by Ruby Moone
Gareth was staring at him. “Well, given that he had rented you the most beautiful suite of rooms, bought you a magnificent wardrobe, and still given you more money than most see in a lifetime, couldn’t you have just fucked him?”
“No.”
“How often did he visit?”
“Well, I left before he could establish any sort of routine, but in the brothel, it was three times a week.”
Gareth was still staring. “And it was good?”
“Very.”
Gareth gave him a look. “So this chap, who is an earl, offers you a magnificent home, clothes, money and a good, safe fuck three times a week and you throw a tantrum and walk out because he doesn’t look at you right?” Gareth’s voice was getting more and more high-pitched. “Have you got bats in your attic?”
Sam tried to laugh. “I know it sounds ridiculous.” When put like that it did. “If I didn’t care about him I could do it. But…”
“But you care about him?”
Sam pushed the pie around on the plate and nodded. “So much.”
Gareth’s fork clattered on the plate. “God’s knees, you soft sod. It’s all just a game. Play it right and you live in the lap of luxury with a man you care about and enjoy fucking. Mess it up and like as not you will end up selling your arse in a shitty brothel again, taking every stinking toff that thinks because he’s paying for it he can do whatever he likes to you, and you just have to take it.”
Sam looked at Gareth sharply. “It isn’t a game with Tristan, it’s different. If I didn’t care so much I would take what was on offer but I find that I can’t. Don’t you think that I have had this self-same argument with myself? Take the money and just fuck him?”
“Different? Different? You really do have bats in the attic my friend. There is nothing different about this. It is a transaction. A transaction between a rich sodomite and a poor sodomite. They have the upper hand and we dance to their tune. I wager within a week he is back at Dante’s looking for another poor sod to ream his arse for him and won’t give you a second thought.” Gareth pushed back his chair. “In fact, I might offer myself as your replacement. He was damned keen for me to kiss him and fondle his cock for him even though he was supposed to be having something going on with you.” Gareth threw his napkin on the table and stood up.
Sam was open mouthed.
“Did he admit I had a good feel? Did he tell you it wasn’t innocent? I’ll wager he didn’t.”
“He told me immediately. He told me all about it.” Sam toyed with his fork. “He apologised.” Sam smiled and remembered how aroused they had both been at the thought of another joining them. How open and honest Tristan was, how…he stopped that train of thought and looked straight into Gareth’s dark eyes. “There are some men you can just fuck and have a good time with, and then there are those that will take your heart and your soul and leave you raw. Tristan leaves me raw. I can’t fuck him and know he thinks that I am worthless. It’s as simple as that.” Sam surprised himself with the outburst. He had never thought of it like that before. Never needed to because there had never been anyone whose opinion mattered to him. He had discovered that what Tristan thought of him mattered a great deal.
Gareth seemed to droop a little and the fire went out of him. “You poor bugger,” he said. Sam was inclined to agree.
* * * *
Tristan regretted allowing Alfie to drag him to White’s the moment they arrived. It was full of people who had consumed far too much brandy, cigar smoke, and gossip. Wallingford emerged out of the crowd, giving him a friendly nod.
“Chiltern, my boy. Good to see you again.”
Tristan nodded and smiled at him and the group of men that appeared to be assembling to take a trip to the theatre. He declined an invitation to join them and managed to retreat to a corner and disappear behind the pages of a newspaper. He would have been hard pressed to even say which newspaper it was, but it served as a barrier between him and the rest of the world. The butler had placed a large glass of brandy at his elbow and he was working his way through it. Sometimes being in mourning had its advantages. He decided that he would continue with his black armband as long as he could.
Alfie had been nattering on about eating, but Tristan doubted he would be able to get anything past his lips. All he could think about was Samuel and how he had been taken for a fool. An absolute fool. Gareth’s words rankled more than he could ever admit. He had been far too perceptive and his summation of the situation far too close for comfort. He felt like an idiot. He had tumbled head over ears into lust with Samuel, that was all. Putting him up in rooms had been stupid, and expecting anything from the liaison other than gratifying sexual congress was equally stupid.
