A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (17 page)

“She should pick someone who’s interested in her,” Louis
said crankily. “Henry isn’t interested.”

“Is that so?” Albert cocked his head, much like his twin.

“Not that she isn’t very pretty,” Henry hurried to say,
embarrassed and blushing. “I…I just need to concentrate on school.”

“You need to work on Latin, don’t you?” Albert said
cheerfully. “You’re the worst in class by far.”

Henry thought it very unsporting for Albert to bring this
up, but supposed he’d opened the door to it with his mention of school.

“Well,
I’m
not going to tell her you’re not
interested,” Albert said, rather dashing Henry’s hopes. “She won’t take it
well, and she won’t take no for an answer in any case. When my sister wants
something, she gets it.”

Henry had this in mind when he faced Abigail again on
Thursday. He did his best to be very accommodating of Abigail while committing
himself to nothing. She was in the midst of trying to invite him to tea on
Sunday after the ball, when Mr. Gill entered the ballroom and clapped his
hands, and Henry decided to consider her invitation unissued.

They were put in their final places for the ball. Mr. Gill
did not mix up the pairs any further, but he did switch entire couples from one
set to another. Louis and Millie Angstrom, with their sub-par performance, were
removed summarily from Henry’s set and replaced with a boy called Frank Howard
and his partner Lacey Dormand. Happily, Lacey was a good dancer, as was Frank,
and Henry was a little relieved that Louis would not be there to spoil the
effect for the final performance, and then felt bad for thinking such a thing.

After the lesson, Abigail held onto his hand longer than he
would have preferred, but she seemed less interested in tormenting him with her
attentions now than she had been to this point, and he felt a little relieved.
Either she was understanding him a little better, or else she was losing
interest, and either one was fine with him. Any mitigation of the terrifying
friskiness she had displayed thus far was welcome. She
was
a good
dancer, though, no matter what, and he was grateful for that. While this ball
would only peripherally be his own debut, he had come to realize it was
important to him to make a good showing. If they weren’t going to be able to
dance together, he wanted Martin to be proud of him, proud to have him for a
master.

It had been a relief not to see Louis’ angry scowl and
obvious hurt feelings anytime he happened to glance to his left in their set.
It was most evident that Abigail had never had any interest in Louis
whatsoever, and never thought of him at all unless he was standing directly in
front of her seeking her approval. Henry thought Louis deserved better than
that, of course, but he also felt it was entirely up to Abigail who she would
show an interest in, and Henry certainly had no influence with her.

Secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to see her
again for five more days, Henry was able to wish Abigail a fonder farewell than
he might have offered otherwise, and went to the boys’ cloakroom with a spring
in his step. Martin waited there with his boots and the smile that made him
swoon. Louis was also waiting for him, Peter at his side.

“You make such a picture out on the floor, Sir,” Martin
offered shyly. “You move with such skill. You should feel proud of yourself,
Sir, really.” He tied Henry’s laces and Henry offered him a hand up. Henry
pulled him to his feet and held onto his hand a fraction of a second longer
than any other boy might do.

“Do you like that?” Louis asked, his tone snide. “Having him
fawn over you all the time?”

“What?” Henry was taken aback. His instinct was to protect
Martin from whatever vitriol Louis might spew, and he stepped in between them.

“If Peter was always telling me how great he thought I was,
I’d think he was a lying suck-up,” Louis said.

It seemed pointless to address the specifics of Louis’
complaint, since this was all about Abigail anyway. “Leave Martin alone,” Henry
cautioned. “Leave
me
alone, for that matter. Whatever’s gotten into you,
I’m damned sure it’s not my fault.”

Louis’ angry façade cracked a little. “No one else’s slave
is doling out the compliments like that, is all,” he explained. “It seems
phony.”

No one else had a slave who was in love with him, perhaps.
No one else had a slave as generous and devoted. Besides, Martin didn’t tell
lies. He might sometimes tell the truth in such a way that Henry’s feelings
were spared, but he wouldn’t
lie
.

“But I
am
a good dancer,” Henry pointed out as they
left the cloakroom and headed for the street door. “It would be phony if he was
praising me for being good at Latin.”

