by Ruby Moone
“I appreciate everything that you have done,” he added, trying again.
Tristan looked up at him, and Sam met his unreadable gaze. “Would you ever have told me yourself?”
Sam thought about that for a moment and then smiled a little sadly. “On our fiftieth anniversary when you would be too old to leave me.”
Tristan was staring at him but his expression was unreadable. “So, you saw this as a long term thing?”
There was something in his voice that made Sam’s stomach tighten. “Who knows,” he said, thankful that they had reached the dining room. He didn’t know if he saw it as long term, he didn’t even know if two men could have anything long term. He sighed as his head started to pound again.
* * * *
Tristan watched Sam carefully. He wanted to ask him more about how he saw them. He had been surprised when he had alluded to them being together forever. He hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t thought about the long term at all, he had been too enamoured of Sam to see anything but what was in front of him, but Sam had apparently had plan. A long term plan.
As they arrived at the dining room, Tristan was torn between bracing himself and bursting with curiosity every time he thought about who might possibly be at the party that he knew. To think, all this time, people that he called friend might have been sharing the same dark secret.
They walked in, and Tristan could see that there were easily a dozen men there, drinks in hand, just talking. Or so it seemed. When Tristan looked carefully he could see that some men touched each other, lingering over touches in a way that would be entirely unacceptable in any polite society. More than one couple exchanged glances that were frankly adoring. Nothing overt, nothing lewd, just men talking with men but not hiding how they felt. Tristan’s heart beat rapidly as he swiftly counted the number of familiar faces. There were four that he recognised, but none that he would call friend. The men that he knew stared for a moment, but then smiled and lifted their glasses in acknowledgement. That was all, just a friendly gesture. Tristan was rooted to the spot momentarily, but moved when Sam put a hand in the small of his back and urged him forward. Lord Overdale welcomed them and made introductions. Tristan had to smile at Alfie and Gareth, who played their parts admirably. Gareth was incredibly confident, witty, and with Alfie at his side they charmed most of the company. He and Sam were able to relax a little in their shadow. There was a moment when his breath caught as Gareth smiled at Alfie and touched a finger to his cheek. Nothing happened, no-one paid the slightest attention, and he breathed again.
“It’s remarkable,” he said a little while later to Sam, who had gravitated to his side.
“What is?”
“Being able to talk freely, look at you without fear that someone will discern my feelings…” His words trailed off as Sam was looking at him oddly. Sam looked at him a moment longer and then cast a glance around the room. “Doesn’t really look much different to me. They are not exactly fawning over each other as they might in the brothel.”
“Well, a gentleman would never indulge in public displays of affection, even if he were with a woman, so why would it be any different for gentlemen who are together. All that is needed is a look, or a touch, but in the rest of society that might be enough to arouse suspicion. Here, it is not.”
Sam nodded and took a sip of his drink and looked out over the crowd when he spoke. “I’m not a gentleman so I wouldn’t really know about that.”
Tristan debated about how to respond for a moment, but then took the plunge. “If I overreacted to what I heard, I apologise.”
Sam’s head snapped around and those beautiful, crystalline, grey green eyes were wide.
* * * *
He’d apologised. Sam kept glancing at Tristan, who sat on the opposite side of the dining table. He had apologised if he had overreacted. Sam thought about that for quite some time. Had he overreacted? Probably not. In his shoes, Sam doubted that he would have ever been able to get over what had heard. Guilt still ate at him, but he doubted he would ever forget the look on Tristan’s face after he had overheard his and Gareth’s conversation. He was without doubt the bigger man. Sam watched him. He was smiling at something his dinner companion had said whilst picking up his glass of claret. He took a sip, put the glass down, and patted the corner of his mouth with his napkin. He was beautiful. Through and through. He was what Sam knew he could never be no matter how much he might play the game. He was a gentleman. He was respectable.
Sam played with the food on his plate. His head was a thumping mess and his stomach was still queasy. He managed to eat some of the chicken and a potato, but his stomach was tightening ominously so he put his fork down and took a sip of the water in the glass beside his wine.
