Chapter 1 #2
And what of the evenings? Regularly bedding a woman with whom he could barely even have a conversation—how arduous that would be.
Cassian was certain that he could manage it, from a purely physical standpoint.
He’d had women before, when visiting certain types of establishments—ones he’d been expected to visit with peers back when he was younger.
None of the experiences had been particularly memorable (other than his first one, perhaps, but only because everything had been so wholly unfamiliar to him then).
Still, Cassian hadn’t exactly regretted them, either.
He’d never liked spending the money, though.
After all, he was able to bring himself an equal amount of pleasure on his own.
Cassian frowned. He knew that he should have been more excited about marrying Ethel. After all, Ethel Barrington was no stranger, unlike those other women whom Cassian had bedded. Cassian had chosen Ethel in part because she wasn’t a stranger, in fact. And for a myriad of other reasons as well.
Firstly, he had known her family for most of his life, and as a result, he had spent a fair bit of time with her by the time he’d proposed.
He had come to care about her over the years.
At least, he cared about her overall well-being.
Consequently, he had taken it upon himself to ensure that she’d marry someone who could provide her with a nice life.
Besides that, though, Cassian had chosen Ethel for other reasons, too.
For one, Ethel was a pleasant person to be around.
Beautiful to look at, with soft, light-brown eyes and well-kept chocolate-colored hair.
Educated, too (as much as a well-to-do young woman poised to become the matriarch of a household could be).
She’d make a fine mother to his future children someday.
Perhaps the most important reason that Cassian had chosen her, however, had been the fact that Ethel had, at one time, seemed thrilled with the prospect of marrying him.
Overall, Ethel had once seemed like the perfect choice for a wife.
Lately, though, the woman rarely ever seemed happy.
Too often, her smiles seemed forced or strained, especially when she and Cassian were alone together, as rare as that was.
Not that Cassian had been the picture of happiness himself, but still, he was content enough with the match, and as such, he tried to show it as much as possible.
Cassian knew he was a sensible choice for a husband, considering his looks and wealth and social standing.
And he was far from being overly conventional like some other men his age.
He was more than amenable to bending a few of society’s unspoken rules a little, especially in the privacy of his and Ethel’s future home.
Surely, he’d made that plenty clear to Ethel by now.
He’d even offered to show her how to play poker someday since she seemed to be somewhat interested in learning it.
He’d been quick to promise to play with her the very moment he’d heard her voice that peculiar desire of hers to his valet.
So, then, what was the problem? Cassian couldn’t make sense of why he and his fiancée weren’t connecting, even a little. He wanted her to be happy. Hell, he wanted himself to be happy. But both of those things only seemed to be floating farther and farther out of reach.
Over the next hour, these thoughts rattled around in Cassian’s head as he chewed on his fingernails while watching the city pass by outside the window.
Eventually, Ethel requested a newspaper to read.
Cassian considered borrowing a page or two so that he could try to talk with her about one of the articles but then reconsidered.
After a few more minutes, Cassian’s head started to throb. Dammit, he needed something to help stave off the inevitable skull-crushing headache he knew was coming.
“I’m going to get coffee,” Cassian said as he suddenly stood.
Ethel brightened. “Would you like me to ask for Mr. Quinn? I’m sure he’d be happy to—”
Cassian held up his hand. “No, no. I’d like some time to myself.”
Even though Cassian would have normally had his valet fetch him a beverage, he thought it best if he instead seized the opportunity to leave his seat for a while.
Cassian continued. “Mr. Quinn can relax for a while longer. I imagine that there are stewards in the dining car who can help.”
“All right,” Ethel replied with a small sigh, noticeably wilting a little.
Right away, the woman began fiddling with her necklace some more. Cassian gritted his teeth as he moved past her. At least he wouldn’t have to hear that horrible zzzpp zzzpp zzzpp for a while.
After exiting their row, Cassian started moving to the next car. On the way, he passed Mr. Calbot and threw him a nod. He soon reached the saloon car, where there were several booths. All of them were empty. Except for one.
Seated next to the window in the booth closest to the kitchen area was the man whom Cassian had seen pleading with the conductor on the platform earlier.
He had a cup of tea in front of him, and he was writing in a black leather notebook.
When Cassian took a couple of steps toward him, he noticed that the man had his luggage with him, too.
Peculiar. But perhaps the man had been released from his employer for his incompetency and therefore had nowhere else to put it.
Vaguely curious to confirm whether or not his suspicions were correct (though he was fairly certain that they were), Cassian took a seat in the booth on the other side of the aisle, facing the man. He’d start a conversation whenever the fellow looked up from whatever he was scribbling.
In the meantime, Cassian decided to scrutinize the man more closely.