Louis shrugged. “True.” He was quiet as they walked to the
omnibus stop, quiet as they stood waiting. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry for
trying to start something with you, Henry. I’m just sore about being switched
out of your set and into one with a bunch of cretins. Besides, me and that Miss
Angstrom are not getting along
at all
.”

“That’s too bad. What’s the problem?” Henry thought he knew
what the problem was, though: Louis was a horrible dancer.

“She’s picky about every little thing,” Louis complained,
screwing up his face in annoyance, “and she reeks of violets. She wears as much
perfume as a whore!”

Louis continued to complain about Miss Angstrom and the boys
in his new set as they rode the omnibus uptown, all four of them standing in
the aisle of the crowded carriage. Martin leaned against Henry, just light
pressure along his side, and smiled at him when he caught his eye. They parted
ways with Louis and Peter at the Blackwell gate, Louis seeming in perhaps a
slightly better mood after airing so many petty grievances.

“I wanted to thank you, Sir,” Martin offered in a low voice,
“for sticking up for me with Mr. Briggs.” He took the front steps two at a time
and rang the bell. As Henry came to stand beside him, he said, “I would never
give you false praise, Sir, you know this.”

“I
do
know,” Henry assured him.

Billy opened the door for them and took their hats, and they
went upstairs.

“Do you have homework, Henry?”

Henry shook his head. “I don’t want to do it right now,” he
said. “Come here.” He held his arms open and Martin came to him smiling,
melting into his embrace. They kissed with an increasing sense of urgency and
fell across the bed, their boots dangling off the side. They struggled out of
their school jackets and tossed them to the floor. Martin pushed Henry onto his
back and sat astride his hips and began to unbutton his own waistcoat.

“You do yours, too,” he encouraged.

“Promise me something,” Henry began, reaching for his
buttons. “Promise you won’t stop saying nice things about me, even if everyone
thinks it’s peculiar.”

Martin laughed, a short, dismissive bark. “Let them think
what they want, Henry. If
you
want me to stop, I will, but I won’t stop
on Mr. Briggs’ account.”

“I like to hear the things you say, Martin, really. The only
people who’ve ever noticed anything good about me are Nurse, Timothy and you,”
Henry told him, which wasn’t much of an exaggeration. People had low
expectations of Henry beyond being decorative, and consequently didn’t seem to
notice his few triumphs. Even Father, with all of his plans for Henry’s future,
didn’t expect Henry to achieve much. It wasn’t so much that Martin believed
Henry was destined for greatness, but that he made Henry feel he was worthwhile
exactly as he was. Martin didn’t lie to him, he was quite confident of that,
and it made every compliment, every word of praise, seem valuable.

Shirtless, Martin bent and kissed him. “Can I get on top? I
want to give you special service, if you don’t mind.”

Henry snorted, amused. “Do what you like,” he said. “I won’t
stop you.” He helped Martin get him out of his clothes, but once he was naked
he lay back and let Martin have his way.

Martin got the bottle and oiled them both. Just his hand
around Henry’s prick felt amazing. It seemed a miracle that he had found this
person, that he could feel this good every day. This didn’t happen to everyone,
after all; it hadn’t happened to his friends. Henry was so lucky. He had needed
Martin so much, and he probably didn’t deserve him, but he
had
him. He
would always have him.

“Does this feel good to you, Henry?” Martin was breathing
hard, his cheeks pink, as he raised and lowered himself over Henry’s cock,
working its length with sinuous movements of his hips.

“It feels incredible,” Henry assured him. In fact, it felt
too good to just lie there and take it. He put his hands on Martin’s hips and
planted his feet on the bed and held Martin still while he fucked him,
thrusting up into his ass over and over again. Martin braced his hands on
Henry’s shoulders and his hair spilled forward and made a curtain, just the two
of them on this side and everyone else in the world on the other.

“Henry,” Martin warned, a quaver in his voice, “I’m going to
come if you keep doing that.”

“Isn’t that what you want? That’s what
I
want.” Henry
cupped Martin’s ass cheeks and spread them wide and pushed his cock in deep.

“Not yet, Henry,
please
, I-I want to last longer. I
don’t want this to end.”

