Discreet Young Gentleman (22 page)

Dean availed himself of these thoughtful amenities before attempting to speak again. "Are you writing to Parker?"

"No. We've been on the road longer than we first thought. I need to reschedule an appointment to next week instead. Why would I write to Parker?"

Dean blinked. "To cancel the trip to Italy. I told you—I don't remember, but I must have told you that he's bringing that confounded brat Cedric along, too. That he wants.. .he wants..."

"To see us perform together for his benefit? Yes, I believe you did mention something about that. Thirty or forty times."

"And you're still going?"

Rob sighed. "Do you remember nothing of our conversation last night? Nothing at all?"

Tentatively, Dean rummaged into the corners of his mind, certain he wasn't going to like what he found. "Nothing," he admitted, coming up blank.

"Then I'll repeat myself, one more time. I do what I'm told. That is, after all, why they pay me."

"Anything." Dean did remember Parker's salacious boasts, and immediately wished he didn't. They had become more and more colorful as the drinking had progressed.

And with sick fascination, Dean had been unable to tear himself away from the recitation of Rob's talents, and Parker's imaginative use of them. He shuddered now.

"You'll do anything, won't you?"

"No, I won't. Everyone has limits."

"Everyone has a price. At least that's what Parker told me. He's going to find yours, and keep you exclusively for himself."

"Ah," Rob regarded his letter, reading the words carefully. He crossed something out, corrected it, and then signed his name. Or a name, anyway. "Now, there's something he can't have."

"Why not? Wouldn't it be better to sell yourself to just one man, than many?"

"No. There's a difference between being rented, and being owned." Rob folded his letter, beginning to address the outside. He wrote very slowly, forming each letter of the direction with painstaking care. "Next month, when I stand at the dock at Dover, I can begin counting down the days until I'm home again. Every night after that brings me closer to my freedom. And when the trip is over, I'm my own man, at least for a while."

"But he says he's offered you a fortune. If it meant—"

"No," Rob said, looking up from his task. "Damn it, do you think I want to be lost in a card game to some stranger, like Cedric? Parker and the others are forced to show some restraint, because they know I can walk away from each of them at any time. I do this on my own terms, and until now it's allowed me to keep some dignity." He looked at Dean, his eyes dark, and tired, and hurt. "No one's ever managed to make me feel quite so much of a whore, as you."

A mere 'I'm sorry' didn't seem adequate to that. Dean stared at Rob, trying to think of something to say, and failing.

After a moment, Rob's face softened somewhat. "I'm going downstairs to see if the hotel will see to posting my letter. Can you eat anything?"

Dean put a hand to his mouth. "God, no."

"Well, if you're going to be sick—again—there's a fresh chamber pot on the other side of the bed." Rob pushed back his chair and stood, the sunlight glinting off his sleek black hair. "I'll order you some coffee, and check in with Erich, too."

"Do you have the dictionary?"

Rob patted his pocket. "Yes. There's water for a wash and shave, and I've laid out clothes for you. If you feel up to dressing yet, that

is. If not, no hurry. Mr. Au Sable said the clothes won't be ready until at least ten o'clock, and it's barely half nine now."

"You're very thoughtful," Dean said, contrite. "Especially considering I seemed to have harangued you half the night."

"Only half?" Rob's smile held a trace of warmth, though. "Do unto others, I suppose. And you did rescue me from the ghost-cat a few nights ago."

Dean had a sudden vision of himself on a white horse, sweeping down and effecting a true rescue, carrying Rob far away from the men like Parker who just wanted him for his body. In a different world, he could take Rob in his arms and tell him that. Three months ago, he could even have done it. Now, he had only the meagerest of offerings. "Will you let me write to my uncles, and see if I can find a place for you?"

Rob hesitated a moment, then nodded. "If you like. I don't think it will happen.

Frankly, I don't think it should happen, since anyone who took me in would be risking his life's reputation. But if it suits you to try..."

"I will. And remember, Smiths are a stubborn and unsociable lot, and don't care much for the opinion of others. The chance is better than you think, mein Blümchen."

"Thank you." Rob nodded again. "I'll be back shortly."

Too late, Dean remembered that Rob had the German dictionary. Christ, he must still be half bosky. Still, even if Rob looked the endearment up, it didn't necessarily mean anything. It was something you might call your favorite pony. Scowling, Dean kicked back the covers. He was still fully dressed, which was worth something. At least he hadn't been drunk enough to throw himself at Rob last night.

The mirror over the dressing table showed him to be a right mess: bleary-eyed, banged-up, and wearing trousers so wrinkled they must have still been damp when he was put to bed. If there had ever been a reason for Rob to see anything in him, it certainly wasn't apparent this morning. But his disgraceful performance last night had doubtlessly killed any lingering attraction the other man might have felt for him.

He did what he could with soap and razor and fresh clothing, and was feeling somewhat better by the time Rob returned with the coffee.

"Take your time," Rob said, collecting Dean's discarded clothes and stuffing them into one of the valises they'd purchased yesterday. "I'll bring these down to the coach, and wait for you there."

Dean lifted his head from his coffee cup. "Is Erich all right? I'm ashamed that I forgot to check in on him last night."

"He's fine." Rob looked around the room, his manner still cooler than usual. "I think I have everything. You didn't lose your ribbon?"

"Got it." Dean touched his wrist. "You're more thoughtful than I deserve. I am so sorry about—"

"Forget it. Please." Rob didn't smile. "It's a hazard of my trade, that it's bound to offend some people. I might wish for my own reasons that I didn't disgust you so, but we'll be in Bath today, and free of each other shortly."