He seemed to be in his early or mid-twenties, with pretty blue eyes and a full bottom lip and a softness in his face, his cheeks practically pinchable, though his face wasn’t particularly round.
He seemed fit as well—his physique relatively lean, save for those slightly cherubic cheeks.
Barely buried desire began to stir in Cassian’s chest. It manifested as a pulsating heat that slowly coursed through him.
Rather than try to extinguish the flickering flame, Cassian let himself imagine what it might be like to feel the man’s body beneath his and then pictured taking the man’s lower lip into his mouth and sucking on it for a while.
If Cassian had been a younger and more insecure man, he might have felt unnerved by these images, not to mention the heat that was now swirling within him.
But Cassian had long since made peace with the fact that he found men sexually exciting, even more so than he found women.
And even though Cassian wasn’t sure whether or not such a thing was common, he knew that as long as he kept these fantasies as fantasies, there would be no consequences as a result of having them.
Cassian was still staring at the man when one of the train stewards came up beside him.
“Good morning, sir. Would you like a menu?” the steward asked.
“Only a coffee,” Cassian replied. “Cream, no sugar.”
“Of course. I’ll fetch that for you.” He walked over to the man in the other booth. “How’s the tea?”
The man looked up and smiled. “Delicious.”
“Do you need anything else?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
Once the steward left, Cassian and the man locked eyes, and Cassian saw his opportunity to try to engage him in conversation.
“Are you particularly worried about losing your luggage?” he asked with a small smirk.
Hopefully that would bait the man into talking about the incident on the platform. Or at least the aftermath of it.
“Hm?” the man asked before his eyes flickered with understanding.
“Oh, no. It makes sense that you’d think that, though.
” He huffed a light laugh. “I tried to catch the earlier train—the one for the second- and third-class passengers—but one of the men who was taking people’s tickets insisted—erroneously—that I ought to take this one.
I’m a first-class saloon steward, see, for the White Star Line.
Truthfully, I was meant to travel to Southampton last week.
But I asked my employer for more time in London.
So now I’m here on the first-class passenger train, only I’m not a first-class passenger.
Just a crew member. Hence me not wanting to intrude in one of the passenger cars.
I thought I’d be better off in here for the train ride. ”
Cassian furrowed his brow. He’d been wrong.
“Oh,” he said simply.
“I hope I’m not bothering you.”
Holding up a hand, Cassian curtly shook his head.
Just then, the steward came back with Cassian’s coffee. As soon as Cassian glimpsed the black liquid swirling in the cup, he heaved an irritated sigh.
“Excuse me, I requested cream.”
“Apologies, sir, I’ll be back in a moment,” the man spluttered before hurrying away.
After the train car steward was gone, Cassian looked back over at the man in the booth and found himself rolling his eyes—a habit of his whenever he corrected one of the members of his household staff in front of someone else.
He only remembered that the other man was a steward as well, rather than one of his business partners or family friends, when it was too late.
The other man laughed softly.
“Cream, no sugar,” he said with the sweetest, most boyish smile that made Cassian’s cheeks warm. “I’ll have to remember that. I’d rather not earn myself one of those eye rolls on the ship.”
Cassian pursed his lips to contain his own burgeoning smile. Before he could think better of it, he blurted out an equally teasing remark in return.
“Yes, well, I’ve been told I’m not an easy man to please.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up.
Only then did Cassian realize the second potential meaning behind his statement. Heat crept up the back of his neck, and he tried to remind himself that his somewhat sordid thoughts were his and his alone. Obviously this random stranger was not privy to them.
“Ah, well, I have plenty of experience with those types of men,” the man replied equally as playfully.
Cassian froze, his stomach suddenly topsy-turvy, his cheeks and neck still on fire.
Dear God, the man wasn’t flirting with him, was he?
No. No, he couldn’t be. Cassian’s earlier remark, while perhaps containing some secretly salacious undertones, had been a perfectly normal one.
And so, the man’s reply had to have been normal as well.
It was only Cassian’s inclinations that were coloring the man’s statement in such a socially unsavory manner.
Dammit, he had never put himself in this sort of situation before.
Thankfully, the train car steward chose precisely that moment to come back with the cream.
Cassian smiled a tight-lipped smile as the man set the carafe next to the coffee.
He then took the opportunity to end the (potentially flirtatious) conversation with the boat steward by keeping his eyes fixed on the cup in front of him while he stirred in the cream.
Over the next fifteen minutes, Cassian sat there and enjoyed his beverage. His headache began to fade. Once he was finished, he stood, rebuttoned his jacket, and started back toward the passenger car.
But not before taking one last look at the first-class steward with the pinchable cheeks.