by Ruby Moone
Alfie rubbed the back of his neck and pulled in a breath. “If you did tell the truth, and tried to expose them, what do you think would happen?”
Tristan shrugged.
“You would wind up dead and more than likely, so would I. No benefit in that. Better to stay alive and know that these things happen so that you can at least stop them where you can.”
“So you know of such practices?”
Alfie hesitated and then just nodded.
“Sam said it was not uncommon.” Tristan rubbed his face again trying to get his thoughts in order. He needed to see Sam. Needed to talk this through with him. Needed to hold him to reassure himself that all was well. Christ, what a mess. What kind of bloody world were they living in?
* * * *
Sam sank into the steaming hot water and let it close over his head. The muffled sound was soothing and he wanted to stay there. Stay where he did not have to think. His capacity to hold his breath gave way, and he emerged, sucking in a huge breath and stripping the water from his face as he did so.
He jumped when he opened his eyes to find Tristan staring down at him. “I didn’t hear you,” he said, and curled up his knees so he could wrap his arms around them. Tristan looked miserable. That beautiful, serious face was as miserable now as the day that he had appeared and Sam had begged him to help him escape. Sam had to look away.
“I know.” He handed Sam a towel so he heaved himself out of the water. It seemed foolish to try and cover himself, but he did. He turned his back, roughly towelled his hair and shoulders, and then wrapped it around his middle before turning back. Tristan’s head was bowed and he appeared to be staring at his feet.
“You can look now,” Sam said, and smiled when Tristan raised his head. They were in the rooms that Tristan had procured for him.
“Did he hurt you?” Tristan’s voice was low and he still avoided his eyes.
“Not much. You arrived before he could do any serious damage.” He sagged into a chair and covered his eyes. He felt Tristan come and kneel beside him and rest his head on his knee. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Sam stroked his head. “Why are you sorry?”
“I failed you.”
Sam sighed. “Exactly how did you fail me?” he asked as he stroked his head, loving the feel of the silky softness of his fair hair. “You rescued me from that place, you took me somewhere safe, you rescued me again from Dante, and this time shot the bastard. What more could a man ask for?”
Tristan looked up at him, his eyes were damp. “I should have understood you better, let you go to your cousin, but I just feel so protective of you. I don’t mean to diminish you in any way but I don’t seem to be able to stop being selfish where you are concerned. God, how does this work?”
Sam laughed softly and leaned down to drop a kiss on his head.
Tristan nodded. “There are no guidelines for us are there,” he said with a sigh. “No role models, no social etiquette, no reference at all. It is as if men of our nature simply don’t exist. Don’t embark on relationships.”
Sam’s smile faded. He was right. “We don’t exist. We can’t.”
Tristan stared up at him, fire in his blue eyes. “Well, I want to exist. I damn well will exist.”
This was what he loved about Tristan. That huffy, buttoned up aristocrat who, beneath his starched shirt fronts, was as radical as you please. He stroked his head again and asked the question that had been burning him since they dragged Dante’s lifeless body from the brothel. “What will happen to us?” he asked.
“With regard to Dante and Mosely?”
Sam nodded. When they had fished Mosely out of the grate they had found that he had struck his temple on the fender and was dead. Just like that. Both of them, dead. Sam couldn’t quite believe it.
Tristan grimaced. “I wish I could regret it but I cannot. He was going to kill you.”
Sam nodded.
“Alfie is sorting it out,” he said after a brief pause. “Alfie has…connections. There will be an article in the Times before too long about Wallingford, and how he passed away unexpectedly. I imagine Mosely will just disappear. Alfie has seen Wallingford’s family and told them that Wallingford was found shot dead in a brothel, and the man that shot him has been killed. Understandably, they don’t want a scandal. Overdale has gone abroad.”
“How on earth have you managed all that in an afternoon?” Sam was astounded. He had been terrified that the magistrates would carry him and Tristan away and somehow find out how Dante died, and what role Tristan had played.