But acknowledging his stupidity didn’t stop the pain that ripped through him every time he thought of lying in bed with Samuel; didn’t stop him craving his touch.
“Chin up,” Alfie said as he slid into the chair beside him. “You will have the gossips betting on what is putting that look on your face in no time.” Tristan smiled. He was probably right. The betting book in White’s was infamous and the club members likely to bet on anything and everything.
“What do you think the gossip would be?”
Alfie stared up at the ceiling for a moment, fingers steepled beneath his chin, and then grinned. “That you have gambled your last farthing and are about to leap into matrimony with the richest debutante on the circuit to recoup the family honour whilst keeping six ladybirds on the go, such is your legendary stamina.”
Tristan actually laughed and Alfie’s answering laughter was not unkind. He glanced around and they were quite secluded so he leaned closer to Alfie’s chair and spoke in a low voice.
“Have you ever bedded a woman?”
Alfie’s eyes widened and he looked around swiftly, then pulled his chair a little closer. “Yes. Have you?”
Tristan shook his head. “I have wondered about marriage. I feel I should at least make some effort to continue the line, but I feel it would be unfair to any woman.”
“You would not be the first, or the last, to take a wife but keep a man on the side.”
“Seems very wrong.”
“I would agree.”
Tristan shook his head. “I was relying on you to carry on the family line.”
Alfie laughed and waggled his eyebrows.
Tristan sobered. “I am glad I can talk to you about this. It has been killing me for years.”
“I suspected for a while. I’m sorry I didn’t speak out sooner.” He glanced over at Tristan. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Tristan picked at his thumbnail. “I found out it was all a plan. He planned to seduce me to get me to help him escape.”
“Escape from where?”
Tristan looked up with a sigh. “Dante’s.”
Alfie’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s one of Dante’s boys?”
Tristan nodded. “You know of Dante’s?”
Alfie rolled his eyes. “Of course I do.”
A rather uncomfortable thought struck Tristan. “Have you ever…ah…did…?”
“Dear lord, no.” Alfie looked horrified. “I have no interest in whores, never have had. I said I know about it, not that I had used it. Fear not, dear one. I never tupped your beloved.”
Tristan groaned and covered his eyes.
“But if he was one of Dante’s boys you really did do him a favour. I’ve heard some rather chilling stories on that score.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? He tricked me into believing that he cared for me to persuade me to pay his debts, set him up in rooms, and bring him into my life.” Tristan lowered his voice as it was beginning to rise. He looked around but no-one appeared to be paying them any attention. “He betrayed my trust, he betrayed my feelings for him…He lied to me,” he hissed.
Alfie’s gaze was steady. “What did he lie about?”
Tristan scowled. “Well, he…he told me he was leaving Dante’s. He was covered in brui
ses he had been beaten so badly and I said I would help.”
“You saw the bruises?”
“I did. They were quite dreadful.” Tristan was lost in the memory of the awful marks that had marred Samuel’s skin. “There is a man there who hurts him. The day we got him out the man was chasing him and trying to…well, I think he was trying to rape him.” The words came out low, and shocked Tristan. He had never quite thought about it like that. But it was what it was. Samuel stood in constant danger at Dante’s. He looked up at Alfie. “What do you mean, chilling?”
“Did he ask you to get him out?”
“Well, no. He told me he was going to run away but he did it in such a way that I felt compelled to offer assistance.”
“Did he ask for the rooms and the clothes?”
“Well, not really. He was shocked at the apartment. He said the thought I meant room, singular, probably in a rough area. When I gave him money he tried to give it back and was quite uncomfortable about it.” Tristan recalled Samuel’s reaction to the pin money.
