by Ruby Moone
“Do you think…would you like…” He tried to find the words. “I worry that you may become bored here alone. You do look quite the gentleman; I think we might be able to introduce you to some of my set. We could probably attend my club together without attracting too much attention, I don’t really attend balls and whatnot.” He was warming to the idea now. “We could concoct a background for you that would be eminently believable—what?” The look on Samuel’s face brought him up short.
Samuel was looking sad. “That would be wonderful. I would love nothing more than to enjoy some company, some society, I wasn’t always a whore, you know.”
Tristan was shocked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to infer that you…”
“It wouldn’t work.”
“Don’t say that. We could invent a wonderful story for you.”
Samuel was rubbing his ear. “Tristan, it would only work until we bumped into someone who uses Dante’s and recognises me. They would not only know what I was, they would know what you are, too. You would be ruined.”
“No, I wouldn’t. They wouldn’t be able to say anything without incriminating themselves.”
“But they would know. I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t bear it that people might look at you differently because of me.”
Tristan was quiet for a moment. “Then you must spend some time with your own friends. Surely the threat from Dante will have disappeared? He had his money so you might be able to go back and see them.”
Samuel’s mouth twitched, then he smiled. It was a roguish smile and his eyes danced. “I might do that. It has been an absolute age since I saw them. I’m not sure about Dante, but if I was careful…?”
“Just over a week actually.” Tristan tried not to be irritated at the excited expression on Samuel’s face. He was talking as though he had been parted from them for an eternity.
Samuel reached out and touched his face briefly. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
Tristan felt like a cad for his irritation. “I want you to be happy here.”
“I am. Let me change out of these and I will get you something to drink. I have cake. I went shopping,” he said with a wide smile.
Tristan watched as he disappeared into the dressing room. He had made some enquiries about staff for him, but Samuel steadfastly refused. It did mean that they had somewhere to go where they knew they would not be interrupted, though.
Samuel returned looking more casual and disappeared into the kitchen so Tristan followed and watched as he moved about boiling water and preparing a pot of tea. He got two plates out and opened a tin that contained a large cake. Tristan peered at the confection. Samuel cut two generous slices.
“Where did you get it from?” Tristan asked. It looked delicious.
“How do you know I didn’t make it?”
Tristan was startled. He had assumed that when Sam said he had been shopping it had been to buy a cake.
“Did you?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”
Tristan shook his head and laughed. They settled back into the study with tea and cake and Samuel grinned at him over the rim of his teacup. “I’ll wager you never made your own tea before,” he said.
Tristan had to admit that he had not. They ate in silence for a little while until Samuel spoke.
“So, how long have you been an earl?”
Tristan paused and put his cup down carefully. “Six weeks.”
Samuel’s eyes widened. “Six weeks, but that’s…”
“When I started coming to see you? Yes. That’s right.” Tristan kept his eyes on the cake for a moment, but glanced up quickly to see Samuel’s reaction.
Sam shook his head and sent him a sympathetic smile. “No wonder you looked bloody miserable all the time.”
Tristan had to laugh. “I had no idea I was so transparent.”
“Your eyes were sad.”
Tristan looked at the cake again and held onto his composure.
“Were you very close?”
“Not at all. I am fairly sure he knew about my preferences, and…well, let’s just say we were not close. He was in the process of arranging my marriage when he died.”
Samuel put his cup down and came to kneel by Tristan’s chair. “Are you to be married?”
Tristan put his own plate down and brushed a crumb from Samuel’s lip. “No. Fortunately she had no real desire to marry me either, so we called it off quietly.”
“Do you miss him?”
Tristan had to think about that. “Not so much him: as I said, we were never close. My mother died when I was small, I barely remember her, and I rarely saw my father when I was growing up.” He thought for a moment and then was struck by a truth that he hadn’t really realised before. “I miss the idea of him though. I miss having someone to call on or turn to if needed. We weren’t close, but at least he was there. Now there is no-one. Just me. I sometimes feel…adrift.” He was surprised at how true that was.
