by Ava March
Gray eyes caught Gabriel’s.
The hum of the many conversations in the room evaporated to nothingness.
Gabriel’s heart gave a fierce wrench.
I’m so sorry I hurt you.
For the longest moment, Anthony’s expression was utterly blank. Gabriel braced himself for a well-deserved cut, for a refusal of his silent apology.
Yet when he received that cut, it hurt far more than he could have ever anticipated, the pain slamming into him. Ignoring Gabriel as if he hadn’t laid eyes on him, Anthony turned his attention back to their hostess. His lips moved as he spoke to her. Then he gave her another half bow, turned and began walking directly toward Gabriel.
Anthony hadn’t been giving him a cut? Had he only been extricating himself from their hostess?
That had to be the case, because Anthony was definitely coming over to him.
What felt like an iron band wrapped around Gabriel’s chest, constricting his lungs. His hands tightened into fists. He wished he had grabbed a glass of wine from one of the servants’ trays. His arms felt awkward hanging at his sides. He needed something to do with his hands. And he needed a drink. Something to fortify him, to give him the courage to face the man he had once so horribly betrayed.
With a small smile on his lips, Anthony stopped before him. “Pleasant palm you have there.”
Gabriel blinked, confused both by Anthony’s words and by the lack of anger in his voice.
Anthony tipped his head toward the potted palm at Gabriel’s right side. “Does it make nice company?”
Gabriel blinked again, and then his brain clicked into motion. Anthony was teasing him.
That acute sense of loss radiated through him anew.
He cleared his throat and answered Anthony’s question. “The palm’s quiet.”
“Ah, an admirable trait in a companion at such affairs. Would you care to add another who promises no such claims?”
Flexing his hands, Gabriel nodded. How he longed to reach out, to touch Anthony. Just a glance of his fingertips along Anthony’s coat sleeve would be enough for him. Something. Anything. Yet he kept his arms locked to his sides.
Anthony made to take a step toward Gabriel’s unoccupied left, but stopped. “First, though...” He looked behind him. “I shall return shortly.” Then he turned on his heel.
Gabriel watched as Anthony disappeared into the clusters of other guests. Where was he off to? Perhaps the necessary? But Anthony had just arrived at the function. And Gabriel still couldn’t fully wrap his head around the fact that Anthony was here at the musicale.
Yes, Anthony lived in London, but he was now a viscount. Lord Rawling, to be exact—something Pearce had mentioned to him a while back. His mother was a dowager. The possibility of seeing Anthony while squiring Sarah about hadn’t occurred to Gabriel. Well, it had occurred to him, but Gabriel had pushed aside the notion as highly improbable. But apparently Sarah moved in more vaunted social circles than Gabriel had realized.
And Anthony didn’t seem upset to see him. There had been no anger, no cold fury. Not a trace of the hurt that had filled Anthony’s eyes during those last few days of the house party. Anthony had walked right up to him and teased him, as if they were merely old friends who hadn’t seen each other in an age. As if Gabriel had never pressed his lips to Anthony’s then turned his back on him barely twelve hours later.
The guilt and the shame, the self-loathing so thick he could taste it, swamped him again.
He should leave. Now. He didn’t have the right to spend even another moment in Anthony’s presence. Yet he was tied to this drawing room, tethered there by his sister, who was still happily chatting with acquaintances.
Maybe Anthony would come to his senses while he was...wherever it was he’d gone. Maybe Anthony wouldn’t return shortly. Maybe someone would pull him into a conversation and occupy him for the rest of the evening. Yet as Gabriel’s mind worked over scenario after scenario that would result in him standing alone for the next two or so hours, his eyes continuously swept over the crowd of guests, searching for a distinct sandy blond head, his soul begging for Anthony to return to him.
Anthony must have heard that plea, for he emerged from behind a small group of gentlemen and walked directly back to Gabriel. He held out one of the two glasses in his hands. “For you. Always makes these performances more palatable.”
“Thank you.” Gabriel took a sip. Whisky, and a nice vintage. “I thought the footmen were only offering wine?”
