Viscount’s Wager

by Ava March

  “Oh.” A pause, then Gabriel straightened and met Anthony’s gaze. “I can see how that could be the case.”

  Gabriel’s response had to mean he was interested, right?

  Well, there was only one way to know for certain.

  Doing his best to feign casual nonchalance, Anthony rounded the table’s corner, moving closer to the cue ball and putting him directly across from Gabriel. “Why don’t you stop by later this evening? See the place and all. It’s nothing extravagant, of course. Merely bachelor apartments. But I prefer it. The building’s not too raucous and it’s close enough to what matters. And if you find it to your liking, you might wish to look into procuring similar lodgings of your own if you decide to remain in Town.”

  Anthony leaned over the table and took aim. Before he drew his stick back, he looked up to Gabriel and arched a brow.

  Say yes, Gabriel. Please.

  “All right.” Gabriel cast a quick glance over his shoulder, to the men moving about other tables behind him. “As you said, it might give me an idea of what’s available, if I remain in London and all.”

  “Indeed.” Too focused on what the evening could hold, Anthony’s shot only grazed its intended target. But no bother. He didn’t much mind losing the game to Gabriel.

  The miss, however, earned him a frown from Gabriel.

  “It wasn’t intentional, I assure you. Even a master like myself misses on occasion.”

  A short sound, like the start of a chuckle, issued from Gabriel’s chest. “So now you are a self-proclaimed master at billiards?”

  “On some days. Clearly, though, not today.” He held Gabriel’s gaze and lowered his voice. “I find myself a bit distracted.” He glanced to the table then back to Gabriel. “The next play is yours.”

  “Who is Angelo? You’d indicated you were at his place earlier today.”

  “Angelo, of Angelo’s Fencing Academy. I sometimes go there to fill an afternoon. And how have you been filling your days in London? Keeping yourself busy?”

  Gabriel assessed the table, then moved down to the other end to take his shot. “I’ve been escorting Sarah about. To the modiste, to the Park, to pay calls, to evening activities.”

  “Such a diligent escort. She’s fortunate to have you as a brother.”

  “I don’t know if I would go so far as to label myself diligent or her fortunate, but being at her beck and call is my purpose for being in London.”

  “Current purpose,” Anthony clarified.

  Chin tipped down and stick drawn back at the ready, Gabriel nodded once.

  “And surely your duties don’t take up every moment of your day...or nights.”

  Gabriel’s shot went well wide, not even coming close to grazing another ball. He cleared his throat. “As you can see, I am well out of practice.”

  “No worries.” The last thing he wanted was for Gabriel to become embarrassed over his poor performance. Embarrassment often led to avoidance, and Anthony certainly did not want that outcome. “I’m not faring too well today either. But I don’t play to win, I play to have a good time. To enjoy myself and the company of others...or one other. Are you enjoying yourself on this fine afternoon?”

  Gabriel caught his gaze, held it. “Very much so.”

  The sincerity, the conviction in his low voice swept over Anthony, enveloped him. If the table wasn’t between them, if they weren’t at White’s, Anthony would have tackled him right then and there. Grabbed Gabriel and crushed his mouth over those gorgeous lips.

  But as it was, they were at White’s. There was a billiard table between them, with a good two dozen or so other men in the room. So instead, Anthony tamped down the flare of need and merely smiled. “Very good to hear.”

  In any case, in a few short hours, he’d have Gabriel behind a locked door. No watchful eyes of others. No need to rein in the passion that arced between them. An entire night to explore the possibilities.

  Just a few short hours, he reminded himself, as he briefly focused back on the table. And then, he’d finally have Gabriel all to himself.

  * * *

  After shutting his front door behind him, Anthony pulled off his navy coat and flung it in the general direction of one of the wingback armchairs. He had left White’s as soon as he had finished dinner, had declined the invitation of an acquaintance to go back to the club’s billiard room and partake of a game and had immediately gone to his apartments. The last thing he wanted was to miss Gabriel’s call. Yet even though Gabriel had agreed to stop by, he couldn’t help but be half-convinced Gabriel wouldn’t make an appearance. That Anthony had returned early, and would have a night of waiting ahead of him, all for naught.

