A Private Gentleman (5 page)
Read A Private Gentleman Online
Authors: Heidi Cullinan
Joshua didn’t find them, only grunted and farted as he settled back in the chair
anchoring their sheet, breathing heavily.
“Fucking cocktease,” he grumbled. Another grunt, another fart, and then a
belch as well.
Wes and Vallant held very still. They also tried not to breathe.
Sir Joshua did not rise. After the passage of a few more minutes, he began to
snore.
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Wes and Vallant were trapped. They sat beneath the sheet, inches apart and
staring at one another. Vallant no longer looked terrified, but he didn’t look
settled, either. The strangest thing, however, was that Wes got the distinct feeling
it wasn’t Sir Joshua who upset Vallant the most. It was Wes. And the longer they
sat there, silent and staring, the more desperately Wes wanted to know what
about him inspired such a reaction.
Careful not to make a sound, he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out
his notebook and pencil.
Balancing the paper against his leg, he wrote,
I will not expose you.
He started to pass it over before pulling it back to add,
Not to Sir J nor to any other. You have
no need to fear.
He handed the notepad over and watched carefully for Vallant’s reaction.
Vallant’s first move was to lift the paper very close to his face, though after
studying it, he glanced up at Wes, his look still wary. Which meant he hadn’t
feared exposure.
Which meant he feared the
other.
Grimacing, Wes motioned for the paper.
I am not a madman. Only a stammerer. It is my tongue, not my mind, which is my
affliction.
His lips tightened as he added,
Certainly I am preferable to he whose wind
gags us and uneven snores prevent us from escaping.
He handed the pad over brusquely and waited.
Once more the pad went all the way up to Vallant’s nose. This time,
however, when he read Wes’s note, he blushed.
“I don’t—” he began in a whisper, but as soon as he spoke Sir Joshua snorted
and stirred. Wes laid a finger to his lips and passed over the pencil. Vallant took
it and wrote hurriedly.
I don’t think you’re mad. Thank you for helping me. Certainly you had no cause to.
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It was kind of Vallant to say this, of course, but it helped Wes not at all. He
wrote again.
Then why do you fear me?
He was ready for Vallant to object, to insist he didn’t, but to his surprise,
Vallant seemed abashed. He hesitated over the pad.
You are Daventry’s son.
Wes glanced at him, but Vallant wasn’t meeting his gaze. Wes wondered
why the devil that was. Because of his father, apparently, but that explained
nothing that would help him now. Fear of the office, perhaps?
He tried for levity.
An accident of birth. I’m afraid I’m nothing like my father, and he would be the first
to tell you so. Emphatically.
After some thought he added,
I shan’t tell him anything
either, if that gives you any comfort.
The pencil stub ended up in the corner of Vallant’s mouth, where he nibbled
absently at it before writing his reply.
You are oddly tolerant of my nature.
Ah.
A return confession felt redundant after his reaction in the anteroom, but it
seemed Vallant would demand it of him. Wes wrestled with phrasing, wanting
to be clear to Vallant while being coded enough for another to fail to accurately
decipher it should they find their notes. In the end he decided there was nothing
for it, and he would need to burn these pages the moment he returned to his
apartments.
I share it
.
To his surprise, Vallant only gave a grim smile. His reply was swift.
I meant that I am a whore. Somehow I doubt you claim that nature as well?
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Was it terrible that Wes felt aroused by the conversation? Likely. He tried to
absorb himself in composing a reply, which took some doing, both the
absorption and the reply itself. What did one say to that?
No, don’t mind at all, old
chap? What are your rates, perhaps I can give you some business?
Aloud, he would have no hope of continuing the conversation. Indeed, he
would never have made it this far. But here, trapped as they were… Perhaps it
was all the pent-up frustration of the evening, perhaps it was the opium, or
perhaps it was simply Vallant himself, but Wes suspected very much he was
flirting.
If all are as delightful as you, I should hope to encounter many more of your peers. If
I am mistaken, however, I shall happily embrace you as an exception.
Vallant’s surprise at this reply was quickly masked, but Wes took pleasure in
the suspicion that it flattered rather than alarmed him. When the notepad
returned to him, Vallant presented it with a slight smile playing at his lips.
I apologize for my familiarity earlier. I honestly did mistake you for my friend.
Wes’s reply was as swift as he could write it.
Pray, think nothing of it. I live in hope you make the mistake often in the future. And
I envy your friend.
This time Vallant’s mirth was more difficult for him to repress, though by his
reply he clearly meant to keep trying.
Whores are meant to be bought with money,
my lord, not flattery.
Another quick reply, one Wes gave almost without thinking.
Perhaps it is not the whore I am trying to buy.
This, though, upset Vallant, who went still and wary at once. His reply was
also swift, his hand shaking slightly.
You have only seen the whore, I promise you. And him, sir, you must purchase with
shillings.
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Wes cast up his eyebrow. He had no idea why Vallant thought he would
swallow such a lie.
Perhaps it wasn’t Wes he was lying to.
He should let it go, he knew. What he meant to pursue with such a man he
had no notion. Sir Joshua was well asleep now, and they could easily make their
escape. Yet he could not stop himself from writing again.
I have seen only a whore in the same way you have seen only a stammerer.
Vallant stared at the paper a long time. This time he didn’t chew the pencil,
but he did nibble his lip. He glanced up at Wes, searching for something in his
face. Then he returned to the paper.
What is it you want, my lord?
