Chapter Fifteen
Anthony had been feigning drunkenness and counting cards for the entire game, so when at last it ended and he won all the money in the pot, he had to pretend like this was just luck and not something he’d been working toward the whole game.
Several of his opponents groaned or threw their cards on the table in disgust.
As the men left, Anthony finished raking his winnings into a sack he’d carried for this purpose. A moment later, Lark approached. “You knew Rutherford had the seven of diamonds.”
“I did.”
“You’re not drunk, are you?”
“Haven’t had a drop of alcohol all night.” He pointed to the glass near him. “That is just a bit of juice.” And bless Rutherford’s green-tinted glasses; the tumbler of juice looked like it held whiskey.
“You’re quite the actor.”
“Were you watching?” Anthony scooped the last of the coins into the sack and then looked up at Lark, who wore a pained expression.
“I lost ten pounds to Dain, and refused to bet any more because I know he cheats, so I had a little time waiting for you to finish.” He sighed. “The room is clearing out. I suppose we must rejoin the ball.”
The Rutherfords had decided to throw “a small gathering” for whoever was still in town now that the Season was long over.
Although many had decamped for their country homes, enough aristocrats remained in town for this to be not so much a small gathering as a ball.
The one saving grace was that there were not many unmarried women about.
After Anthony stepped outside to find one of his footmen to secure his winnings, he rejoined Lark in the ballroom. It was late and nearly everyone at the ball seemed deep in their cups. Lark himself drank what looked like brandy and glared at the dancing crowd.
“We could make our excuses,” said Anthony. “This ball has already thinned out a bit.”
“I almost enjoyed myself this evening. There wasn’t the pressure to pretend I’m willing to make a match with some young lady.”
Anthony was exhausted by the argument they’d been having for weeks about each of their relative willingness to get married.
He opted not to respond to Lark’s comment.
Instead, he watched the dancers, currently fumbling their way through a very drunk waltz.
The wine had been flowing like a waterfall all evening.
And although Anthony had abstained so he could keep his wits about him in the card room, part of him wanted to be drunk enough to have the courage to dance with Lark.
“I suppose we should leave,” said Lark.
But Anthony plucked a glass of wine from a passing tray. “If everyone else here is drunk, and if everyone thinks I’m drunk, maybe I should just indulge myself.” He took a big gulp.
Lark rolled his eyes. “I have better wine at home.”
A compelling point. Anthony drank the rest quickly and motioned toward the door.
They stumbled outside, where Anthony’s carriage was suddenly nowhere to be seen.
A Rutherford footman offered to see about fetching it.
As they walked forward, Lark, who was definitely drunk, tripped on something invisible on the walkway.
Anthony reached out and grabbed him before he tumbled to the ground.
“This is why you lose at cards,” Anthony observed.
Lark hung on Anthony’s arm and gave him a moony look. “You’re very handsome, you know.”
Anthony grinned. “I do know.”
Someone, likely another drunk reveler, stepped out of the shadows and into Anthony’s peripheral vision. Anthony pushed Lark into a standing position, but Lark seemed disinclined to let go of Anthony’s arm.
Anthony glanced at the man and saw it was Samuel Gordon, the third son of the Marquess of Barstow. Gordon was a weasel, but he had the ear of some powerful people.
“Nice night,” Anthony observed. “I hope you enjoyed the ball.”
“I did, I did,” said Gordon. “Did Waring drink a little too much?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Gordon stepped forward. “You should know, you aren’t as clever as you think.”
What the devil did that mean? “Likely true, but I don’t see the significance.”
“Be careful, Beresford.”
He looked like he was about to say something else, but Anthony’s carriage finally returned. Anthony tugged Lark toward the carriage and said, probably louder than he needed to, “I will see that Waring gets home. Toodle-loo, Gordon.”
When they got to Lark’s house, Lark had sobered up somewhat and led Anthony into the parlor and poured them each a glass of wine, but Anthony didn’t need it now. He felt on edge.
“Gordon is onto us,” Lark said.
“Or he thinks he is. Let him present evidence.”
