by Ava March
“Don’t.”
“Pardon?” A confused furrow crossed Gabriel’s brow.
“Don’t avoid me.”
“I don’t think I’m trying to avoid you. Quite the opposite. I’m trying to get very close to you.”
Anthony shook his head. “Stop it, Gabriel.” And it took effort to keep the frustration out of his voice. “You know exactly what I’m referring to. I’m not a complete idiot. Your distraction techniques may be quite pleasurable, but they haven’t been lost on me. Did you even want to suck me off last night, or was that just another way to distract me from asking you questions?”
“What? I answered your questions last night. I told you I was certain, that I wanted to.”
“But you’ve never done that to me before. And the night you do it, is the night you show up at my door at three in the morning with a bruised eye and jaw and with a bag in hand?” The possibility that Gabriel had only gifted him with his mouth as a means to keep Anthony from prying... That hurt.
“If you didn’t want me to stay, you should have said so instead of inviting me in,” Gabriel shot back, defensive and self-conscious.
Anthony took a deep breath, pushed aside the rising frustration and the hurt. “It’s not that I didn’t want you, Gabriel. I did and I do. But if you care about me, you will be honest with me. You will stop avoiding and hiding and trust me with the truth.”
“How dare you imply I don’t care about you?”
“But you aren’t honest with me.”
“Yes, I was. I told you I wanted to suck your cock. When you asked me if I was certain, I told you I was certain. Then when you asked me again, I again told you yes. What more did you want from me? Did I not do it correctly? If so, you have my apologies. It was my first time.”
“You did do it correctly. Very correctly. You made a damned good showing of yourself, and I very much enjoyed it. I am not taking issue with your skill level, but I suspected it was your first time, Gabriel, and that’s why I am not certain as to your motive given the way you showed up at my door.”
“You said I was always welcome. You never put a condition on the time of day or night.”
“And you are always welcome.”
Was Gabriel doing it on purpose? Was he debating every point but the one Anthony most wanted to discuss?
Enough.
With effort, Anthony gathered his patience. Doing his best to keep any trace of accusation out of his tone, he said, “Gabriel, I know your sister’s husband returned to Town weeks ago and that you’ve taken a room at Smith’s Inn.”
Gabriel’s expression blanked.
“Why have you never told me? I asked a week ago if he’d returned to Town, and instead of answering me, you pushed me into the bedchamber.”
“I wasn’t aware you were so concerned with the comings and goings of my sister’s husband.”
“Of course I’m concerned. His travels are what brought you to London. I asked you over a month ago if you planned to remain in Town after his return and you gave me a vague answer. A week ago, I asked and you didn’t even answer. You avoided my question. I asked because I want to continue to spend time with you and wanted to know if you’d leave as soon as he came back. So yes, I’m concerned about his comings and goings because they affect you. They affect us.”
Gabriel flinched. The movement had been tiny, a mere tensing of his muscles, but it hadn’t escaped Anthony’s notice. His gaze darted about the dining room, then he finally said, sounding very much like a petulant adolescent, “Yes, he’s returned. But you already know that.”
“Why have you taken a room at Smith’s Inn?”
“Because I didn’t want to remain at Sarah’s after Neville returned. The man’s a pompous bore.”
Understandable reason. Anthony had met Neville Blackwell before. The man truly was a bore. “But why Smith’s Inn? Why all the way on the East Side of London? There are plenty of inns and hotels about Mayfair.”
Gabriel gave an agitated shake of the head. His mouth thinned. “My apologies if it isn’t a respectable enough establishment for you.”
“My concern has nothing to do with the quality of the inn. Well, yes, it does. But it’s not because I look down my nose at such a place. Rather, because it’s not in a respectable part of Town and I want to know why you would choose such a place.” Just tell me you chose it because it’s close to the gambling tables. Don’t make me say it.
“I chose it because I didn’t want to spend a ridiculous amount of coins on a lavish hotel in Mayfair. The inn puts a roof over my head. That’s all that matters to me. It’s unfortunate that you disapprove.”
“It’s not that I disapprove. It’s—”
Gabriel pushed from the table.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
The sound of Gabriel’s footsteps as he left the dining room was all the answer Anthony received.
Anthony let out a short growl of frustration, then took up pursuit. “Gabriel!” He had almost caught up to him when Gabriel disappeared into the bedchamber. A half step from entering the room, and the door abruptly slammed shut.
Anger flared inside of him, stinging his nerves with the force of it. Twisting the knob, Anthony flung open the door. “Don’t you bloody slam a door on me, and especially not in my own home.”
“I’ve had enough of your goddamned questions, Anthony,” Gabriel said, shoving his arms into his waistcoat. The same gray waistcoat he’d worn last night.
“That’s unfortunate for you, because I’m going to keep asking until you give me actual answers. Have you been gambling?”
“Everyone in London gambles, Anthony.” Gabriel’s fingers moved remarkably quick as he did up the buttons on his waistcoat. “There are tables at most every function.”
Anthony would take that as a yes. “But you haven’t been gambling at functions, have you?”
