Mystery at Skeffield Manor (steampunk mystery gay romance) by Hollis Shiloh

Author:Hollis Shiloh [Shiloh, Hollis]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Spare Words Press
Published: 2014-12-20T05:00:00+00:00

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One day Gareth Collins came upon me in the reading room sitting just like that, and he said, "You'll hurt your spine."

I straightened up quickly, like a guilty schoolboy caught in some misdeed. "What?" I said automatically, looking at him. I had been watching out the window while work was being done. The book in my hands closed, snapping shut, as if I wanted to hide it from Gareth, although of course I didn't care if he saw what I read. I cared more if he saw that I wasn't.

He gave me a faint smile. "Your spine. You'll hurt it if you can't sit up straight." He gestured to the window seat. "Do you want me to toss you a pillow?"

I smiled at last, and slumped a little in relaxation. My heart still beat a little harder than I liked at the surprise, though. Like a true invalid (or hypochondriac), I worried very much about the signals of weakness my body sent me. And it was so difficult sometimes to tell whether I was being overly careful or not. Could I ignore this pain and put it down to indigestion, or did it signal a turn for the worse? Had I overexerted, or was this natural tiredness? Was I making myself sicker, and going to die soon? It was so difficult to judge. I could never just ignore pain and tiredness, push through them with a soldierly, brusque laugh. No, I had to always be aware: weighing, careful.

Gareth seemed to see something in my expression. He came over to me, a nicer smile on his face. It was by far the nicest I'd ever seen from him. He usually seemed distracted, even a little cold. He'd talked to me that day when he was ill, and asked me about the people living and working here. I'd told him all I could, and it seemed to help him. But we'd spoken little since, and never alone.

Now his smile was a gentle thing, sweet and soft, as he walked over. He was a tall rangy man, sparely built but clearly stronger than I. Instead of tossing it, he handed me a pillow, or rather, started to. "Here, lean forward, I'll prop it behind you." He put a hand on my shoulder, and I moved at his touch, letting him guide me forward then back, the pillow now tucked comfortably behind me. His hand lingered briefly, as if he either didn't notice he was touching me or didn't mind.

It made me feel calmer, slightly tingly—and uncomfortable. Because I shouldn't be reacting to any hands but Wes's. I meant to be as faithful to him as he did to me. And of course these were all stupid thoughts, even the flash of guilt, because a sweet smile and a little help with a pillow didn't mean anything. I was an idiot to read something into it.

"Do you want company?" Gareth said, nodding to my book. "You don't appear to be engrossed in the reading." His eyes were smiling softly and knowingly at me.

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