Free A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) by Darrah Glass

other has it as good as I do.”
    Henry loved hearing this, loved how convincing Martin was saying it. It was possible, he supposed, that everything Martin said was a lie, but if that were the case, he lied so well! If Martin was only pretending to enjoy their intimacy, he was a far better actor than Henry could have credited. Besides, his voracious appetite for Henry's body didn't seem like something anyone would bother to fake.
    Louis appeared from out of the crowd and nudged Henry with his elbow. “Let's go see the fortune teller.”
    Henry handed his empty cup to Martin. “More punch, please.”
    “If you're sure, Sir,” Martin said, a hint of concern in his tone. No doubt he was worried Henry would get sick again, as he had at the last Briggs party, but Henry felt confident he could handle his liquor this time.
    “I'm fine, Martin,” Henry assured him. “I'm barely feeling it.” He felt pleasantly abuzz, nowhere near the level of reeling sickness that had claimed him last time.
    Martin seemed somewhat unbelieving, but he took the cup and headed toward the reception room, Peter close behind him with Louis' cup.
    The fortune teller was set up in the Briggs library in an atmospheric tasseled tent lit by candles. She was an enigmatic creature dressed in colorful gypsy finery, a scarf on her head and hoops in her ears, sitting at a table laid out with tarot cards and a crystal ball. She was bent over the palm of some august lady in a silver gown and a half-mask decorated with ostrich plumes, speaking to her intently. There were a few other adults in line ahead of the boys, so they settled in to wait, slouched on the library sofa, slightly drunk.
    The slaves returned with their drinks while they waited their turns. Henry sipped his punch and listened while Louis complained anew about James commandeering Peter. He felt very fortunate that he did not have an older brother forcing his way into every corner of his life and taking whatever he wanted. He’d always envied Louis his big family, but really it was better to do without brothers and have Martin safely to himself. He felt pleasantly muddled and the punch burned going down.
    A tall, fat, sandy-haired man in a simple black half-mask and evening dress sat down in the fortune teller's chair and for a moment Henry thought it was his father. It was not, but Henry realized that it could have been, that surely Father would have been invited. Would he make an appearance? Would he have Mrs. Murdock with him? Henry did not know how he felt about that. On the one hand, he didn't imagine it was pleasant being married to Mother, and no doubt Phoebe Murdock was a great deal more fun. But on the other hand, he felt so rejected by his father. Father's dislike of Mother seemed to extend to Henry, as well. He was not the son Father wanted, clearly, and he worried that his father’s bastard, Calvin, would be more to his liking. He’d be better in school, perhaps. He likely wouldn’t be queer—did Father suspect? But surely Henry had some redeeming qualities? The part of him that cared for Martin, for instance—that seemed valuable and good. If only Father could see that part of him without condemnation!
    Henry’s eyes teared up and he brushed at them hurriedly with the back of his hand. It wouldn't do to get maudlin here.
    “Did you get something in your eye, Sir?” Martin was perched on the arm of the sofa beside him, peering down at his face with concern. He pulled out his handkerchief. “Here, Sir. See if you can get it out.”
    Henry took off his mask and made a show of dabbing at his eyes with the handkerchief. “Yes, I think I got it,” he said, handing the handkerchief back to Martin, who tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. “Thank you.” He turned his back to Martin and let him tie his mask on again.
    “Is that tight enough, Sir?” Martin's fingertips rested lightly on Henry's head, points of warmth.
    Henry nodded. “It's fine. Thank you.” Martin was so