Touched, Henry halted his aggressive fucking and let Martin
set the pace. He laid his hand along Martin’s cheek and Martin leaned into the
contact, his lashes fluttering. Martin was the most loving boy, the most
deserving, and Henry would do whatever he wanted.

Some endlessly sweet time later, Martin came with Henry’s
hand on his cock, sobbing Henry’s name. Henry pulled him down for a kiss and
came with Martin’s tongue in his mouth, Martin’s hands in his hair, Martin’s
spunk cooling on his chest.

“I love you, Henry.” Martin rubbed his cheek alongside
Henry’s, just a hint of friction from stubble, and whispered the words directly
in his ear. He climbed off of Henry and stretched out at his side.

“I love you, too,” Henry told him, and then, “Don’t go just
yet. Stay here a minute.” He held onto Martin, keeping him close.

“But my mess is all over your chest…” Martin screwed up his
face in distaste.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s wet or dry,” Henry insisted. “You
can wash it off either way.”

With a sigh, Martin relaxed into his embrace. “Very well. It
is
nice to just lie here with you.”

“You don’t always have to be working.” And then, with
Martin’s sincere compliments in mind, he awkwardly offered, “You’re the best,
you know. Everything you do for me, and how kind you are…I know you don’t need
to do so much. You could get away with doing a lot less.”

Martin’s cheeks pinked and he shook his head, though he
seemed pleased. “Oh, well, I care for you too much to do less.”

“Just saying things like that,” Henry said. “Just being
so…so loving. Noticing the things I do well. Even being good to my sister. I want
to be just as good to you, Martin. Tell me what I should do.”

“You needn’t do anything differently, Henry. I feel very
loved. I know how much importance I have in your life—”

Henry laughed. “Do you? I don’t think you do!”

“I
do
know I’m very important to you.”

“You’re the most important,” Henry assured him. “I wish
everyone could know. I wish I could tell Abigail DeWitt that I’m spoken for.”

It was Martin’s turn to laugh. “Do you think she would
listen? She’s very determined.” He sat up, out of the reach of Henry’s arm, and
stood up from the bed.

Henry gave a little frustrated cry and reached after him,
but Martin was gone. Henry lay abed and listened to Martin run the taps and
splash around, and then heard the particular music of the water hitting the enamel
basin with force. Martin returned with his basin and cloth and Henry allowed
himself to be washed clean. He wished Martin would be a little less vigilant
about fluids, but suspected that nothing short of a direct order would have any
effect on Martin’s post-coital routine.

Martin set his basin on the nightstand and let himself be
drawn back down into Henry’s embrace. Henry pushed his face against the silky
mass of Martin’s hair, breathing in vetiver and sweet skin. It seemed Henry
would never be able to get enough of Martin, the smell of him and the feel of
him. He held Martin tightly and petted his back and shoulders, and Martin made
himself small and insinuated himself more closely still.

“I do really want that, you know,” Henry told him. “What I
said earlier. I wish I could tell everyone how much you mean to me, and that
people would be happy for me—for
us
.”

Martin hesitated and then slowly said, “I wish we could have
that for your sake, Henry…but I’m just happy to have the relationship we have.
I
know you love me, and it doesn’t matter if anyone else knows.”

Henry’s frustration made him restless and he suddenly felt
that he couldn’t get comfortable. “It doesn’t bother you that people look at us
and think you’re nothing more to me than a valet and…and a convenient
hole
?”

Martin laughed, his breath warm against Henry’s chest. “I
don’t think anyone is thinking that much about it, Henry. People are absorbed
in their own problems.”

“I want people to know how important you are,” Henry said
stubbornly. “I want to show them how much I appreciate you.”

Martin attempted to soothe him, stroking his face and
running his fingers through his hair. “Oh, Henry, why do you want to make
trouble for yourself? Be in love with me, and have it be your precious secret,
and let that be enough.” He kissed Henry tenderly, lingeringly.

Henry tried to be happy with that idea but it didn’t sit
well with him. Certainly, the approach of the ball and the forced intimacy with
Abigail DeWitt were exacerbating his desire to have his true nature
acknowledged and respected, but not even Martin would support him in this, and
Martin was probably right. Of course Martin was right.