It was a fair question. Wes wished he knew its answer. From Vallant, he had
no idea. Certainly he wouldn’t confess the answers that rose in his mind: it had
been some time since his last congress, which had been rough and hurried. Also
he was lonely, and Vallant was achingly pretty. But because he was enjoying
pretending he was witty and clever, and seeing such reflected in another’s eyes,
he pretended to misunderstand.
An orchid no man has yet discovered and the power of speech enough to describe it to
my peers.
Vallant only gave him a withering—but reluctantly amused—glance and
handed the notepad back. “From me, my lord,” he whispered.
Oh, devil take it. Wes wrote again.
Well, if I am wishing for the moon, I should long for a kiss, but rest assured I don’t
expect one.
His nerves fluttered this time as he handed it back. He’d hoped Vallant
would laugh, but he didn’t. Neither did he recoil, however.
As your reward?
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Wes shook his head, not meeting Vallant’s gaze. He felt foolish now for his
confession. Yes, what was he playing at with Vallant? Did he imagine he would
charm the man? Did he think this would bring the man to his bed? Vallant had
made it plain that money would. Still, even as he chided himself, part of him
yearned for one more exchange, one more flirtation. Because no, he didn’t even
want a kiss, much as he wouldn’t refuse one. He only wanted to extend this
strange, beautiful moment—handwritten exchanges with a male whore beneath
a bedsheet while his assailant snored beside them—as long as he possibly could.
Which, he decided, was a destination he had reached.
Motioning with his head, he slipped quietly out from beneath the sheet.
Vallant glanced worriedly toward Sir Joshua, but the baronet slept on. Wes
extended his hand and helped Vallant rise, and together they moved in silence
across the room to the door. It creaked when opened, and Sir Joshua stirred
enough to murmur incoherently and release more wind, but that was all. They
passed safely into the adjoining room, and Wes closed the door without a sound.
Pocketing the notepad and pencil, Wes turned to Vallant with a smile he
hoped appeared wry and not full of the ridiculous sad longing he felt. But his
half smile slid away as he took in the strange look on Vallant’s face. He waited,
but Vallant only continued looking at him carefully. At last, Wes could take it no
longer.
“W-w-what—?” he began, though he stopped as Vallant lifted a hand and
pressed two warm fingers against his lips.
“Hush,” he whispered. His eyes fell to his fingers at Wes’s lips, and when
they rose again, they were enticingly soft and open. Now it was he who offered a
half smile, though his was laced with quiet uncertainty. “No more stammerer nor
whore—not just yet.”
Wes shook his head. “I c-c-can’t s-s-s-stop it.”
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“I can,” Vallant replied, the words tickling Wes’s ear and leaving gooseflesh
on his skin. Vallant leaned forward and pressed his lips to the place where his
fingers had been.
In his surprise, Wes did not close his eyes, which was why he saw that
neither did Vallant. The other man’s eyes were slits, but they were open and
watching. Their gazes held and locked as their lips met, remaining so even as
Vallant drew back to end the kiss.
Wes let out a breath in a shuddering rush and lifted his own hand to
Vallant’s face. Brushing his knuckles against Vallant’s cheek, Wes stared down at
his companion in surprise. Vallant leaned into Wes’s touch. His fingers pressed
against Wes’s chest, five pinpoints of gentle pressure.
They stared at each other a little longer.
Then, somehow, it all went a bit mad.
Wes never knew who moved first. All he could remember later was that one
moment they had been staring at each other, and the next their mouths were
locked as they stumbled to the small sofa near the window. Vallant straddled
him and ground a rock-hard erection against his own aching cock, murmuring
eager, breathless approval as Wes fought to undo both their trousers at once.
“Hurry,” Vallant pleaded, sounding deliciously desperate. He dug his
fingers into Wes’s shoulders. “
Hurry.
”
Wes freed their cocks at last, and Vallant began to thrust and moan softly,
but Wes stayed him. “W-We n-need a h-h-handkerchief.”
Vallant lifted passion-bleary eyes and scanned around them before pointing
to the table. “There. A cloth beside that flower in a jar.”
“C-Careful,” Wes admonished as Vallant leaned over to reach for it. “The
orchid.”
“It’s beautiful,” Vallant said.
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“It’s d-dying,” Wes replied.
Vallant grinned wickedly at Wes. “But we aren’t, my lord.”
“Wes,” Wes gasped as Vallant took them both in hand. “C-call me W-Wes.”
Vallant paused in his stroke and frowned. “It makes us sound like school
chums. No, thank you.” He tilted his head to the side. “Why Wes?”
Odd. No one had ever asked him that before. He even had to think to
remember why himself. His father hadn’t come into his title when he’d first been
at school, so he was simply George Albert Westin. And yes, school chums, if they
could be called such, had called him Wes. Or rather, W-W-Wes to mock his
stammer. By the time he came home, he was Lord George—but George was his
father. And his brother. At home his father had called him George or George
Albert, and his brother called him Brat. In his own mind, he was Wes and had
been since his mother had died.
He could hardly sputter all that out, and he wasn’t reaching for his paper
when he had Vallant’s cock pressed so tightly against his own. Given the way
Vallant had reacted to his father, his Christian name wouldn’t do. Best go with
the other one then.
“Albert,” he rasped as his head fell back.
The name made Vallant stop, and so Wes opened his eyes and lifted his
head. Vallant was regarding him curiously.
“M-My m-m-middle name,” Wes explained.
My mother called me Albert.
“Albert,” Vallant said, as if trying it out. He smiled. “Yes, Albert will do
