“Dishabille?” Sam suggested as he frowned after the speeding chaise. Julian never had so much as a ruffled feather whatever the world might throw at him. Something was very wrong.
“That would be the politic way of saying it, yes.” John chuckled. “The fellow seemed to be in quite the hurry too.”
It was not difficult for Sam to imagine why Julian would be. He was most likely returning from Somerset and his father’s estate, which was reason enough to flee as if the hounds of hell were in pursuit. Sam would have to see him right away when they returned, although he had no idea what help he could be. Julian was not the type to appreciate commiseration.
“He’s Lord Nash’s youngest, isn’t he?” John said as they continued on.
“Third son, yes.” Sam made a face. “And treats him like a bastard fifth.”
John’s responding frown told that he was aware of Lord Nash’s reputation, just as most people were. Sam was about to pick up their earlier conversation, for Julian was not the safest of subjects, but stopped when John spoke first.
“May I ask another question and beg that you won’t take offense?”
“Certainly.” Sam laughed. “I wonder that you can still think I would find offense.”
John smiled, but kept his eyes ahead. “Well, I should have said offense against your friend. I merely wonder if Garrott is, by chance, like me?”
Sam’s blood ran cold. It was a simple question, and the truth was just as simple, one little word. But it wasn’t. How could he tell the truth? How could he tell John that Julian—beautiful, sensuous Julian who could not order his breakfast without the words dripping of sex—preferred men too? If he did, how many days would it be after their return before John sought out Julian’s
particular
company? The thought made Sam’s fists clench with jealousy. Stupid, irrational jealousy.
“Forgive me. I should not have—”
“What? No, no. Think nothing of it. Julian, he, eh…he has a way about him, I know, but no. He isn’t, no.” Sam shook his head throughout the stumbling speech and never looked at John once. It was probably the worst liar’s performance of his life.
And that’s what I am now. A liar.
It was not long before John returned to their previous friendly chatter, his curiosity apparently satisfied. Sam smiled and enjoyed it, but some of his good cheer left him. He would have to tell the truth eventually, for Julian’s appearance only further proved that he would not be able to maintain just the one lie. Like bricks in a foundation, he would have to support the sham with lie after lie. Today it was Julian, but soon enough it would be something else.
He decided then and there that he would enjoy the party and John’s company as much as he dared. When they returned, he would reveal the truth, and John would probably have no wish to ever speak to him again.
* * * *
They arrived at the inn to find it just as busy as the alehouse they had visited earlier. John was unable to suppress a smile upon seeing all the activity. It reminded him of the brief, though vivid, dream he had enjoyed that morning, featuring Sam, an overbooked inn, and a shared bed. Implausibly convenient, but fantasies usually were.
The horses were dealt with and their scant possessions taken to their rooms before they moved into the taproom for dinner. Sam must have expected John to request a private parlor, for when he did not, Sam gave him curious look of approval.
“Oh, what?” John said, grinning. “Did you think the grand Lord Darnish was too good to dine in the public rooms?”
“Did
I
think so? No.” The tease in Sam’s voice only made John smile more. It was almost enough to make him forget the damned foolish mistake he had made on the road earlier.
What had he been thinking to ask about Garrott like that? The notion, brought on by his shallow suspicions of Garrott’s soft speech and graceful manners, had entered his mind before he could think better of it, though it was hardly the first time he had wondered about Garrott in such a way. And Sam’s response had left John worrying that he had taken offense on the part of his friend. Luckily, any offense seemed forgotten.
They occupied one of the worn tables near the hearth and had hardly sat down before the innkeeper, a cheery-looking man of middle years, greeted them.
“My lord. Sir.” He made a short bow to each of them, already knowing their identities from the room registry. “My lord, if you would like a private parlor, there is still one available.”
Sam laughed, and John almost,
almost
shot him a raspberry.
“Thank you, good man, but I would hate to be stuck in a room with just him for company.” He shuddered teasingly.
How’s that for a raspberry?
