A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (56 page)

“We should go fetch them soon,” Jesse suggested. “I imagine
you’ll want to start apologizing to each other sooner rather than later.”

“Er, well, yes.” Henry admitted, though in fact he was
nervous about how, exactly, he would go about doing this.

“Is it going to be all right for me to tell Russ about our
conversation? I’m sure Martin will have told him some of it, but he’s going to
be very curious.”

Henry cringed a little. He wanted to say ‘no,’ but couldn’t
really justify such a position.

“He and I have talked about you two before, obviously.
You’ve both been very discreet, but we guessed things. I didn’t anticipate that
you wouldn’t be interested in girls
at all
, but none of the rest is a
surprise.”

“You won’t tell anyone,” Henry said. It wasn’t a question or
request; it fell just short of a threat.

“No, of course not.” Jesse gave Henry’s arm a reassuring
squeeze. “I can see why you’d think otherwise, but I actually can keep a
secret.” He squeezed Henry’s arm again and leaned on him for an affectionate
moment. “Rest assured, Henry, I don’t think of you any differently. I still
want for us to be good friends, better than we are now, even.”

As of this moment, Jesse was the person who knew Henry best
in all the world, other than Martin—flaws and all. “Me, too,” he said.

“I leave for Chicago with Bette and my mother on the 29th,”
Jesse told him. “I’ll be at my great aunt’s all of July, and Elizabeth will be
there for most of the month, as well, so I’m very excited about that, of
course, but when I come home, I’ll want to see you more often.”

“I’d like that, too.” Especially if he could reconcile with
Martin.

“Eli really likes you, and Gene and Perry liked you
especially well, too, and it would be nice if we could all spend time
together.” Jesse hesitated a moment, then said, “I think it’s different than
how Algonquin boys do things. No one would put any pressure on you, Henry. No
one would try to make you do anything you didn’t want to do.”

Henry couldn’t consider the possibilities, not yet, not
while he was still estranged from Martin. “We can talk about it in August,
maybe,” he suggested. “After I’ve had a chance to…to make up with Martin.” His
mind kept flashing back to moments when he’d told Martin to shut up, when he’d
refused to listen, and he was groaning inwardly. He’d been
so
stupid,
so
unreasonable.

“Would it be all right if I wrote to you while I’m away? I’m
sure I’ll have a lot to talk about!”

“Of course,” Henry assured him. He didn’t doubt that Jesse
would have interesting things to say. Even though Henry wasn’t interested in
female bodies, Elizabeth was definitely a fascinating character in her own
right. “I’m not the best correspondent, though.” He thought guiltily of
Reggie’s last letter, which he had not yet answered. “Say,” he said, “you’ll be
in Chicago when Reggie comes home, won’t you?”

“I will,” Jesse said with a hint of regret. “You’ll have to
greet him enthusiastically on my behalf.” Jesse thought a moment, then added,
“You should confide in him, you know. Uncle Reggie would definitely understand
your situation.”

Henry blushed and looked at his hands in his lap. “I imagine
he would.” Uncle Reggie was nowhere near as physical with Benjamin as Jesse was
with Russ, but his affection for Benjamin was even more palpable. “Does…does it
show? How I feel about Martin? Can people tell just by looking?”

Jesse considered this. “Hmm. I think people can tell you’re
especially fond of one another, but I don’t expect anyone notices anything
untoward
.
You don’t make a spectacle of yourself,” Jesse said with a laugh. “Not like
some
people!”

Henry snickered. “Say, I just thought of something, if you
have the time…”

“I’m sure I do,” Jesse said agreeably.

“You’ve never heard Martin play his violin. He’s really
good, and he loves to play for people, if you’d want to listen.”

“Sure, especially if you think he’d like to do it.”

“I’ll just find someone to go bring them up.” Henry stood up
from the bed and started for the door.

“Don’t you have a bell?”

“Oh, we never use the bells,” Henry said, blushing. “I don’t
know who’d come if I rang the bell, or if anyone would know to come at all. It
might not even work.”

“Twenty-seven slaves and you don’t use call bells!” Jesse
flopped back on Henry’s bed and laughed.

“We do everything wrong here,” Henry admitted. “But there’s
always someone close by, so…” He shrugged and went out into the hall.

