Dances Long Forgotten

by Ruby Moone

  He watched his eldest niece Christiana, brim full of excitement at being at the family ball for the first time, and his heart filled. It must be an incredible thing to produce children and watch them grow and make their way in the world. Even if he didn’t have offspring of his own, at least he had ample nieces and nephews to spoil.

  That was, of course, if he could extricate himself from his current mess.

  He took a drink of his champagne, but it tasted bitter.

  It was rather later in the evening and after doing his duty and dancing with as many ladies as possible, Hugo had retreated to the card room to give his feet a rest and to try and shake the feeling that everyone knew about him, was watching him. The notion clung stubbornly, and as he drifted about the room he wondered if perhaps he was going mad.

  Was one mad if one was simply different? Was that what defined madness? He thought of the people incarcerated for being mad. Generally speaking, they were different. Perhaps it was the mad people who were right. Yet they were being cast aside so that the rest of the world wouldn’t see what they were trying to say.

  He shook his head at his whimsy and took another glass of champagne from the footman who walked past him. He sometimes wondered if he weren’t a little mutton-headed. He seemed so out of step with the rest of the world. Even his family. He watched as the handsome men skipped and danced with the beautiful women around the floor. Even with everything hanging over him, he wished with all his heart that he could dance with a handsome man, particularly the waltz. He’d thought about it ever since he first saw it danced in London a couple of years before and been struck by the intimacy of it, the delicacy and the beauty. Imagining himself dancing but with a handsome man, had haunted his thoughts for a long time. He wondered idly who would lead and who would follow. Perhaps that might depend on how the night turned out. He smiled to himself at the thought of a floor full of handsome fellows dancing with each other. Going up to a chap and asking him to dance. Asking if he wanted to lead or follow might save some awkwardness later on. He was watching a particularly fine-looking young man with fair hair when his brother Vincent arrived by his side.

  Hugo started, immediately feeling guilty, but smiled at him. He received a warm smile in return.

  “Having fun?”

  “The very best.”

  Vincent chuckled. “Some of your old school friends are here. Jocelyn thought you might appreciate it.”

  “That’s kind of her. I’ve already met one.”

  “Who?”

  “Lord Lockford.” Hugo was careful not to give any inflection to his tone.

  Vincent screwed up his face. “Is he a good friend?”

  Hugo let out a breath and grinned. He shook his head. “Not a bit. I only know him from school. Vile creature. He made my life hell. I came upon him when I arrived. He looked as though he was trying to murder his valet.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Hugo recalled the brutality Lockford had meted out. School had been a trial. Being a small, scrawny redhead meant that he was fair game for any and every idiot who cared to make merry. It was Lockford who’d taken his family name, Pell-Charnley and dubbed him ‘Pell Smell’ and it had stuck through the entire time he was in school. He still got it occasionally from some fool who thought it hilarious.

  “I think Bamford and Cripps are here somewhere.”

  Well, that was a surprise. He looked about to see if he could spot them. He’d bumped into them in London from time to time, and it never failed to amaze him that he was supposed to simply forget that they behaved in the vilest fashion to him at school. Both had the sense to cling to Lockford and spend their days under his protection. He watched Lockford as he toured the room, nose in the air, and felt ill as the memories assailed him.

  “Lovely.” Hugo took a sip of his champagne.

  Vincent hesitated a moment, and then burst out laughing. “Not your favourite people, then?”

  Hugo gave him a look.

  They stood side by side for a little while, just watching, until Hugo’s gaze lit upon another familiar face from the past and he almost choked.

  Vincent arched an eyebrow. “Are you having a turn?”

  Hugo recovered himself, although his heart seemed to be attempting to claw its way out of his throat. His stomach clenched painfully, and a wave of shame almost overwhelmed him.

  He had to clear his throat a couple of times before speaking. “Another face from school.” He gripped his glass with one hand and balled the other into a tight fist by his side to stop shaking.