“Not hungry?” the man beside him said.
“Not terribly. The food is quite delicious though.”
“Overdale always puts on a good spread.” The man had introduced himself as Garforth. He was older than Sam by a good few years, but still very attractive with a hint of silver in his dark hair.
“Have you been here before?” Sam asked, taking another sip of the water.
“Several times. One of the few places where a chap can relax and indulge his senses.”
“Indeed.”
“Are you attached?”
Sam glanced up and found Tristan’s eyes fixed on him. His face was tense, his shoulders braced as if waiting for a blow. Sam didn’t have a clue if Tristan wanted to be thought of as attached to him or not. But he had apologised. He had suggested he might have overreacted and last night he had got into bed with him and cared for him.
He smiled a little at Tristan, whose breath seemed to hitch.
“I am attached,” he said, turning back to Garforth.
“Then I am happy for you.” Garforth raised his glass in salute to Tristan, and Sam watched patches of colour rise in Tristan’s cheeks as he raised his glass in return.
“Are you attached?” Sam asked, taking another sip of his water.
“No.” Garforth looked at his plate, smiled, and then looked back up. “I don’t really believe in attachments. I am more a…” He paused, tilted his head, and then looked directly at Sam. “More of a connoisseur. Happier to sample all the delights and rare treats Overdale will have on offer rather than settle for one.”
“Then I am sure you will have a pleasant evening,” Sam said, looking at the men around the table. There were some quite attractive men seated around, some he recognised from Dante’s.
“Should you change your mind, or decide you might like to sample a different dish…” He glanced over at Tristan with a warm, appreciative look that made Tristan flush even harder and Sam was hard pushed not to laugh. He had met many men like Garforth, but he would have wagered his last farthing that Tristan never had.
“You are most kind. Should we decide to expand our culinary horizons then you will be the first to know.” He lifted his water glass in salute. Garforth glanced at Tristan again and then laughed lightly.
* * * *
Sam drained the last of the water in his glass. If he drank the wine, he had no doubt he would be ill. He hated feeling so weak. The rest of the meal was interminable. He pushed pudding about his dish and accepted more water when Tristan summoned one of the footmen. They were too far from each other to converse easily. He drank more water and rubbed the back of his neck and fidgeted as the port was passed around. He needed to stand up and get some air quite urgently but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, or to Tristan for that matter, so he held firm and accepted the glass. He didn’t dare drink it, so he just touched it to his lips a few times.
As they continued to chat, the guests around them shifted and as their host stood to repair to the parlour, Sam felt a sense of relief that was almost dizzying. Garforth stood to one side to allow Sam to move first, and managed to stroke his arm as he did so. Sam barely took any notice of it, but caught Tristan’s expression from the corner of his eye. He was clearly unha
ppy. Sam thought to offer some sort of reassurance, but he felt too ill to try. If he could just get through the next hour or so before he could go to bed and sleep he would be pleased.
As they filed out slowly Tristan appeared by his side. “How are you feeling? You look quite unwell.”
Sam smiled tiredly. “I feel like death, truth told. How are you bearing up?”
Tristan shook his head. “You should excuse yourself and retire. You had a nasty blow to the head, to say nothing of a shock.”
Tristan took his hand briefly and squeezed it. Sam returned the pressure with another smile. “I might do that.”
They made their way to the parlour, following the rest of the guests and Sam felt better just having Tristan beside him. He felt oddly proud to have him there. He was so at ease in this environment, so effortlessly elegant. He wished he felt better so he could enjoy the evening more and not be a complete burden. He wasn’t much use to Tristan in the state he was in.
“I never knew parties like this existed,” Tristan said as they ambled along.
“I’ve never been invited to one either,” Sam said, and glanced sideways to find Tristan looking up at him. They shared a smile.
“It’s good to know that people can be civilised about things rather than lurking around in back alleys and molly houses.” Tristan laughed a little as he said it.
