“Fine. Quite fine. It will do me better than another evening at home, at least,” John said. “Have you seen Weir by any chance? I’m hoping I can lure him into a rematch, maybe encourage everyone to reset their wagers on the race.”
“I saw him in the card room not ten minutes ago,” Richard said. “I’m sure he’ll agree. He didn’t seem happy about a forfeit loss.”
“No, I would guess not.” John shrugged. He was ready to take his leave when another idea occurred to him. He knew he should leave it alone but felt compelled to see Shaw. “Also, did you notice if Shaw is here? Eh, Sir Samuel Shaw?”
Richard frowned, and Brenleigh raised his brow in surprise.
“Sam?” Brenleigh tilted his head. “Well, yes. I saw him earlier in the ballroom.”
It was the second time John had heard Brenleigh call Shaw by his first name, yet they were clearly not friends. Strange.
“Thank you,” John said, shutting off any inquiries. He was about to leave when he felt the soft tap of a fan on his arm.
“Lord Darnish,
there
you are. What on earth have you been about these last several days?” Lady Katherine Crowl said, extending her hand. “My nephew won’t stop whining about some wager he says he lost because of you.”
“An oversight soon to be corrected, Lady Crowl.” John bowed over her hand, then glanced at Richard and Brenleigh. They both looked suddenly uncomfortable and gave John sly looks of sympathy. He did not have to wonder why for long.
“Well, since I have you, I recall that you have not been introduced to my youngest sister, Florence. A bright, amusing girl, quite the little conversationalist, you know. I don’t suppose you have already engaged yourself for the dinner set, have you?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve only just arrived and I actually did have the pleasure of meeting Miss Shaw at the—”
“Just arrived?” She laughed. “I hope you don’t set a new trend for fashionable lateness, otherwise no one will eat dinner until one in the morning.”
That he had fallen into her trap was proof he was far too distracted. Usually he would come to a ball and immediately promise his attendance to every young lady whom he was sure had no genuine interest in him, but he had been too slow this time. No matter. Perhaps a half hour of dancing would clear his mind. Then he could locate Weir and then, perhaps, Shaw. Although, why on earth he would want to do that, John was not certain. It was not as if they had anything else to say or that Shaw would in any way welcome the encounter—
“Kat. I was wondering where you had gone.”
John turned with a start. Shaw stopped next to Lady Crowl—how could John have forgotten she was Shaw’s sister!—and made a smile that could not have looked more forced. He was also breathing heavily.
“Sam?” Lady Crowl huffed. “I left Florence in your charge. What are you doing?”
“She is dancing the current set with Fletcher,” Sam said, taking her arm as if they meant to leave.
“All well and good, but one of us needs to be there when the set ends. I swear, it is a good thing you have no daughters of your own.”
Richard made a sound like a cough, though more of a laugh to John’s ears. Brenleigh pressed his lips in a line, while Sam’s expression could have melted glass.
“Yes, so we should get back, then,” Sam said.
It did not escape John’s notice that Sam did not looked at him once, and he was surprised by how much it stung.
“Of course.” Lady Crowl brightened. “I was just telling Lord Darnish about Florence. You can come with us, my lord, and be introduced. I’m sure Florence can spare a dance for you.”
“No,” Sam snapped. Everyone turned to stare at him, all but John. He cast his gaze somewhere over Shaw’s shoulder and hoped he would be able to leave without betraying his humiliation.
Please don’t make it obvious. Don’t raise suspicion.
“Sam, what on earth are you about?” Lady Crowl said between her teeth.
“It’s, eh, Flor. She’s already engaged for all the sets, that’s all.” Sam pulled on her arm.
“What?” Lady Crowl scoffed. “I’m sure you’re just mistaken, dear. In any case, that won’t keep us from making an introduction, will it?”
Brenleigh and Richard looked at John and Shaw in turns, no doubt wondering what was happening. Of course, John did not have to wonder. Shaw wouldn’t want him to dance with his sister or be anywhere near her. Someone like him.
A filthy sodomite.
John’s stomach twisted, and he released a pathetic sounding grunt.
“My lord, are you ill?” Lady Crowl placed a gloved hand on his arm. “Forgive me, but— Oh! But you look white as a sheet.”