  “Who?”

  “Lyndon Cross. Over there. Tall, fair hair.” He nodded to the other side of the room where indeed, Lyndon Cross was chatting to Admiral Weston.

  Vincent nodded. “I’ve seen him around. Something amiss? He always seemed like a good sort.”

  Hugo tried to breathe slowly. Having to expose the truth about his nature was bad, but having to face up to the catastrophe that was his school years was the very edge of enough.

  He felt compelled towards honesty with Vincent. It was always the same. Apparently, today was no different.

  “Well, I wasn’t always that…ah…kind to him when we were at school. I’m surprised he’d accept an invitation.”

  “I didn’t have you down as a bully,” Vincent said with a frown.

  “Well, maybe not that …” God. Can this day get any worse? “That honour went to Lockford and his cronies, but sometimes… sometimes…”

  “Sometimes what?”

  “Well, it made a change for them to pick on someone other than me so…”

  Vincent gave him a look he couldn’t decipher, but it didn’t make him feel warm. He left soon after, and Hugo seriously pondered the possibility of escaping the room for a while. He was sure he could periodically slip back down and show his face to his brother and sister, then escape to the safety of his bedchamber. He edged towards the door, doing his best to make himself small and insignificant. He’d take a detour to the library and pick up some of his old favourites, the books that had been the backdrop of his life, his comforts, and…

  “Lord Hugo. How…nice to see you.”

  Hugo froze. He closed his eyes briefly, tried desperately to appear unconcerned, and turned with the best smile he could manage plastered in place.

  Lyndon Cross stood behind him. He’d not seen him since they were scrawny boys, but even then, when he hadn’t really understood, Cross had taken his breath away. As a boy, he was like sunrise. Golden blond, fair, stunningly beautiful, and filled with the promise of something new and delightful. Seeing Cross had always made Hugo feel better. Now, standing before the man, he was lost for words.

  Cross was now taller than him. Willowy in stature, but tightly muscled beneath his well-fitted clothes. The boyish features that had so entranced the youthful Hugo were now hardened into masculine, sculpted planes of ivory skin beneath golden hair. Eyes of the most unreadable, unfathomable brown, and lips. Oh, God, his lips.

  Hugo dragged his gaze from them and looked at him. Cross held his chin up, his eyes were wary, and his mouth tight.

  “Cross. A pleasure indeed.” The words felt rusty and inadequate. He wanted to grab his hands and apologise. Tell him how sorry he was. Tell him he’d been the best thing in the whole wretched, god-forsaken, soul-withering school. But all he could do was gawp like a green lad.

  Cross nodded and walked away, leaving Hugo staring after him.

  Chapter 4

  After that, despite Hugo’s best efforts, they kept bumping into each other. He was escorting Lady Hester into supper when Cross slid in behind him with a young lady on his arm. Hugo had never met her, and so Cross made introductions and then all four were obliged to converse. The ladies held up most of the conversation, leaving Hugo to cast looks at Cross. He caught him and gave him a small smile which made Hugo’s insides tremble.

  Every time Hugo stopped to speak to someone, Cross somehow managed to slide into the conversation. The looks he gave him were bec
oming warmer. Hugo couldn’t quite understand why. Each time they encountered each other, they passed pleasantries, and each time, the warmth in Cross’ eyes grew. The smile that edged his lips widened. When he took a drink of his champagne and held Hugo’s gaze over the rim, he couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Hugo fled with as much dignity as he could muster.

  Once he was certain Cross was nowhere in sight, he bowed, smiled, and extricated himself as fast as he could, and once clear of the room, he raced for freedom. He headed for the library; for sanctuary.