Samuel tugged him out of the chair, and when he stood was engulfed in his warm embrace. Tristan sighed and closed his eyes. Samuel always knew what he needed. He held on and wondered how he could miss something that he never had. His father had always been completely peripheral to his life.
“What are you thinking?”
Tristan laughed. “How do you know I am thinking?”
“I can hear your mind working. It’s worse than talking, you know, thinking.”
Tristan pulled back to look up into Samuel’s sparkling blue green eyes. Eyes that were filled with love.
Chapter 7
Sam propped one arm behind his head as he lay in the bed with Tristan curled beside him. Two weeks. They had been together for two weeks, and Sam was beginning to feel he was getting to know Tristan a little beyond the bedchamber. The more he got to know him, the more he liked him. Liked his kindness, his generosity, and quiet sense of humour, but found that alongside that there was a steely backbone coupled with an intensity that was sometimes surprising. His lover was a man of principle, notwithstanding the fact that he was lying in bed engaging in entirely illegal acts. Tristan’s life was extremely busy, despite his being an aristocrat and all. Sam had fondly imagined that they would both while away the days together, but apparently earls had substantial responsibilities and sometimes they seemed to weigh heavily. By contrast, Sam’s life was one of idleness. Very comfortable idleness crammed with every conceivable luxury, but idleness nonetheless.
Being a gentleman of leisure had its advantages, but Sam had reached the conclusion that he really needed some sort of work. All Sam had to do was sit about and wait for Tristan to call. Admittedly, he was visiting almost every night now so that was extremely pleasurable, but Sam had the oddest feeling that his life was on hold. If a man did not need to earn a living, what did he do? What was his purpose? Tristan had given him a home, clothes, food, money, and everything he could ever want and he felt ridiculously ungrateful when he thought of the lives most of his friends lived, but there it was. He tried to imagine what his family would say, what his father would think. He didn’t have to imagine too hard. His family were reasonably comfortable, but his father was an exceptionally hard working man. He would expect nothing less from his sons. Sam discovered that even though he had no contact with him anymore he could often hear his father in his mind.
Tristan moved and settled himself a little more comfortably so Sam kissed him gently on the head. He’d been in touch with Gareth and arranged for him to visit, so he was looking forward to the latest gossip from Dante’s. He was also considering seeking Gareth’s advice on possible employment because he couldn’t quite imagine what he might do. He was able bodied, strong, could read and write a little, but whatever he did needed to fit in with the life Tristan had set up for him. He couldn’t imagine any kind of work fitting with the life Tristan was forging for them, and in all honesty, he couldn’t see Tristan liking the idea at all. Quite plainly, gentlemen did not work. He sighed and shifted and Tristan ti
ghtened his grip on him, making him smile and drift his fingers over his shoulders. It really was the most wonderful feeling being in bed with him and feeling safe.
“Are you thinking up there?” Tristan said, his voice muffled by the blanket and Sam’s chest. He peered up. His fair hair was awry, eyes sleepy, and with a little stubble on his chin he looked wonderful.
Sam peered down his chest at him. “I was thinking how lovely you are.”
Tristan laughed. “You are growing soft.”
“No, I am not,” Sam said with a laugh, and pressed his morning erection into Tristan’s hip, making him laugh even more.
“Surely you can’t go again,” Tristan said, kissing his chest.
Sam shook his head. “Probably not, but my cock doesn’t realise it yet.”
They laughed and kissed, and Sam wondered if perhaps he might, but Tristan was exhausted. They had been up half the night but Sam didn’t seem to be able to get his fill. He doubted he would ever have enough of Tristan, there was something about him that had wormed its way into his heart, and Sam suspected that he was there to stay. He wanted to say something, something heartfelt, romantic even.
“I…like you. A lot.”