“As I said, Alfie has connections.”
“I’ll say.”
Tristan hesitated a moment. “There are people waiting to see you.”
“Who?”
“Some rather lovely ladies from the brothel, the children, Gareth, Alfie…you are in demand.”
Sam stared at him. “They are all here?”
“They were concerned.”
Sam was moved. Moved that there were people in the world who cared about him. Moved that Tristan was here kneeling before him, caring about him, moved that Alfie had sought to ensure he didn’t wind up in the gallows…He swallowed and nodded.
“I will dress and join you.”
Tristan regarded him solemnly for a moment and then smiled awkwardly.
* * * *
Sam walked into the room and took Tristan’s heart all over again. He wondered if he was the only one who saw the uncertainty beneath the casual smile and the bright greeting. When Iris got up and threw herself into his arms he suspected he was not. He might have been jealous of the tight, hard hug he gave her with eyes screwed closed had he not already seen the love between Iris and Clara, Clara who had tears standing in her eyes and a wobbly smile on her face. He let her go, and she pecked him on the cheek and reclaimed her seat. Sam looked around and a huge smile lit his face.
“Ollie! Arthur!”
Ollie blushed from head to toe and stood, dragging his younger brother with him and they threw themselves at him. Sam hugged them tightly, then ruffled both dark heads. Tristan’s heart squeezed yet again when Sam stooped and shook hands gently with Winifred, who stared at him wide eyed and then hid behind Ollie and sucked her thumb.
And then everyone was talking at once. Talking about what to do, about Dante and what would happen to the club and those who worked in it. What had happened to Mosely, all those things that mattered, but all Tristan wanted to do was beg Sam to come and live with him. Be with him. To love him.
A knock at the door quietened them, and Alfie went to answer it. He returned with a row of footmen bearing silver platters. They placed them on the table, along with crockery, cutlery, and glassware from a large hamper. They added several bottles of wine and then stood back and bowed. Tristan felt as open mouthed with surprise as Sam looked, but then joined in as they all fell on the food as though they had never eaten.
They had cleared the plates, and the staff had disappeared with the empty dishes leaving them settled and replete, when another knock came.
Gareth grinned lazily. “Is this pudding?”
They all laughed. Sam made to get up and answer the door, but Alfie beat him to it. He disappeared into the small hallway, and Tristan heard an exchange of masculine voices. He glanced over at Sam; he appeared to be listening with a small frown.
Alfie appeared in the door. “Some gentlemen to see you, Sam. Captain Farrington and a Harry Valentine.” He stood aside, and two tall gentlemen entered the room. Sam stared, open mouthed for a moment, but then shot to his feet.
“Harry! Bloody hell, Harry!” He strode across the room and grabbed one of them in a huge embrace that was returned with feeling. The man in his arms was startlingly handsome. Dark curls and dark, searching eyes that were dancing with laughter. His companion was a more subdued, fair haired man, clearly of military bearing, but definitely the more solemn of the two. Tristan had to surmise that this was the Harry that Sam talked of endlessly. He rubbed a hand across hi
s mouth feeling a distinct sense of unease.
“Tristan, Tristan, let me introduce you,” Sam was saying to him and holding out a hand, so he walked over and put a smile of welcome on his face. He stood beside Alfie as Sam made the introductions. Harry was eyeing him speculatively, and Farrington was unreadable. They shook hands in a very civilised fashion.
“How in God’s name did you find me?” Sam said. Tristan waited for the answer with interest.
“I got your letter begging me to come. How could I ignore that?” Harry said.
Stunned, Tristan held his breath.
Sam looked puzzled. “What letter? I wrote you a note saying that I’d left Dante’s and that I was with…” He glanced over at Tristan. “That I was with someone, but I didn’t ask you to come.”
Harry frowned and pulled a letter out of his pocket and handed it to Sam. Sam scanned the contents.
“That is not my writing. It’s far too neat.”
Harry looked at Farrington. “I told you I wasn’t sure.”
