Sam paused, then found himself saying, “I think I’ll bathe before dinner. Could you have water sent up?”
“Very good, sir.”
After Hobbs left, Sam rose from his chair, going to the window.
It was dark outside now, and the air was thick with dense, swirling snow.
What was he thinking, bathing before dinner? Was he imagining he could make himself more appealing to Jasper Huxley? As though Jasper would look twice at him as he was now. Christ, he wasn’t even a whole man. And he had no experience. He was a virgin, and a maimed one at that.
He’d wager Jasper wasn’t a virgin.
“Everyone knows the sort of fellow I am. It’s more or less assumed by anyone I meet within five minutes of us being introduced…”
Sam couldn’t believe how matter-of-fact Jasper was. But perhaps that was because—as Jasper had said himself—his nature was rather obvious from the way he spoke and moved. Poor Jasper had had to get used to dealing with all the assumptions and unkindnesses that went with that from a young age. Sam remembered well his own brother John’s unpleasant remarks about Jasper—and, shamefully, how they had made Sam withdraw from the friendly, confiding boy that Jasper had been, for a time.
It hadn’t been like that for Sam—no one would think he was like Jasper Huxley. Sam supposed he was grateful to have been spared that, but a part of him almost envied Jasper for being able to own his nature. Sam had never been able to acknowledge his secret desires—Christ, he’d barely even acknowledged them to himself. The closest he had come had been that one night by the lake, five years ago—and he’d promptly taken fright and run from it, burying that part of himself as deeply as he could afterward.
But since losing his arm, he had been filled with a new understanding of how fleeting life was, an understanding that had stirred up a strange urgency in him. And now, seeing Jasper again, it felt as though that urgency had a focus.
His secret buried self was stirring again.
Sam groaned and let his forehead drop against the cold windowpane.
Christ, he was a fool.
Jasper probably wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole anyway.
Slowly, Sam made his way to his bedchamber, where two footmen were already filling a bath for him. He stood by the window as they completed the task, then locked his door and stripped out of his clothes. Finally, he sat down on his bed and unbuckled the straps of his false arm, sighing with relief as he eased it off.
Sam set the false arm down on the bed. For a few moments, he stared at it—at the carved wooden fingers and the leather harness and the metal buckles. And then he made himself look at his stump, even though he hated doing so. As he examined it, he rubbed his good right hand across his aching chest and swallowed against the tightness in his throat.
His arm reminded him of a club now, a coarse approximation of a limb. Something inhuman about it. Sam stared at the reddened, irritated skin and the indentations in his flesh from the too-tight fastenings.
How could anyone want Sam now, least of all the beautiful Jasper Huxley?
Sam decided then. He’d leave off his false arm tonight. Pin his sleeve and at least be comfortable.
Let Jasper see what he was now.
What did it matter anyway?
Chapter Six
Jasper
Jasper’s borrowed clothes were only a little too large. The dark blue superfine coat was a bit broad in the shoulders, and the fawn breeches were more generously cut than his lean frame required. However, he had brushed up tolerably well, all in all. His freshly washed hair gleamed like a crow’s wing in the candlelight, and he had managed a creditable knot with his neckcloth despite the linen being rather limp.
When he got downstairs, Hobbs informed him that he and Sam would be dining in the breakfast room, for which Jasper was properly grateful. Despite it only being the two of them, he’d expected to have to eat in the state dining room, which was huge and echoey and rather cold during the winter evenings. By contrast, the breakfast room, which had large windows that looked out over the grounds to the lake beyond, was considerably less formal and much cosier.
The door of the breakfast room was open when he got there, and he found himself pausing in the doorway, arrested by the sight of Sam standing in front of the fireplace, a glass of wine in hand, staring down into the flames.
The fire blazed cheerily in the grate, and with the heavy velvet drapes closed and festive greenery hanging over the fireplace and decorating the table, the room could not have looked more beautiful or welcoming.
It was just a shame that Sam looked so utterly weary.
Weary and sad.
Something in Jasper’s chest twisted at that thought.
Just then, Sam looked up, and their gazes caught. Jasper started guiltily at being caught staring, but relaxed when Sam smiled.
“Good evening,” Sam said. “Would you like some wine?”
“Yes, thank you,” Jasper agreed, stepping into the room properly.
Sam turned and walked towards the sideboard—it was only then that Jasper noticed that his left sleeve was empty and pinned neatly to his coat.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Sam said, as he poured the wine. “Knowing Mrs. Braddock, she’ll have made enough for twenty.”
“I could eat a horse,” Jasper confirmed, grinning.
Sam chuckled. “I remember.”
Jasper’s surprisingly large appetite was the stuff of legend.
Sure enough, when the food arrived, it was very plentiful—far more than two men could eat, though Jasper made a good attempt at it.
“I don’t know where you put it,” Sam said wonderingly, as Jasper helped himself to more roast lamb.
“I’m a growing boy,” Jasper said and winked.
At first, their conversation was a little forced—Sam was naturally laconic, and Jasper had a tendency to rattle on when he was nervous—but after a while, it began to feel more comfortable and familiar.
Jasper did most of the talking at first. He’d always liked the fact that Sam seemed to not mind him being a chatterbox too much—and that he usually laughed at Jasper’s jokes—but Jasper also prided himself on being a good listener, and he always wanted to hear anything that Sam Alderton had to say. And so, in between his own cheerful monologues, he planted questions for Sam about military life, and the campaigns he’d fought in, and what Portugal and Spain and France—all places he wanted to visit some day—were like.
By the time the footmen cleared away the last of the dishes, the fire in the grate had settled down from bright, merry flames to a warm, red glow, and the candles on the table had burned halfway down.
Jasper, pleasantly drowsy with too much wine, gave a happy sigh.
“What are you thinking about?” Sam asked.
“How much I love Alderton Hall at Christmas,” Jasper said. He offered a rueful smile. “Though I daresay this is rather unexciting for you, compared to the nights you’ll have had on the Continent.”
“Not at all,” Sam replied. “I’ve had a—a wonderful evening.”
And then he blushed.
Jasper stared. It was fascinating, seeing him blush. Although he’d always been quiet, Sam had never been less than entirely self-possessed.
“More wine?” Sam said now, his voice slightly strangled. And then he did something quite odd. Something that Jasper probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching him so intently.