“I think I’ll take some air. Excuse me.” The words ran together in a mush. He had to get away. If this was the way it was going to be, he would have to avoid Shaw from here on out. It would be too easy for people to notice and start asking questions.
He saw the disapproving looks on Brenleigh on Richard’s faces, both directed at Shaw, as he left. The worry that they might start asking Shaw questions sent another spasm through John’s gut. He avoided the main rooms and headed for a pair of draped glass doors.
The night was chilly and wet, which at least warranted him privacy on the dark terrace. He took a place under an eave and pressed his back against the cold stone. He should not be surprised. And yet— Damn it all, he
was
surprised! Shaw had not said very much to him the night before, and perhaps John had filled in the blanks how he pleased, but he had left with the overwhelming impression that everything would be all right. The way Shaw had spoken to him had been almost reassuring, friendly.
Stupid fool.
He rolled his head back and closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry about that.”
John turned with a start, striking the backs of his calves against a stone urn. Hands reached out and grabbed him before he fell over it.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Sam whispered. “I thought you would have heard me come through the door.”
“I wasn’t paying attention.” Recovering his stance, John made to smooth the front of his jacket and touched Sam’s hand where he still held his lapels. Warm, smooth hands.
Shaw snatched his hands back. “I’m sorry I—”
“Please, no. I’m sorry. I forgot Lady Crowl was your sister. If I had known, I would have, um, made my leave sooner. I’ll avoid her, make sure she doesn’t try to introduce me to you sister again. You needn’t worry.”
“Worry?”
“Yes. About me being near them. I promise I will avoid it in the future, just please don’t cut me publicly. People will notice and ask questions, and I—”
“No. No, you don’t understand.” Shaw took a step forward, “I thought that you would think… Oh, I made quite a mess of that, didn’t I? Kat is playing matchmaker for our youngest sister, and, well, when she went off to snare you, I was afraid you would get the wrong idea.”
“What idea?” John could already feel his nerves calming.
“It wasn’t even a full day ago that you thought I was blackmailing you. Then tonight my sister corners you with an obvious matchmaking attempt?” Shaw snorted a laugh. “I was worried you might see it as something intentional.”
“More blackmail, you mean,” John said flatly.
“Yes.” Shaw sighed. “The youngest daughter of a baronet managing to marry a viscount? Quite a catch. But I handled it terribly.”
“No cause for alarm, I think,” John said. “I know Richard isn’t a gossip, and Brenleigh doesn’t strike me as the type.”
“He isn’t.” Shaw’s voice instantly turned hard.
Well.
“Thank you for clarifying, though.” John drew a breath and steeled himself. His pride twisted and rebelled at what he was to say next, but his worry overshadowed any pride. “Still, I do intent to keep my distance. I can understand why you would be, um, loath to have me near any of your family. I will try my best to avoid anyone who—”
“Stop that,” Shaw snapped, then covered his face with his hands and groaned. “Please just stop talking.”
John clenched his hands at his sides, unsure of what was to come. Then Shaw lowered his hands, and the faint light coming through the windows lit the distress on his face.
“Don’t talk like that,” Shaw said again. “I would never ask you or order you to stay away from my family or anyone else. Why would I? There is nothing wrong with you.”
John gawked at him. Shaw took another few steps toward him to stand at less than arm’s length. He sighed again, as if frustrated, and John smelled the distinctive tang of champagne.
“There is nothing wrong with you.” Shaw emphasized each whispered word. “There is so damn little happiness in this world, why should it be a crime to find some if you aren’t hurting anyone? You’re just different. You aren’t harming anyone. And please,
please
don’t ever speak to me like that again, like you’re afraid of me. It’s cruel that anyone should have to feel so afraid that they would debase themselves. I know. I once—” Shaw bit down on his lip. John examined as much of his face as the light would allow. His color was high, and his emerald eyes glistened with a curtain of moisture.
It wasn’t until John finally blinked that he noticed his own throat tightening. Was he really hearing all this? “How can you say that?” John gasped. “No one thinks like that. No one. If people knew about me—”
“
I
think like that. I feel as if we are repeating ourselves here. I told you this last night. Or perhaps I didn’t?” He frowned as if trying to remember, then shook his head. “Listen. I, too, eh, I’m…”
“What?”
