled, his rigid shoulders softening a bit as he did.

  “There, that’s the way.” Chant rubbed the back of Gale’s coat. Gale still did not shrug him off, which Chant thought was something.

  After a moment, Gale drew another uneven breath and muttered, “I do not like people. At all.”

  Chant smiled, though Gale wouldn’t be able to see it. “Ah. I like nearly all people, it seems. Generally speaking.”

  Gale cast a glance at him, then stared out across the lawn once more. “I have no choice but to conclude there is something gravely wrong with you, sir.”

  “You are probably right. But it seems easier to like people than to dislike them. For me, anyway. Resentment takes such a lot of effort.”

  “I assure you it comes quite naturally to me.” Gale attempted another breath, and Chant winced in sympathy at the wheeze in it.

  He removed his hand from Gale’s back and stood beside him in companionable silence. Then he began to talk as silence also seemed to him to take such a lot of effort. He commented on the roundness of the moon, and the light it cast on the branches of the Harringdons’ sycamore tree. He spoke of his carriage ride here, and how the driver thought one of his horses had thrown a shoe. Once Gale’s breathing steadied, he asked, “Do you wish to go back inside?”

  “I have never wished anything less,” Gale responded faintly.

  Chant laughed. “I thought that might
be the case. Will you allow me to see you safely home?”

  Gale straightened abruptly. “I shall go to my private rooms tonight. I’ve no need for company.”

  “You are welcome to use my carriage if you do not wish to draw attention by taking your family’s.”

  Gale’s eyes flashed in the moonlight. “My sister. Good lord. Clarice, or Cadence, or Clarissa, whatever the hell her name is. I am supposed to be chaperoning her. My mother will flay me alive.”

  “Perhaps you could find someone to—”

  “No. No, I’ve shirked this duty often enough, and I promised tonight…” The shiver that passed through Gale was impossible to miss. He reminded Chant, for a bittersweet instant, of Reid. The long lines of him. Shoulders stooped under the weight of the world.

  “Lord Christmas,” Chant said quietly, quirking his eyebrow at the half-wild glance Gale shot him. “I’ll not keep you from your duty, but I feel it is my duty to remind you that I will be in there as well. Should you find yourself overwhelmed again, you may seek me out at any time for conversation or a trip to the terrace—”

  “I was not overwhelmed!” The harshness was back in Gale’s tone. “And I require no rescuer. I have attended dozens of these functions. I could chaperone Candace in my sleep.”

  Chant raised his hands slowly, more amused than insulted by Gale’s prickliness. “Forgive me. I meant no offence.”

  Gale blew out a breath. Then, without another word, he turned and walked back inside.

  “Well,” Chant murmured to himself, “I’d say that went quite well.”

  View A Case for Christmas on Amazon.

  About J.A. Rock

  J.A. Rock is an author of LGBTQ romance and suspense novels, as well as an audiobook narrator under the name Jill Smith. When she’s not writing or narrating, J.A. enjoys reading, collecting historical costumes, and failing miserably at gardening. She lives in the Ohio wilds with an extremely judgmental dog, Professor Anne Studebaker.

  You can find her website at https://jarockauthor.com.

  About Lisa Henry

  Lisa likes to tell stories, mostly with hot guys and happily ever afters.

  Lisa lives in tropical North Queensland, Australia. She doesn’t know why, because she hates the heat, but she suspects she’s too lazy to move. She spends half her time slaving away as a government minion, and the other half plotting her escape.

  She attended university at sixteen, not because she was a child prodigy or anything, but because of a mix-up between international school systems early in life. She studied History and English, neither of them very thoroughly.

  Lisa has been published since 2012, and was a LAMBDA finalist for her quirky, awkward coming-of-age romance Adulting 101, and a Rainbow Awards finalist for 2019’s Anhaga.

  You can join Lisa’s Facebook reader group at Lisa Henry’s Hangout, and find her website at lisahenryonline.com.

  Also by J.A. Rock and Lisa Henry

  When All the World Sleeps

  Another Man’s Treasure

  Fall on Your Knees

  The Preacher’s Son

  Mark Cooper versus America (Prescott College #1)

  Brandon Mills versus the V-Card (Prescott College #2)

  The Good Boy (The Boy #1)

  The Boy Who Belonged (The Boy #2)

  The Playing the Fool Series

  The Two Gentlemen of Altona

  The Merchant of Death

  Tempest

  The Lords of Bucknall Club Series

  A Husband for Hartwell

  A Case for Christmas

  A Rival for Rivingdon

  Also by J.A. Rock

  By His Rules

  Wacky Wednesday (Wacky Wednesday #1)

  The Brat-tastic Jayk Parker (Wacky Wednesday #2)

  Calling the Show

  Take the Long Way Home

  The Grand Ballast

  Minotaur

  The Silvers

  The Subs Club (The Subs Club #1)

  Pain Slut (The Subs Club #2)

  Manties in a Twist (The Subs Club #3)

  24/7 (The Subs Club #4)

  Sub Hunt (The Subs Club #5)

  “Beauties” (All in Fear anthology)

  “Stranger Than Stars” (Take a Chance Anthology)

  Sight Unseen: A Collection of Five Anonymous Novellas

  Touch Up: A Rose & Thorns Novel, with Katey Hawthorne

  Also by Lisa Henry

  The Parable of the Mustard Seed

  Naked Ambition

  Dauntless

  Anhaga

  Two Man Station (Emergency Services #1)

  Lights and Sirens (Emergency Services #2)

  The California Dashwoods

  Adulting 101

  Sweetwater

  He Is Worthy

  The Island

  Tribute

  One Perfect Night

  Fallout, with M. Caspian

  Dark Space (Dark Space #1)

  Darker Space (Dark Space #2)

  Starlight (Dark Space #3)

  With Tia Fielding

  Family Recipe

  Recipe for Two

  A Desperate Man

  With Sarah Honey

  Red Heir

  Elf Defence

  Socially Orcward

  Writing as Cari Waites

  Stealing Innocents