“Has he asked for gifts? The last man I set up asked for a carriage and pair and a wardrobe. When he started talking about a pianoforte I had to draw the line.”
Tristan was beginning to feel queasy. He picked at his thumbnail some more. “No. He said he didn’t want clothes. Offered to try and get his back from the club.” Tristan drew in a breath. “He got quite emotional when I gave him a cravat pin for his birthday, but he left it behind.” The pin was in his pocket. He had meant to return it to the jeweller but hadn’t got around to it.
“Did he ever turn down your advances? Claim a headache?”
Tristan’s voice was a whisper. “Never.” Quite the opposite.
“Well, my darling boy, I suspect that you have some thinking to do. Do you think he cares for you or is just worried about losing his rooms and your money?”
“I told him he could stay until the end of the month, but he has gone already.”
“Tris.” When Tristan couldn’t look up at him, Alfie spoke again. “Tris, look at me.”
Tristan looked up. Alfie’s eyes were concerned. “That boy was in a state when he came to the house. Those were the actions of a man afraid of losing something precious. Did he try and lie his way out of it?
“No. He was painfully honest.” Tristan’s hands were trembling. “Have I made a mistake?”
“Darling, only you can answer that.”
Tristan took a long drink from his brandy glass and let the heat spread through his body. “I really don’t know him terribly well.”
“He’s the man who warms your bed. Do you need to know him?” Alfie arched an eyebrow at him and smirked.
“I…”
“He is there when you need him and if he services you well…what is the problem? He’s handsome, clean, and willing. And if he did play on your sympathies a little it shows he has ambition and intelligence. Qualities I find quite admirable in a man.”
Tristan drained his glass. “I may have overreacted.”
“May?” Alfie drawled.
Tristan stared into his empty glass. However right, or sympathetic Alfie might be, he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell him that what hurt most was he had believed Sam loved him. It was that betrayal that hurt the most because it made him feel foolish and unutterably stupid for thinking that someone might actually love him.
“So where is he now?” Alfie asked as he signalled to the waiter to refresh their drinks.
“I don’t know.”
“Did he go back to Dante’s?”
Tristan sighed and rubbed his neck. His head was pounding. “I don’t know. I doubt it.”
“So you couldn’t put it right even if you wanted to.”
Tristan closed his eyes. God, Alfie could be so…“No. I couldn’t.”
* * * *
Tristan sat in the bedroom at Dante’s in the same chair as he had waited for Samuel many times. He adjusted his cravat and shifted uneasily. It had taken a lot of thinking to get him into Dante’s, days in fact, and he was far from certain that this was the right thing to do. The only thing that he knew he needed was to speak to Samuel. Speak to him when they had both had chance to calm down. Well, he was probably the one that needed to calm down. Hard on the heels of that thought was the possibility that Samuel had forgotten him and moved onto something or someone new.
The door opened and Gareth came in. “Good evening, my lord,” he said with a slight bow.
Tristan stood up and cleared his throat. “Good evening.”
Gareth stared at him for a moment, considering, and then crossed the room to stand before him. His movements were sinuous, but his eyes were speculative. “How might I serve you this evening?”
Tristan recognised the words. Samuel had said them to him the first time that he had visited. It hurt to think that was simply what they all said.
“I would like to know where Samuel is.” He let the words sit between them.
“He is safe.”
Well, that was something. “Where?”
“I am sure that if he wished you to know he would have sent word. If he has not, I can only assume he would prefer not to see you.”
Tristan closed his eyes for a moment and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you do know where he is?”
“I do.”
“I need to speak to him.”
“I’m sure you do but I don’t think he wants to speak to you.” Gareth’s eyes were angry. He stepped closer and Tristan had to force himself not to move. The man stood only as tall as he did but there was a restless energy about him that made him feel larger. His dark eyes glittered. “He told me what you did to him.”
