A Fashionable Indulgence (Society of Gentlemen #1) by Kj Charles Page A

could get him away, I’ll…” He braced himself visibly. “I’ll distract Mal.”
    “Lord, don’t do that,” Freddy said, simultaneously with Higham’s, “I’m not standing between Webster and a pack of cards. I value my skin.”
    Harry had no idea what was going on, and absolutely no urge to volunteer himself for either sacrifice. He glanced around, as if that might be helpful, and saw a dark head above the mingling crowd of men: Richard, moving purposefully in Maltravers’s direction, taking Lord Alvanley’s arm as he did so. Harry tapped Ash’s shoulder. “I think Richard may be dealing with your brother.”
    “Oh God, really? He is quite the best of men. Come on, Harry. If we go out this way we can collect Francis and avoid a scene.”
    “Would there be a scene?” Harry asked.
    “Yes,” said Ash and Freddy in chorus. Freddy went on, “Maltravers doesn’t like Webster. Well, can’t say I do myself. Not the most likable of fellows.”
    “
I
like him,” Ash said. “We settled our differences, Freddy, you know that, and he can’t help being awkward.” That was probably Ash’s idea of turning away suspicion, though the words were spoken with a betraying flush. “Come on.” He led the way to the gaming room, just in time for them to see Julius escorting Francis from the tables with a grip that looked as though it wasn’t going to be shaken off. For a poised exquisite, Julius had a decided knack for the frog-march.
    “I say, Francis, Mal’s here,” Ash said, hurrying up. “Shall we go?”
    “I have no intention of scurrying away for your repulsive brother’s benefit,” Francis snapped.
    “
I
have no intention of watching you and Maltravers engage in a battle of wits,” Julius informed him. “If I want to observe an unnatural and ungainly spectacle, I shall watch the dancing dogs at Astley’s. Don’t be a bore, Francis, let us move on to Quex’s. Richard asked me to put Harry’s name down.”
    “Yes, do let’s,” Ash said earnestly. Francis glowered, but let Ash tug at his arm.
    “Thank God, a crisis averted,” Julius murmured as they stepped onto the street. The cool night air of early autumn was a welcome shock against Harry’s heated skin. “The only sight less edifying than Francis squabbling with that oaf Maltravers is Ash dancing around them with pity and terror writ large on his idiotic face.”
    “Oh, that’s unkind,” Harry protested.
    “Francis and Maltravers have been at daggers drawn for the best part of two decades now. Ash can’t change that, and nobody else cares. How are you enjoying your maiden voyage?”
    “Enormously.” Harry grinned at him, full of relief and gratitude. He felt as effervescent as the champagne he’d been drinking. Nobody had looked askance at him. Nobody had disputed his right to be here or asked the probing questions he’d feared:
Where are you from? Where were you before?
He was Richard’s cousin, a Vane, a gentleman whatever anyone might say, and nobody was terribly interested in anything more. “It’s been the most wonderful night.”
    “I thought the company was rather thin. It will be more interesting when the Season gets into full swing,” Julius remarked as he took Harry’s arm. The contact shivered through him. It was just the way gentlemen might choose to walk together, but it was Julius, and so close, and the fact was, all the excitement made Harry want to fuck.
    If he’d been a normal man on a normal street, he could have pushed Julius down some dark and filthy alley, fumbled between his legs, shared gin-soaked kisses and hurried, sticky groping. Gentlemen didn’t do that, of course, and St. James’s Street had no suitable alleys degrading its classical marble grandeur. He’d just have to wait.
    Richard caught up with them as they sauntered up St. James’s, past broughams and liveried servants, well-dressed men in little groups, a couple of noisier merrymakers.
    “I say, thank you,” Ash told him. “I saw