A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (26 page)

Ralph popped the cork on the last bottle and it was passed
around the circle. Tom and Ralph started collecting the empty bottles and
putting them back into the crates.

The French doors opened and Gordon came in from the
courtyard with Julian, followed by Jeremy with Raymond.

“There’s nothing interesting out there,” Gordon reported.
“Just bushes and some spindly chairs.” He slumped down beside Henry and reached
for the bottle. Gordon drank and passed the bottle to Julian, and then watched
Julian drink like Tom had watched Martin. Seeing this, a dim little bulb went
on inside Henry’s head as he remembered how angry Gordon had become upon seeing
Julian holding a girl’s hand. Was Gordon like him? Then how doubly awful to
have a slave who didn’t like sex with him! Henry felt so grateful for Martin!
Martin, who loved him!

Wendell had promised a dance to his cousin and so went
upstairs, taking Ralph with him. Jeremy let Raymond pull him to his feet and
went up, too. Freddie burped and got up, calling to Tom, and left the room.
Gordon complained for awhile about how he had to dance with his mother’s best
friend’s daughter, who was both stout and boring, and then he went upstairs to
do just that, leaving Henry and Martin alone with the scattered bottles.

Martin shifted over to sit closer to Henry, who lay on his
back on the floor feeling great. He reached over and wrapped his hand around
Martin’s ankle.

“Sir…” Martin warned.

“We’re alone,” Henry said. He turned to look back at Martin
and smiled. “No one will see.”

“Anyone could walk in at any time, Sir.”

“We’ll hear someone coming, don’t you think? You can hear
the music pretty well down here,” Henry pointed out. “Well enough to dance to
it, in any case.” He got unsteadily to his feet and held out his hand. “Dance
with me.”

Martin shook his head. “Sir, we shouldn’t.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Well, yes, Sir, but—”

“Then do it. Dance with me. We’re all alone, Martin. No
one’s coming back, I promise; the champagne’s all gone.” Martin looked up at
him, trying not to smile; he wanted to say yes. “Do it because you love me,”
Henry suggested in a loud whisper.

Martin did smile then. “All right, Sir. Help me up.” He
reached for Henry’s hand.

The music was a waltz; it came through the floor quite
clearly. Even though they were dancing on carpet, even though Henry especially
was drunk, it was magical that they could dance together at a ball.

When the music drew to a close, Henry pulled Martin close
and Martin let him do it. Henry kissed him passionately and Martin gave a
broken little moan that made Henry wish they were home already, locked in his
room. He backed Martin up to the wall and pressed against him, and Martin
wrapped his leg around the back of Henry’s thigh and pulled him in tight with
an urgent little grunt. They kissed only a few seconds before Martin pushed him
away, his hands flat on Henry’s chest.

“No more, Henry. We can’t. We’ll get caught.”

“We won’t.” Henry held onto his shoulders, kissed him again.

Martin pushed harder. “Please, Sir.
The door’s open!
It’s not safe!” Reluctantly, Henry let him go. Martin crossed the room, out of
Henry’s reach. “We should go upstairs soon, Sir,” he said. “As soon as we’re
able.”

Henry plucked at the crotch of his trousers, trying to give
his cock some room and willing it to go down. “I should try to find partners
for the last few dances, maybe.”

“Yes, you should, Sir. Let’s enjoy this party to the
fullest.”

“Have
you
had fun?”

“I’ve had a lovely time, Sir.” He came and stood at Henry’s
side for a moment, slipping his arm around Henry’s waist for a brief squeeze.
He whispered, “I’m so proud of you, Henry.”

“Proud of me? Why?”

“You’re taking your place in society, Sir. I know it might
not be the place you
want
, but it’s yours, and it’s an enviable one.
Your life is going to be amazing, Sir, and I get to participate.” Martin was
far more excited about Henry’s future than Henry was; perhaps it was because
Martin had grown up in an atmosphere of relative deprivation, but Martin
definitely appreciated Henry’s advantages more than Henry did.

“The young ladies love you, Sir,” Martin continued. “When it
comes time for you to marry, you’ll have your pick of the girls. All these
ladies will remember you when their little sisters are looking for husbands.”

Henry laughed. “I don’t want to think about getting married
tonight, Martin, please! Are you able to go up yet? I’ll need to find a partner
soon.”

