Read A Private Gentleman Online
Authors: Heidi Cullinan
trees and shrubs as he always did, but he kept glancing forward, as if he could
not wait to arrive.
It was with some irony that Albert had chosen to show him something
special, because today Michael was tired and had a headache. Rodger had made
him a present of the newest installment from Dickens, presenting it at night
when the only place available to read with gaslight was in Rodger’s office. As
he’d read, Michael could hear the sounds of other people’s pleasure. Normally
he would have ignored it, but it only made him think of how he received none,
and so he’d gone to bed to read by candlelight. Which had strained his eyes. He
should be wearing his glasses, and he had been wearing them, right up until
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Albert had come into the parlor to fetch him. Without them his vision this
afternoon was beyond horrible.
Well, he would pretend he could share in Albert’s delight, as always.
They came to a large, half-finished glass structure, and they were the only
carriage pulling up to the door. Every other vehicle was a wagon clearly
designed for service, mostly builders’ carts. Also interesting was that while the
scene outside was pure chaos, it didn’t seem to upset Albert in the slightest. In
fact, he was beaming as he lightly touched Michael’s elbow and motioned him
on to the door. Once there, a workman doffed his cap and bowed as he held the
door open for them.
“Good afternoon, Lord George.”
Michael glanced at Albert, saw the eagerness blooming brighter and
brighter, saw his eyes light up, saw all the nervousness slip away, and even
without being told, Michael knew. This place, however much it might belong to
the crown, was Albert’s. These were
his
gardens.
“The R-Royal So-So-So-Society overs-s-sees these gardens,” Albert explained
as he led Michael past builders and toward another door leading into a
greenhouse. “It sh-should be open to the p-p-public s-soon.” He glanced at
Michael, eyes dancing. “I th-thought you mi-mi-mi-might like an early t-t-t-
tour.”
Michael smiled back. “Of course. Thank you.”
Albert briefly clasped Michael’s hand. Then he nodded toward the door, let
go and led the way. Michael followed.
The small door was clumsily made, clearly there for temporary purposes
only during construction, but it opened into a huge conservatory made entirely
of glass and filled, Michael surmised from the loam-and-floral scent that assailed
his senses, with plants and flowers. The air was hot and moist, a stark contrast to
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the cold out of doors. The room was filled with sound as well, a sonorous
symphony of hisses and clicks and whirrs, of drips and drops of water and
chatters of metal as pipes shifted and banged against glass and pots.
And color—Michael was blind to detail, but everywhere around him was
color, in bright patches and in quick slashes that swayed in the breeze they’d
made by opening and closing the door. Reds and oranges that glowed against
more shades of green than Michael had known existed.
Among them moved the tall, well-shaped dark figure that was Albert, whose
face, when it came into the partial focus that was the best Michael could do
today, looked at him with wicked delight.
“B-beautiful, isn’t it?” Albert’s voice was hungry and delightfully rough.
Michael wrapped his arms around himself, blinking against the light and his
headache. “Do you work here as well? I mean,” he amended quickly, “do you
work with the plants?”
“Y-yes. I h-help with acqu-qu-qu—” Albert sighed, then shook his head.
“Acquisitions?” Michael offered helpfully. He tried to ignore the way his
heart beat faster when Albert smiled at him and nodded.
“I h-h-elp with scheduling m-m-m-maintenance too.” His attention had
begun to wander back to the greenhouse, and as he led them deeper into the
building, he paused to adjust levers or knobs and sometimes stopped for several
minutes to record notes in leather journals kept near the plants. When they came
to another door to a smaller section of the greenhouse, he grinned devilishly at
Michael as he withdrew a key from his pocket.
“We k-keep the orchids here,” he said, his stammer almost invisible in his
excitement. As they stepped forward, he took Michael’s hand, his grip strong
and sure.
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Given the build-up, Michael was disappointed. The room was actually quite
sparse, housing only a few plants on three shelves off to one side, and between
the distance and the glass which covered them—glass misty with condensation—
Michael couldn’t understand what the fuss was about. He tried to cover up his
reaction. “Rare, are they? Prized flowers?”
Even without his spectacles, Michael could read the censure in Albert’s
countenance. “In f-fact, orchids g-grow on every c-continent in the w-world. B-
but without soil.” He crossed to one of the glass jars, stroking it reverently. “And
w-we think they m-may be c-crossbred l-like n-no other fl-flower.” He turned
back to Michael, his own disappointment clear in his tone. “Y-you d-don’t find
them b-beautiful?”
Michael opened his mouth, ready to lie, to wax rhapsodic on the beauty of
the fuzzy pink and white blobs in front of him. He had done well enough all
week, feigning that he could see the wonders Albert described. But as he stared
at the orchids, the words stuck in his throat. He tried to lean forward, tried to get close enough to actually see. Any other day it would have worked, but today the
blooms faded in and out of focus, overlapping one another, aggravating his
headache.
He was tired of it, tired of lying, tired of being surrounded by Albert’s joys
and not being able to share. Which was why, his judgment repressed by a
pounding head and a foul mood, he confessed the truth.
“I can’t see them,” he said.
He could see, just, Albert’s frown. “Wh-Wh-What do you m-m-m-mean?”
“I mean that I can’t see them.” He gestured vaguely at the jars. “I’m horribly
nearsighted on the best of days, and today I have a headache that keeps me even
from pretending. I should very much like to see your flowers, my lord, but I
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can’t. I don’t like to advertise it, but I see so poorly I am practically blind. I can barely see where you are, let alone your flowers.”
He averted his eyes. He felt empty and very foolish and more exposed than
if he’d stood there naked with half the
ton
looking on.
