Discreet Young Gentleman (17 page)

The oh-so-convenient freckled stable boy. Dean cringed at how expertly he'd been played there. But Rob was so very, very good at telling stories. So quick on his feet with lies, convincing his friend Peter, within mere seconds, that they'd been acquainted before.

All the clues fell together neatly. How would the transaction have been effected?

Rob was too subtle to ask for cash, at least at first. Gifts, now. Gifts would be appropriate. Dean was obviously short of blunt, but his watch was solid gold, his cufflinks antique jade. To a careful eye, Carwick was full of small delights: the leaded crystal glasses they'd drunk their wine out of the night they'd met, the translucent bone-china dishes upon which they'd dined, the delicate miniature portraits of forgotten ancestors displayed in the parlor. Not enough, all told, to extricate their owner from his current difficulties, so not worth selling. But what desirable tokens of affection they would make.

And later, of course, once the hook was firmly planted; then, then Rob could become bolder. A few pounds to cover a gambling debt. A tailor's reckoning he couldn't quite meet. A fishing holiday abroad. Perhaps then, once it had become commonplace for Dean to provide for his expenses, Rob would progress to the convenience of cold, hard cash.

And yet—couldn't it be just possible that Rob really liked him, a little? Deep inside, Dean craved that this was true. They'd had such fun with their absurd ghost-hunting, and yesterday, at the river, when they'd caught Old Bill—surely that moment of intimacy hadn't been all pretense? And, oh God, Rob was attractive. Compellingly so. Eyes that glinted merriment and promised affection. A mobile, oh-so-skillful mouth. Rob's body, half-glimpsed nude several times: the long line of his back, strength of his shoulders, alluring curve of his buttocks. Strong, graceful legs. Naked last night on the floor, Rob's arousal had most certainly not been faked.

Dean stared at his plate, unable to swallow the toast he'd just placed in his mouth.

"Just might be worth it, eh?" His uncle's voice was knowing.

He choked on the morsel of bread. It was touch and go for a moment, but a gulp of coffee washed his throat clear at last. "What did you say?"

Uncle Silas gave his back a final thump. "Where are you this morning, boy? I was telling you about Avery Hall. It's a few miles out of your way, but if you're serious about your ghost hunting, it just might be worth it." He launched into a long description of the haunting, while Dean relaxed back into his ruminations, answering the question he'd imagined he heard.

No. It wouldn't be worth it, becoming one of Rob's gentlemen patrons. Lying to Minerva, sneaking behind her back. Rob kissing him goodbye, then leaving for the bed of another man. He couldn't stand the thought of sharing Rob with anyone. He barely knew the man: if he stopped this mad flirtation right now, Dean could escape with his feelings barely scathed. He would make it clear, if it hadn't been last night, that any idea of a connection between them was impossible.

Rob was necessary to trace the person who had disrupted his engagement, prove that he'd been set up. He'd allowed himself to be sidetracked, but from today on, they would be focused on that goal. The quicker to get the alluring prostitute out of his life forever.

He pasted a smile on his face. "No, Uncle. We don't have time for that. We've got to get back to Erich and the coach as soon as possible."

Dean's foot was on the bottom-most stair heading up to their rooms when Rob finally appeared, eyes heavy and sullen, at the top of the flight. "About time," Dean said roughly.

Rob didn't look at him as he descended, slowly. "I was debating whether I should go on with you, or not. Considering my company offends you so."

It hadn't occurred to him, that Rob might bow out of their little adventure. "But I need you," he said. Rob winced at the unfortunate choice of words, and Dean flushed.

"I need you to identify whoever set me up, so that I have a chance of Magistrate Lewis believing me. You know that's the right thing to do. And as for...the other..." He bit his lip until it hurt. "Suppose we just agree that it shouldn't have happened? Believe me, your efforts are better spent on someone else."

Rob tried to smile. "Someone else. Right."

"Look," Dean added in a softer tone. "You do remember that I'm going to be married? Minerva's important to me, and losing her would mean losing..." But he couldn't talk about that. "Oh, hell. I'm sorry if I was harsh last night." It seemed important to add something else, and he pulled words up from the bottom of his soul.

"I...I learned to fight from my parents, and it's not a subtle technique: grab the biggest rock you can find and bash hard."