They returned to the ballroom where Henry was able to engage
Miss Angstrom for another dance, this time a schottische. As they left the
floor, Miss Angstrom introduced him to a rather plain girl whose name he didn’t
catch, and he danced the final waltz with her. He delivered her to her escort
and went in search of Abigail; he found Martin first, and together they looked
for her.

They found her in the company of a handsome red-haired man,
carrying on a lively conversation. She introduced him to Henry—his name was
Baxter Calvert—and continued to chatter and flirt.

“If I don’t see him tonight, I’ll be seeing your father
later this week,” the man said. “I’ll be sure to tell him how much I’ve enjoyed
meeting you, Miss DeWitt.”

“Be sure you do so, Mr. Calvert,” Abigail said, showing her
dimple. “It has been a most mutual pleasure.”

They exchanged a few more words, clearly wanting to remain
in one another’s company, but as there was no justification for doing so, they
reluctantly parted.

“That was rude of me, Mr. Blackwell,” Abigail admitted
cheerfully, taking Henry’s arm.

It had been, but Henry didn’t mind. “So you found one you
liked, I see.”

“I thought we had a great deal of chemistry, Mr. Calvert and
I. That’s terribly important, don’t you think?”

“It’s most important,” Henry agreed. “Without mutual
feeling, it’s nothing more than a business arrangement.”

“Ha! You’re surprisingly blunt, Mr. Blackwell!” This seemed
to delight her.

“I wouldn’t want to live without passion,” Henry said
simply.

“Where were you earlier, by the way? I was holding a dance
for you, but you were nowhere to be found.”

“Finishing the champagne, I suppose,” Henry told her. “I
hope you found another partner.”

“Of course I did,” she said haughtily, laughing. “I am a
very
eligible girl.”

“Should we find your parents, or go straight to the
cloakroom?”

They delivered Abigail and Helena to the ladies’ dressing
room and then went to get their own hats and coats. Henry stood around talking
with his friends, still slightly loopy from the champagne, while Martin got in
line to get their things.

“Was my sister all right?” Albert bumped Henry with his
shoulder.

“She was perfect,” Henry told him. “We got along very well,
I think.”

“Don’t encourage her too much,” Albert warned. “Dad is
determined to find her an older husband, so it won’t do for her to like you too
well. Besides, she’s too much for a boy to handle, don’t you think?”

Henry laughed, thinking this true. “She’d be too much for
me, that’s for certain. But she met at least one bachelor she liked very well
tonight. She’ll have lost interest in me already.”

“Oh, really? Who was it, do you know?”

Henry told him the little he knew of Mr. Calvert. Their
conversation was interrupted by Stuart’s arrival with Albert’s things, and
Albert departed the cloakroom with a little wave.

Henry looked for Louis but did not see him anywhere. He
talked with Charles and Robert, who had come together in a rented carriage big
enough for eight. They talked a little bit about the girls they were escorting,
neither being terribly enthusiastic about these particular young ladies. They
asked Henry what he thought of Abigail; neither of them much liked her, knowing
her fairly well through their friendships with Albert.

“She’s stuck-up,” Robert said. “You might be the first
friend of Albert’s she’s ever been nice to.”

Martin arrived with Henry’s hat and coat and helped him on
with the coat. Henry set his hat on his head and gave his friends a nod. “See
you Monday, fellows.”

He waited in the hall with Martin; they didn’t have to wait
long. Abigail came out in her mauve velvet, Helena in her black cape, and the
four of them proceeded onto the forecourt of the hotel to wait for Jack to
bring the carriage around.

During the ride home, Abigail slipped her arm through
Henry’s and he let her do it, interpreting it more as a form of companionable
contact than any sort of romantic claim. At the DeWitts’ house, they saw the
girls to the door and Henry allowed Abigail to kiss his cheek.

“Albert will have to have you to visit,” Abigail decided.
“The rest of his friends are
brutes
. Well—you know that, I suppose!
Goodnight, Mr. Blackwell!”

“Goodnight, Miss DeWitt.”

Martin sat beside Henry for the few blocks home and for once
let Henry hold his hand. “You looked so handsome, Sir. I wish I could have told
everyone that you’re mine. All those girls would be so jealous of me.” Martin,
grinning, seemed to love the idea of jealous girls.