That wasn’t quite as romantic as it sounded in his head, but the look on Tristan’s face was reward enough. He wondered how to broach the subject of work in a way that would garner the same result.
“That kind of thinking I can live with,” Tristan said with a soft smile. “I like you a lot, too. An awful lot.” He wriggled a little until his face was level with Sam’s and then kissed him gently.
“Many happy returns,” he whispered.
Sam grinned. He had remembered his birthday? “Thank you.” He kissed him back and they lingered a little while before Tristan pulled away.
“Wait there,” he said, and threw back the covers and bounded out of the bed, stark naked, and disappeared through the door. Sam settled himself against the pillows and waited. After a little while he returned, balancing a tray. Sam sat up a little and viewed the contents. His heart melted a little.
“Just so you know I am not completely helpless; I have made you tea.” Tristan put the tray on a small table by the fire.
“Tristan…” Sam was touched.
“Not only have I made you tea, but I have made you toast, as well.” He pulled the cover off a plate with a flourish to reveal several slices of slightly burned bread dripping with butter.”
“That’s…” He was lost for words.
They pulled on robes and sat before the fire eating toast and drinking the tea that Tristan had made and Sam felt complete. Whatever worries he had seemed unimportant for the moment. He had everything he needed right in front of him.
Tristan wiped his mouth with his napkin and then put his hand in his robe pocket and pulled out a small, flat box. It looked to be made of velvet. Sam’s heart thumped a little.
“Here. This is for you. Just a small token from me to the man who has made me enormously happy in a way I never thought that I could be.”
Sam felt himself flush. He went and knelt by Tristan’s chair, and took the box gingerly. He ran a thumb over it.
“Open in,” Tristan said.
Sam opened the box. Inside, nestled in more velvet, was a cravat pin set with a stunning emerald. He stared at it.
“I thought it might go some way to matching your eyes.” Tristan sounded awkward, endearingly awkward, so Sam closed the box and pulled him into his arms.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “It is beautiful. I have never owned anything so beautiful.”
Sam didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine ever daring to wear it. That Tristan had spent so much more on him was…He swallowed.
“I am glad you like it,” Tristan said. Sam held him tighter. “I meant what I said,” Tristan whispered. Sam just nodded, his throat too full to speak.
* * * *
Sam answered the knock on the door with anticipation. He opened it, and there stood Gareth. Resplendent in a vibrant blue coat and a frothy white cravat, his long dark hair made him look exotic. He had been itching to see him for days, ever since he sent the note.
“Gad. You open your own front door? And there I thought you had an earl at your beck and call.”
“Shut up.” Sam pulled him into the hallway and enveloped him in a hug. “Good to see you, although I should probably plant you a facer.”
“My dear boy, why would you want to hit me?”
‘For kissing my man, touching him?’
Gareth laughed into Sam’s coat. “That was ages ago. He was so terribly uptight. I had to do something lest he faint dead away.” Gareth pulled away still smiling. “He is dreadfully prudish. I can’t quite imagine him being enough for you.” Gareth patted Sam’s backside.
Sam ignored that taunt and ushered Gareth inside. He headed for the kitchen and Gareth followed.
“Many happy returns,” Gareth said, and waved a letter at him. This arrived for you.”
Sam’s heart jumped. “Is it from Harry?”
“I have no idea, you had best open it. It came in a very roundabout way through Iris, so I suspect it is. He will know that Mosely will be waiting for him to contact you.”
Sam ripped open the unfamiliar seal and scanned the words quickly, smiling as he did so.
“I have to burn it when I have read it, but he is safe. He has met someone. Someone wonderful, he and Julian are settled and happy and safe.” He looked up with a huge grin on his face.
Gareth smiled and came to peer around him to see. “Good to hear.”
“He’s worried though. Apparently, his new lover bested Mosely twice. Shot him and knocked him out and had him flung in gaol for Christmas, so he is expecting another visit from him anytime, possibly one from Dante.”