"Our families have a lot to answer for, don't they?" Rob took a breath. "Listen..."

A door to their right banged open, and Uncle Silas appeared, juggling a number of items. "Umbrellas for each of you—it's still raining. Coats, hats. Boots, with some extra socks to help keep them on. Now, you'll need proper clothes if you're going to Bath: you can hardly go into Society in my old castoffs. No tailor to speak of in Minchinhampton, but these'll tide you over until you can bespeak something respectable in Chippenham."

Dean frowned, trying to fix distances in his head. "Will we get so far as Chippenham today?"

His uncle shook his head. "Not if the day doesn't dry out. Twenty miles in this would take a miracle. But the road is well-traveled, so you'll find an inn along the way." He reached into the final item he carried, a brightly-painted china jar, emerging with a wad of banknotes. "Over a hundred pounds here. That'll see you through."

Rob stared unblinkingly at the money, and Dean winced to follow his thoughts. If they'd known Silas Smith was so near by, Rob would never have had to debase himself in the tavern two nights ago. He swallowed against a lump in his throat before speaking. "Thank you, Uncle Silas. That's very generous."

Uncle Silas was still speaking, giving the quickest route to Minchinhampton, but Dean couldn't keep his attention on the words. I'm so sorry, Rob, he thought.

"Be there in half an hour if you don't get off track," Silas concluded.

"Did you get that?" Rob's voice was subdued. Dean shrugged a response.

"Hmph. Perhaps I should write it down." Silas was peering straight into Rob's eyes, as if looking for something in their depths. "Easy to get on the wrong path, isn't it?"

There was a pencil stub and scraps of paper in the household jar, the better for writing down shopping lists. Uncle Silas drew a few lines carefully, handing the makeshift map to Rob. "There you go. You'll find your way now, I'm sure of it."

They made their goodbyes, and set off into the rain. Soon, Dean found reason to be grateful for his uncle's boots. The rough country roads were swimming in mud, and he and Rob made their plodding way slowly. After the prescribed half an hour, there was no village in sight, nothing but gentle hills, stone fences, sheep, and rain.

"Damn," Dean muttered, looking about. "The weather's slowing us down, and you haven't had so much as a cup of coffee this morning. We'll stop at the next inn to warm up."

"The next inn?" Rob stared down at the bit of paper in his hand. "We haven't passed the last one yet."

Dean lifted his umbrella above Rob's, the better to peer over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"We should have reached this crossroads, here, some time ago." Rob's voice was flat. "Your uncle said to look for a place called the Eagle's Nest there."

"Let me see." Dean took the paper, turning it in his hand. "Hell and damnation. He might have labeled this chicken-scratch. Oh, bloody hell." He pointed. "Isn't that little mark Uncle Silas's house? If so, you were holding this the wrong way round. What a stupid thing to—" Dean bit off the remark, but the damage was done.

"Oh?" Rob snatched the paper out of his hand. "If you'd been paying attention yourself, my lord—"

"Don't!" Dean held up his hand. "You're right. It's my fault. Mine. I didn't mean to call you names."

"You certainly meant to last night." There was a throb of misery in Rob's voice. "A lying whore, you called me."

"I shouldn't have said that."

"But you thought it. Why don't you trust me? Maybe I haven't told you everything about myself—I can't, Dean—but I've never lied to you. Never."

Dean chose his words with unaccustomed care. "Perhaps not. But it's natural for someone in your position to try to show things in a certain light."

"To what gain? What have I ever asked of you?" Rob reached into his pocket and displayed a cupped hand, filled with coins. Guineas, sovereigns, half-crowns... Dean's throat tightened, the wad of notes in his own pocket burning him. Sixpences. "I've been more than willing to pay my own way on this journey, my lord."

"I know. Look, we'll need some of Uncle Silas's blunt for the coach repairs, and to deck us out in proper clothes. But that won't take half of it, and the rest is yours, I swear it."

Another mistake. Rob's eyes snapped like coals. "As payment for the night in the barn? No thank you, my lord."

"Rob, I..." Dean blinked at his own outstretched hand, the wrist beyond it bare in the grey morning light. "Hell. I've lost my ribbon."

"What?"

"I had it on my wrist earlier. I remember seeing it in the mirror when I shaved."

