As much as he tried, he could not enjoy the memories without them being tainted by a sense of mourning and longing. He had been shocked and elated at Richard’s offer to meet again, but he told himself once more that he had made the right decision. The only possible decision! And besides, what exactly was he mourning? He did not know Richard. How could he have any tender feelings for someone whose last name he did not know? He was merely mourning the loss of satisfaction. That was it. He had had an amazing experience, and he wanted to repeat it. Nothing more.
He slowed his horse to a more leisurely pace and tilted his face to the sky, enjoying the cool damp that lay on his skin. The sound of oncoming horse hooves caused him to remember himself and direct his gaze forward. The fog was moving across the path in lazy clouds now, clearing as the rider came closer. They were perhaps six or seven yards from each other when both pulled their horses to a stop.
A sudden wave of pure joy sent Henry’s spirits soaring. It was so sudden that he could not hide the smile that lit his features. But common sense, and fear, wiped the joy from his face.
“Ah. Hello, Henry,” Richard said.
“Hello.” Henry could not help himself. He looked all around and to the path behind, anxious to see if anyone was observing them.
Richard’s expression, which had been sober enough, now fell miserably. “Forgive me. London may seem large at times, but it is not. I will continue on.”
“No. Please.” Henry raised a gloved hand. “I…I would not mind some company. In the park, I mean.”
No. What am I doing?
Richard hesitated, his expression perfectly still. Then, with a deft backward flick of his riding crop, he came forward and turned his horse to join Henry alongside.
“You do not mind retracing your way?” Henry said, eyes forward. “I began my circuit from the north entrance.”
“I don’t mind,” Richard said.
Henry shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold. It had everything to do with the gruff timbre of Richard’s voice, which Henry must surely be imagining. Surely.
The horses, always understanding their masters to a startling degree, paced each other at a lazy walk. Henry glanced to his right to get a glimpse of Richard’s face, to try and read something there, but Richard was already looking full at him. It sent his breath stumbling.
“This is not the fashionable hour to be in the park,” Richard noted. There was something like amusement his voice.
“I am not very fashionable, I suppose,” Henry replied.
Richard tilted his head and looked Henry over, his eyes caressing him from his polished boots to his beaver top hat.
“I would not be so quick to say so,” Richard mused.
“I am hardly cutting a dash,” Henry countered, though his lips were twitching with the urge to smile. “My valet has already begun hounding me to see a tailor before I humiliate him. His precise words, mind you.”
Richard chuckled. “Valets, yes. With their persistent oversight, who needs a wife?”
Henry caught the devilish gleam in Richard’s eyes. He bit his lip, hard.
“I must tell you,” Richard continued, more serious, “your reaction on the path was bad. You must learn not to do that.”
“I… What?” Henry frowned.
“When you saw me on the path, you were visibly anxious. You were looking all around, like a novice thief in a trinket shop. You must learn to become more careful and control your expressions in public.”
Henry bristled somewhat, but his ire faded quickly. It was embarrassment more than anger. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t… That is, there won’t be any future instances in which I have to control anything. That way.”
“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Richard replied softly. “Even if you do decide to never have anything to do with another man, you will still want to. You will still look. Those looks could cost you if you aren’t careful.”
“Thank you, but I have controlled my expressions and looks and everything else for quite some time now without issue. I can continue to do so,” Henry said hotly. He did not wish to be snappish, and he knew Richard was making a valid point, but he hated this idea that he did not know how to conduct himself. He was a paragon of social perfection. No one knew how to go on like Lord Brenleigh. And yet…in this he was lost, and he knew it. He knew his cheeks were flushed at that very moment, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.
“I am sorry,” Richard said. “I am no lecturer, believe me. I am not trying to make you feel green. But allow me to demonstrate.”
Richard shifted his mount, bringing the horse so close alongside that their legs touched, and Richard was able to graze his gloved fingers over Henry’s knee.
Henry gasped and pulled at the reins, causing his horse to dance away nervously.
“Ah! Calm down, Bogs! Are you mad?” Henry hissed, once more looking about.