There was no sign of any maid or anyone else in the
second-floor corridor, so Henry went down to the front hall, where Paul waited
for work with a novel in his hands.

“Sir. How can I help you, Sir?” Paul held the book discreetly
behind his back.

“Martin and Russ are downstairs somewhere. Could you send
them up?”

“Right away, Sir.” Paul set his book down on the console
table as he hurried past.

Henry went back upstairs. “Paul’s sending them up,” he said.
“Please—” he didn’t know quite how to put it “—please don’t say anything, all
right? I haven’t decided how to say what needs to be said. Asking him to play
is a little bit of a peace offering, maybe.” He sat back down on the bed at
Jesse’s side.

“I’ll just be a good guest and enjoy the music,” Jesse said,
nudging him with his shoulder. “Say, do you think you might let me draw you
sometime?”

Henry was flattered, but he frowned. “A regular drawing, or
a
nude
one?”

Jesse was instantly excited. “Oh! If you’d let me do a
nude—”

“No, I don’t think I would,” Henry said firmly. “But a
regular drawing would be all right.”

“We’ll definitely do that in August, then, after I get back.
I’ll draw you and Martin both.”

Henry heard footsteps in the hall, coming closer, and his
heart began to pound.

“I’m getting better at painting, too, by the way,” Jesse
told him. “The presents you gave me were
perfect
and have been a huge
help.” Henry dimly recalled getting a thank-you note back before the ball.

The footsteps were right outside the door. “You should thank
Martin and Russ for all of that,” Henry said. “They told me what to get.”

There was a knock at the door, Martin’s knock.

“Come in,” Henry called, his tone pressured with
anticipation.

Martin looked as if he’d been crying at some point, his eyes
red-rimmed and exceptionally green, and he seemed startled by Henry’s smile,
perhaps even confused. “Y-you wanted us, Sir?”

“Would you mind playing your violin for Jesse?”

Now he seemed truly bewildered, and hesitated a moment
before saying, “Of course, Sir. Whatever you’d like.”

“You could play some of the pieces you had in mind to play
for my mother tonight.”

Martin smiled—a little wanly, to be sure, but a smile all
the same. “Certainly I could do that, Sir. Let me just get my violin.”

Jesse held out a hand to Russ. “Come here, beside me,” and
Russ lay down beside him, propped up on his elbows, their bodies in contact all
down their sides. Seeing their easy closeness, Henry thought about some of the
things Jesse had said. It seemed it might be possible that Henry could let some
of the Lawton boys see a little of how he felt about Martin and
they’d…appreciate it, perhaps, or at least they wouldn’t condemn it. He did
want people to acknowledge what they’d had, and what he hoped they might have
again. Maybe it would be all right if it wasn’t absolutely
everyone
acknowledging it, though. Maybe it needn’t be the whole world.

Martin returned from his room with his violin, his energy
dramatically higher than it had been when he’d come in from the hall. He cocked
his head and looked at Henry. “Do you have any requests, Sir?”

Henry pretended to think about this, but he only had one
request. “Save the partita for another time,” he said. The partita was
his
.
“Otherwise, play whatever you’d like.”

“Very good, Sir.” Martin raised the violin to his shoulder,
gave Henry a brief nod, and began to play.

There was a passion in these dance tunes today that Henry
was accustomed to hearing only in the playing of the
chaconne
. Martin
played with his eyes closed, for the most part, as he usually did, and Henry
listened with his eyes closed, as well, but on several occasions he opened his
eyes to find Martin looking back at him, and was overcome with a scintillating
embarrassment, almost pleasurable, that forced him to avert his gaze. He
watched Martin from beneath lowered lids, watched his body sway in time with
the music, watched the little hops he made to punctuate the notes.

In watching Martin play, Henry was alternately exhilarated
by the prospect of a reunion and deeply ashamed of how poorly he’d treated his
precious boy, and how unfairly. He knew Martin would forgive him, of course,
because he was an excellent slave and he would do whatever Henry wanted, but
Henry wanted to
really
be forgiven, for Martin to forgive him in his
heart. How could he know if this was the case? He wanted so badly to apologize
and take Martin in his arms and then make love to him all night, but how would
he know if Martin really wanted him to do this? Martin would tolerate anything
Henry might do to him, but Henry didn’t want to be tolerated—Henry wanted to be
loved wholeheartedly, as Martin had loved him in the past.

