The Christmas Wager by Jamie Fessenden Page B

gymnasium.‖
    As he knew would happen, the implications of this were
    immediately apparent to his friend. Thomas‘s eyes went wide.
    Slowly, he reached for the sherry decanter and poured himself
    another glass.
    ―You‘ve seen me out of my clothing more times than I can
    remember.‖
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    ―I know,‖ Andrew responded, feeling deeply ashamed. ―It‘s
    awful of me. Please understand that it‘s been difficult to isolate
    myself from these circumstances, without revealing my
    nature—‖
    ―Were you… did you find me pleasing?‖
    Andrew could not look at him.
    ―Thomas… I have always felt you to be incredibly
    beautiful.‖
    He expected Thomas to be shocked, but he merely gave
    him a shy smile and said, ―I‘m glad you think so, Andrew.‖
    Andrew looked up and met his soft green eyes. The
    expression in them was far from horror or disgust. It seemed…
    affectionate. Had Andrew allowed himself to believe it, he could
    almost swear it was loving.
    The love of a good friend , Andrew told himself. Nothing
    more. He’s a good sort.
    ―I think you‘ve had a bit too much to drink, Thomas. You‘d
    best get to bed.‖
    Thomas appeared reluctant to leave, but tilted back his
    sherry glass and emptied it. Then he dutifully placed it on the
    table and stood to take his leave. ―I‘ll say good night, then.
    Thank you, Andrew, for all you‘ve done—with the dance and…
    everything else.‖
    Andrew wasn‘t certain what he meant by ―everything else,‖
    but he smiled.
    ―Goodnight, Thomas. Sleep well.‖
    Andrew knew he would not. Thomas‘s unexpectedly
    affectionate reaction to his confession that he found him
    beautiful was disconcerting. Against his will, thoughts of
    Thomas‘s naked body began to come to mind. Though he had
    always fought against such thoughts, he began to wonder if
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    Thomas would be willing to consider other arrangements that
    might please both of them.
    With a concerted effort, he forced the thought from his
    mind. Thomas was a good-hearted creature, and still, in many
    ways, an innocent. He knew nothing of the unnatural desires a
    man of Andrew‘s sort might have for him. To corrupt him, even
    in fantasy, seemed absolutely unforgivable.

    THOMAS could no longer deny that he was intoxicated. But he
    wasn‘t so far gone that he hadn‘t noticed the way Andrew was
    looking at him as he said goodnight. Nor was he oblivious to
    his own reaction to that look. Any proper English gentleman
    would have been repulsed, but he was not.
    Why am I always pleased to find evidence of his attraction
    to me? Thomas wondered. Indeed, now that he was being
    honest with himself, he was forced to admit that he wanted
    Andrew to be attracted to him.
    No, it’s more than that. I want him to love me.
    The thought came upon him suddenly, and he was
    startled by it. But he instantly knew it to be true. Watching
    Andrew dancing with that young chit had nearly driven
    Thomas mad with frustration. Every time he and Andrew had
    linked arms, he‘d wished fervently that it were just the two of
    them dancing—the girl and Rebecca be damned!
    He longed to return to London, where they could once
    again spend their nights alone with each other, distracted only
    by the casual acquaintances they both had at the club.
    It was foolish, Thomas reflected, as he made his way to the
    bed, bracing himself on the backs of chairs and the bedpost to
    keep himself steady. Worse than that, it was cruel. Thomas
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    could never love Andrew the way Andrew wanted him to. Yet
    some part of him wanted Andrew to remain faithful to him.
    The idea was absurd.
    He found that he was no longer shocked by Andrew‘s
    inclinations. If the blond preferred to bed men, instead of
    women, so be it. Let the Church hash out the morality of it—it
    was not up to Thomas to be Andrew‘s judge. If his friend were
    to find another man