Averting his gaze from Anthony’s, Gabriel snagged his coat and pulled it on.
“Why won’t you admit you’ve been gambling at The Old Goose?”
Gabriel’s head snapped up, eyes round with accusation. “You’ve been following me?”
“I haven’t been following you.” That was the truth. Morgan had done the following. “You aren’t the only man who frequents Cheapside for its tables. Have you developed a problem with gambling?”
“You have no right to accuse me of such a thing!” Gabriel’s voice, sharp as the crack of a whip, rang in the room.
Rather than check Anthony’s anger, it only served to ratchet it up a notch. “Really? You don’t think I have that right? I suck your cock. You fuck me until my arse is sore. I do have that right. That’s why you chose that hotel, isn’t it? Because it’s close to the tables.”
“You think you know goddamned everything,” Gabriel snarled, his gorgeous features twisted in rage. “But you don’t.”
“So I’m not correct? You don’t leave my bed to go to the damned tables?”
“No, I don’t,” Gabriel ground out.
Anthony threw up his hands. “How can you lie to me? I’ve watched you leave. Watched you walk down the bloody street.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the street outside his parlor window. “I know where your sister resides. Sarah’s town house isn’t south and east of here, but Cheapside is.”
“Bugger off, Anthony!” Gabriel grabbed his leather bag and strode from the bedchamber.
Of course. No answer, yet again, from Gabriel. It was all he could do not to scream under the force of the frustration and anger and disappointment filling every inch of his being.
Hands clenched at his sides, Anthony left the bedchamber. “Why the hell won’t you be honest with me?” he demanded to Gabriel’s back as the man crossed the parlor.
Gabriel’s answer was to slam the front door in his wake.
Chapter Twelve
The rapid beat of his footsteps echoed in the stairway, bouncing off the walls, as he made his way down to the first floor. His pulse slammed through his veins as he took the stairs two at a time, needing to get away. Away from Anthony. Away from everything. He shoved open the building’s front door. The instant the weak morning sun hit his face, he stopped, as if he’d barreled into a wall.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Gabriel blinked, yet he was blind to the sleek curricle coming down the street and the pair of gentlemen strolling along the opposite walkway. Blind to everything but the shock blanketing his senses.
A tremble began in his hands and worked its way up his arms. His nose stung, like briars digging into his skin. His lungs heaved for air, breath catching, stumbling, on each inhale.
It took all the effort within himself to hold back the onslaught of tears.
He wanted to crumple right there. Let his knees give out. Just fall to the stone step and let...let this noxious, excruciating agony—this absolute hell—tearing him up inside loose.
He’d yelled at Anthony. Actually raised his voice and shouted in anger.
God above, he’d done far more than that. Anthony had tried, he had been so patient with him, and still, Gabriel hadn’t been able to confess the truth. He’d used passion and lust to divert Anthony’s attention last night. Had used words of denial and anger this morning. Had done everything he could not to admit the truth. And in the process, had cost himself the one man whom he loved—
A massive wave of pain slammed into him, tightening his throat and seizing his muscles.
Dropping his head, Gabriel gasped for breath.
For many minutes, he simply focused on breathing. In and out. Didn’t think about anything else but drawing each breath in and letting it out.
The rattle of carriage wheels on the street reached his ears. Then the clomp of hooves. A conversation between females, the words indistinct but the voices definitely feminine. Then the muted drone of London, the bustle of people going about their day—a reminder that he was not alone, that he had the City as his audience.
Knowing he couldn’t stand there in front of Anthony’s building indefinitely without pulling unwanted attention onto himself, he forced his feet into action and went down the remaining stone steps.
As he turned onto the walkway, he had to stop himself from glancing up to the second floor, to Anthony’s parlor window. He couldn’t bear to see an empty window, to see the proof that he’d pushed—no, shoved—Anthony away.
His head felt full near to bursting, every word from Anthony and every word Gabriel had thrown at him swirled in his mind, bouncing against each other. Why had he said those things? Why? Why hadn’t he been able to stop himself?
What was wrong with him?
His chest ached. His soul ached. The need to turn on his heel, to run back to Anthony, nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted to feel Anthony’s arms wrap around him. Needed the man’s comforting embrace. His calming presence. The flash of his smile, the sound of his teasing chuckle. The press of Anthony’s lips against his.
But he would never feel those soft lips again.
The piles upon piles of pound notes he’d lost at the gambling tables were nothing compared to losing Anthony. And each loss had been his own doing. His decision. He’d thrown those coins onto the table until his pockets had been empty. He had begged for each of those loans. He had chosen to lie to Anthony instead of confessing the truth.
He’d chosen to run from Anthony instead of begging for his forgiveness.
The worst of it all? He knew why he’d chosen to lie. It had been a deliberate choice, even though he’d felt more akin to a cornered animal at the time. But he wasn’t a wild animal. He was a man and possessed the ability to choose. And he’d chosen deceit. He’d chosen denial. For with one truth would follow another and then another, until they were all out, every last one of them. All of them set before Anthony. And the prospect of that had scared him, absolutely terrified him to his bones, turning him into someone he barely recognized.