"Oh." Rob's tone was calmer, subdued. "Oh. Your mother's ribbon. I'll help you look for it." He turned at once and began retracing their steps.

Dean stared at the receding umbrella for several seconds, discombobulated at the abrupt change. "We shouldn't take the time," he called.

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. "We may as well go back as forward. We're lost either way."

Within ten minutes, Dean found the ribbon, its light blue showing stark contrast to the dark mud beneath. "Here it is!" he called to Rob. "I found it." He slipped as he reached for the ribbon, catching himself awkwardly on one hand. "Ow!"

"Are you all right?" Rob hurried over to him, helping him rise.

"I'm fine." Dean flexed his right hand. "Couple of mashed fingers, but nothing sprained or broken. Might be stiff for a bit." He looked down at the ribbon in his other hand. "I need to secure this better—it must have come untied somehow."

"Let me." Rob took the tattered blue token and wrapped it twice around Dean's wrist, his fingers gentle. He finished it off with a tight knot. "There. That should hold."

"Thank you." They stood silent beneath their umbrellas, rain pattering rhythmically on the cloth. At last, Dean spoke. "Rob. There can't be anything between us."

"I know you're getting married, and you're a man to keep to his vows. But you haven't taken them yet, and you seem...last night when I kissed you, I thought... Oh, blast, don't you think you're entitled to some wild oats? And," Rob swallowed, "if you can't be in my future, I'd at least want to have you in my past."

Dean's laugh was bitter. "Bed you and walk away, like the others?"

"Not like the others." Rob took a breath. "You asked a question once, and here's the answer: no. I've never slept with a man my own age, or with anyone out of sheer passion. You're the first man I've so much as kissed, of my own volition, since that stable boy. When I was fifteen."

"But I..."

"Don't start that. How many times do I have to tell you I want you, before you'll believe me? Yes, I'm mad for your hair, and those delightful freckles, but there's so much more. You—you've been kind to me, Dean, and we've had fun together. You've indulged me on this trip, when it would have made more sense to just fly straight to Bath." Rob closed his hand over Dean's, their chilled flesh warming together at the touch. "Just give me one night, to show my appreciation, and prove to you once and for all how blasted desirable you really are. Please."

To hold Rob in his arms, to kiss him, touch and be touched... Dean thought of Rob's hands on him that night in the barn, the sweet disbelieving tension as Rob's lips had trailed down across his stomach, and his head spun from hunger.

At first, it had mattered that he not become exactly what Magistrate Lewis had branded him. Later, he couldn't trust that Rob wasn't trying to hook himself an earl, a whopper of a catch. Now, there was another, overarching reason why he couldn't have Rob: Dean felt that it would destroy him. A single morsel to torture a starving witch, the full meal denied for eternity. One night to haunt his memory, torment him endlessly for the rest of his cold and dutiful existence. Every night, knowing that Rob was in another man's bed, another man's arms.

"I can't," Dean said, shaking his hand free.

"I won't ask again, then." Rob looked down at the mud. "Just tell me this. Is it because of what I am?"

"Yes," Dean's voice rang with utter truth. "It's exactly because of what you are."

Chapter Fifteen

The proprietor of the Ram's Head in Dursley, a Mr. Archibald Hume, frowned at the woman in the grey veil. "Madam? I'm afraid this establishment does not serve unaccompanied females."

"I won't trouble your patrons," she replied, opening a gloved hand to reveal a gleaming sovereign. "I'm just looking for information."

"Hmm." He considered the offering. "Perhaps a pot of tea in a private parlor? We have our reputation to preserve."

"That will be fine." The woman, whoever or whatever she was, did carry herself with dignity. Mr. Hume brought the tea to her with his own hands, availing himself of the gold coin at the first opportunity.

"The Earl of Carwick? I'm afraid he hasn't been here." Damnation. Was he going to have to give the bribe back?

There was a vexed sigh from beneath the veil. "Are you certain? His coach should have passed through yesterday, at the latest, and I've inquired at every hostelry on the way."

"Perhaps they took a different route?"

A small, booted foot tapped in frustration. "Why would they do that? They told a curate at Gloucester Cathedral that they're going to Bath, and this is by far the easiest road."

Hume shrugged. "A friend, a side errand, a pint of ale at a favorite pub. Since you know he's going to Bath, why not lay in wait for him there? Surely your business can wait another day or two."