Thomas's Choice
Page 6

Thomas ran for the exit, desperate to escape the crowd’s scrutiny. Had anybody recognized him? He glanced around, looking at the unfamiliar faces that he ran past. No, nobody from the aristocracy would have been in the courtroom. They found such events distasteful. It was his only consolation.
As he rushed outside, shouts followed him on his heels. He couldn’t block them out.
“Faggot!”
“Poof!”
His lungs burned from exertion as he hurried down the broad staircase and crossed the foyer of the courthouse. He sprinted past the marble columns that flanked the entrance, and exited.
Night had already fallen, and he was grateful for it. He would be able to disappear in the crowd that hung around the steps in front of the building, waiting for news of the verdict.
He kept his head down, not wanting to draw any further attention to himself. Unfamiliar faces passed him, and voices drifted past his ears. But he kept walking without engaging in any conversation, without breaking his stride. He pretended to be unconcerned about the goings-on around him. Even though he wasn’t. The verdict had changed everything. From now on, homosexuals like him would be treated with less tolerance than before. People wouldn’t look the other way anymore if they suspected a man of having an intimate relationship with another man.
From now on he had to be even more careful or he would end up like Wilde—in prison.
“Wait up!” somebody called behind him, but Thomas kept walking without turning around.
Just a few more steps and he’d be able to cross Fleet Street and disappear into one of the many dark alleys in London. Then he could hire a hackney and get back to his rooms at St.
James’s Park. And nobody would be the wiser and know what had happened today.
“Young man!” a strangely insistent voice followed him.
He felt compelled to turn his head, but couldn’t distinguish who had spoken. Nobody looked at him directly. Shaking his head in confusion, he turned back and bumped into somebody.
Strong hands gripped his shoulders. Thomas’s gaze whipped to the person who’d stopped him. Panic surged and made itself known in form of a gasp. Penetrating brown eyes looked at him. The clean-shaven face of a man took on more definition as he pulled his head back by a fraction.
“There, there,” the well-dressed stranger said in a surprisingly soothing voice, a voice that seeped into Thomas’s body like rich wine or the comforting smell of a pipe.
The tension in his body eased as the stranger’s hands smoothed over Thomas’s shoulders, almost stroking him as if he were trying to massage the anxiety from his body. A pleasant tingling ran down his arms, spreading warmth in his body despite the cool spring evening.
“No need to be afraid of the mob back there,” the man continued, tossing a look over Thomas’s shoulder.
All the while, his hands caressed him, and Thomas allowed it even though he should push him away. They were in public, although the stranger now drew him into the entrance of a shop that had long closed. They stood in the shadows; still any passerby would be able to see them if he looked more closely. Yet Thomas didn’t have the strength to resist the man’s touch. Nor the press of his thighs as he now moved closer.
“So pretty,” he cooed, his eyes perusing Thomas’s face and body. “It would be a shame if they locked you up for what you are.”
Thomas’s breath hitched. Was this man taunting him? Was he a Charley? A policeman disguised as a gentleman so he could ferret out the queers in the society? Had the witch hunt already started?
Thomas straightened, making an attempt to push off the man’s hands. “Sir, I must ask you to let go of me. You have me mistaken.”
The man’s face came closer, his eyes drawing him in. “No mistake.” His lips parted and the scent of pure masculinity blew against Thomas’s face, making his legs weak.
His gut clenched, and farther south, his cock twitched in anticipation. The stranger confirmed with a knowing smile that he was fully aware of Thomas’s growing arousal.
“Yes, no mistake at all.” One hand separated from his shoulder and, painstakingly slowly, slid down Thomas’s torso.
He knew only too well where the stranger’s hand was heading, but he couldn’t stop him. No, not couldn’t: didn’t want to. For some perverse reason, Thomas craved his touch. He needed to affirm what he was, a man who loved men, and that it felt good, no matter what the mob in front of the courthouse thought.
When a hot palm slid over his now fully erect cock, Thomas groaned and pressed into it.
“Christ!”