Pausing on a street corner, he waited for a carriage to pass. Then he looked across the street. Actually looked and processed what he saw.
The entrance to Hyde Park, the gates swung open revealing a broad lane lined with trees.
Without a conscious thought as to his destination, his feet had taken him to the Park—the one place in London where he could have a taste of the country.
The fashionable set didn’t stroll about the Park until later, and the young bucks would have galloped down its lanes hours ago. This time of day, he’d encounter the occasional governess or nurse overseeing their charges. People who would pay him no mind at all, leaving him as alone as he could be in London.
He crossed the street, and it was as if by simply walking through Hyde Park’s open gates that the bustle of London dimmed, giving way to the quiet that could only be found amongst acres of lawn and tall trees, their branches casting soothing shadows onto the lane.
For a long while, he merely followed the lane. With each step, the riotous mass filling his entire being began to ease just a tad. Just a bit. So when he came upon the Serpentine, the calming lull of the river begging him to pause, he no longer felt quite as close to losing all semblance of self-control. He found a bench beneath an oak tree and sat down, setting his leather bag on his lap.
A trio of ducks swam along the river, occasionally dipping a head beneath the water’s surface. Between the breaks in the trees, he watched as the sun crested in the sky and then began slowly making its way back down to the horizon. In too few hours, night would fall. He had nowhere to go, and he did not have Anthony to turn to.
A feeling of absolute and complete loss swept over him.
He dropped his head into his hands, misery welling up anew inside of him, pricking the corners of his eyes.
Anthony had been like a beacon, a ray of light. A safe haven. When he was with him, he could forget all of his worries, all of the guilt, the shame. Anthony had made him feel whole, and without him...
A sob shook his throat.
And without Anthony, he felt like less than a penniless, pathetic excuse of a man. He felt irrevocably broken.
I want him back. I need him back.
But I don’t deserve him.
He never had.
And he would never have Anthony again. Never again be blessed with his kisses, his touch.
Never hold Anthony again.
Desperation grabbed hold of Gabriel. Maybe if he went back now. Maybe Anthony would still be at his apartments. Maybe if he explained, if he apologized—
No. He didn’t have a chance, couldn’t ask anything of Anthony. Not yet. Not while the massive pile of debts hung over his head.
Those goddamned debts. Christ, he should not have even gone to Anthony’s last night. What if those thugs had followed him there and knocked on Anthony’s door?
If Anthony would have been harmed or injured because of him...
The possible repercussions jolted through him.
No, he could not stay in London.
There was only one place left for him to go.
And there was only one thing left for him to do.
A harsh wince crossed his face. Resistance welled up within but he fought it down. He shouldn’t continue to run. He shouldn’t continue to hide. He needed to stop taking the coward’s road. He had landed himself into this situation and he needed to dig himself out of it if he wanted any shot in hell of earning back Anthony’s trust.
It was the only way.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he sat upright. Then reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the few coins there and counted them. Should be enough for a stagecoach to Derbyshire and perhaps a small meal or two along the way. And
he had a bit of money at the country house. He wasn’t completely penniless. Back before he was counting every halfpence, figuring if he had enough for a decent wager, he would leave a few coins in a drawer here and there. He had a bit of money at the house, enough to put food in his belly while he set about digging.
He took a deep, fortifying breath, then picked up his leather bag and stood from the bench.
* * *
Rain tapped lightly against the study’s windows. Clouds hung heavy in the sky, muting the afternoon sun and casting the room in soft shadows. Yet Gabriel hadn’t bothered to light a candle. Hadn’t paused to see to that task. The moment he’d walked through the front door of his country house, he had gone directly to this room, sat behind the desk and pulled a sheet of paper from the drawer, resolve filling his entire being.
Well, that wasn’t quite correct. Resolve had driven him to his desk, driven him to pick up a pencil. Driven him to write the words he should have spoken aloud. As to what filled his entire being...
Regret and shame. Remorse and searing pain. A heavy, dense mixture that weighed down his soul. There wasn’t even an ounce of hope. He absolutely refused to allow himself to hope.
His pencil scratched across the paper, the words flowing seamlessly from his heart to his hand.
Minutes passed, the page filling.
A pause. A harsh wince.
Pain ripped across his chest.
He took a moment. Took a long, slow breath and then released it, the air shuddering and catching in his throat.
He wanted to write so much more. To explain, to plead. To beg. To throw himself to his knees, to offer up his very self. To lay his heart bare. To write the words he’d felt for so long. Yet...
With a shake of his head, he signed his name at the bottom of the page.
He’d been a coward for too long. He’d run from himself for too long. The journey from London to Derbyshire had given him plenty of time to sort out his thoughts, to see himself for what he had allowed himself to become, and to decide what sort of man he wanted to be. Anthony deserved to hear those three words directly from him, from Gabriel’s own mouth. To have Gabriel stand before him, declare himself. To own everything in his heart. That was the only way. And then, everything would be in Anthony’s hands. Gabriel could only hope—