Viscount’s Wager

by Ava March

Anthony had looked at his own arse in a mirror? And Gabriel had left bruises? “My apologies, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t realize I was holding you so roughly. Are you all right?”

  “Hurt? No, you didn’t hurt me.” Anthony’s hands drifted down to rub Gabriel’s upper arms in a soothing rhythm. “It was more a very pleasant reminder of our night together. I quite liked how rough you were, how you took me in hand. And I definitely liked seeing the marks you left on my arse. Made my cock hard just looking at them.”

  “You’re wicked.” The words were more a growl of approval than a remonstrance.

  “And you like it.”

  A feral sound rumbled from Gabriel’s chest. He couldn’t deny it.

  “And you like being wicked with me.” Anthony nipped at his jaw. “I’m at my apartments most nights. You should consider stopping by again. You’ll always be welcome, no matter the time of night.” A pause, then Anthony took a step to the side, slipping free of Gabriel’s hold. “Shall we return to the house? Sarah is apt to be looking for her escort about now.”

  Gabriel doubted that could be the case. While Sarah willingly accepted his arm to take her to functions, she lost interest in him as soon as she was among her friends and acquaintances. He didn’t take it as a slight, though. They had never been very close.

  Yet Gabriel didn’t contradict Anthony. It really was best for them to return to the ball—it was dangerous to remain in the grotto with a too-tempting and too-willing Anthony. For if Gabriel allowed himself to indulge in more than a kiss, he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from doing far more with Anthony. And taking Anthony up against the wall? Shadows could conceal a fair amount, but he doubted either of them would notice approaching footsteps while in the midst of a climax.

  “All right. But I am going to need a moment.” While it was best to return to the ball, it was not best to return with an erection straining against the placket of his trousers.

  “I’m sure you’re still perfectly put together. Me, on the other hand...” Gabriel could just make out Anthony’s movements as the man tugged on his waistcoat and ran a hand over his hair to smooth it. “Do you have any plans for the morrow?” Anthony asked, as if they hadn’t just been rubbing against each other like two dogs in heat.

  Pulling his mind from the uncomfortable state of his prick, Gabriel focused on the question. “Sarah mentioned a visit to the modiste.”

  “Ah, the modiste. I do everything in my power to avoid having to take my mother or sister there. Since there are two of them, they are fortunately content to make their visits together and save me from the tedium.”

  “I only have one sister in Town, so...” Gabriel shrugged. “I shall sit in a chair, drink some tea and tell Sarah she looks lovely in everything.”

  “Wise plan.” He tipped his head in the direction of the house. “Ready?”

  Gabriel nodded. Yet instead of walking beside Anthony on their way back out of the maze, he remained a step behind, letting his body once again grow accustomed to distance from Anthony.

  His efforts, though, were for naught. By the time they stepped back into the ballroom, he found himself at Anthony’s shoulder once again.

  “I don’t see your sister,” Anthony said, his gaze sweeping over the guests. “Perhaps she’s in the dining room or the gallery.”

  “Gallery?”

  “Yes, Lady Garnier has a portrait gallery. It’s down the corridor, the one over there on the left, if you want to look for Sarah there.”

  Did Anthony want to be rid of him? He studied Anthony’s face. The night sky must have hidden it, but with the many chandeliers overhead, there was no way Gabriel could miss the shade of disappointment in those gray eyes. The teasing spark shuttered.

  Oh hell. By refusing him in the grotto, he’d gone and disappointed Anthony again.

  And Anthony had extended an invitation for him to visit. An invitation Gabriel hadn’t accepted.

  He was right not to have accepted the invitation, to not have made a commitment he should not see through. And it was wisest to have refused to indulge further with Anthony in the grotto. Still, that he’d made Anthony unhappy...

  “Rawling.” A gentleman’s cultured voice broke through Gabriel’s worries. “Good to see you here tonight.”

