Free A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) by Darrah Glass

other slaves, starting with Pearl then down through the ranks, and Henry waited somewhat impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other. In the middle of Martin meeting the maids, Cora escaped from Nurse and introduced herself, which threw off the rhythm of the introductions. Martin shook her hand and bent low to speak with her, and Henry could not hear what they said but envied his sister her relative boldness and level of comfort with this handsome young stranger.
    Father, seeing Henry’s impatience, gave him leave to show Martin to their rooms. “This way,” said Henry, with a jerk of his chin. Martin followed close at his heels up the staircase and Henry was very conscious of him at his back.
    The second floor of the house was nearly all bedrooms, each with its own slave room and bath. Father had planned for a very large family when the house was built, but Mother had proven incapable of providing him with one, so most of the house sat empty. Henry’s suite was one of the larger ones, with windows facing south and east, an elaborate mantel over the hearth, and a generously-sized slave’s chamber connected via a short corridor, with a black-and-white-tiled bath in between, as well as a linen closet and trunk room. The walls throughout were papered in a gilded damask, the floors carpeted in a blue-and-burgundy feather pattern, and heavy blue velvet curtains flanked the windows. Henry looked around his bedroom at the imposing furniture, the high bed and throne-like chair before the desk, as if seeing them for the first time, and said, “My father…he likes grand things,” with a sort of helpless gesture toward the looming headboard. He ushered Martin into the little connecting hall. “You’ll be just through here.”
    The slave’s room was furnished in good style, in keeping with the grandeur of the house. Father—and thus Henry—believed in outfitting slaves such that they might do their best work.
    Martin smiled and stroked the heavy plush of the bedspread. “It’s all so nice, Sir.”
    Besides the bed, the room held a wardrobe and a desk with a chair. The brown paper packages from the haberdasher were piled on the desk and the new jackets hung in the open wardrobe.
    “You can sit, if you want,” Henry said.
    Martin sat on the bed, still stroking the coverlet. “Thank you, Sir.” He cleared his throat. “You know, Sir, I’m very grateful to have joined your house.” In an almost conspiratorial tone, he added, “I had hoped that you’d be the one to take me at auction.”
    “There were others interested,” Henry pointed out. “Loads of them. You’d have gone to a good family no matter what.”
    “But, I wanted to go with you , Sir,” Martin said. He looked up at Henry from beneath lowered lids, long lashes. He drew little circles on the coverlet with the tip of his finger.
    Although this admission pleased Henry a great deal, it also made him uncomfortable. What was Martin’s purpose in saying such a thing? Henry shouldn’t let himself read too much into it.
    Martin continued. “Your family is a good one, but it’s you I liked better than the others, Sir.”
    His face very hot, Henry dared ask, “Why is that?”
    “You’re very handsome,” Martin said, unselfconscious in offering the compliment, “and I think you’ll be a kind master.” He thought for a moment, then added, “You didn’t handle me roughly, not like some of the others.”
    “What did they do to you?” asked Henry, trying not to sound too interested.
    “Oh, so many of them bent me over and…touched me intimately, Sir. Poking and prodding. I’m quite sore.” Martin wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Not too sore, though, Sir!” he hurried to add.
    Henry remembered seeing the boy probing the slave’s ass in the showroom—and remembered his jealousy, his wish that he had been bold enough to do it himself.
    Martin mistook Henry’s silence for disapproval. “Forgive me, Sir, for speaking ill of my betters.”