The innkeeper looked startled for a moment but laughed just as Sam did. Sam and John ordered plates of the standard fare, and John sighed with relief when the innkeeper sat a bottle of good, rich port between them.
“Would it be too much for me to hope that every day this week won’t include shooting?” Sam said as he poured a half glass.
“Mosley does like to go out every day, but he’ll not drag you from your bed for it. Leeds will want to show off his latest curricle a few mornings, and Michael will probably be the worse from drink and won’t bother waking early enough.” John took a sip of the port and relished it. It had been a long day in the saddle, after all.
“That’s good,” Sam said. “I have no wish to make myself the odd man out by not going. I assume there’s to be a great deal of card playing and such?”
Sam spoke casually, but John could tell it was false ease. He had never known Sam to socialize with anyone who would be there; thus it made sense that he would feel some awkwardness.
“Yes, and I can tell you that the card playing is where the real butchery will take place. I hope you don’t put too much seriousness into the game, because by eleven o’clock most of us will be so foxed we won’t be able to remember which card suit is trumps or whose hand it is.”
Sam’s shoulders relaxed, and then that glint came back to his emerald eyes. “In that case, I will be sure to sip water all evening and line my pockets with the lot of you.”
“Oh, will you?” John laughed. “I think my purse is safe. I have no doubt that after a few hours of the fellows’ congenial company, you will be drinking just to escape them. I know I do.”
Once again he let his words spill without thinking. And why, damn it to hell, did that come so easily with Sam? John was habitually careful with his words.
Sam took a long drink of his port, then proceeded to butter a slice of bread. “But they are your friends, are they not? You enjoy their company?”
“Yes, of course,” John said at once. “But they can become a bit, well, heavy after too long. As I’m sure I can too. I can only imagine what asinine things I have said or done while deep in my cups.”
“Such as inviting me to country shooting parties?” Sam suggested.
“Was that asinine, then?”
“Let us see how much of an ass I make of myself, and by extension you, then you can tell me if it was a poor decision.” Sam smiled as he spoke, and that teasing glint was still in his eye. Yet John suspected there was some honest worry in the statement. A part of him felt such concerns to be foolish, but then he remembered the incident at the wedding breakfast.
John thumped the table. “In that case, I promise you, on my honor as a gentleman, that I shall make an absolute ass of myself, and then no one will be the wiser to any foolishness on your part. You see? It’s a perfect plan of attack.”
Sam laughed and rolled those beautiful green eyes of his. It also did not escape John’s attention that his cheeks, those dimpled cheeks, were flushed in near-perfect little pink clouds. He had never been terribly impressed with people who blushed, and men least of all, always having thought it looked rather silly and childish. He did not think that now.
“If that is your goal, far be it for me to stop you.” Sam said, “I will shamelessly take advantage of whatever distraction you provide me.”
Oh, if only.
“That is, whatever distraction you make for the others. I’ll take advantage of it. Not a distraction
for
me. I don’t want you to think that I expect you to entertain me or play my shadow this week.” Sam took a rather long draw of his port as he looked across the room.
John tilted his head curiously. Was it possible Sam’s imagination had taken those words to the same place John’s had? Doubtful. Sam soon smiled again and asked about Mosley’s property. He seemed to find the nature walks, which John described in detail, to be of great interest. But his interest really piqued when John mentioned the ruins.
“Ruins? Ancient or follies?”
“I know the one with the turrets is authentic, but the previous owner did build a few follies around the place. One of them is—”
A loud clack, like metal on wood, cut through the noisy room.
“That is simply unacceptable! Make whatever alterations you must and be quick about it.” A man, immaculately attired and holding a silver-headed walking stick, stood at the counter across from the innkeeper. He was somewhere in his forties, tall, and carrying himself with such puffed-up significance that his valet must have lacquered him each morning just to keep it all together. He looked familiar, as so many of the ton did, but John could not place the name.
“My lord, I’m afraid there are no vacancies. I’m still expecting—”
“Nonsense. We will take a private parlor and sit for dinner after my man brings in our things. See that he is directed. And no rooms over the courtyard, if you please. I would actually like to sleep before we depart tomorrow.” Without another word, the man tapped his stick on the counter again and headed for the door, crossing the taproom like he was the regent himself.