  Anthony turned toward a man who had materialized near his left and shook his hand. A bit taller than Anthony and Gabriel, dark-haired with an athletic build, he was strikingly handsome. And judging by the confidence that poured off him, the man well knew it. “Radcliffe. Good to see you, too. This is Gabriel Tilden, an old friend from Eton.” Not a current friend, but an old friend. The term grated across Gabriel’s skin. “He’s newly arrived in Town. Have you met yet?”

  “I had heard one of Stephan Tilden’s brothers was in Town, but I haven’t had the pleasure.” Radcliffe extended a hand to Gabriel. “Linus Radcliffe. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

  Gabriel gave Radcliffe a tip of the head.

  “Have you been enjoying London?” Radcliffe asked.

  “Yes. Anthony has been so kind as to show me about.”

  Arching a dark brow, Radcliffe passed his gaze over Gabriel. A gaze that felt as though Radcliffe was judging him and finding him wanting.

  Gabriel did not like the fellow one bit. And the way Radcliffe seemed so comfortable standing beside Anthony? Was he another of Anthony’s former lovers? He didn’t behave as though they’d had a sour parting, but Gabriel was not about to take the chance of another man throwing cruel words at Anthony tonight.

  Taking a half step closer to Anthony, Gabriel touched his elbow. “Will you show me the way to the portrait gallery so I can look for Sarah?”

  Turning his head toward him, Anthony blinked, clearly a bit confused. After all, Anthony had told him where to find the gallery not a few minutes before. “Of course. If you’ll excuse us, Radcliffe.”

  “By all means,” Radcliffe replied.

  Gabriel stayed close to Anthony as they wound their way around the parquet dance floor where other couples were engaging in a country reel. They took a left, and as they went down the long corridor, the sounds of the ball—the chatter of many voices and the music from the quintet—began to fade.

  “Is Radcliffe a friend of yours?”

  “Yes,” Anthony replied simply.

  Gabriel waited for Anthony to elaborate. Yet Anthony said not another word. Should he ask? Or would that make him sound like a jealous arse? It truly was no business of his whom Anthony had shared a bed with in the past. He’d given up that right years ago. Still...

  They stopped before a set of double doors. As Anthony reached for one of the brass levers, he looked to Gabriel. “And no, he hasn’t been that sort of friend.” Anthony lowered his voice. “I haven’t been with every man in London.” Then he pushed open the door and went inside.

  Gabriel followed him. The click as he shut the door echoed about the room that was empty save for themselves.

  “Sarah’s not here,” Anthony said, turning to face him. “We can try the dining room next.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you had...been with every man in London. I just wasn’t certain if he was another who would jump at an opportunity to be cruel to you.”

  “Oh.” Anthony blinked, and the shuttered look in his eyes vanished. “Well, you needn’t worry about that. Bourne’s the only one who no longer cares for me. The others were amicable partings.”

  Except for himself. There was nothing amicable about the way he had left Anthony seven years ago.

  I’m so sorry I hurt you.

  Yet he couldn’t get the words to leave his mouth.

  Anthony made to step around him, as if to leave the gallery.

  “Do you think these portraits are all of her relations?” Gabriel asked. Portraits in various sizes in heavy gilt
frames covered almost every inch of the walls save for the tall windows backed by the night sky.

  “Hers, or perhaps also Lord Garnier’s. I think that’s him over there.” Anthony pointed to a portrait of a stern elderly man. “Appears as though it was done only a couple of years before his death.”

  Moving away from the door, Gabriel crossed to the portrait in question. As he had hoped, Anthony followed him.

  Seated in an armchair, Lord Garnier glared down at them. Bushy gray brows framed hard dark eyes. “He doesn’t look to have been a pleasant fellow.”

  “He wasn’t. I met him when I first moved to Town after Eton. Lady Garnier seems happier without him.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “She smiles more. Hosts more functions. Not every marriage is a love match.”

  Something Gabriel was well acquainted with.

  Anthony turned his attention from the portrait, swept his gaze over Gabriel’s face.

