by Ava March
Slowly looking to his left, he found the object of his infatuation standing at his shoulder. The man had to spend a fortune at his tailor. Only an expert could cut a coat so it simultaneously draped and hugged a form.
Arsen raised one dark blond eyebrow. “If you didn’t care for the champagne, a simple request for something else would have been sufficient.”
He couldn’t tell from Arsen’s bland expression if the man was irritated or not. Hell, he had never been able to read Arsen. “Somerville, I-I—”
Arsen let out a sardonic snort. “No need to stutter, Shaw.”
The light scent of Arsen’s cologne made its way to Henry’s nose. Sandalwood with a hint of citrus. An intense wave of arousal mixed with the acute embarrassment, restricting his breath, heating his skin.
Desperate for a distraction, he glanced over Arsen’s broad shoulder. Armed with brooms and dustpans, a veritable army of servants stood a few paces behind their employer. All right, so it wasn’t actually the size of an army. But there were more servants in Henry’s end of the ballroom than he had seen all evening. Where the hell had they come from? Where had Arsen come from? Hadn’t he just left with his new mistress?
“Shaw.”
Henry’s gaze snapped to Arsen. And why did the man have to have green eyes? Deliciously handsome and obscenely wealthy weren’t enough. God just had to gift Lord Somerville with rich, deep emerald green eyes lined with lashes long enough to make a woman howl with jealousy.
The edges of Arsen’s lips quirked. The moment so quick and so out of character Henry had to have imagined it.
Arsen turned and strode toward the double doors. “Come along.”
To seal their bond, they must break the ties that bind.
A Private Gentleman
© 2012 Heidi Cullinan
Painfully introverted and rendered nearly mute by a heavy stammer, Lord George Albert Westin rarely ventures any farther than the club or his beloved gardens. When he hears rumors of an exotic new orchid sighted at a local hobbyist’s house, though, he girds himself with opiates and determination to attend a house party, hoping to sneak a peek.
He finds the orchid, yes…but he finds something else even more rare and exquisite: Michael Vallant. Professional sodomite.
Michael climbed out of an adolescent hell as a courtesan’s bastard to become successful and independent-minded, seeing men on his own terms, protected by a powerful friend. He is master of his own world—until Wes. Not only because, for once, the sex is for pleasure and not for profit. They are joined by tendrils of a shameful, unspoken history. The closer his shy, poppy-addicted lover lures him to the light of love, the harder his past works to drag him back into the dark.
There’s only one way out of this tangle. Help Wes face the fears that cripple him—right after Michael finds the courage to reveal the devastating truth that binds them.
Warning: Contains wounded heroes, bibliophilic tendencies, orchid obsessions, a right bastard of a marquis, and gay men who get happily-ever-afters.
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Private Gentleman:
Deprived of his glasses, Michael strained to take the man in: the great height of him, the contrast of his coat and cravat, the color and shape of his hair still damp at the edges from his bath. His short boots peeked out beneath crisp trousers. From this far away, Michael could not see his face, but even with the lord’s proper posture, his body movements belied his nervousness.
Belatedly, Michael realized he was not posed evocatively on the pile of pillows he’d spent fifteen minutes arranging, choosing instead to greet his lover dangled over the edge of the bed, banyan rucked up oddly around him and one foot lifted into the air for balance.
Damn.
He rolled to his side and tugged at the edge of the banyan as best he could as he carefully assumed a casually seductive pose. Fortune favored him at last, for his left nipple exposed itself all on its own, as well as a generous portion of his abdomen. Though he still couldn’t see Albert’s face, he saw his patron’s body posture quicken.
Michael smiled.
“My lord. We meet again.”
Across the room, Lord George Albert cleared his throat. Michael heard the careful intake of breath that meant he was getting ready to speak. “G-g-good day, Mr. V-Vallant.”
Michael’s pulse hammered so hard he felt it in the base of his throat. “Call me Michael.”
Another breath. A pause. “C-c-call m-me Alb-b-b-b—” Albert gave up and sighed.
He was very nervous, if that much preparation still led to that much of a stammer. Michael longed to put him more at ease. Of course, it would be nice if someone would return the favor.
“Albert.” He let his fingers slide into his hair and reached out his other hand to beckon to Albert. “Come here and sit on the bed.” I want to see you.
But Albert seated himself in one of the chairs by the fire—well outside of Michael’s sight range. Michael swore at himself silently. If he hadn’t worn his glasses so much lately, he could have seen at least a little. Now he couldn’t even read Albert’s face. While reading the faces and body movements of people was usually a handy skill for maneuvering them into the place you wanted them, with Albert it was essential for simple communication. So here they were, blind and mute together.