“Safer, too,” Sam said, thinking of the raids that had taken place in London over the last few years. He looked down as his feet as they walked on the deep red carpet. “I’m glad we are speaking again,” he said quietly.
“Me, too.” Tristan didn’t look at him, he stared at the carpet, too.
They walked the rest of the way in silence until they reached the parlour and all of them wandered in. The room had been set up for cards and several members of the group were arranging themselves in groups.
“Do you play?” Tristan asked.
Sam looked around the room. “I’ve no taste for it. I prefer to keep hold of what little money I have. This is how I got into difficulty in the first place.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
Tristan moved closer, making Sam’s heart beat faster. He could feel the warmth from his body. “Let’s retire,” he said softly.
“What about…” Sam nodded to the rest of the room.
“I somehow doubt they would care.”
Sam had the strongest urge to gather Tristan up in his arms and hold him tight. To bury his face in his neck and feel his arms around him. He settled for reaching out and touching the back of his hand briefly.
“I will go up.”
They stared at each other for a moment until Sam tore his gaze away and set off in the direction of his chamber. God, but he needed to sleep.
* * * *
Tristan watched Sam walk away across the enormous hallway and set off up the grand staircase. He looked unutterably weary and Tristan couldn’t help the worry that set up inside him. Alfie’s words kept coming back to haunt him, the comment about men with injuries to the head apparently recovering only to die later. The thought of a world without Sam in it made his chest seize painfully and put some perspective on their argument. He swallowed a couple of times and went in search of Alfie. He found him in a corner engaged in conversation with Gareth. The pair looked quite animated and Tristan had to smile. He had never seen Alfie work up enthusiasm to overcome his fashionable boredom with anyone before. He took a glass of champagne from a passing footman and went to join them.
“Where’s Sam?” Gareth asked with a small frown.
“Retired. He looked ghastly. I will be following him shortly.”
Alfie took a sip of his drink and nodded. “He didn’t look the best. He needs to rest and take care of himself.”
Tristan bit his lip. “You said that sometimes men recover and then…” He gestured with his hand, not even wanting to say the word aloud.
Alfie grimaced, understanding perfectly what he meant. “I have seen it but only rarely. Forgive me, I shouldn’t have worried you like that.”
Tristan shook his head. “I’d rather know. I will keep an eye on him tonight.”
Gareth knocked back the remainder of his drink and popped it on a table. “Well, gentlemen, I am simply exhausted. I fear I must retire immediately.”
Tristan watched as Alfie’s gaze drifted from the top of Gareth’s head to his toes. “As you wish, my dear.” Gareth walked across the room away from them, and Tristan could barely conceal his smile as Alfie’s gaze followed his every step.
“Are you smitten, dear cousin?” he said, once Gareth was out of sight. He expected a witty rejoinder, but Alfie looked surprisingly serious as he stared out over the space that Gareth had recently occupied.
“He is…interesting.” He shook his head and turned to Tristan. “How much does Sam’s past concern you?”
Tristan had to think about that. He pursed his lips, then took a sip of his drink. “It does bother me, but not enough to make a difference to how I feel.”
“So you have forgiven him?”
Tristan scratched his ear. “I am trying to.”
Alfie looked as though he might say more, but his eyes widened, and he nudged Tristan and nodded to the door. Tristan followed his gaze, and his jaw almost dropped. Overdale was crossing the room in long strides, holding out a hand in greeting to the man who had just walked in. Wallingford.
“God’s knees…” Alfie’s whisper echoed exactly Tristan’s thoughts. There was a momentary hush in the room, and then a buzz of interested chatter. At first, Tristan thought that they were simply as shocked as he and Alfie were, but then it became clear that the buzz was excited chatter. He exchanged a glance with Alfie, but he looked as nonplussed as Tristan felt. Wallingford looked around the room, and when his gaze fell on them, he smiled and headed in their direction. Wallingford was an imposing man. Large, fair haired, with an air of complete confidence about him.
“My dear boys, how good to see you.” He shook hands with them both and then looked around the room. “I had wondered if one day I might see you here.”