  Don’t ask me. He couldn’t admit it, couldn’t actually say the words I didn’t love her. Because then, the next words out of his mouth would be because my heart belongs to you.

  Over eight years, and he was still in love with Anthony. And still hurting him. Disappointment wasn’t on the same scale as betrayal, but it was a form of hurt nonetheless.

  “It’s not that I didn’t want you.”

  Confusion pulled Anthony’s brows.

  “In the grotto.” Gabriel closed the distance between them. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching up, cupping Anthony’s strong jaw. “Quite the opposite. But I would have wanted even more,” he whispered. “And that wasn’t the place for it.”

  A smile began to tip the edges of Anthony’s mouth. Wanting a taste of that smile, Gabriel leaned closer and brushed his lips over Anthony’s. Soft and light. Gentle. A kiss given to one who was cherished.

  Then taking a step back, he put distance back between himself and Anthony. “We shouldn’t stay here much longer. Someone else is bound to come upon the room.”

  “What with Lord Garnier’s portrait being in such demand and all.” And there was that teasing spark once again.

  “Yes.” Gabriel smiled. “Irresistible fellow that he is.” You’re irresistible.

  But he needed to find a way to resist Anthony. Just being in the same space as Anthony made Gabriel want to claim him as his own. And that was a very dangerous impulse indeed.

  Chapter Five

  “Good game.” Anthony tipped his head, acknowledging his defeat to his friend Mercer. The man was ruthless when it came to billiards, but Anthony didn’t mind the loss. “Do you want to try your hand against him next?” he asked Stoddart, who was seated on the leather couch situated along a wall.

  With a nod, Stoddart stood. “He’ll best me. Always does. But I’ll try to make the bastard work for it.”

  Mercer chuckled. “You may try...”

  Anthony passed his cue to Stoddart, then picked up his glass from where he’d left it on a nearby windowsill and downed the last swallow of the whisky. White’s served quality liquor, but the caliber of vintage that came from Linus Radcliffe’s cellar definitely surpassed it.

  With the sky promising heavy rain most of the night and with White’s filling up fast, a group of Anthony’s friends had decided after supper to forgo a stop in at a social function. The nine of them had piled into two hackneys and gone to Radcliffe’s town house to while away the evening in his comfortable billiard room. A card table had been set up in one corner, the fire in the hearth stoked until the flames had been licking the flue and a footman had brought out a few bottles of whisky and brandy.

  Friends, libations, conversations and games. A pleasant way to pass an evening.

  But as the clock on the mantel was now nudging against midnight, Anthony decided it was time to take himself home. It really wasn’t all that late, but as he had awoken early that morning for a gallop about Hyde Park before the rains had started, he was beginning to long for his bed.

  He bid the group good evening, gave Foster his word he’d meet him at Gentleman Jackson’s tomorrow afternoon for a bout then thanked Radcliffe for his hospitality.

  “I’ll see you to the door,” Radcliffe said, as he pushed up from the card table from where he was playing with his perennial whist partner, Robert Anderson, and two of their friends.

  “I know where it’s at. You don’t need to step away from your game.”

  “No bother,” Radcliffe assured him, though the frown touching Anderson’s mouth indicated the man didn’t agree with his friend. “We’d just finished this hand anyway.”

  They made their way down the stairs and to the front door. Instead of calling for a footman to see to the task, Radcliffe opened the closet in the entrance hall and motioned toward the interior. “You know which one’s yours?”

  “Of course. I may have partaken of your most excellent whisky, but I’m not foxed. I can identify my own greatcoat.” Anthony reached inside and found his coat.

  “Sounds like it’s still raining. Shall I rouse one of the servants to call a hackney for you?”

  Anthony shook his head and pulled on his greatcoat. “No need. I’ve got the coat and it’s not raining that hard. My apartments are only a few streets away.” At this time of night and in this weather, it would likely take longer to find a hackney than it would to walk himself home. “And it’s not like I’ll perish from getting a bit wet.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Radcliffe considered him for a moment as Anthony did up the buttons on his coat. “So, Gabriel Tilden.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement that begged a response.