“Do you see?” Richard said with infuriating calm. “Not only did you react loudly, but you looked around again. The best thieves don’t look guilty. They walk right into a shop as if they own it, and walk right back out as if they paid for the baubles in their pockets.”
“Is that what we are? Thieves?” Henry grumbled, righting his hat, which had gone askew.
“In a way, yes.” Richard brought his horse once more to Henry’s side. It was not as close as it had been for his demonstration, but markedly closer than before. He continued, “We steal time, opportunities. And like every good thief, we lie. Constantly.”
Henry closed his eyes. He knew more than enough about the lies. For years he had been leading his mother to believe that he was uncomfortable around women in a sort of bashful, overwhelmed fashion that she might find endearing. Before her, he had led his father to believe that he was just too serious and dedicated to his studies to give much thought to ladies yet. Both lies, both masks.
“I don’t like lying,” Henry muttered.
“No one does, but I won’t insult you by telling you that we must. You are no fool.” Richard nudged his horse into Henry’s side, the equestrian version of a friendly punch.
Henry gawked, but seeing Richard’s grin had the same effect on him in daylight as it had by the fire. He felt inexplicably warm.
“I am glad I saw you again.”
“Oh?” Richard said, his grin widening.
“Yes.” Henry shrugged carelessly. “I wanted to make certain that those top boots of yours really were that hideous yellow-tan color by the light of day. The sun does not lie, though. Terrible. Just terrible.”
Richard looked down at his boots, then back at Henry’s perfectly serious face. He burst out laughing.
“Ho! Are you a cat, Mr. Henry? That was cruel. A man might decide his life was over and go looking for a loaded pistol after a remark like that.”
“It was cruel,” Henry conceded, smiling, “but it was also entirely untrue. I have noticed, in the short time I have been here, that gentlemen of the London fashion get far too much pleasure from thrashing one another's wardrobes.”
Richard laughed again. “If you wish to put on the role of heartless dandy, you will have it to perfection. But if that was untrue, why are you glad to see me again? Or was all of that untrue?”
“You would press that, wouldn’t you?” Henry said. “No. I am glad to see you again. I…I did not like our parting. Though what on earth I expected is beyond me. I was rather going with the wind that night, wasn’t I? Damn foolish.”
“Damn enjoyable,” Richard countered.
There was no one about, and the fog kept them invisible from afar. Henry’s sense of ease, and risk, expanded.
“Fishing for compliments, I see.” Henry grinned.
“Oh? And why not? They do a soul good.”
Henry thought to say that Richard’s soul must be very healthy indeed, then, for he could not imagine Richard was not heaped with salacious compliments from his other lovers. Perhaps
many
other lovers. Now that was not a very pleasant thought.
Henry bridled with jealousy. “You have no need of compliments from me. They are just another straw on the hay bale, I’m sure.”
Richard didn’t reply, and Henry looked at him. His expression was puzzled and contemplative.
“I’m afraid my…bale of hay has been meager recently. Forgive me, but I get the impression that you believe my night with you was a trifle to me. I assure you, it was not. And I also assure you that I am
not
in the habit of bedding anonymous men. Let me just say that I…I needed something that particular night, and you gave it to me. It was no trifle.”
Henry stared at Richard’s open, honest eyes. The world around them seemed to fade even farther into the gray fog. Richard was so… What was it? It was not just that the man was handsome. Henry was not that shallow. It was something else, much else, and he could not place his finger on it. It was something that made him want to be closer.
“Tell me your name, Henry,” Richard whispered, drawing near. “Let us spend some time together.”
Cortland. Henry Cortland, the Earl of Brenleigh. Yes
… “I’m not sure…”
“You want to. I know it.” Richard reached across the distance and placed his hand on Henry’s arm. The contact sent his blood racing and his mind working. He could, couldn’t he? At least just for a while.
“You can trust me,” Richard continued. “Absolutely, no matter where anything may lead. I would never—”
“Ho, Richard!” a boisterous voice called in greeting. A group of three riders became visible through the fog, moving at a trot.
At the sight of them, Henry’s breath stuck in his throat. Fear crawled up his spine like a hideous exotic insect.
No. No!