  Once reached, he closed the door, leaned against it, and let his head rest on the wood. He sighed with relief as the noises of the ball, the music, the people, and the laughter became muted. He stayed like that, with his eyes closed, for a long time and simply allowed the stillness, the quiet, and the warm, familiar scents of leather, books, polish, and woodsmoke to calm him. Eventually, he pried himself away from the comfort of the door and headed for one of the chairs before the fire. The fire burned constantly in the library. It was always one of the warmest spots in the house, and the fondest of Hugo’s childhood memories came from the warmth and enjoyment of the room. It was only once he’d left and discovered that for many, the library was a soulless, dusty room of gloom. Not for him. One day, he would have his own house, with the most glorious library. He’d scour the world for the best and most interesting books and invite people to share in them. As a child, he’d dreamed of owning a huge bookshop and sharing his love of books, but he’d soon discovered that a tradesperson wasn’t considered a suitable occupation for a gentleman of his pedigree. He smiled sadly as he remembered his disappointment.

  He wandered to the area that held the books of his childhood and ran his hand over them. He let his fingers drift over shelf after shelf until he felt calmer. Books always steadied him, and today was no different. In the library, he could be whoever he wanted to be: no admonition, no criticism, no expectation. Just Hugo. Hugo who loved men. Hugo who’d adored Lyndon Cross so much he’d been terrified to speak to him, be seen with him, or even walk with him in case someone divined his real feelings. In case Cross worked out that he was pining for him. So, he’d joined in some of the bullying. The name calling, the pushing and shoving. Because whilst they were picking on Cross, they were leaving him alone, and whilst he was calling him, people wouldn’t divine how he really felt. It was something that filled him with the deepest shame and thinking about it made him feel ill. It always made his stomach churn and his chest hurt. One of those things that kept a chap awake at night. Just another thing to add to the catalogue of his failures.

  He jumped up and wandered some more. There had been times when he’d warned Cross, he didn’t dare think of him as Lyndon back then, when the pranks had been too horrid to bear. Times when chaps lay in wait for him, or intended to damage his things, or hurt him too badly. He remembered one occasion when they’d hidden out in the woodshed. He remembered the shine in Cross’ eyes whenever he did anything kind, and hoped it meant that he understood. He’d taken to watching and had freed him from the linen closets when they’d locked him in, and worse, from the crypt. He’d tried to make amends for his shortcomings as often as possible, but it wasn’t enough. He was aware of that.

  A knock on the door froze him. Who in God’s name would be wanting entry to the damned library at this hour?

  Before he could respond, it opened, and Lyndon Cross stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him.

  Hugo had no idea what to say. He just stared. Mouth quite probably hanging open.

  “I hope you don’t mind me following you,” Cross said. His voice should have been like a chorus of angels given the way he looked, but it was deep, quiet, and had a warm, raspy quality to it that brushed against Hugo’s skin. It always had. Even as a boy it had power, but as a man it wrapped its way all around him.

  “Not at all.”

  Cross walked towards him, and Hugo had to fight to remain in place and not bolt for the door.

  “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

  Hugo frowned. “Beg pardon?”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to speak to me.”

  “Ah, why wouldn’t I?” Hugo was genuinely bewildered for a moment, but then Cross raised an eyebrow; tilted his head.

  No…no…no… He isn’t going to mention it…surely to God? It was something that Hugo had expunged from memory.

  “Do you remember my last day?”

  Hugo nodded; eyes wide. He is. Dear, sweet God, he is going to mention it.

  Hugo felt as though someone was squeezing him all over, making it hard to think or breathe, as he recalled that last day vividly to memory.

  He’d heard that Lyndon was leaving the school, from the gossip that periodically rippled through the school. It was as though someone had ripped his heart from his chest. He’d followed him through the building, completely unable to speak to him, tell him how desperate he felt. At the end, he’d hidden in the grand hall and watched Lyndon walk across it to meet his parents waiting in the carriage on the drive. No-one else was about. It was his last chance to say something, but the words stuck in his throat.