  He shook his head at himself, felt around on the mantel for the tinder box and lit a candle.

  It was rather foolish to make such dire assumptions when he had just walked through his door. The clock had barely touched seven when he had left White’s. It wasn’t half-past yet. Not even close to anyone’s definition of later this evening.

  And Gabriel hadn’t said anything to imply he wouldn’t hold true to his word. After they had finished their game, they had parted ways and Anthony had gone to the club’s dining room. There had been not a word from Gabriel to imply indecision on his part as to his plans later this evening.

  Reassured, Anthony busied himself lighting the fire and another candle, and picking his coat up from the floor—his earlier fling hadn’t hit its mark. The bedchamber door... Should he leave it open or close it? The parlor, complete with a desk at one end to allow the space to also serve as a study, was the main room of the respectable though not overly large apartments with all others branching off from it. The dining room, the small kitchen and the bedchamber. The dining room and the kitchen—it didn’t much matter if he left those doors open. The rooms were of no consequence. The bedchamber, though...

  He settled on half-open. He didn’t want Gabriel to take a closed door as an indication of Anthony’s intentions—or lack of intentions—for their evening. Because if their kiss led to more, then Anthony was open to exploring the possibilities of Gabriel Tilden in his bedchamber.

  Or was tonight too soon?

  He rolled his eyes skyward. Now you’re being a daft fool.

  He felt the attraction between them. It damned near scorched his skin. If he had felt that with another man, Anthony would have extended an invitation to his apartments during their first evening together. Attraction on that scale was a rare commodity, and it fairly screamed of more.

  More than lust. More than amazing climaxes. More than gasping, panting want.

  The attraction he felt between himself and Gabriel more than whispered in his ear that Gabriel could be the one.

  And if he was being brutally honest with himself, he would admit to hearing that whisper seven years ago.

  Heartbroken and hurt, he’d once told himself he had only been infatuated with Gabriel, to the point that Gabriel himself hadn’t mattered. It had been the idea of being with another man. There had been nothing more to it than that, and therefore, he needed to shrug off the blow, accept the lesson for what it was, and move on. Above all, the incident had confirmed to him that he did indeed prefer men. That was all that mattered. At the young age of sixteen, he had solidly identified that his life would not be like other men’s. If he wanted to find true and lasting love, the sort his parents had shared, then he would never marry, never have children of his own, never be able to openly acknowledge that he had found love. And he had been more than all right with the compromise.

  And he’d been a damned daft young idiot, that was for certain, for trying to fool himself into believing Gabriel had meant nothing to him.

  But he’d been a hurt young idiot, as well.

  Anthony tugged the draperies closed over the two windows in the parlor and poured himself a glass of wh
isky from the crystal decanter on the console table.

  Even if Gabriel did come calling, a part of his heart warned for caution. Gabriel had already turned his back on him once. Yes, that had been years ago when they had both been but adolescents, yet still... He shouldn’t ignore that one such incident had already occurred. Add another, and it would make a pattern of behavior.

  He took a swallow of whisky, set the glass on a side table and, with nothing better to do with himself, began pacing.

  But he and Gabriel were both older now. He shouldn’t hold what happened seven years ago against the man. Hence why he had extended the invitation for tonight’s visit to Gabriel.

  Well...he had extended that invitation because he had not been able to resist the possibility of an opportunity to be alone with Gabriel Tilden again.

  To wrap his arms around that sleek muscular body.

  To press his lips against Gabriel’s.

  To strip those neatly pressed clothes away, and to have Gabriel’s bare skin beneath his hands once again.

  Palms tingling with the old memory, he continued his pacing. Every time he reached a window, he turned smartly on his heel, not allowing himself to peek between the draperies to the street below. God forbid if Gabriel glanced up as he approached the building to see Anthony keeping a vigil at the window like some sort of besotted lad.

