Read Online Dangerous Spirits by Jordan L. Hawk - Free Book Online Page B

Vincent’s door, conveniently located next to his. There was no
reason for him to feel on edge. Vincent was just having a drink with an old
friend.
    An old friend with an expensive suit, fancy pocket watch,
and a history of performing before the crowned heads of Europe.
    “Do you think that will be us, someday?”
    Ortensi had it all today.
    Henry took a deep breath and calmed his racing heart. He’d
gotten himself into this mess. He’d get himself out of it, by proving his worth
to Vincent and Lizzie.
    And Jo. When she found out Henry had lied…
    His imagination supplied a look of betrayal, which soured his
heart. God, anything but that.
    Footsteps sounded in the hall outside, and a moment later,
there came the soft click of the key in the lock of the neighboring room. Henry
rose hastily and eased open his own door. Vincent paused, the gaslight at the
end of the hall gilding his dark hair. There was no sign of Ortensi; perhaps
his room lay on a different floor.
    Henry gave him a questioning look he hoped conveyed his
meaning. A slow smile crossed Vincent’s full mouth, and he nodded.
    Henry slipped from his room and into Vincent’s, just as
Vincent pulled the curtains tight across the window, to prevent anyone from
glimpsing them together. The rooms were tiny, no more than a narrow bed, washstand,
and clothespress. While Henry threw the bolt, Vincent removed his coat, shook
it out, and hung it up carefully. Clothes make the man, he once told
Henry. Especially if the man had skin of a darker shade. A shabbily dressed
Indian would be sneered at, or—for all Henry knew—might even face
being dragged off to a reservation somewhere. Impeccable fashion formed the key
Vincent used to open doors that would otherwise be closed to him.
    Henry sat on the edge of the bed and watched while Vincent
undressed. Cuffs, collar, vest, bracers, shirt, and trousers all followed the
coat. His ochre skin glowed in the soft light of the night candle, contrasting
with his cotton drawers. The sight made Henry’s chest tighten and his breath
hitch, and not just from lust.
    For years, his only contact with men who shared his inclinations
came in the form of a hasty tug in some back alley, both of them going their
own way as quickly as possible after. No kisses or kind words. No caresses. No
watching while the other man undressed for bed, his movements calculated to
tease.
    “You didn’t eat much at dinner,” he said.
    Vincent shrugged. “I wasn’t hungry.”
    “I thought seeing Mr. Ortensi again might have brought back
memories of your mentor.” Dark memories of the man’s death.
    Surprise flickered across Vincent’s face, before vanishing
behind a smile. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
    “Of course I do,” Henry said simply. “I care about you.”
    Vincent’s lips parted, eyes widening slightly, as though the
words caught him off-guard. Surely he understood Henry’s regard for him? Then
Vincent’s expression melted into a warm smile. “Thank you for the concern. But
we have much more interesting things to talk about tonight. For example, you
could tell me if you like what you’re seeing?”
    Henry swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “I do
like. Very much.”
    Vincent shed his drawers; his cock stood half at attention.
“Surely you don’t mean to deprive me of the same pleasure?”
    Henry hurriedly slipped off his nightshirt. Vincent sat on
the bed by him, pulling him in for a kiss. Vincent tasted of whiskey and
cinnamon, his lips soft against Henry’s. Desire fired through his blood,
washing away the lingering bitterness of jealousy. Whatever the future might
hold, tonight Vincent was his. And he would take full advantage of the fact.
    Vincent pulled back, his breathing rough and uneven. “Who’s
in the next room?” he whispered. “Do you know?”
    Henry nodded. “Lizzie, thank heavens. We’ll still have to be
discreet, but…”
    “But not worry too much about the occasional moan or creak