“Need only to ask, and wait a moment or two for them to grab a decent bottle from a cabinet.”
Gabriel would have never thought to impose by asking, but clearly Anthony was well accustomed to making himself comfortable at such affairs. Then again, Anthony could make himself comfortable most anywhere. He never seemed to worry about what others would think of him, while at the same time, he never came off as rude. How Gabriel wished he had just a drop of the easy self-confidence that radiated from Anthony.
Though something felt...off. As Anthony positioned himself beside Gabriel, his shoulder brushing Gabriel’s, Gabriel identified that something. Anthony wasn’t only broader and stronger than when last Gabriel had seen him. He was also on eye level with him. The man had to be within a quarter-inch of Gabriel’s own six feet.
Being able to look to Anthony and not have to tilt his chin down to make eye contact served as a fresh reminder of the years with him that Gabriel had given up.
There was the light chime of a bell. The crowd began moving toward the rows of chairs.
“I see the performance is to start,” Anthony said. “Shall we relocate to a more advantageous location?”
He nodded. Even if Anthony wanted to sit in the front row surrounded by others, Gabriel would follow him.
With his whisky in hand, he trailed behind Anthony, who smoothly navigated through the crowd. Anthony tipped his head a few times with a “Good evening” and the individual’s name. But that was all. No pausing to chat.
It wasn’t until Anthony stopped and settled with his back against the wall that Gabriel noticed where Anthony had led him—not to the rows of chairs, but to a spot a couple of paces from the door.
“But we’re farther away from the musicians, not closer,” Gabriel said, as he took up a place on Anthony’s left.
Anthony quirked a brow. “Is that a complaint?”
“No. Merely an observation. You did say a more advantageous location.”
“And this is. I’ve attended quite a few of these sorts of functions. The only way to make them tolerable is to stay as far away as politeness will allow. And close to a door in case one’s ears beg for a respite. Though distance wins in the event a door is in close proximity to the musicians.” Anthony lowered his voice. “They aren’t ever any good, but it makes the mamas happy to force others to listen to their daughters play. The mamas have this notion that men value women who can play an instrument with some level of skill.” He shrugged. “Not something I value, but then again—” he leaned closer to Gabriel, as if letting him in on a joke “—I’m not part of their intended audience.”
Anthony’s interests were still focused on men. He might as well have just come right out and said it in plain English.
Before Gabriel could stop himself, his fingers stretched out, stretching toward Anthony’s white-gloved hand that hung at his side. The brush against fabric made his pulse skip a beat. He swore he could feel the heat of Anthony’s body enough through Anthony’s gloves and his own. Then Gabriel snatched his arm back tight to his side, closing his fingers into a fist.
His gaze darted over the other guests, but he met not one pair of eyes. No one was paying him and Anthony any mind. But they were in a drawing room, at a ton function. What the hell had he been thinking to make to take hold of Anthony’s hand? But beyond that, Anthony wasn’t hi
s, and it was the height of dangerous to try to steal a taste of something he could never have again.
His heart slammed against his ribs. He looked to Anthony, but the man was taking a long sip from his glass, as though nothing was amiss. As though he wasn’t aware Gabriel had forgotten himself. As though he hadn’t even felt that brush of Gabriel’s fingers.
Maybe he hadn’t. Anthony was wearing gloves, after all.
The idle chatter in the drawing room faded away. There were a few creaks of wooden chair frames, the rustle of fabric. Then silence.
Gabriel pulled his attention from Anthony. The musicians had taken their places, their instruments at the ready. The violist gave a nod, and the quartet began to play what sounded like a concerto. The music that filled the room wasn’t awful by any means. The harpsichordist was slightly off-rhythm and one of the two violins was a shade out of tune, but all in all, it sounded as though it would be a decent performance.
“Have you been in London long?” Anthony asked in an undertone.
