Page 61 of Restored

Henry’s body may have finally accepted that it needed physical companionship, but his heart remained wary of love.

Even now, Henry's heart urged him to caution, whispering that perhaps he should resist the temptation to return to Redford’s tonight.

But there was another part of him, a long-dormant part, that had been wakened to tentative life a week ago.

Wakened by Christopher Redford.

Kit.

And God help him, but Henry wanted more.

Henry decided to while away the hours till evening by calling on Corbett. The man welcomed him warmly, and they spent a companionable day together. After an early dinner at his club, Corbett invited Henry to join him for a few hands of Faro.

“I can’t, I’m afraid,” Henry said, trying and failing to suppress a smile. “I’ve a previous engagement.”

“Oh? What’s this?” Corbett murmured, clearly sensing there was something more to the story. He arched one expressive brow. “Never say you met someone interesting at Redford’s last week?”

“Perhaps,” Henry said evasively. Part of him wanted to confide in his old friend about his breathtaking encounter with Christopher, but the more sensible side of him warned him to say nothing.

One thing occurred to him, though, that he wanted to talk to Corbett about. And somehow he found himself blurting it out before he could think better of it.

“Corbett, do you—that is, do you ever take the passive role?”

Corbett stared at him, wide-eyed, and Henry flushed hard.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s all right,” Corbett said with a short laugh. “It’s just, I’m surprised. Especially coming from you.”

“What do you mean, ‘coming from me’?”

Corbett frowned, looking as if he was searching for the right words. At last he said, “You were never—” He broke off. Started again. “You were not one to speak frankly of such things. Oh, we’d go to the Lily together and pick up lads”—he gave Henry a half-grin—“you even let your boy suck you in front of me once or twice, but mostly you were quite private. You never spoke of what you liked, or what you’d tried.”

Henry smiled. “You thought me very dull, did you not?”

Corbett rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean that,” he replied. “Only that the rest of us would joke, and boast and—I suppose it was our way of finding out from one another what we preferred. But you never did that. And then you left town—I don’t suppose it’s as easy to find fellows like us when you’re living in the depths of the country?”

“No,” Henry agreed drily.

“That must have been difficult.”

Henry nodded. “And not just for the reasons you’re thinking about. I missedthis.” He gestured between them. “The company of others like us.”

Corbett nodded. “Hence your question,” he said, “regarding my views on the ‘passive role.’”

Henry flushed and nodded.

Corbett chuckled, though not unkindly. “Do you know, Avesbury, you still blush like a schoolboy sometimes, and you’re forty if you’re a day!”

“Seven-and-forty,” Henry corrected.

Corbett made a rueful chuff at that. “Handsome devil,” he complained. Then he leaned forward in his seat and said quietly, “As it happens, the ‘passive role’ as you call it—though I would refute the accuracy of that particular description—is my preference.”

Henry stared at him. Corbett was, like Henry himself, a large man. Well-built with wide shoulders and a deep voice. To learn that he preferred to receive was surprising. And intriguing.

Henry realised that Corbett was also watching him closely.

“Have you never…?” Corbett began slowly, his eyes widening a little when Henry shook his head.