Farrington nodded and turned to Tristan, concern in his eyes. “Is it possible that any post was intercepted by Dante? He has gone to inordinate lengths to get Harry back. If this is a trap we need to leave. Immediately.”
“I would say that it was entirely possible that this whole thing was nothing more than an elaborate plan to get you all back,” Tristan said, now firmly convinced that the invitation to Overdale, the children, Harry and his lover appearing…all Dante’s doing.
“Then we should leave,” Harry said. “Sam, you can leave with us if you need to, can’t he, Charlie?”
Captain Farrington nodded.
“There is no need,” Tristan said, moving closer to Sam. “Dante is dead. So is Mosely.”
The words dropped into a little pool of silence, leaving Tristan feel quietly pleased that there was no need for Sam to disappear with his handsome friends.
“Dead? What the hell…” Harry was agape.
Tristan opened his mouth to reply, but Alfie stepped in. “There was an…unfortunate accident.”
Harry looked staggered for a moment, but then turned to Farrington with a smile that was growing wider by the second, and something of Farrington’s stern facade crumbled and he looked at Harry with such love and relief.
And then everyone was talking at once again. Tristan stood back and watched. Sam, Gareth, and Harry were with Iris and Clara and they were laughing, talking, and hugging each other. Farrington and Alfie were chatting to each other quite comfortably, probably having military things in common. Tristan could feel Sam slipping away as he found himself yet again on the periphery of the group. The children still sat in silence on the hearthrug so he went and knelt beside them.
“Have you had enough to eat?” he said.
They beamed up at him. “Thank you, my lord, it was lovely,” Ollie said.
“I saved a cake,” Winifred said, and held up a napkin. It was the first time that he had heard the child speak and something warm opened up in his chest.
“I think that was a very good idea. Is it for later?”
She regarded him with those solemn eyes for a moment. “No, it’s for you,” she said, and put the slightly squashed cake in his hand.
He had to blink several times and swallow before he spoke. “Thank you, Winifred. Thank you so much,” he said. His voice was a little husky.
“What will happen to us now?” Ollie said. There was still a thread of concern in his voice.
“You will stay with us. I don’t know exactly how this will work, but you won’t be going back to Dante’s or to Mosely’s farm, that’s for sure.”
“Do you promise?”
Tristan swallowed. “I promise.”
“Might I make a suggestion?” Alfie said. He had come to stand beside the children.
Tristan got to his feet, holding onto his cake. “Please do.”
“I suggest that everyone repairs to your town house for the night. You and Sam might need to have a moment to yourselves?” he said with a meaningful look. “Then tomorrow decisions can be made.”
Tristan nodded and within moments Alfie had everyone organised to leave.
Sam came to stand beside him so he took a deep breath. “Would you like me to stay here with you?” Tristan asked. “I understand if you would rather…”
“I would like it if you stayed.”
Tristan nodded and tried to breathe evenly.
* * * *
Sam waved as the last of the mob disappeared through the door following Alfie, leaving him and Tristan in the rooms that Tristan had paid for. He waved at Harry. He couldn’t believe Harry was here. His Charlie was a bit of alright, too. Fair haired, rather like Tristan, but a bit old and serious for his liking. He waved again, and then closed the door with a soft click and then turned back to the man that had come to mean so much to him.
Now they were alone he didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where to start. How did a man say, I love you, but I have to leave you? He had no idea.
“You must be tired.” Tristan squeezed his hand.
Sam nodded.
“We should retire.”
Sam nodded again, and followed. They went through the rituals of preparing for bed until they were both dressed in nightshirts, clean, and ready to slide beneath the covers. Sam climbed in first and blew out the candle, then after a moment held up an arm, allowing Tristan to crawl in and settle his head on Sam’s chest. He wrapped his arms about him and held tight, knowing how much they both loved to lie in bed and hold each other.
“I still can’t believe Harry is here,” he whispered into the dark.