Henry leaned close and spoke directly into Martin’s ear. “Do
you remember what you asked me earlier? About my suit?”

“When I asked you to fuck me while you’re wearing it, Sir?”
Martin laughed, a low chuckle. “Yes, I remember.”

“Actually, you said ‘make love,’” Henry reminded him, also
laughing.

“We could call it churning butter, Sir, and I wouldn’t care
so long as it means you put your cock in me.”

Henry laughed and leaned in for a kiss, a hand around the
back of Martin’s neck. Martin kissed him in return but quickly pushed him away.

“Sir,
please
. You take too many risks.”

“No one’s looking. It’s two in the morning!”

“You don’t know that! You frighten me, Sir, when you’re
careless like this.”

A frightened Martin wasn’t likely to be an amorous Martin,
so Henry let him alone, and then they arrived at the house.

Billy let them in, yawning, and took their coats.

Up in Henry’s room, they locked the door. Someone had laid a
fire for them within the past hour; it was burning steadily and making the room
pleasantly warm. Henry reached for his tie, but Martin stayed his hand.

“No, don’t. Keep it all on, please.” He tugged on Henry’s
wrist, and made a vague gesture at Henry’s armchairs, his movements loose and
careless, informed by champagne. He led Henry to stand before the nearest chair
and gave him a little push.

Henry sat down somewhat heavily, off balance. He felt a
little pleasantly dizzy, drunk on the entire evening. “What about your clothes?
Who knows when I’ll see you in a collar and tie again?”

Martin folded to kneel on the carpet between Henry’s feet.
“Soon, don’t you think? From now on, you’ll be invited to all sorts of balls
and parties,” Martin said with confidence. “A handsome young man who’s a good
dancer is welcome everywhere, you know.”

Henry colored a little, flattered by Martin’s matter-of-fact
characterization of him. He leaned forward and pulled the tie from Martin’s
hair and ran his fingers through the strands. “I forgot to ask…did you get a
chance to dance?”

“No, I just wanted to watch you, Henry, so that’s what I
did. I should have danced with Helena if I danced at all, but Helena was
dancing with her friend Max.” Martin felt Henry’s cock through his trousers,
drawing it straight and hard.

“What about Tom?” Henry spread his legs a little further,
making room for his thickening prick.

“Tom?” Martin seemed slightly baffled. “Are you asking who
Tom danced with?”

“I’m just wondering if he was chasing girls, or if he stuck
by you all night.”

“He stuck by me. We watched the dancing together. We wanted
to see how you and Mr. Caldwell would fare. Mr. Caldwell isn’t nearly so good a
dancer as you, but he’s quite graceful.”

Henry had other questions about Tom, but voicing them would
make him seem unattractively jealous and insecure, and he knew perfectly well
there was nothing between Martin and Tom anyway. As Martin always told him,
they were just good friends. Really, all of Henry’s worries stemmed from his
own fantasies about the two of them together.

“Freddie is a pretty good dancer,” was all Henry said. He
shifted again in the chair. His trousers were becoming quite uncomfortable,
pinching. Martin bent and concentrated hot breaths on Henry’s cock through his
clothes.

He’d wondered if Martin would keep his clothes on, too, but
Martin fumbled off his tie and collar while mouthing Henry through his trousers
and then sat back on his heels to shrug off his tailcoat and waistcoat.

“Let me finish undressing you,” Henry suggested.

“I’ll do it faster,” Martin pointed out.

Henry gave a low chuckle. “I know you will. We don’t have to
do it fast, though.” Sometimes he thought they undressed too quickly, too
efficiently.

“Oh, all right.” Martin wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, but he
seemed willing to indulge Henry in this.

Martin knelt up before him and Henry leaned forward out of
the depths of his armchair. He slid Martin’s braces from his shoulders and
kissed him tenderly. Martin’s hands came up to cup his face as they kissed and
Henry caught first one hand, then the other, and removed Martin’s cufflinks.

“Don’t lose those,” Martin murmured. “They’re real gold.”

Henry laughed and kissed him again, then reached for the top
stud of his shirt. Martin’s hands rose up to the level of his own shoulders,
hovering, and Henry could tell that Martin wanted to take over, tear his own
clothes off.

“I know I’m not going fast enough for you,” Henry said, “but
just let me do it, all right?”