A brush at his elbow made him startle, but the tender touch that followed
gentled him again.
“Y-Y-You need sp-sp-sp-spectacles,” Albert said, his voice further gentling.
Michael felt himself blush. “I have spectacles.” Without thinking, he touched
his vest pocket where they lay hidden. “But I look ridiculous in them.”
Albert laughed, and the sound combined with the soft massage of his thumb
against his arm made Michael’s knees go weak. “P-P-Put them on, M-M-
Michael.”
Michael tried to pull away from Albert’s touch but ended up leaning into
him slightly instead. “No. I don’t want to look ridiculous, not today.”
Not with
you.
Albert stepped closer. Michael shut his eyes as he inhaled the sweet, familiar
scent of Albert and shaving soap.
“Please.”
Michael started to tell him no but said instead, “Kiss me.”
Neither of them moved. Both Albert and Michael looked at each other in
complete surprise, though at least in Michael’s case, there was a bit of terror as
well. The words hung between them, impossible to take back. What was wrong
with him? Why had he said that? That wasn’t what he meant.
Except he had. He wanted a kiss. He wanted a kiss desperately, and if he put
on his spectacles, certainly Albert would never think of kissing him again.
Kiss me. Kiss me.
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“Kiss me.” He meant to speak the words this time, but they still startled him,
terrified him. He tried to look alluring, tried to play coy lover, but he felt for all the world as he had that first time at school he’d looked at one of the older boys
and longed for just this sort of thing. His hands were sweaty, and he couldn’t
make himself move, could only grip the edge of the shelf behind him and wait,
barely breathing, to see what happened next.
What happened was that Albert placed his hands on top of Michael’s and
bent toward his lips.
Michael shut his eyes and leaned in to meet him.
Soft. Albert’s lips were so soft, and the breath of his gentle exhale so hot and
full of his spice. Such a sweet, almost innocent kiss, much more innocent than
either of them deserved, and it made Michael ache and his head spin. When
Albert’s hands traveled up his arms to his neck, Michael tipped his head to the
side and tried to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth, but Albert only nipped
gently, at first his top lip, then his bottom. Michael whimpered, and he felt Albert
smile, brushing their lips again briefly before his tongue stole out and tickled his
skin, and then his teeth. Michael’s knees gave out, and Albert held him in place
by pressing their pelvises together as his hands slid from Michael’s neck onto his
waistcoat…and into his pocket, where they found his glasses, plucked them out
and whisked them away. When Michael cried out and tried to reclaim them,
Albert stepped back out of his reach.
Still dizzy, Michael righted himself and aimed an angry finger at Albert.
“That was a devil’s trick,” he whispered.
Albert only smiled wryly and held out the spectacles, dangling them from
his fingers. “Wh-Wh-Why will you n-not wear them? You p-p-prefer not to see?”
Michael’s cock was pounding as hard as his pulse now, and as he knew
neither would get release, he lost his temper. “My lord, I make my living by my
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looks. How many whores have you met with glasses thicker than most
windowpanes?”
He doubted he’d have been able to read Albert’s face even if he could see it.
It made him angry, and he would have stormed out, but he couldn’t leave his
glasses. He’d fallen asleep before he’d finished the Dickens.
“Wh-Wh-Why d-did you ask m-m-me to k-k-kiss you?” Albert asked at last.
“Because you haven’t kissed me all week,” Michael shot back.
Albert’s reply was measured, careful. “You w-w-wanted me to?”
“Yes.” Michael folded his arms over his chest. “I did.”
Albert took a step forward, his blurry form coming into partial focus. “H-
How m-many c-clients h-have y-you m-met with s-s-s-such a c-c-clumsy st-st-st-
stammer?”
Heat raced up Michael’s cheeks. “You’re different,” he whispered.
“S-S-So are you,” Albert whispered back.
Don’t fall in love with him.
Rodger’s words rose up in faint echo, a last
warning.
Too late,
Michael admitted, frozen in place as Albert lifted Michael’s glasses and arranged them carefully on his face.
Repulsed as he was by the idea of anyone, let alone Albert, seeing him in his
spectacles, Michael couldn’t help himself as he stared ahead, watching Albert
come fully, sharply into focus. After a world of softness, it was always strange to
see the edges and angles his glasses brought him, but to behold Albert with such
vivid clarity captured him and held him in place. He could see the line of his
nose. The detail of his eyebrows. The circles of his irises. The tiny cut above his
lip.
His lips. Coming closer once again.
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This time when they kissed it went deep instantly, and Albert ground his
own hard cock against Michael’s. When Albert broke away, Michael cried out in
despair, but Albert only reached over and locked the door before taking Michael
back into his arms, resuming the kiss with enthusiasm.
When Albert turned him to the wall and pressed him against it, Michael
trembled briefly. Albert slowed and nuzzled his jaw.
“W-We can st-stop,” he whispered.
“I don’t want to stop.” Michael’s hands were shaking. He wanted to sob.
“Why am I like this? I don’t understand. And why are you so kind about it?”
Albert laughed into his neck. “I d-don’t m-mind.”
Michael’s answering laugh was hollow. “You don’t mind throwing a small
fortune at me so you could drive me around London and show me trees? That I
can’t see properly?”
Albert lifted his head and looked at Michael. With his glasses on, he could
see the subtle play in his eyes much more clearly, could watch the walls go down
as he prepared to confess something too. “I w-would l-like t-to t-take y-you s-
somewhere b-b-better. B-But I am a p-p-poor escort.” He ran his index finger
sadly down Michael’s cheek. “Wh-Where w-would you h-have m-me take you?