Another long pause, and then Shaw closed his eyes. “Never mind. I’m too deep in my cups, and I’m rambling.”
John released a nervous chuckle, and Shaw responded with a smile that made John’s breath catch in his throat.
Does he know how different he looks when he smiles?
“I really should be getting back. It would save me a grand scolding from my sister if you would let me introduce you to Florence and secure a dance with her. Under the clear agreement that you will not be marrying her, of course.”
A little smirk lifted the corner of Shaw’s lips. Combined with the heady unreality of everything else Shaw had said, John could no longer hold himself. He burst out laughing until he had to wipe his eyes with the backs of his hands. Shaw grinned as if trying to stop his own laughter.
“Agreed,” John said as he recovered. “Truly.”
“Thank you.” Shaw made a start toward the doors, then turned back. His expression became serious again. “Just so there are no more misunderstandings, my lord, I will never tell anyone under any circumstances. It is not contingent upon anything. If you cut me on the street tomorrow, I would still never say anything.”
John felt it again, the same unfathomable urge that had almost overtaken him in Shaw’s library. He wanted to wrap his arms around this man and bury his face against his neck. It was gratitude and relief, yes, but something else too. John was beginning to think that he had never met anyone like Samuel Shaw.
“Please call me John.”
Shaw blinked. “What?”
“I think we are beyond formalities.” John extended his hand and cringed when it shook.
Eyes still wide, Shaw gripped his hand. “John. Please call me Sam.”
Shaw’s hands were warm and smooth, and John detected a faint callus on the inside of his middle finger.
From a pen. He spends a lot of time writing.
Shaw—no, Sam—cleared his throat and released John’s hand. He cursed himself for a fool, then nodded toward the door. “Before your sister hunts you down, I think?”
“Yes, we had better.”
They made their way back to the main hall without, it seemed, anyone noting they had come from the terrace. They were not so lucky to avoid Richard and Brenleigh’s attention, however. Once entering the ballroom, Richard gave John a questioning look from across the way, but all John could think to do was shake his head and smile. Richard narrowed his eyes.
Wonderful.
The last thing John needed was a suspicious Richard Avery.
“I’ll tell you a little something about my sister to make conversation with her more pleasant,” Sam said with a smile.
“More pleasant?” John said with surprise. “Is she not very personable?”
Sam laughed, and John had the sneaking suspicion champagne was playing a role in it. “No, no. Flor is my favorite sister.”
“Then what do I need to know to make conversation ‘pleasant’?” John could not help but smile at Sam’s own silly grin.
“She is very sensible, intelligent, and will mock you if she thinks you are being insincere. Lord help you if you tell her she is pretty.”
“What? A lady who doesn’t wish to be called pretty?” John smiled, then smiled even more because he was smiling. He was smiling and laughing with someone who knew, and how could that be? How could this be real? It was starting to feel like a mad, wonderful dream.
Relax, old boy.
They made their way through the crush of people standing at the edge of the ballroom. Being taller than Sam by several inches, John saw the problem first. He knew Sam spotted it when he stopped in his tracks and nearly caused a group of giggling debutantes to collide with him. Across the floor, sitting on one of the ornate little sofas, was Lady Crowl, Miss Shaw, and Evers.
Sam muttered an impressive string of curses.
“If you don’t get on well with Evers, rest assured that you are not the only one,” John whispered. He had heard enough about the incident at the wedding breakfast.
“What? No, it’s nothing.” Sam was not remotely convincing.
They made their way over, and John bowed to Lady Crowl as she sprang up to greet him. Evers and Miss Shaw stood as well.
“Lord Darnish.” Lady Crowl extended her hand, though John did not miss the questioning look she shot Sam. “I hope you are feeling better.”
“Quite, ma’am. There is nothing like an episode of ill health to steal one’s manners. Forgive me?” He smiled and knew it would have the desired effect. It always did.
“Manners. What nonsense.” She waved the idea away. “You must meet my sister, Florence.”
The girl stepped forward, and John immediately saw why Sam had advised him against making any false flatteries. She was the sort of plain, shapeless girl who would not make it through life without being constantly reminded of her flaws