“Bloody ass,” Sam muttered.
John grunted his agreement. Whoever the fool was, it was likely he would get his way, especially if a “my lord” was his due address. John was no radical, but his sense of station did not include bullying and abusing the lower ranks.
John and Sam continued with their meal as John described the ruins in more detail. Another bottle of port was brought out, and John happily refilled Sam’s glass as he laughed over one of John’s stories. It was one he had told many times, about sneaking from the dormitory in school to visit a pub with his mates. But it was the first time in a long time he could remember telling it easily, comfortably, and without all the white-lie elaboration he often utilized to distract people. He could not remember the last time he felt so relaxed.
Soon enough, the port and ale caught up with Sam, and he excused himself to the privy. John poured himself another half glass and toyed with the idea of showing Sam the ruins on Mosley’s property when they arrived. If he was lucky, the others would think the idea a dead bore, leaving him and Sam alone.
And why would you want to be alone with him? For what possible purpose?
It was a while before Sam returned, tempting John to make some schoolboy humor of it, but when he saw the worried look on Sam’s face, he stopped.
“Something the matter?” John asked.
Sam leaned back in his chair and stared at his cup, turning it in one hand. “I’m afraid I’ve imposed on you, John, and without prior warning.”
“What?” John sighed. “Now how is that? I invited you, remember?”
“No, I don’t mean the shooting party.” Sam lifted his eyes and cringed. “I mean for tonight. I gave up my room.”
John stared at him for a few seconds. “You gave up your room,” he repeated.
“Yes.” Sam cleared his throat and reached for the half-empty bottle between them. He still hadn’t met John’s eyes. “You see, they had nowhere else to go. There are no other lodgings in town and—”
“Who doesn’t? What are you talking about?” John frowned, utterly confused. He was usually rather quick on the uptake, but images of his early morning dream swirled in his head. Sam had no room? There were no other lodgings?
Sam opened his mouth to reply, but it was then that the innkeeper appeared at their table. He had his hands clasped before him, and his smile could have brightened a funeral.
“Sir, I must thank you again and beg you to accept your dinner and drinks on the house.”
“Oh, no. No, that is not necessary,” Sam said.
“It is the least I can do, sir, please. And for you as well, my lord, of course, since you are to be inconvenienced too. Your things are being moved at this moment, sir. I’ll go see to it that all is in order.”
Sam blushed furiously as the innkeeper headed off toward the stairs. When he finally lifted his eyes, John had the impression that he was preparing for a scold.
“I think I understand,” John began, fighting the urge to smile. “Lord Bloody Ass got his way and took someone’s room.”
“Yes.”
“And you offered your own to the unlucky souls?”
“Yes.”
“And since there are no other lodgings, your options include sharing my room or bedding down with the servants in the stables?”
John had not been able to keep the smile back, nor keep its effects from his voice. When Sam looked up, he was smiling.
“Now that you mention it,” Sam began, “I had not thought about the stables. Tell me if you snore, and I will gladly go there.”
John didn’t know if he should bless the Fates in gratitude or curse the devil for hopeless temptations. But then that cursed fear wiggled through his brain, ruining his humor.
“You will not mind?” he whispered. “I mean, sharing a room with me?”
“I do not mind at all,” Sam assured him. “I was more concerned that you would mind, seeing as how I took it upon myself to invade your room.”
Thank you, Sam
. “As to snoring, no one has ever told me that I do. But being the grand Lord Darnish, I suppose no one would tell me if I did.”
“I see.” Sam tapped his lips thoughtfully. “If you do, I won’t tell you either. I’ll just be sure to tell everyone else.”
“A fit punishment.”
The evening continued in a like manner, sharing stories and friendly barbs. Though, to John’s wishful imagination, Sam’s barbs seemed to take on a suggestive quality. Perhaps it was the port, for John had not forgotten that night at the ball or how a generous quantity of champagne turned Sam playful and him wishful.