  But he damned near felt like one. The flush of excitement and anticipation. The uncertainty, which instead of dampening his spirits, actually roused them. He was fairly vibrating with eagerness. Even his breaths were coming quicker than normal.

  Fool. He gave his head a shake. You are not sixteen.

  And attraction toward another man was not a new sensation for him. He wasn’t one to fall into bed with just anyone who would have him, yet he also was not a monk. He enjoyed activities of a more erotic nature, and did not see any reason whatsoever to deny himself. After all, he would never find a man to grow old with if he didn’t look about him a bit.

  Yet tonight, the confidence that usually filled him had fled, replaced by that adolescent punch of newness.

  He continued pacing, back and forth from desk to window. Then he took a quick detour into his bedchamber, snatched the small glass vial from his bedside table drawer and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket—best to be prepared, after all—and resumed pacing.

  Footsteps sounded outside of his door. Anthony stopped in his tracks. His pulse spiked, heart hammering against his rib cage. The footsteps passed his door and continued down the corridor, fading into nothingness.

  A sigh slumped his shoulders. He pulled his watch from his pocket. Almost eleven. He scowled down at the watch’s face. But he hadn’t given Gabriel a specific time. He’d just said later this evening.

  And he couldn’t blame Gabriel for the fact he’d already been waiting three and a half hours. It had been his choice to arrive home early. For all Gabriel knew, Anthony had plans for the evening that did not involve pacing in his parlor.

  At this time of year, most started leaving an evening’s function around midnight.

  He should have just said this evening. Damned the later and his attempt at casual.

  And he should have asked Gabriel if the man needed to escort his sister anywhere tonight. Why the hell hadn’t he thought to ask that question?

  The fire in the hearth was approaching naught but burning embers. Best to tend to it. At the very least, it would give him something to do.

  He had just rested the iron poker against the marble surround when a light knock, a shade hesitant, sounded on his door.

  Anthony shot to his feet. A tremor racked his body. He forced a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. It wouldn’t do to appear too overeager.

  A tug on his waistcoat to straighten it, and he crossed the parlor and opened the door to Gabriel standing stiff and formal. Beneath his unbuttoned greatcoat, he wore the same dark brown coat and cream waistcoat from when Anthony had seen him at White’s.

  “Good evening, Rawling,” Gabriel said.

  “Do come in, Gabriel.” As Gabriel passed him, Anthony added in an undertone, “It’s Anthony, if you please.”

  Gabriel gave him a single nod and stopped a few paces into the parlor.

  Anthony shut the door. The snick of the lock sliding home reverberated throughout the room. “Your coat?”

  “Ah, yes.” Gabriel slipped his greatcoat from his shoulders and handed it to Anthony, who hung it on a rack near the door. The coat felt a bit damp, as though it had just started to rain.

  “Care for something to drink? I have whisky and...besides tea or coffee, which I’d need to put on the stove, whisky is all I have.” Even though he tended to spend most nights at his apartments, he didn’t keep the place stocked. A few essentials in the pantry for a morning meal, which he cooked himself in the tiny kitchen when he wasn’t of a mind to stop in at the town house, and that was about it. A downside of not keeping a full staff, but an inconvenience he was more than willing to endure for the freedom of having the apartments to himself in the mornings and evenings. And really, it was only a minor inconvenience. Certain other areas might be beyond his comprehension, but he was well able to light his own small stove.

  Perhaps one day, Gabriel would agree to be his guest for breakfast.

  Perhaps tomorrow, in fact.

  Waking up beside Gabriel, their limbs tangled together, those grass-green eyes hazy with sleep and lazy morning lust...

  “A glass of whisky would be appreciated.” Gabriel’s voice cut through Anthony’s very pleasant musings. “Thank you.”

