Page 20 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
Oh, hell. A good man, fond of Georgie. Georgie wanted to hide under the covers of his bed—some other bed, far away from Penkellis.
He didn’t deserve this. Neither of them did. Radnor didn’t deserve to be deceived. Georgie didn’t deserve anything like fondness, not from a good man, not from anyone at all. Radnor’s kindness felt unearned. Stolen.
Georgie left the tray in the study and rejoined Radnor in the corridor. The earl was bent over the place where the wires twisted together.
“It’s nearly ready.” Radnor spoke without looking up. “You send the first transmission, and I’ll send something back in return.” The point of today’s work, Georgie understood, was not only the greater distance between the two trestles but also seeing whether whatever Radnor had done to the battery would prevent short circuits.
Georgie watched the earl disappear around the corner, his strong thighs straining the buckskin of his breeches, his overlong hair barely contained in a queue, and felt a strange sort of unease, as if he wanted to keep the man in sight. Which was nonsense, of course. Radnor wasn’t anything to him, and he wasn’t anything to Radnor, interesting midnight interludes notwithstanding.
Last night, Georgie had stopped himself just in the nick of time. Another instant and he would have pressed his body fully against Radnor’s, letting the other man feel the force of his desire. Radnor wanted him, that much had been abundantly clear. Equally clear was that he had no intention of acting on his desire. And Georgie wasn’t in the habit of coaxing potential lovers into being free with their favors, not when the world was filled with people who weren’t afraid or ashamed of what they wanted.
“Now, Turner!” Radnor bellowed from around the corner.
Oh, bugger it all. Georgie had never been good at resisting temptation. He sat on the floor before the trestle and tapped out his message before he could think better of it.
During the next few silent minutes, he started to worry that he had badly miscalculated, that he had gone too far. But then the bubbles started to rise. He picked up his pencil to write down each letter.
Georgie’s transmission had been short, modeled after the earl’s own transmission the previous week:Thatbeard. If Georgie’s waistcoat was fair game for telegraphic scorn, then so was Radnor’s blasted beard.
He looked at the paper on which he had transcribed the earl’s return message.Whatofit.What of it? His heart beat faster, not only because his message evidently hadn’t annoyed the earl, but because the device was working. Here they were, having a conversation several dozen yards apart, by way of wires and tubes and bubbles. This wasn’t something he had even contemplated two weeks ago, and now he was witnessing it. And it was Radnor, for all his eccentricity, who had done it.
As quickly as he could, he sent his next message.Soft.
He waited. Had he gone too far? Had the machine failed? A full minute passed, more than enough time for his message to have gone through.
He heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching him. Radnor’s massive boots came to a stop inches away from where Georgie sat. Just for the thrill of it, Georgie let his gaze travel ever so slowly, decadently, up Radnor’s massive frame. The earl’s ensemble was as deplorable as ever today, but there was something to be said for worn buckskins on a man built like Radnor. Looking up further still, he only allowed himself the briefest glance at the placket of Radnor’s breeches. He had felt enough last night to know that what was behind that placket would not disappoint. And then there was his shirt, threadbare and overlaundered and barely concealing muscular chest and arms. Radnor’s waistcoat had apparently gone on holiday with the man’s coat. Georgie found he couldn’t complain.
“We need a question mark.” Radnor’s voice was gruff.
“Pardon?” Georgie wasn’t following. He was too busy thinking of what other articles of the earl’s clothing he’d like to see vanish.
“Your transmission. I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. We need to add wires for punctuation.”
Soft. He had meant it as a question:Is your beard soft?“It was a question. I don’t have enough data to make a definitive statement.” He looked Radnor directly in the eyes. “Unfortunately.”
Radnor shook his head. “You can’t go on like that. I . . . you don’t know what you’re doing. If you knew, you wouldn’t say such things.”
Georgie ignored this. “Really, Radnor, today you ought to be celebrating.” He rose to his feet and took a step closer.No harm in trying, he reasoned. “Your machine has succeeded. You’ve done what no other man in England has even attempted.”
Radnor briefly squeezed his eyes shut, a helpless little gesture that Georgie was amazed to discover he found endearing. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly well. You’re brilliant. You’re talented.” Georgie let those words drop out of his mouth in much the same register as he’d sayyou’re so big and hardin another context. And why not, when Georgie’s desire was being wound up by Radnor’s mind as much as it was by any other part of his anatomy. Tentatively, as if reaching out to pet a strange dog, Georgie lifted his hand and lightly touched the earl’s beard.
“Perfectly soft,” Georgie murmured.
Radnor grabbed Georgie’s wrist and held it away from him. “Stop,” he growled. “You cannot know what you’re doing to me.”
Could the man really not see how Georgie felt? He was being as overt as he possibly could without actually jumping on him. “Why don’t you tell me?” Georgie purred, trying to make it obvious for him.
“I . . . ” Radnor swallowed. “I have perverse tastes.” He winced, as if it physically hurt to speak those words aloud. “Deviant inclinations.” He must have mistaken Georgie’s silence for confusion, because he went on. “Men. Criminal.”
“I understand,” Georgie said quickly, to spare Radnor from the pain of further elaboration, and also because he didn’t want to hear his own desires painted in such a shameful light.
“I choose not to act on my urges. Anymore. But, still, you wouldn’t touch me if you knew what I felt when you did. You would keep your distance, as would be right.” He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. “You have nothing to fear. You’re in my house and under my protection, and I won’t do anything to lead you astray.”
Georgie stood perfectly still. Whatever he had thought Radnor might say, it wasn’t this. Protection? Georgie hadn’t been protected by anybody since he was a child. If anyone in this musty corridor needed looking after, it was Radnor himself, especially since, in addition to his odd habits, he was apparently awash in shame and humiliation.
Pity, like a hard lump, sat in Georgie’s belly. He suddenly felt a wave of gratitude that, whatever hardships he had faced, he had managed to figure out that people simply liked what they liked, and that embarrassment didn’t need to figure into it.