“Damn it all!” Richard cursed under his breath.
“Afraid I must be off, then,” Henry said in a loud, jovial tone, for it was all he could do to control his voice. “Have an engagement I can’t miss, you know.”
Henry turned his mount in a tight circle, straining the bridle in poor Bogs’s mouth. He wanted to unleash the animal and bolt, but he kept his calm and set a quick trot away from the men he did not know and the one man whom he desperately wanted to. The sound of happy greetings and laughs faded into the fog behind him.
By the time he reached the north gate and allowed Bogs to walk again, his fine linen shirt was soaked through with sweat.
RICHARD WAS BESIDE himself with fury. He wanted to whip his riding crop across Samuel Shaw’s sneering face, but since he could not possibly give any justified reason for such an act, he resisted. The other two men were Mr. Charles Bolling and Sir William Shrap, respectively. Both decent men whom Richard knew tolerably well from his club.
“Must say I’m surprised to see you out, Avery,” Sir William said. “Damned surprised to see anyone at this hour, and in this weather.”
“I rather enjoy the fog,” Richard said with a forced smile. “Though I will take the country variety over this coal dust anytime.”
Mr. Bolling sighed. “Damned Season. Would that I could just return to my estate and be done with this city. You and Shaw here might like the action of town, but I can leave it all the same.”
Discussing the weather when no other topic presented itself was so ingrained in the training of every gentleman that it was likely Mr. Bolling and Sir William didn’t notice the stiffness of the scene. But Shaw and Richard noticed. Richard shot him a glare and saw that Shaw was looking with great intensity down the path behind Richard.
“Who was that with you, Avery?” said Shaw.
“No one,” Richard snapped. “An old university acquaintance.”
“Mmm.” Shaw shrugged, but his eyes stayed down the path, his brow wrinkling quite curiously.
Richard had not forgotten the incident between him and Julian four days ago, nor Sir Samuel Shaw’s part in it. He could still see Shaw in the dim light of the gambling hell, taking grand delight in the prospect that his tryst with Julian had amounted to some kind of cuckolding of Richard.
“Well, I continue on,” Richard said soberly. “I have an appointment past the south side of the park.”
“Off to Dorlet’s, old boy? Pity,” Shaw drawled.
Richard went stock-still in his saddle. It took a second to recover and another second to see that both Bolling and Sir William were looking between the two men with wide, shocked eyes.
Some quick thinking, and Richard did the only thing he could. He let loose a bout of friendly laughter and wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, yes!” He guffawed. “To Dorlet’s, straightaway! I suppose you heard all about that escapade that Farnsworth got himself involved in? Damn pup should know when he’s had too much brandy.”
Richard had indeed heard the comical story about Farnsworth and his accidental arrival at Madam Dorlet’s brothel. London society was, after all, terribly insular.
Bolling and Sir William’s expressions relaxed in an instant. They laughed and related their own knowledge of the Farnsworth story, still entertaining even after a few weeks of telling. During it all, Richard held Shaw with a dangerous glare. The damn fool! Arrogant, sneering little bastard! He had never done anything to Shaw, never had any kind of row with the man, and yet that did not appear to matter. Shaw just seemed to be the type of man who enjoyed being nasty for its own sake.
Shaw rubbed his coat sleeve across his brow, then pulled his horse back. “It was good meeting up with you gentlemen, but I must be off as well. I was pushing an appointment by going for a ride at all.”
Richard touched his crop to his hat brim in farewell, careful that neither Bolling nor Sir William left with any negative impressions. It would not do for it to get around that Richard disliked Shaw, for feuds always led to questions, which led to prying. Sir William and Bolling gave Shaw their salutes as he turned his horse and headed off. Richard was glad to see him go.
“I say, Avery, I received an invitation to your sister’s come-out ball this Thursday,” said Sir William. “I expect it to be an impressive squeeze.”
“No doubt,” Richard said flatly. His mind was not on the ball and was certainly not on either of the two men before him. His thoughts were still hopelessly on Henry. If he turned now and let his horse loose, perhaps he might catch up to him yet. But damn all! He had just said moments before that he was heading south.