“Not long. Sarah, my sister—do you remember her?” Gabriel asked, matching Anthony’s low tone. At Anthony’s nod, he continued, “She married Neville Blackwell, of the Essex Blackwells, about five years ago. He needed to travel for business, and she doesn’t like attending functions alone.” Not exactly the truth, but he knew if given the choice, she’d prefer an escort. “So I agreed to come down and stay with her.”
“That was kind of you.”
Gabriel shrugged. He had more offered his services to his sister, but he didn’t want to sound so desperate as to admit being alone in Derbyshire had become unbearable. “I heard that you inherited. When did you become Lord Rawling?”
“The town house’s butler has been calling me ‘my lord’ for almost three years now.”
Anthony was two years younger than Gabriel’s own five-and-twenty, which meant he’d only been twenty when he’d become a viscount. “You were quite young when you took over the title.”
“I had hoped to remain Hawkins for a while longer, but unfortunately my father was not a young man. He married late in life; took him a while to find my mother.”
“Find her?”
“Yes. She was the love of his life, and he of hers. I can say with absolute certainty the title had no bearing on her decision to marry him.” A sort of wistful longing passed over Anthony’s handsome features. Then he turned his attention to the performance.
Yet Gabriel ignored the performance. He couldn’t have pulled his gaze from Anthony if his life depended on it. I found you, yet was fool enough to let you go. Had Anthony found other men over the years? Did Anthony have a current lover?
That thought did not sit well.
How many other men had kissed Anthony? How many others knew the taste of his soft lips? Gabriel studied those lips, the bottom one slightly plumper than the top. His own lips tingled at the memory of Anthony’s mouth opening beneath his, welcoming him. Anthony must have shaved before departing for the evening’s function because his jaw appeared smooth and unmarred by the stubble of a beard. And Anthony must not use cologne, because he could detect nothing but the clean scent of a man.
Bringing his glass to his lips, Anthony took a swallow of whisky. A long swallow. In fact, his tumbler was now a splash from empty.
They hadn’t been standing along the wall for all that long. Did Anthony usually drink so quickly? Had he developed a fondness for spirits since he’d moved to London? Or...was it Gabriel’s presence that pushed him to down the whisky in a few swallows?
Yet Anthony had sought him out. Had teased him, treated him like an old friend. Was behaving as though he wasn’t still hurt by what Gabriel had done to him seven years ago.
A flicker pulled between Anthony’s dark blond brows.
Oh hell. Anthony’s kindness was all just a ruse of politeness. Though his heart begged for him to remain at Anthony’s side, Gabriel knew he should take himself off to someplace else in the drawing room, spare Anthony and not ruin the man’s evening.
Gabriel opened his mouth, the “good evening and thank you” on his tongue, when Anthony asked, his attention still on the musicians, “Had she been ill?”
He knew exactly what Anthony wanted to know. Curiosity followed closely behind sympathy, though thankfully Anthony had skipped the sympathy portion. Rather than evade Anthony’s question as he had done with others who had attempted to pry, he decided to answer with the truth. Get it over and done with, so to speak. “Not until a week before she passed. She took ill with a fever that spread to her lungs. Within days she was gone. It was quite unexpected.”
So unexpected he’d been left in shock for a good fortnight. Once the reality of his situation had hit him, once he’d tasted that sweet burst of relief at being free from his marriage, the guilt had slammed down on him and had rightly stayed put.
“I’m sorry,” Anthony said, glancing to him. He sounded truly sorry. No jealousy at all, only compassion. And it stabbed Gabriel square in the gut.
* * *
The way Gabriel swiftly broke eye contact spoke louder than words that Anthony had made him uncomfortable. Had he loved Charlotte? They’d lived together as man and wife for seven years. From what Anthony had heard, Gabriel had married within a month of the incident in the rose garden and instead of attending Oxford as planned, had relocated with his new wife to a property in Derbyshire.
But Gabriel had touched his hand in the minutes before the performance had started. That touch had felt so familiar—a glance, brief yet deliberate—Anthony had been surprised when Gabriel hadn’t taken hold of his hand.
