by Ruby Moone
Good question. “Sorry, just something Alfie said about men with head injuries waking and not know who they were.”
“I know who I am. How did you find me?”
“I went to Dante’s to find Gareth to see if he would tell me where you were. I wanted…needed to talk to you.”
“I see.”
Silence ticked between them. Samuel closed his eyes and massaged his temples.
“We have decided that the best thing to do is to go away for a little while. Wait for all the fuss to settle and then we can decide how best to get you away from Dante’s safely. You and Gareth.”
Samuel opened his eyes. “Gareth?”
Tristan nodded. “Do you mind if I sit?” he said, gesturing to the edge of the bed. Samuel shook his head and moved his legs so Tristan perched there. He wanted to take hold of Samuel’s hand but didn’t.
“I had to get help for you. I was terrified you were going to bleed to death. Alfie was a medic in the war. He’s a soldier, so Gareth stayed with you whilst I ran and got Alfie to help.”
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me,” Samuel muttered, picking at the sheet by his chest.
“I never wished you harm.”
Samuel kept his eyes on the sheet. “Go on.”
“Well, between us we got you here, but then realised that Mosely now knows that Gareth has run away and that I am involved…it’s all getting rather messy.”
“I’d say.”
“Well, the thing is I felt quite strongly that we should stay here and not be forced to run away but I can see the sense in finding somewhere to let you recover, somewhere we can think and decide what to do.”
“I see.”
“Alfie has an invitation to a house party this weekend, it’s for men of a certain persuasion, and we think it best if all four of us go. Gareth will pose as Alfie’s guest, although they do seem a little tight already.”
Samuel’s eyebrows raised at this and he smiled a little. “Really?”
Tristan grinned. “I think so.”
“Are you matchmaking?”
Tristan laughed and was relieved when Samuel laughed, too. The laughter subsided into an awkward silence.
“Where is this house party?”
“Lord Overdale’s country house. It’s not too far away, and apparently it is a small gathering of men like us.” At Sam’s raised eyebrows Tristan smiled a little. “Where men can relax and not have to guard every look, every word. I had no idea such parties existed.”
Samuel just smiled. Probably at his naivety.
“So it seemed like an ideal opportunity to give us a little time to think.”
“That’s decent of you, but there is no need. I had letter from Harry, my cousin who ran away? I can go there.” Samuel shifted and closed his eyes. “I will be safe there.”
Tristan swallowed and nodded, keeping his face straight. “I see.”
“If you don’t mind me keeping the money that you gave me a little while longer, it will buy Gareth and I tickets for the stagecoach.”
“Well, let’s decide in the morning. I suspect Gareth and Alfie are rather looking forward to it.”
“Well, let them go.” Samuel’s voice was getting low and sleepy.
“You need to sleep.” Tristan cleared his throat. “I am going to stay with you to make sure that there are no ill effects from the blow to your head.”
Samuel shifted and opened his eyes with some effort. “Stay?”
“Yes,” Tristan said, but when Samuel just stared he backed down. “Do you want me to go?”
Tristan sat unmoving until Samuel shifted. “Samuel?” he prompted when there was no reply.
“Sam. Just call me Sam. And yes, you should go.”
Tristan sucked in a deep breath, surprised at how much that hurt, and then stood up. “If that’s what you want.”
Sam let out a groan. “Oh, for God’s sake stay then, but I am in no fit state to fuck you.”
Was that what he thought of him? Tristan’s chest squeezed so tight it was hard to speak. “I never expected you to.”
Sam grunted, put an arm over his eyes, and threw back the bedding at the side of him with the other. “Get in then, if you are staying.”
Tristan removed all his clothing except his shirt, and climbed in beside Samuel…Sam. He lowered himself onto the pillow and pulled up the coverlet, taking care not to touch. He could hear Sam’s regular breathing, feel the warmth from his body, catch the scent of him on the sheets. He closed his eyes and wondered if there was any way at all to repair what stood between them. Wondered if he wanted to repair it. He didn’t speak or move until Sam’s breathing slowed, his arm fell onto the bed and he began snoring softly. Only then did Tristan realise that they had never simply slept together. He edged closer until he could put his hand on Samuel’s…Sam’s chest, feel the soft rhythm of his breathing, and then closed his eyes.