Gareth sighed. “He’s right. I can’t see Mosely letting that go. Dante is livid by the way.” Gareth twitched his shoulders in a small shrug. “Harry, Julian and now you.”
“Can’t help that, but I don’t want him taking it all out on Harry.”
“He knows where Harry is?”
“By the looks of it.” Sam looked at the address on the letter and memorised it. He stoked the fire in the range and reluctantly fed the letter into it. He didn’t dare keep it in case someone read the fact that his cousin was in love with a wonderful man. He smiled as the flames consumed the missive.
“Well, what is he going to do?” Gareth’s eyebrows were almost in his hair.
“It sounds like they know he might return but they are ready for him.”
“Must be miserable just sitting and waiting for Mosely or Dante to descend.”
Sam was forced to agree, however the kettle boiled so he lifted it with a cloth and filled the pot.
“Could I send a reply through Iris?”
“I don’t see why not. If you pen something now I will take it with me.”
Sam nodded. “Come on. Tea and cake in the study whilst I write.”
Sam carried the tray and then poured.
“Answering your own door, writing your own letters, and making your own tea? Samuel, my man, you are failing dismally as a kept man.”
“Hush. Eat some cake.”
Sam scratched out a note to Harry in his awkward hand. Told him that he was safely away from Dante and Mosely, but thinking he might like to visit Scarborough soon to see him. A plan began formulating in his mind as he blotted and folded it, then hunted for a seal. Once done he handed it to Gareth, who placed it ceremoniously in his pocket. If he could go and stay with Harry for a little while, just until things had settled, and then he could try and work out how to create a life that could involve Tristan without him feeling like a bloody ladybird. The one thing he couldn’t imagine though, was a life without Tristan in it.
They both tucked in to large pieces of cake and chatted around mouthfuls. “Seriously though, how are things developing?” Gareth asked. “It was definitely a stroke of genius cultivating the boy.”
“
It wasn’t hard to do.” Sam had known from the start Tristan was special; different. He’d known that what passed between them was more than just sexual congress. That was what had prompted the notion that he might help him get away, because he might have cared as much as Sam did, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Gareth.
“I’ll bet. He is quite pretty, but seducing an innocent in a brothel to persuade him to set you up in the lap of luxury was a masterly. Every whore’s dream. How much does he give you? Those clothes look outrageously expensive, too.” He gestured with his cake fork.
“I have no doubt they were outrageously expensive, as are the rooms I now live in.” He looked around at the opulence and then picked up on part of Gareth’s observation. “How on earth do you seduce someone in a brothel?”
Gareth rolled his eyes and helped himself to more cake. “You take a miserable looking, terrified little boy in search of his first cock, fuck him until he screams, take him in your arms, and hope that he falls for you.”
Sam winced a little at his words.
“Well, isn’t that what you did?” Gareth’s eyes were sparkling with laughter. “And you told him you loved him.” Gareth shook his head in mock appreciation, pointing at him with his fork again. “I had no idea you were so manipulative, my darling. I take my hat off to you and your cleverness.”
“For God’s sake…” Sam’s voice tailed off. A movement by the door caught his eye and what he saw stopped his heart dead in his chest. It exploded back into action, slamming so hard against his ribs it made his head swim.
Tristan stood there. Immobile.
Hands hanging by his sides; face the colour of cold porridge. His beautiful eyes were…Sam had to look away from the expression in them. He scrambled to his feet so quickly he overturned the table with the tea, making Gareth shout.
“Tristan…” he began, but Tristan held up a hand.
Sam looked helplessly at Gareth, who for once wasn’t mincing or smirking. “Lord Chiltern,” he said with a small, tense bow. “Pay no heed to my foolish words. I am merely jealous of my friend’s good fortune.”
In a blink, Tristan regained his composure and his reply was delivered in a bored drawl. “I am sure you are. After all, I am every whore’s dream.”