A wagonload of questions swirled in his head, but Anthony didn’t give any of them voice. Instead, he took in the stiff set of Gabriel’s shoulders and changed the topic. “Is this your first visit to London of late?”
Gabriel nodded, which was the answer Anthony had expected. It was possible Gabriel had paid his siblings who resided in Town visits over the years, but if so, word had never reached Anthony’s ears.
“Then will you let me show you about?” After all, he had promised his mother to show Gabriel around London, so he should at least extend the offer. And Gabriel wasn’t the type to quickly form friendships. If Anthony didn’t take him about, Gabriel’s entire stay in London would likely be comprised of staid functions and squiring his sister to shops and calls. The height of boredom. After a difficult start to the year, the man deserved to have a bit of fun. So Anthony should put their past aside and be kind to Gabriel. “Our illustrious city has much to recommend itself.”
“More than busy streets and noise?” Gabriel asked, with a dubious glance.
If Anthony hadn’t known it already, that question would have declared Gabriel was country bred and raised. But he could understand the man’s skepticism. It had taken him some time to grow accustomed to the hustle and bustle of the city, and even then, he tried to get in a ride through the quiet of Hyde Park whenever the weather allowed.
“Though you may be hard-pressed to believe me, yes, there’s more than busy streets and noise. There’s Vauxhall Gardens, the British Museum, and Gentleman Jackson’s for pugilism and the Fencing Academy—if you prefer a bit of activity. And there’s Drury Lane Theatre. If you want to take in London, that’s the place to do it.”
“Really? The theatre? Why?”
Shifting his gaze to the guests who were still taking in the musicale, Anthony smiled. Clearly Gabriel had never been to Drury Lane before, and it would make for an interesting evening to introduce him to the place. The sights and the sounds, the mix of London’s inhabitants...there was nothing quite like it. “Agree to attend with me, and you can see for yourself. Are you free tomorrow evening?”
A pause.
The harpsichordist finished with a flourish of notes. In the brief space of silence before the guests began their polite applause, he heard Ga
briel reply, “I believe so.”
Not allowing himself to overthink Gabriel’s pause, Anthony tucked his glass in the crook of his elbow and added his own few claps. “Excellent. You are staying with your sister, correct?”
“Yes, with Sarah.”
In a commotion of fabric and shoes on wooden floorboards, the other guests stood from their chairs. “I’ll stop by around six and we can ride to the theatre together.” His mother looked over her shoulder. Her little frown at seeing him standing by the door transformed into an appreciative smile. Stepping from the wall, Anthony turned to face Gabriel and held out his free hand. “My sister and mother will want my arm again soon, so I should go play the dutiful escort.”
Gabriel stared at Anthony’s proffered hand, as if uncertain if he should take it. Had Anthony misread him? Was Gabriel not interested in spending time with him? Should Anthony have heeded his initial instinct to avoid him? By making plans to see Gabriel again, was he setting himself up for the past to repeat—
Gabriel reached out. His hand slipped into Anthony’s. Strong, elegant fingers wrapped around his own.
Warmth transmitted up Anthony’s arm, settling in his chest.
“It was good to see you again.” Gabriel spoke in but a murmur, quieter than he had even during the performance. Yet his eyes captivated Anthony, his gaze intense, the grass-green depths revealing a longing and a need that quite literally took Anthony’s breath away...for a moment, at least.
“Tomorrow?” Anthony heard himself say, as if from a great distance.
Gabriel nodded. “Yes.”
He forced his fingers to release Gabriel’s hand, then cleared his throat. “Good evening, then.” And he turned on his heel and went off to locate his mother and Penelope.
As he chatted with his mother’s acquaintances, a portion of his mind marveled that he had actually asked Gabriel to go to Drury Lane. His adolescent self would not have dared ask such a thing of Gabriel. But he wasn’t an infatuated sixteen-year-old anymore. He had asked other gentlemen to do far more scandalous things with him than go to the theatre, and it was just a visit to the theatre. And that spark, that pull he felt between himself and Gabriel...