The depths of potential disaster expanded endlessly around them.
“Wh-why am I h-here?” Albert said at last.
Michael combed his tone for clues. Caution, nerves still, and a great deal of reserve. He tried to relax him with humor. “I thought that was obvious.”
The pause was lengthy. It took Albert three breaths before he was able to speak, and his first two attempts were nothing but sputters of consonants.
Michael gave in and softened. “Relax, darling. Relax. Deep breaths. There’s no reason to be nervous.”
Albert barked out a rueful laugh.
Michael echoed his smile. “Very well, perhaps there is a little reason.” He stroked the sheet, mimicking the touch he would have given Albert, could he have reached him. “Take your time.”
Albert’s sigh made Michael shiver. Two more breaths, and then: “D-did you ask f-for m-me?”
Michael couldn’t help a frown. “Ask?” He watched Albert’s shape tense and spoke quickly. “Darling, no—don’t, please. I’m sorry, it’s my fault I don’t understand. Did I ask what for you?”
Albert held very still. Michael could read nothing, damn it all to hell.
“D-did y-you ask him t-t-to br-bring m-me h-here?”
“Bring you?” Michael’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “Do you mean—Rodger brought you here? Against your will?”
The pause nearly killed Michael. “N-not p-p-p”—a sigh—“p-precisely.”
How could Rodger not precisely bring him? Either he did, or he didn’t. Michael started to ask this, then stopped. “Oh—he did bring you, but not precisely against your will?”
A soft laugh. Very soft. “Y-yes.”
“But partially.”
While Albert paused, Michael shifted nervously in his chair. “H-he p-p-promised t-to b-blackmail m-me if I d-did not.”
Michael clamped a hand over his mouth in horror and sat up. “He didn’t.”
“He d-did.”
Michael felt ill. “I’m so sorry. Please—if you want to leave, I promise I’ll make him—”
With what was clearly great effort, Albert overrode him, his voice coming out in a sharp breath. “I s-s-said only p-p-p—” This time his sigh was so frustrated it was almost a growl. “Only p-partially.”
I’ll kill him. I swear, this time I really will kill Rodger. Michael ran his hands down his face. “I am sorry. I had no idea. I never would have asked for this. Not like this.”
The shape of Albert leaned forward. “But d-did you ask? F-for m-me?”
Heat rose in Michael, the sensation suspiciously like a blush, which was almost as horrifying as the thought of Rodger blackmailing Albert into having sex wit
h him. He tried to give a coy smile, but he wasn’t sure it worked. “Does it matter, darling?”
“Yes.”
The short, clear word, delivered with no pause, cut straight into Michael. He felt dizzy, confused and afraid. And aroused. Between the distance, the stammer and the revelation of Rodger’s meddling, he hadn’t been able to read the question at all. Was Albert simply curious? Was he amused? Was he besotted? Was he suspicious? Was he planning on reveling in the thought that a whore had asked for him particularly?
And while he was wondering, why did Michael care about any of this?
Because even with the stammer, he could hear Daventry in Albert’s voice. Because more and more every day the dark clouds of the past closed in on him. Because somehow one night of sex with Albert had managed to take away everything he’d built in sixteen years, and now that Albert was in the blue room with him, he wasn’t sure that trying to fuck him again would do anything but make matters worse.
Michael could bear no more torture. “Come to the edge of the bed,” he demanded.
He watched Albert’s shape like a hawk, watched him hesitate, watched him rise slowly, watched him smooth his clothing. He watched the blurred figure move closer.
When Albert stepped into Michael’s field of vision, it was as if he stepped through a magic portal, morphing from shaped blob into man, into the man Michael remembered, only he was here now, not a memory but real. Dark hair, neatly combed, conservative clothes. Tall, wide frame. Same jaw as his father. Long, almost pretty nose.
Lips, parted and wet, revealing a hint of teeth.
Hands, strong and smooth, resting on his hips, fingers curved inward.
Soft, beautiful brown eyes trying so hard not to let Michael get the better of him, hoping so hard this would not be a disaster.
Michael stifled a sigh of relief.
Albert’s chin came up. “D-did you ask for m-me?”
Proud. So proud. So tender and gentle, yes, but proud, and so very strong.
Sitting in the center of the bed, Michael kept his eyes on Albert as he replied, “Yes.”
A blush crept over Michael at the confession, but he decided it was worth it when Albert smiled and reached up for the tie to his cravat.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Convincing Arthur
Copyright © 2016 by Ava March
ISBN: 978-1-61922-250-2
Edited by Sasha Knight
Cover by Kim Killion
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2016
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
About the Author
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