Tristan felt the colour flood his cheeks. He stood his ground and lifted his chin. “He played me for a fool. I was angry and I think I was entitled to be.”
“How? How did he play you for a fool? By being a whore? By wanting a better life? For wanting you?” Gareth raked him with a contemptuous look. “He’s a good man. He shouldn’t be in here.” He ran a hand around the back of his neck dislodging the long dark silken sheath that was his hair. “It was killing him.”
“Where is he?” Tristan reached out and touched Gareth’s arm. “I need to see him. I need to explain, to apologise…I…” He dropped his hand. “I thought that he was simply using me and felt like a fool. I felt like a fool for laying my feelings bare, for…well, for so many things.”
Gareth’s hard gaze lingered on his face for a moment and then something shifted. His voice dropped to the merest whisper. “He is in grave danger. Dante wants him back and what Dante wants he usually gets, largely because Mosely makes it happen. I will tell you where he is, but you must take the greatest of care.” He moved closer and took Tristan’s face between his palms and whispered again. “And now, my friend, we must make this look convincing.” He touched his mouth to Tristan’s and then kissed him. Tristan kissed him back but kept his eyes open and was surprised to find Gareth’s eyes were slitted open, as well. He was good at kissing, Tristan found himself aroused again, but it wasn’t like kissing Samuel where his entire body and soul felt to be engaged. This was pleasure. Pure and simple, not offering up your soul as he did when he kissed Samuel.
They pulled apart and Tristan was faintly gratified to see that Gareth was breathing heavily.
“Get on the bed,” Gareth said.
Tristan lay on his back and Gareth loomed over him. He was positioned with his back to the painting and put his face close to Tristan’s. “Listen carefully,” he said as he dotted kisses about Tristan’s face.
Chapter 9
The following day, Tristan found himself sitting with Gareth in a hackney travelling to a small boarding house in a rougher part of the town, but not one of the worst. Tristan looked around as he dropped down from the carriage and felt faintly relieved. At least he wasn’t living the rookeries. He paid the man and waited for Gareth to get out. They walked around a little, Gareth pausing to look in the occasional shop win
dow before nodding to Tristan and disappearing down a back alley. Tristan followed. After several twists and turns they arrived on a small, quiet street and Gareth opened a door and slipped inside.
“Do you think we were followed?” he said as Gareth headed towards the stairs.
“I don’t think so, but I don’t want to lead anyone to him. Mosely is a nasty bastard. He doesn’t care to be thwarted.”
As they climbed the stairs a crash followed by shouting from above halted them both.
“What’s that?” Tristan said, gripping the bannister and staring upwards.
“Oh fuck,” Gareth whispered and then tore up the stairs like a madman. Tristan ran after him, heart pounding. Gareth paused at a door on the top floor. It was slightly ajar and the commotion was coming from within. Gareth kicked the door hard and ran in shouting. Tristan followed and was confronted by the sight of two men in the room. One throwing things about, the other standing over Samuel’s prone body and hitting him with a cudgel. Tristan heard the roar that came from his throat as he launched himself at the man. He leaped on his back, locking his arm around the man’s throat squeezing as hard as he could, whilst Gareth beat the other about the shoulders with a large brass candlestick. The man grappled with Tristan for a moment and then flung him off. Tristan was all too aware that he was sadly lacking in any experience with real fighting, but he was damned if he would stand by and allow the brute to hurt Samuel. He scrambled back to his feet and ran at him, wrapping his arms around the man’s middle and pushing him to the floor. He could hear the other screaming for them to get out, and when the man in his grasp caught him with a blow to the jaw, making him see stars, he realised they were making a run for it. He wanted to give chase, but wanted to see to Samuel more.
He dropped to his knees by him, closely followed by Gareth, who was breathing heavily. “Samuel?” he whispered.
Gareth rolled Samuel gently over. “Hey, hey, old thing,” he crooned softly. “It’s safe now. You’re safe now.” There was no movement and no response.