  Lyndon, by some strange twist, paused by the door, looked around, and spotted him lurking by the grandfather clock. He’d hesitated, whilst Hugo’s heart hung suspended in his chest, and then he’d run to him. Run back into the hall. He’d thrown his arms around Hugo, held him tight for a moment, then kissed him on the cheek. He’d been about to run back when Hugo grabbed him. Actually grabbed him and kissed him full on the mouth.

  In his dreams, Hugo liked to think Lyndon had returned the kiss, in a closed mouthed, inexpert way, with his arms tight about him. In reality, he wasn’t too sure. Lyndon had stared for a moment, then run back to his parents.

  That had been ten years ago, and now, the first boy he’d kissed stood before him. Hugo wondered if he’d come to exact retribution and expose him. Well, if he was here to do that, he’d need to get in line.

  When the adult Lyndon in front of him spoke, Hugo jumped.

  “I never got the chance to say thank you properly for being my friend.”

  “Thank you…?”

  Lyndon nodded.

  Hugo’s mouth hung open. “I…I was horrid to you.”

  Lyndon’s face relaxed a little, and his smile was warm and genuine. “You saved me on so many occasions. I understood why sometimes you had to stand with them.”

  “But…but I shouldn’t have done. I should have stood by your side. Should have been braver. Stood up for what I believed to be right.”

  “We were boys. What could we do? We didn’t understand.”

  Hugo understood. He understood perfectly now as he had then. It was the kiss that had told Hugo that everything he suspected about himself was true. Other boys became excited and aroused at the thought of women. He became excited and aroused at the thought of men.

  Hugo didn’t feel ready to be forgiven. “But I kissed you,” he blurted. Heat settling into his face.

  Lyndon looked at the floor for a moment, then glanced up. The look he gave him was unreadable.

  “On the mouth.”

  “I was shocked.” Lyndon’s lips twitched.

  Hugo put a hand over his eyes. “Christ. I’m so sorry. I’m so dreadfully sorry. I’ve wanted to apologise to you for that for the last ten years.”

  “Have you kissed many men since?”

  Hugo dragged his hand away and stared. What in God’s name was he asking? Was he…was he…?

  “I know I have.” Lyndon Cross took a step closer to him. Hugo knew he was gawking like a green lad, but he couldn’t for the life of him stop.

  “It broke my heart to leave you,” Lyndon said, moving closer yet again.

  Hugo suspected his eyes were out on stalks. “Mine too.” His voice was the merest whisper. He was staring at Lyndon, eyes prickling, and he could see there was a soft sheen across Lyndon’s eyes too. Those eyes that had been inscrutable were now filled with em
otion.

  “Do… Do you still like to kiss men or was it a schoolboy thing for you?”

  “It wasn’t a schoolboy thing.” The whispered words tumbled out without permission, but Hugo was glad they had when he saw the expression on Lyndon’s face.

  Lyndon reached out and put his hand on Hugo’s jaw, caressed him, and then pulled him closer. Hugo’s mouth opened as his heart hammered. Is he going to…oh God… he is…

  Lyndon lay his lips gently against Hugo’s. They were closed, and he just sipped chastely at his lips. Soft kissing sounds filled the room alongside the crackle of the fire and the familiar scent that was purely Lyndon filled him in a way he’d never expected to experience again.

  They pulled apart but rested their foreheads against each other.

  “It didn’t go away for you either?” Hugo’s voice was a whisper.

  “No.”

  Hugo swallowed. “Hell.”

  Lyndon pulled back to look at him. Hugo struggled, but met his gaze. He frowned, and dipped his head again, slowly, but this time applied his lips with more pressure, making Hugo moan helplessly and wrap his arms around him. Hugo kissed him back with all the years of pent up emotion that had been locked inside, and every part of him sang at being held in Lyndon’s arms. A man’s arms. Feeling the strength of his hold, the rasp of his chin, the hardness pressed against his own aching erection. It was heaven. It was everything that he wanted. Needed.

  But it was wrong. So heartbreakingly wrong. Why he was in a mess.