  Anthony went to the console table along the wall to see to the drink. “No reason for you to stand about. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” A more than half-full glass in hand, he turned to find Gabriel on the couch, his back ramrod straight, shoulders squared, hands clasped primly on his lap as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

  Comfortable was the last word Anthony would use to describe him.

  He held out the glass to Gabriel. Their fingers brushed together as Gabriel took the proffered whisky.

  “Thank you,” Gabriel murmured. Bringing the crystal tumbler to his mouth, he took what appeared to be a long sip, leaving a slight sheen of whisky on his lips.

  Anthony pressed his own lips together. By God, did he want to lick that sheen from Gabriel’s mouth, to drag his tongue across those gorgeous lips. Whisky and Gabriel. That would most definitely be a delicious combination. He could almost taste it. The thick bite of whisky coupled with warm skin.

  Aware he was staring, he turned and picked up his own glass from where he’d left it on the side table, then sat in the wingback chair angled toward the couch. “So what did you do with yourself this evening? Anything of interest?”

  Gabriel took another long sip. “Not much of anything.”

  Then why had it taken Gabriel so long to knock on his door?

  Maybe he’d merely wanted to ensure discretion. Still, gentlemen frequently visited each other’s lodgings with no scandalous thoughts or intentions in mind. No one would question a friend paying another an evening call, even one so late.

  “Has it started to rain?” Anthony asked.

  “More of a mist than a rain.”

  “The skies were threatening a pouring all day.” Thick heavy clouds, the sort that seemed fond of hanging over London. “Good to hear the rain held off long enough for you to make it to my door without getting drenched.”

  Gabriel gave him another nod and took yet another swallow of whisky, leaving but a thin splash at the bottom of the glass.

  Anthony fought the urge to shift his weight. He racked his brain for a topic of conversation that did not include the weather. The awkwardness, the nervousness... It felt like it was seven years ago all over again. That long walk to the pond. Anthony hoping with a
ll his might that their evening would include more than a mere swim. The possibilities swirling in his mind. The anticipation ramping higher and higher with each step across the grassy field. Yet that feeling, the knowledge, he could be completely misinterpreting Gabriel’s intentions riding heavy beneath all that heady anticipation. Turning Anthony awkward, words bumping clumsily together in his head to the point where he could barely get any out.

  But Gabriel had come to Anthony’s door. Anthony wasn’t mistaken about the attraction he felt from Gabriel. When at sixteen, he’d had a difficult time pinpointing Gabriel’s feelings toward him, now he was three-and-twenty and had experience with other men. He knew Gabriel was attracted to him. No doubt about it. And they were alone, finally, behind a locked door. So why wasn’t Gabriel acting on that attraction?

  And, conversely, why wasn’t Anthony?

  He gave himself a mental shake of the head in admonishment for being so daft. One of them needed to start matters along between them. Might as well be himself.

  Anthony set his glass on the side table, stood from his chair and crossed the short distance to the couch. All the while, Gabriel’s gaze tracked his every move. He settled next to Gabriel, not so close that hip pressed against hip, but definitely closer than mere friendship dictated. He let his legs fall casually open, his knee resting against Gabriel’s. He swore he felt a tremor shoot through Gabriel’s body.

  He turned his shoulders toward Gabriel, held those beautiful grass-green eyes. The faint scent of cigar smoke clung to Gabriel’s coat. “So, Mr. Tilden, you have come knocking at my door.”

  A hint of a puzzled furrow wrinkled Gabriel’s brow. Then his eyes widened slightly, his lips parting. “Yes, I have.”

  “I’m feeling bold tonight,” Anthony said, using Gabriel’s exact words from seven years ago.

  Gabriel lifted his chin. Anthony watched as the patch of bare skin visible above the neatly tied cravat worked as Gabriel swallowed. “I’m feeling bold, as well.”

  Anthony felt the smile spread across his mouth. He leaned closer to Gabriel. Gabriel didn’t lean away. In fact, he moved closer, breaching the distance between them, gaze locked on Anthony’s mouth.