* * * *
“Get your arses out of bed, you lazy sods.” The covers were ripped away, leaving Sam groaning. Beside him, Tristan sat bolt upright and grabbed the covers to his chest. Sam peeled open his eyes and had to smile at Tristan’s shock. It wasn’t even as though they were naked. Both wore rather respectable night shirts although Sam’s was rucked up, giving Gareth a bit of an eyeful. He tugged it down.
“I’m injured. You should never shock an injured man, particularly if he has a head injury. You could do irreparable damage.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “What time is it?”
“Do you mind?” Tristan said, with centuries of aristocratic breeding oozing from every outraged pore of his body, despite the fact that his fair hair was sticking up at all angles and his eyes were clogged with sleep.
“Well, it might have been more fun if you’d both been in the altogether,” Gareth admitted with a saucy grin.
“You are far too bloody jolly. It’s not even morning,” Sam said, adjusting his position and wondering if he should attempt to sit up.
“It’s five-thirty. Alfie has everything packed and we are ready to go. Breakfast will be in fifteen minutes. Alfie has held his valet off until you get to your room and make it look as though you slept there rather than with sleeping beauty here.”
“Alfie?” Sam said with a raised brow.
“Apologies.” Gareth laid a hand on his chest and sketched a brief bow. “Lord Alfred.”
Sam groaned and held his head. “Oh, God. You’ve fucked him, haven’t you? Haven’t you?”
“You wound me,” Gareth said, nose in the air.
Sam struggled to a sitting position, feeling his head swim alarmingly as he did so. “And you don’t think that this whole thing is complicated enough without that? You need to get back to Dante’s before he starts looking for you, as well. We can’t just gallivant off to the country. We are not toffs like these two with more money than sense, we have to earn a living. We have to go back to the lives that we have and find a way to deal with Dante that doesn’t involve him killing us.”
Gareth made a derisory sound and flicked his hair over his shoulder. “It’s too late for that. By now Dante and Mosely know that you are involved with Tristan, they know that I have run away, too. We can’t go back.”
“Well, I am not going on this jaunt you all cooked up,” he said, holding onto his pounding head and wishing he could think clearly.
“Excuse me?” Tristan’s aristocratic affront was now focused on Sam, who sighed and held his head again.
“What?”
“More money than sense?”
“I mean no offence, but…”
“We really don’t have time for this, ladies. Of course you are coming with us. Up. Now.” Gareth patted Tristan on the shoulder and sallied out of the room, leaving Sam to deal with a bristling Tristan.
Sam closed his eyes and held onto his patience. This was turning into a farce. “I am afraid that if I embroil you in this any further you will be hurt. Your family reputation, your reputation…That’s all.” He held out his han
ds in a silent plea for understanding. “I cannot go through with this plan. I cannot involve you, Alfie, and Gareth in this. Mosely’s quarrel is with me. Let me deal with it.
“You involved me when you planned to trick me into getting you out of Dante’s.” Tristan’s mouth was thin and a muscle ticked by his temple. “You involved me when you accepted my hospitality. You involved me when you lied to me. I am involved. We are all involved. Now we need to get dressed and get moving.”
Sam put his thumping head in his hands. He simply didn’t have the energy to argue.
* * * *
Against his better judgement, Sam found himself en route to some wretched house party, crammed in a swaying carriage with Alfie, Tristan, and Gareth. All three were dozing, but his head hurt abominably, and the swaying was causing all kinds of nausea, so he simply stared miserably out of the window. How in the world he was going to get away from Mosely, God only knew. Was he to spend the rest of his life running from the man? He had now involved Gareth and felt partially responsible for him, too. Both had a living to earn, not like Tristan and Alfie. He looked at Tristan. He was frowning in his sleep. Those fair brows were drawn together and his lips were turned down at the corners. Gareth was leaning against the side of the carriage, arms folded and mouth open and Alfie was slumped so far down that his knees were getting in the way. Arms folded, he apparently slept peacefully, but Sam wondered if he was asleep at all. He peered out of the window again. They had to be almost there. If they weren’t, he was sure he was going to embarrass himself. Almost as if he had read his thoughts, Alfie opened one eye, glanced out of the window, and then heaved himself up and stretched.