Jesse and Russ made an appreciative audience, clapping
enthusiastically and remarking on the music, and Henry could tell Martin
enjoyed their response. He lowered the violin a moment and checked his watch.

“Sir…” He looked at Henry and gave him a timid smile. “It’s
nearly time for my dinner, Sir. I-I could play one more tune, if that’s all
right.”

“Is it really that late?” Jesse asked.

Russ was pulling his watch from his pocket as Jesse posed
the question. “Yes, Sir. I’ll be late for my dinner, I expect.” He did not seem
terribly concerned about this, however.

“One more and then we have to go,” Jesse decided. “If it’s
all right with you, of course, Henry.”

“One more,” Henry agreed.

Martin played the music with a great deal of verve and
emotion, and he was beautiful doing it. Henry was very aware of the graceful
angles of his wrists, the nimbleness of his fingers, his sinewy forearms, and
was reminded of Martin’s hands on his skin, Martin’s arms wrapped around his
back. Martin had spots of color high in his cheeks and seemed to be nearly
vibrating with emotional intensity, and Henry had to wonder if his passion was
for the piece of music or for his audience.

Martin drew the bow across the strings in a final grand
gesture and bent into a deep bow, and his audience applauded him with
wholehearted admiration. Russ got up from the bed and embraced him, grinning
ear to ear.

“Russ plays the piano a little,” Jesse remarked, “but
nothing remotely like this. You’re so fortunate.”

Henry had a lump in his throat and he swallowed hard around
it. “I am,” he agreed. To Martin he said, “That was lovely. Perfect. Thank you,
Martin.”

Martin flushed with pleasure. “You’re very welcome, Sir.”

Martin put his violin away and then they all went downstairs
and waited in the hall while Paul got Jesse and Russ’ hats.

“We’ll see you Saturday, then,” Henry said, embracing his
cousin. “You can come a little early if you want. It’d be nice to have someone
I know here before the crowds arrive.”

“Is it okay if Eli comes early, too, then? We were going to
come together.”

“Sure. I’ll be glad to see Eli.”

“We’ll come an hour early then,” Jesse decided. He turned to
Martin. “Thank you again, Martin. You play so beautifully.”

This obviously pleased Martin, and the spots of pink
appeared in his cheeks again. “Thank you, Sir. It was my pleasure.”

“Well…” Jesse paused and smiled at Henry, seeming almost
amused. “Good luck with everything, I guess.”

Henry blushed and ducked his head. “Er, yes. Thank you.”

Paul let them out, and then it was just Henry and Martin
standing in the hall, and Henry didn’t know what to say and blushed an even
deeper red.

“I’ll just go down for my dinner now, Sir, if that’s all
right.”

“Yes, of course,” Henry said.

“I’ll be up to dress you shortly, Sir.”

“Very good. I’ll see you then,” Henry said stiffly. He
whirled around and hurried up the stairs and down the hall to his room.

He flopped face-down across the bed. His heart was pounding
a frantic rhythm, his breath came short, and he was never going to stop
blushing. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He knew the outcome he
wanted, but he wasn’t entirely certain how to get there. He probably should
have asked Jesse’s advice—Jesse was smart, Jesse would know what his next move
should be. Why hadn’t he asked?

He got up and paced up and down the room, then up and down
the corridor between their bedrooms, stopping short of actually entering
Martin’s room, though he could see everything within was tidy and verging on
impersonal but for the presence of the violin case. He did an about-face and
hurried to his bedside. He opened the nightstand drawer and the lid of the
cigar box and pulled out the tail. The smell of vetiver made him tremble and
reminded him of Martin’s natural smells, his body clean or sweaty, his cock
slick with secretions, his breath sweet or sour. Henry didn’t even care if
Martin smelled
bad
, he just wanted to smell him up close, his nose
against Martin’s skin. He wanted closeness again, precious contact.

He shut the tail back in the box and made himself sit, first
on the edge of the bed, and then on one armchair and then the other. He got up
and picked up a book and found he couldn’t concentrate to read, all the words
just grey smears on the page.