“Listen,” Theo said, stepping closer. He took hold of George’s upper arms, his grip firm but careful, his gaze very intent. “I think tonight has been rather a lot for you to take in. I know it was for me, the first time I came here. Let me see you home.”
Pinned by Theo’s sincere gaze, George felt the tension in him ease, and a wave of gratitude washed through him. It wasn’t just Theo's words. It was the understanding in his tone, the concern in his expression. In that moment, George felt so cared for, he didn't even think about his next action. It felt entirely natural to close his eyes, lean forward, and press his mouth against Theo’s. But before he could even think of deepening the kiss, he was being pushed away, Theo’s hands on his upper arms, no longer holding him close but thrusting him back.
He blinked his eyes open, to find Theo staring at him, eyes wide with shock.
“I’m sorry,” George whispered, horrified at the realisation that his kiss was so very unwanted. “I shouldn’t have…” Even as he trailed off, he could see Theo shaking off the shock.
“No need to apologise,” Theo said hastily, releasing George’s arms and stepping back. He offered a wry smile. “It’s only that I, ah—I don’t do that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” George echoed uncertainly. When Theo said nothing, he added, “Kissing, you mean?” He could feel his face burning. Christ, he must be as red as a beetroot.
“Kissing, yes,” Theo agreed, his gaze shifting away. “Being with a man like this is not… well, it’s not romantic, you understand?” When George didn’t answer, he added gently, as though explaining something to a child, “We’re not like women, George. Men don’t need to make a fuss about this sort of thing. We can take pleasure with a stranger and go our separate ways without it having to mean anything more.”
“A stranger?” George croaked. Perhaps it was foolish, but he felt wounded. He’d just had the most intensely intimate experience of his whole life with another man, only to be treated like a leper the instant he’d tried to show that man some simple affection.
All his fears were being realised in this moment. He'd come to Redford’s hoping to meet someone like himself, someone with the same hopeless yearnings.
Now he felt more alone than ever.
Despite his distress, he managed to stiffen his shoulders and find the smallest glimmer of a polite smile. “I understand,” he said quietly, taking a step back. “My apologies. I should be going anyway. I need to be at church early tomorrow for the wedding.”
“I’ll come with y?—”
“That’s not necessary,” George interrupted. He’d retrieved his waistcoat and was buttoning it up as he spoke. “I have my carriage.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realised Theo would doubtless be returning to Mayfair too. Out of ingrained politeness, he added stiffly, “Of course, my coachman can take you home too. If you wish.”
Theo gave another of those huffs of not-quite-laughter that George hated. “You don’t need to be such a gentleman, you know. You can tell me to go to hell, if you like. You certainly don’t have to offer to take me home in your ducal carriage.”
George looked away, giving his attention to shouldering into his coat. “Why would I do that? You’ve been most obliging this evening. I should apologise for imposing on you—you came here to find an agreeable companion, did you not? Instead you’ve been saddled with a tiresome novice.” He made himself meet Theo’s gaze. “I’m sorry I monopolised you for so long.”
Theo rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, his expression rueful now. “No, I’m sorry, George. I can see I’ve offended you, but I truly did not intend to. It is only that, for most men like us?—”
“I’m not offended,” George interrupted, though of course he was. Not only did he feel offended, he felt hurt, and worse, he felt embarrassed to be hurt. Embarrassed that Theo had probably seen the evidence of it on his face when he’d pushed George back.
George cleared his throat. “It’s only that I’m excessively tired and I want to go home.” Balling up his cravat, he shoved it into his coat pocket, leaving the coat unbuttoned. Who would care if he returned home a little dishevelled? It was two in the morning after all.
“All right,” Theo said doubtfully. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding.”
Damn, he would, wouldn’t he? Hoping his dismay wasn’t obvious, George smiled tightly. “Yes,” he agreed. “Well. Good night.” Turning away, he made for the door, avoiding the gazes of the men he passed.
Thankfully, Theo did not attempt to follow him.
He made his way back through the twisting corridors and, when he reached the public rooms, found Mr. Potter, who dispatched a footman to have his carriage brought to the door.
A few minutes later, he was alone, in the dark interior of his carriage, on his way back to Mayfair. He set his elbows on his knees and rubbed wearily at his aching temples. It had been a mistake to come to Redford’s. A mistake to open himself up to Theo Caldwell, a man he barely knew and had little reason to trust.
It was like being at school all over again. George was too sensitive, too soft.
Too desperate.
He was better off alone—and soon he would be again.
Tomorrow he had Ollie’s wedding to get through. The ceremony at ten o’clock, then the wedding breakfast which he would have to attend for a few hours at least. It would probably be too late to be setting off for Wiltshire by the time he was able to escape, but he could certainly make arrangements to leave first thing the next morning.
Letting his head thump back against the velvet upholstery, he closed his eyes and sighed wearily.
Just one more day and he could leave London and return to his quiet, uneventful existence.
8