“Almost there.”
Thank God. Sam nudged Tristan, who muttered and attempted to roll over. He shook his shoulder, making him start. Gareth let out a loud snore and startled himself awake. All four men stretched as much as possible in the confined conditions, but Sam, who stood a good few inches taller than them all spread out the most.
“Tell me again who our host is?” Tristan asked as he adjusted his clothing and smoothed his hair.
Alfie pulled his gaze from the window. “Lord Overdale. You must know him. Bit of a philanthropist. Does a lot of work with children, foundlings and the like. Raises a lot of money for good causes. I’m fairly sure he has spoken in the house about it.”
“I seem to recall the name. I am sure I will know him when I see him. Anyone else I am likely to know?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
The house came into view. It was large, opulent, and nestled into the hillside. Surrounded by leafless trees, it basked in the late afternoon sun with rays bouncing off the windows.
“Pretty,” remarked Gareth, leaning over Sam’s legs to get a better view.
“I need to get out of here. Quickly.” Sam shifted so he wasn’t quite so squashed.
“Right-ho.” Alfie opened the door as they drew to a halt in front of the enormous house. It was constructed on a symmetrical plan, three storeys in warm sandstone with a huge entrance nestled beneath magnificent pillars, long and straight.
There was a flurry of servants who arrived to help them down and carry their luggage, and then a large man came out of the door raising a hand and shouting in greeting.
“Chiltern! How damned good to see you, my boy.” He came down the steps and pumped Tristan’s hand, bowing as he did so. “Honoured that you would stoop to visit my little party. Honoured.”
Tristan smiled and bowed slightly in response. He looked unruffled, calm, and had that aristocratic tilt to his head, to the way he held himself, and Sam couldn’t tear his eyes from him. There was nothing of the shy boy about him now.
“You are too kind. I hope you don’t object to a party of us arriving?”
“Indeed not, indeed not. You are all most welcome. Most welcome. Your cousin was kind enough to send word of your arrival with a rider in advance, so we are prepared, all prepared.”
They all bundled out and shook themselves. Tristan made the introductions. Overdale bowed and shook hands with all of them and then ushered them into the house. Sam could hear voices inside.
“We are all settling in at the moment and dinner will be at eight. If you require refreshment at any time, just ring for the servants and they will be only too pleased to accommodate you.”
All the men nodded and smiled as they looked around the opulent entrance way that was filled with paintings of all manner of clocks and ornaments. A plaque with a deer’s head on it, antlers and all, stood over a huge, stone fireplace that probably once housed a massive spit. The floor and staircase appeared to be made of marble and boot heels rang out as they walked. Footmen appeared to guide them silently to their rooms, but before they moved away a door opened a little way down one of the corridors off the hallway and two young men came out. They were smiling and laughing and didn’t notice them. They set off walking down the corridor, away from them, the taller of the two took hold of his friend’s hand. Sam watched as they walked away hand in hand. As if it were nothing, as if it were perfectly natural thing to do in a country house. Two men, hand in hand. He glanced over at Tristan, who seemed to be having a similar thought. He smiled up at him and he looked a little emotional.
They followed the footmen and assured their host that they were perfectly well catered for. Sam found himself in a beautiful room that overlooked the parkland at the back of the house. There appeared to be an adjoining room and when he opened the door he found Tristan.
“Our rooms are linked,” he said, quite unnecessarily.
“Indeed.” Tristan was watching him. “How are you feeling?”
“Dreadful. I am going to sleep for a little while.”
