West loomed over him and gripped his hands. “Dancing lessons are perfect for that.”
He wanted to dance. He found the steps and symmetry fascinating. But . . . yet another opportunity for embarrassment? Gravity raced through him as West pulled him to his feet. Their breaths tangled together. “West, I . . .”
“You’ve been looking forward to this.” Hands plucked at his coat, shifted over his shoulders with a ticklish shiver.
“What kind of dancing were you thinking of?” Josh said breathlessly.
Laughter feathered over his lip, followed by the soft press of West’s kiss. “I had a question.”
Josh pulled back. “Question?”
“About your lecture.”
Josh grinned. “You do?”
West rolled a hand through his hair. “It might be stupid. I’m no scholar.”
Josh reached out and started gently pulling West’s neckcloth. “Ask.”
“You were talking about molly-houses. But it wasn’t clear. Were they places gay men went for sex?”
“For sex, yes, but also for companionship. Community.”
He unwound the cloth and pressed his fingers against the rose that climbed up West’s throat. West hummed; the speed of his pulse stole Josh’s breath.
“You look like you have another question?”
“No, it’s just . . .” West looked away. “It frustrates me, hearing our history. How much we’ve had to hide. How . . .”
“How, what?”
“How much better it is now, yet I am still hiding.”
Josh stepped closer, palming the rose, wishing he could infuse West with his sympathy and strength.
“Sometimes it’s necessary.”
“I want to be myself.” West laughed darkly. “But it’s hard.”
Josh lifted onto his toes, cupped West’s head and kissed him on the brow. “Sounds like we both need practice.”
“A lot of it.” A pause. “Not something that can be fixed in a single weekend.”
“No. But acknowledged.”
The air crackled with vulnerability and Josh kissed him again, the nose this time.
“Speaking of steps.” West cleared his throat. “We should get to our dance lesson.”
Josh tugged him close. “We haven’t finished our valeting.”
West looked them over and chuckled. “As much as people love a rake, this might be taking it too far.”
Slowly, Josh eased the coat off West’s shoulders. As it swept down his arms, something fell from the pocket to the floor. Carefully setting the coat aside, Josh crouched to pick up the folded paper.
“It’s—”
“My letter.” Josh stared at his smiley face.
“I think you’re right.”
Soulful dark eyes were watching him. “Right?”
West dropped to his knees. “As powerful as half agony, half—”
Josh launched himself at him and West pulled him close with a surprised laugh. It felt so good in his arms. Warm and firm and, God, that groan rumbling into him.
West shifted, drugging him with a sweeping kiss across his lips. The flick of his tongue.
Josh sighed. “Breeches conceal nothing.”
West arched under him and palmed Josh’s arse. “I suppose it would be unprofessional to go downstairs like this, Mr Fairfax.”
Retreat and day guests gawked at eight staffers—including West and Ashling—as they demonstrated The Indian Queen, elegantly dressed. First with music, and then without, West calling out the steps.
First corners set. Turn. Five, six, seven, eight. Right hand turn . . . Second corners . . . Right hand star. Left hand star.
Beautiful.
West grinned at the crowd. “Due to the complexity, we’ll work on only the first corner set to start. Groups of four please.”
Pairs paired up and heat lanced up Josh’s neck as he scoured the hall for a group he could join.
No one.
An arm hooked around his, and Josh breathed in West’s scent.
A gentlemanly smile tipped West’s lips. He steered Josh across the room. “Join Ashling and Lord and Lady Crombie.” He handed him over with a wink, and spoke to the room. “We’re an odd number. I’ll come around, give you tips, and join you for a star or two.”
Lord and Lady Crombie were polite and quiet, following instructions with little error. Josh had two left feet. He stumbled through the steps, eliciting wildly amused laughter from Ashling. “You’re like Mr Collins.”
“I am not that bad.”
“You’re right.” She helped steer him in the right direction. “You might be worse.”
Josh rolled his eyes, but he was laughing too. Sweating, but laughing.
“May I?”
West took over Ashling’s position, gaze twinkling.
Josh’s hands were clammier than before.
“One, two, three, turn—”
Josh stepped again and bashed against him. “Oops.”
“It’s all about practice.” Their eyes held.
This time he got it, sinking into the rhythm, frissons of electricity jumping between them with every light touch of their hands, every shift of air as they turned.
Five, six, seven, eight. Right hand turn . . .
West’s hand flexed under Josh’s. A quiet conversation. I’m right here, trust me to lead you.
Josh trembled as he met West’s eyes, and he halted mid step, clutching West’s gloved hands. Suddenly this felt very real indeed. He croaked, “West—”
Someone shouted. Dresses sashayed, clearing a path. A lady had fainted, her partner holding her on the ground, fanning her face.
West and Ashling became a whirlwind of action, there in an instant. They helped the guest to her feet. Sat her down, brought her water, called for a nurse.
The crowd murmured and many tried to give them privacy by practicing their steps.
Josh observed West’s caring ministrations, helpless against the intense tenderness ripping through his chest.
It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed . . .
Cassius sidled up beside him, snapping closed his compact mirror. He slipped it into his pocket and smiled toward the guests, gaze not meeting Josh’s.
“What?” Josh said, a sickening swirl in his gut.
“You haven’t been very careful, Josh.”
Josh turned slowly, heart pounding.
“Just saying I have something that . . . well, it might hurt West if it got out.”
“Something—” Josh ground his teeth. The tryst at the church.
Cassius had seen—recorded—
His heart lurched. West could lose his job, and worse—if it got on social media and his family . . .
“When the professor gets back, you admit what’s really going on between you and your fiancé.”
It boiled inside. “I don’t understand why you’re—”
“No, I don’t understand why you are doing this.” Pain flashed across Cassius’s face. “Why will you change yourself for him but not for me?”
What? “We broke up because I’m ‘too into academics’ and you wanted someone ‘balanced’. That was your choice.”