  Radcliffe arched a knowing dark brow.

  There was no point in trying to evade Radcliffe’s suspicions, and no risk in confirming them. Each knew the other preferred men, though as Anthony had informed Gabriel, he had never been with Radcliffe. It wasn’t that the man wasn’t handsome—because he was. Tall, and with a strong build honed from hours in the fencing halls. It was that Radcliffe never kept a man in his bed longer than a night. He wasn’t the type to settle down, hence no possibility for Anthony to explore.

  And so Anthony answered with the truth. “Gabriel. Yes.”

  Radcliffe gave a slow nod, as if in thought. “Gorgeous fellow,” he said in an undertone.

  “That he is.”

  “And a recent widower.”

  Anthony inclined his head in agreement.

  “Be careful, though. Widowers who discover an affinity for men...they can be unpredictable.”

  “Meaning?”

  “For some, the affinity doesn’t last long, and they return to where it’s comfortable.”

  Radcliffe likely had enough experience to make that statement with some degree of firsthand knowledge. But Gabriel wasn’t like those others who had used Radcliffe to dip their toes into male waters. “Thank you for your concern, but I happen to know for a fact that men aren’t a recent discovery for him.”

  For that, he received another arched brow, this one more curious than knowing.

  “Linus, it takes two to make a whist team—”

  Anthony looked around Radcliffe to see Anderson coming to a halt midway down the stairs.

  “I haven’t abandoned you.” Radcliffe said over his shoulder. “I will be right there.”

  Anderson nodded, yet he didn’t turn to go back to the billiard room. He lingered on the stairs, gaze fixed on Radcliffe. And if Anthony wasn’t mistaken, that gaze was...possessive.

  Suspicion formed.

  Radcliffe and Anderson?

  No. Ridiculous notion. Anderson’s string of female conquests was legendary, so much so that gossip had no need to amplify the tales. He just wanted his friend back so they could resume their game. That was all.

  “I’ll let you get back to the ta
ble.” Anthony held out a hand and gave Radcliffe’s a shake. “Thank you again for the hospitality.”

  And then Anthony was out the door of the tidy town house and into the cold rain that was coming down in a steady drone. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he hunched within his coat in an effort to keep from getting completely drenched. But as he headed up Brook Street, his mind went back to the entrance hall. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard of any recent conquests for either Anderson or Radcliffe. Granted, his attention had been on Gabriel lately. Still...could Anderson have decided to take a swim in male waters? And could Radcliffe have decided to stay in one man’s bed?

  Interesting notion. The two were closer than close, had been for as long as Anthony had known them. Even lived next to each other.

  The possibility that two of his friends had found happiness together made Anthony smile. But it also made his heart ache, because he longed for that sort of happiness for himself.

  He missed Gabriel.

  What had Gabriel been up to this evening? Had Anthony given up a chance to see him by going to Radcliffe’s? But his mother had gone to his uncle’s for a small supper party, and Gabriel wouldn’t have been there. And his friends had elected not to attend a function tonight. He received invitations of his own, but as they were no use to him, they went in the desk drawers with the rest of the post.

  Gabriel hadn’t invited him to call on him at his sister’s yet, so Anthony shouldn’t just go knocking. Perhaps tomorrow morning, if the rains stopped, he’d take a walk about Mayfair, see if he could bump into Gabriel.

  Three days had passed since Anthony had extended Gabriel an open invitation to visit him at his apartments. After Gabriel had explained why he’d refused him in the grotto, Anthony had been certain a knock would soon sound on his door. Yet Gabriel had yet to make use of the invitation. Should he be worried that Gabriel was able to wait, as if he wasn’t as desperate to be with Anthony as Anthony was to be with him?

  But maybe it would just take some time for Gabriel to summon the courage to knock again. Gabriel was a reserved man—when they weren’t together on a couch—and Anthony needed to have patience. He nodded to himself. Yes, patience.