Tristan nodded, but looked uncomfortable. “When you have rested, I think we should talk.”
“Really? Talking rarely gets us anywhere.”
Tristan laughed, a soft huff of a sound. “I know, but I think there are some things we need to clear up. We have a few days now where we can talk a little…if that’s what you want?”
Sam rubbed his aching temples. “Tristan, the last time I came anywhere near you it was…”
“I was angry,” Tristan said, interrupting. “I was angry. You played me for an absolute fool so I think I had every reason to be.”
“I didn’t play you for a fool…I didn’t…You weren’t…” He closed his eyes. He couldn’t even think straight. Moments later he dragged them open. “I need to sleep. We can talk later if you wish.”
Tristan hesitated, and for a moment Sam thought he might argue, but then he nodded and gave a tight smile as he made to leave.
“Sleep well.”
When the door closed behind Tristan, Sam removed most of his clothes and flopped onto the bed. He felt vile, but most of all he felt hopelessly at a loss as to what to do. He felt completely out of his depth with the company they were about to engage with. A house full of aristocrats, respectable men with lives he could only dream about, and him. A whore. A prostitute. A man who had tricked his client into helping him escape the clutches of a madman who now pursued them all. He put an arm over his eyes. He hadn’t realised Tristan was titled when he’d begged him for help, hadn’t realised how well connected he was and now…well. He swallowed. How stupid to fall in love with a man who was so far above him, so beyond his touch. He might make a fair play at it, but he would never be respectable enough for Tristan to be anything other than his kept plaything. And not only that, he had hurt him abominably, put him in danger, and now his head hurt so damned much he couldn’t even fuck him. He felt even more stupid when tears pricked behind his eyes.
Chapter 11
Sam suffered the services of a valet and stood unmoving as he was helped into his coat. He was beginning to get used to seeing himself in the mirror looking every inch the gentleman. Here, he would probably pass as respectable, even taking into account the sickly pallor of his skin. If only his head would stop pounding, and his stomach would settle, he would probably enjoy an evening
of playing the gentleman with Tristan by his side. But every movement made his head ache.
A knock came at the door and the valet left as Sam welcomed his visitors. Gareth and Alfie came in, both looking startlingly handsome. Gareth looked, as always, fabulously dandyish in his borrowed clothes. Starched shirt points stood high, but not too high that he couldn’t move. Wearing evening black, he looked sharp and elegant. Gareth’s hair had been drawn back into a queue and he looked quite the exotic gentleman. Alfie looked sombre, but there was something a little dangerous about him. Sam couldn’t help but note that the two of them exchanged glances frequently. He was about to speak when the adjoining door opened, Tristan walked in, and Sam’s breath left his body. Just like the others he was dressed soberly, but with such elegance. His cravat was simple but perfect. A sapphire blue pin nestled in the folds. His waistcoat was shades of silver and grey and as he slid his watch into his pocket he smiled politely at the room.
“Gentlemen. Should we dine?”
“At last. I am starving.” Gareth adjusted his borrowed waistcoat of green and gold and set his shoulders back. Sam watched as Alfie rolled his eyes and Tristan smiled. Tristan seemed to be avoiding looking at him.
“I’m not terribly hungry. I still feel a little out of sorts,” Sam admitted. It was the truth. He felt like death. His head ached. Even his eyeballs hurt.
Alfie crossed over the room to stand before him. He reached out and lifted first one eyelid, then the other. “You look fine. Avoid too much wine and eat lightly. Another good night’s sleep should help.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Sam said with a smile. Alfie raised an eyebrow.
They left the room and made their way along the corridor. As they did so, Tristan fell into step beside Sam.
“You do look rather pale. If you’d rather stay in your room I can arrange for a tray to be brought to you.”
Sam looked down at him. He looked so somber. “I will be fine,” he said, and slid his hand around Tristan’s to squeeze it briefly without looking at him. “Thank you. I don’t deserve it.” Sam held his breath and waited, but Tristan didn’t speak so he let go of his hand.