Tristan felt uneasy. He smiled and nodded, but said nothing.
Alfie’s eyelids were lowered slightly, and he looked around the room, too, in a typically bored fashion. “I must confess, I had wondered exactly the same thing,” he said with a faint smile at Wallingford.
“Well, I am glad to see you, I must say. We should talk more but I have some arrangements to see to if we are to have our entertainment this weekend.” He nodded to Overdale over the room. “Until tomorrow,” he said with a nod of his head, and walked away from them chatting to people, touching some, as he went.
“What do you make of that?” Tristan said.
Alfie shook his head and pulled in a breath. “I have no idea, but I don’t think I like it above much.”
Tristan had to agree. Wallingford’s presence made him feel distinctly uneasy. “I am heading upstairs,” he said to Alfie, and finished the last of his drink.
Chapter 12
Tristan hurried along the dimly lit corridor back to their rooms, deep in thought. Up until Wallingford’s appearance, the weekend had seemed like a good idea. The people present were anonymous enough not to give pause, but Wallingford was different. Tristan couldn’t think of any reason for him to be present that didn’t benefit him in some way. He was beginning to think that perhaps he should have let Sam visit Yorkshire to recover, as it didn’t appear that anywhere was safe at the moment. He had hoped that the weekend might give them some opportunity to talk and resolve the issues that stood between them. He still felt guilty when he thought about how he had treated Sam at their last meeting, how he had tried to reduce their relationship to a monetary transaction, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Sam must have felt. The question that he was grappling with was, could he continue in some kind of relationship with Sam knowing he had lied about loving him. Knowing that he didn’t love him.
He arrived at his door and paused. Had Sam bee
n well he was fairly certain that they would have fallen into bed and made up. As it was, they seemed reliant on talking to patch things and they had agreed some time ago things went wrong when they talked. He sighed and let himself in. The bed had been turned down, a candle burned by the bedside and the fire was banked so the room was reasonably warm. The adjoining door was firmly closed. He undressed himself, having left his own valet at home. He had politely declined when offered the service. He pulled a modest nightshirt over his head and hesitated.
On a practical footing, and putting the question of feelings to one side, he needed to see that Sam was recovering and well. He ran a hand over his hair, took a deep breath, and tapped on the adjoining door and walked through.
Two candles burned casting a soft glow over the room. Sam was in bed, in his own nightshirt, with one arm flung over his eyes. He raised it to peer at Tristan.
“Is anything amiss?” he asked, as he struggled up onto one elbow.
“Everything is fine. I was just a little concerned about you so thought I would come and see how you are faring.”
“Oh.” Sam lay back and put his arm over his eyes again.
Tristan faltered. It was not an encouraging response. “I was going to suggest that I spend the night in here with you until you feel better. Alfie tells me that head wounds can be tricky.”
Sam kept his arm over his eyes and licked his lips. “If you like.”
Not encouraging at all.
“I’m still too ill to fuck,” Sam said, without moving his arm.
“I know that.” Tristan spoke evenly and held back the words on the tip of his tongue. Did Sam really think that was all he was interested in?
“Well, in that case…” He let the words trail away so Tristan took it as agreement and slid carefully into bed beside him so as not to jostle him and make his head worse.
* * * *
Sam’s heart thudded heavily in his chest and his head thumped along with it. What the hell was he to do? He wanted nothing more than to fall into Tristan’s arms, beg him for forgiveness, and let him hold him. He wanted every part of him. Wanted to be part of his life. Wanted, wanted, wanted. He moved his arm away from his eyes and looked over at the man who lay beside him, but not touching him. Tristan’s eyes were open and he appeared to be looking at the canopy over the bed. He could feel the warmth from his body; catch the scent of his skin. He wanted to beg him for forgiveness and ask if they could begin again, but he knew in his heart that anything like that would not only be impossible, but foolish to boot. What he needed to do was get out of Tristan’s life and let him go back to his life as a peer of the realm. By embroiling Tristan in the sordid cesspool that was his life he had endangered him in ways that he never could have imagined.