“But Anthony—”
“Hush. I do not want to speak of it tonight.” Lark’s staff had been dismissed, they were quite alone, and so Anthony said, “All I wanted to do tonight was dance with you.”
Lark looked somewhat alarmed by that. “Dance with me?”
“While I’m certain the very notion offends all of your training and sensibilities, it is not so absurd. Husbands and wives dance together all the time. Why should I not desire to dance with the person I love.”
“I don’t know how to dance with a man.”
“Sure you do. You have to face other men in country dances sometimes.”
Anthony approached Lark slowly. He took Lark into his arms.
“There’s no music,” Lark said.
So Anthony hummed the tune of a waltz he knew and then he whisked Lark around the room. Lark laughed but went along with it, following as if he were the woman in the pair. It was funny and awkward, but it was nice, too.
Anthony slowed it down, drawing out the pace of the song he was humming, and Lark slowed with him. Anthony met Lark’s gaze, and they stared at each other as they moved in a slow circle. Then Anthony trailed his fingers along Lark’s arm and all but came to a stop.
Being together like this was a nice reminder of why he liked Lark so much.
The man was beautiful, for one thing. Straight dark hair, combed forward but unfashionably long enough to dangle over his eyes.
An angular face with dark eyes. A fit body.
But more than that, Lark was willing to humor Anthony’s whims. He liked spending time with Anthony, which many of his fellow peers didn’t; Anthony knew people found him annoying or ridiculous, and Lark probably had at some point, too, but not anymore.
Lark listened to him. Lark took him seriously.
They’d been sharing a bed for more than a year, which was longer than any affair of Anthony’s had lasted. That had to mean something. He never tired of Lark.
They’d been tossing I love you at each other for months, but sometimes Anthony wondered if they simply did it out of habit.
But it was true, wasn’t it? Anthony was in love with this man.
That was why he didn’t want to marry a woman.
If it wasn’t for Lark, he probably could have gone along with the farce, but he wasn’t ready to let Lark go, and he didn’t think he ever would.
“I do love you, you know.”
Lark nodded in acknowledgement and put his hands on Anthony’s chest. “Of course I love you, too. I never say that without meaning it.” He sighed.
“I don’t want to let you go. I can’t imagine what life would be like if I have to go to another party and have to watch you swindling our friends out of their money or dancing with your wife.
My heart would shatter into a million pieces, I think. ”
“Let us not dwell on that potential future now. I still have time to….”
“Time to what? Wriggle out of your destiny? Until Gordon tells the wrong person?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But forget about all that now. Let us just be together.”
Lark leaned forward and pressed his forehead into Anthony’s shoulder. He lifted it again and said, “I’m sorry for telling you to stay away from the club. That was stupid of me. I think instead, we should spend every minute together possible.”
“You were trying not to get hanged,” Anthony pointed it out.
“I missed you.”
“Lark, my love, we see each other nearly every night.”
“Yes, but that is often for…bedsport. I love just…speaking with you. You’re the only man of the ton who is a bigger gossip than I am.
And I like talking with you and puzzling out my friends’ problems with you.
And I think my friends may actually like you.
They always ask after you when you aren’t there. ”
“So my exile is over officially? I don’t have to bribe my way in with my cousin’s good whiskey?”
Lark ran his hands up Anthony’s chest and leaned close. “It’s over.” Then he kissed Anthony.
They’d kissed hundreds of times. They’d been inside each other’s bodies. But something about this kiss felt charged in a new way. Anthony parted his lips and let Lark in.
They kissed for what felt like a long time, but it wasn’t a prelude to anything. It was…an expression of affection.
Anthony understood that it was because Lark still thought Anthony would get married, but rather than pushing him away, Lark had decided they should make the most of what they had before that inevitable day. Anthony liked the idea, although he did still intend to figure out a way not to get married.
He put his arms around Lark, happy for the press of Lark’s body against his own.
They swayed with each other for a long moment, Anthony humming the waltz again.
“Even though my exile is over, I want you to know, I will continue nicking whiskey from Cousin Stephen. He’s a right toad, that man. He deserves to have his good liquor stolen.”
Lark laughed. “You want more wine or do you want go to bed?”
“Let’s go to bed.”