Indulgence 2: One Glimpse Read Online Free PDF Page A

pain. Yes, that would do. It would be one more story to make him look like a clumsy fool. What was one more, after all?
    Reaching the hall, he went in search of a back door. He refused to wait on the front step for his carriage to be called, a standing tableau for people to gawk at. He would just find his carriage in the alley and have a footman send his apologies to his sister. She would be able to find a ride home with one of her friends. He was too angry to be good company with her anyway.
    As he turned down a narrower hallway that, he hoped, would lead to some exit, his mind raced over the things he should have done and should have said. Oh, yes, Sam was very clever and cutting in his imagination, but when the moment of action came, his mind always failed him.
    “Oof! Pardon me.”
    Sam heard the words just as he ran headlong into a sculpted wall of linen and silk. He braced his hands to keep from toppling forward, and strong hands did the same against his shoulders. He stumbled back, a snarling rebuff ready on his lips, when he looked up to meet the copper-flecked eyes of Lord John Darnish.
    “Apologies, my lord.” Sam’s throat went dry.
    “It’s of no concern. If you’re looking for the privy, it’s just around that way. Ah.” Darnish looked down to the front of his once immaculate ivory waistcoat, now smeared with a bloody palm print.
    “Oh, God.” Sam groaned. Of course. Of course!
    “Think nothing of it,” Darnish muttered, though the tight press of his lips betrayed his irritation. He pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve but dropped his hand futilely.
    “I-I’m sorry,” Sam stammered, then felt even more foolish for that. What a pathetic, bumbling idiot he must seem. Having just slammed his hand into Darnish’s torso, the pain was becoming intense enough to make him ill.
    Darnish looked at Sam’s hand, wrapped in a linen that was quite soaked through, and his irritation vanished. “Good Lord, man. You must have that seen to immediately.”
    “Yes,” Sam muttered. “I do apologize again.”
    “It’s nothing. Just a waistcoat.” Darnish smiled and opened his arms in a gesture to the ruined garment, not to mention to one of the finest figures Sam had ever seen. Broad, muscled shoulders and a flat, tapering torso that probably held not a pinch of fat. If Sam knew who the man’s tailor was, he would send him a gift basket with a note of thanks for his labors.
    Darnish continued. “I’ll leave you to it then. Smith, is it?”
    Sam sputtered, and his cheeks grew hot. He doesn’t even know my name. The same clubs, the same social functions for years, and he doesn’t even know my name.
    “Smith. Yes.” The words came out as a nervous laugh.
    “Think nothing of the waistcoat, really,” Darnish added, though he looked at Sam curiously. “I was looking for an excuse to leave early, and now I have it.”
    “I have my excuse too, as you see.” Sam raised his throbbing hand. His pained smile was so bitter it was like acid in his throat.
    “It would be hard to match that one.” Darnish chuckled. “Desperation and extreme measures, eh?”
    “Right. Excuse me, if you will. Have to see to this.” Sam slinked away, his throat and eyes aching as he did. He hoped Darnish was not watching him as he walked away, but he was too much of a coward to look back and see.
    How wonderful. A perfect end to a miserable day. He could just imagine Darnish shaking his head and laughing at the strange nobody he had just met. The surly, dull, short little nothing he had just met.
    Pathetic.
    On the side street beyond the garden, Sam found his carriage and coachman near the end of the line and glared at the man when he had the nerve to stare openly at Sam’s bloody hand. As soon as he was tucked into the carriage and it began to sway away, the tears welled behind his closed eyes.
    * * * *
    “SHAW?”
    “YES. SAMUEL Shaw. Lady Crowl is his sister, I think,” came the laughing reply.
    John Darnish scowled as