“Seems like a good sort. Farrington, too.”
“I’m glad for him. Charlie seems like a good man. Did you see the way that he looked at Harry? Like he was his whole world?”
Tristan kissed his chest gently and squeezed him.
“We need to talk.” Sam’s voice was soft; he didn’t know where to begin.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“But…”
“Sam, we can talk later. We have plenty of time to talk. I almost lost you today and I am damned if I am going to lose what little time I have with you bloody well talking.”
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Tristan was climbing out of the bed and struggling with the tinder box to relight the candle at the bedside. Once it had taken, he stripped off his nightshirt and stood breathing fast in the candlelight. The golden glow lovingly caressed his body in exactly the way that Sam wanted to do. He sat up and pulled his own nightshirt off.
“Get back in here,” he said, as he threw the garment to the floor.
“No. Tonight we do differently.”
Sam was startled, but he smiled provocatively.
Tristan was trembling slightly, his chin lifted arrogantly. “Tonight, I shall take you.”
Sam’s stomach tightened and his cock shot hard as iron. The thought of Tristan…God.
He cleared his throat. “How do you want me?” His voice was hoarse.
Tristan held out a hand. “I want to kiss you first.”
Sam slid out of the bed and took Tristan’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled into his embrace. He closed his eyes and sighed. They held each other for the longest time, simply absorbing the incredible intimacy of naked skin against naked skin, hard male body against hard male body. Tristan was the first to move, he kissed Sam’s neck, making him shiver, and then sought out his mouth again and kissed him. There was nothing in the world like kissing Tristan. He kissed exactly how Sam liked to kiss, and he fitted into his arms perfectly. The scent of his skin, his breath, his hair wrapped around him, held him and aroused him to an almost unbearable degree. Sam lost himself utterly in the sensation. The slip and slide, the pressure, the immense feeling of love that welled up inside him and threatened to overwhelm him, and the desperate, driving need for more. Tristan was completely in control as he tore his mouth away and kissed his way down Sam’s throat, licked at his nipples and then s
ucked hard, making Sam groan and thrust against him. Sam grasped Tristan’s arse and squeezed hard, loving the feel, the fullness, and the promise of what was to come.
“How do you want me?” he asked again.
“Lie over the bed,” Tristan whispered against his mouth. “I want you over the bed.”
Sam’s heart thundered in his chest. He moved and hesitated, glancing at Tristan. They had never done anything like this before.
“This way,” Tristan pushed him down gently, so he was laid face down on the quilt, but with his feet still on the floor and he understood exactly what he meant. Excitement made him shiver as he settled himself so that Tristan would be able to stand and fuck him hard.
He felt Tristan behind him, his thighs against the back of his legs, his balls soft against the curve of his backside. Then he stroked him. Ran his hands down his back from shoulder to the base of his spine, letting his fingernails scrape a little. Sam moaned into the bedcovers and pushed against him. Tristan did it again, this time a little harder and then let his fingers drift over the base of his spine again, but this time moved lower, tantalisingly lower until he took both cheeks of his buttocks in his hand, and Sam stopped breathing as he waited. Tristan ran his finger down Sam’s crease, making his breath come in soft sobs of need as his whole body ached for more, needed more, but he didn’t dare move. This was Tristan’s moment, but it was killing him.
His felt him move and pour oil into his hands, and then his fingers returned and he parted his cheeks then sought, and pushed, until his fingers found his entrance. Sam sucked in a breath as he was breached, pushing back for more. Tristan prepared him with such care, but he needed more, so much more. Before he could speak, beg for it, Tristan lined himself up and surged into him. Sam shouted and pushed back hard. Being filled by Tristan was the most astoundingly intimate, satisfying moment of his entire life. He moaned as Tristan lay over him, covering him, holding him.
Tristan was shaking. He could feel it in the hands that gripped his hips and in the legs that lined up with his, but then he began to move and Sam’s entire body lit up.
“Yes,” he moaned, “yes, now…please, please.”