Indulgence 2: One Glimpse by Lydia Gastrell

Author:Lydia Gastrell [Gastrell, Lydia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBT; Historical; Regency
Publisher: Loose Id LLC
Published: 2015-03-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Shock

John awoke to the sound of water being poured. By the time he opened one crusty eye, a servant was already pulling the door closed behind him. John rolled over to bury his grubby face into the pillow, only to realize that his head was not on a pillow. And he was still wearing his shirt and waistcoat. And his breeches were gone.

Sam.

His eyes flew open, and he scrambled from the bed. As soon as his bare feet touched the floor, his head started pounding. It was not his first experience with too much drink and unlikely to be the last. It was the first time, however, that his throbbing head failed to put him in a bad mood. How could he possibly be in a bad mood?

“By God, Sam,” he muttered aloud. For the merest second he wondered if he had dreamed it all, but the state of his clothes alone put that idea out of his head. It had happened. He remembered it in sporadic scenes, like seeing people move behind rain-spattered windows, but it was enough to have the moments flooding back to him. Sam had touched him, undressed him, had dropped to his knees and—

“Bloody hell!” John hurriedly shed the rumpled remains of his clothing. At the washbowl he splashed frigid water on his face and scrubbed with a linen. He had to get dressed and find Sam. They had much to discuss, namely why Sam had kept the truth from him. Despite his liquor-clouded brain, John did not for a moment think last night was a fluke or a moment of reckless curiosity encouraged by too much drink. No man dropped to his knees and sucked another man’s cock if it was not already in his nature, regardless of how much brandy he put down.

And not with such skill.

Even if Sam’s deception bothered John, and it did, it still stood second to his new goal. He was going to get Sam alone today, somehow, somewhere, and he was going to kiss him until he was a whimpering, incoherent mess. The thought of it made his blood rush, which was not the smartest thing for his headache.

He dressed in another of the outmoded suits he kept for the country and headed downstairs. From the light of the crisp, cloudless day, he guessed it to be around ten in the morning. If the others had kept drinking after he and Sam left, they had likely not been up long.

“Darny. Was wondering if you were alive up there,” Mosley said as John entered the breakfast room. He was dressed for hunting and looked as if he had already been out. Michael and Fletcher were the only others present.

“Take a closer look,” Fletcher said with a chuckle. “I’m not sure he is alive.”

John had not bothered to shave and suspected he looked like death. Seeing that Sam was not there, his inclination was to go search for him, but it might raise questions. So he went to the sideboard and piled food he did not want onto a plate and took a seat.

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