"Rob, I—" He bit off another apology, an explanation of why he'd been so upset. If Rob didn't yet understand how he felt, wasn't it better to leave it at that? Then only one of them would be haunted by the idea that their attraction had been mutual, and wonder ceaselessly what might have been.

"What?"

"Never mind. I'll be down in a few minutes."

Dean emerged from the Hotel Grande shortly after, squinting into the bright morning sunshine. Chippenham's streets were quiet at this hour, the bustle of carts going to market long past. Rob and Erich were leaning against the coach, the former flipping pages in the German/English dictionary as he searched for a word. Today, they weren't laughing, and in fact looked uncommonly serious. Dean colored, wondering with faint alarm if they might be discussing his untoward behavior of the night before.

He began to descend the marble stairs from the hotel, pausing for a moment when his way was blocked by a woman in a grey dress, who had unaccountably stopped directly in front of him and stood, rigid, staring into the street. She held her hat in one hand, its long grey veil trailing onto the steps. It would be rude to push past her, so Dean waited politely for the woman to come to herself. After a moment, she resumed her progress, and he shrugged off her strange behavior. Probably going over a shopping list in her head, or some such womanish business.

"Danke," Dean heard Erich say as he approached the carriage. The coachman reached out a hand and patted Rob's shoulder awkwardly. "Mein Freund."

"What was that about?" Dean asked, climbing into the carriage and taking his customary seat.

Rob took a minute to raise the window shades and tie them into place. "There.

Might as well enjoy the sun while it lasts. I was telling Erich about my own brother."

"Oh? I didn't know you had a brother."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

Was that a rebuff, or an opening? Dean took a breath. "Will you tell me, too?"

"About my brother? Perhaps another time." Rob was quiet for a moment, staring out the window. They were crossing the bridge over the Avon now, heading back into the verdant, rain-washed countryside. '"This green and pleasant land...'" Rob murmured. "I'll tell you one story about my brother and me. If you want me to."

"Yes. I'd like that."

"Once, when my father was still alive, my brother and I got into a terrible fight. He was nine, I was seven. From what I remember, it was as if we were truly trying to kill each other. It took two footmen to separate us, and one of them was bitten so badly in the attempt that his hand was in a sling for a week. Mother lectured us for two hours on family duty and the bonds of brotherhood. Father didn't interrupt, just stood there while she gave her sermon and looked at us with eyes that left me shaking in my shoes. He waited until she was finished, then told us both, 'Come with me.'"

Rob continued to stare out the window while he talked, absorbed in the scenery or his own memories. Now and again he paused for a drink from one of the stoneware bottles of lemonade the Grande had provided for their journey. "We followed him, silent and afraid. Father, carrying a bundle wrapped in cloth, led us down to the seashore below our house. My brother and I had to scramble to keep up with him, over and around the slippery rocks. The knee was torn out of my trousers, and there was seaweed slime all over the front of my shirt by the time Father stopped. 'Come with me,' he said again.

"Clambering over an enormous set of boulders, we followed him into a cave. It was shallow and low-ceilinged, but it wasn't yet our final destination. There was a small hole in the back corner, so small that it took Father some time to wriggle through into the chamber beyond. Easier for us, of course, we were much smaller. The passage opened into a much larger cavern, with walls reaching up beyond our sight. It was very dim in there, although the light that came through from the hole was reflected upwards by the pool of seawater in the middle. Around it was enough space to walk, about four or five feet wide at the entrance, narrowing to barely two at the far wall.

"Father skirted the water to the back of the chamber and stood for a moment, studying the rough rock face of the cave wall. He stuffed the bundle he was carrying into the back of his shirt, then began climbing. A strong man, my father. He must have been three or four inches taller than I am now, and correspondingly broad. We stood there and watched, terrified that he would fall and dash his brains out in front of us.

My brother and I moved close enough to each other so that our arms brushed, before remembering that we were bitter enemies and stepping apart.

"At least fifteen feet above our heads, Father paused and hung on one-handed while he fished in his shirt for his bundle. Retrieving it, he reached up and placed it carefully on a small outcropping even higher up. Then he very carefully made his way back down to us.

"Tm not your mother,' he said to us. 'Fight it out as you please. But you're staying here tonight, the two of you.' Father pointed up at the bundle above. 'There's your supper, and a candle and tinderbox, too. If you work together, you just might reach it.'

"He came around back to the hole leading into the outer cave, and stooped to begin wriggling back through. "Oh, and if you had any notion of giving up and spending the night on the beach, know that in two hours, the tide will have blocked this entrance completely. I will wait outside long enough to keep you from emerging before then.

There are several ledges in here which are both wide enough to hold you and high enough to stay dry throughout the night—I suggest you make an effort to find them.

Good night.'

"Of course we begged him not to leave us there, told him we were sure to fall and die if we tried to reach the bundle he'd set so impossibly high. He said the pool was plenty deep enough to break our fall, and that we'd best get started while there was any light left at all."

Rob stopped, still studying the landscape as the coach jolted along.

Dean cleared his throat. "He really left you there, alone in the cave?" "Yes."

"Well, what happened? Did you fall? Was either of you hurt?"

"We retrieved the bundle." Rob smiled out the window. "Father was right: there was no way either of us could get it alone, the foot- and handholds were too far apart.

My brother had to boost me to each new hold, then actually scramble over me to reach another place to brace himself, so that he could boost me higher again. By the time we got our bundle, sloshed through the now knee-high water and clambered up to a dry ledge, we were almost too exhausted to eat."

"I bet by then, you'd forgotten what it was you'd been fighting over in the first place." Dean said.

"Not at all." Rob turned and looked him full in the face. "He called me names."

Dean felt himself flush to his brightest and deepest crimson. "There's a moral there, then?"

Rob shrugged. "If you wish to see one. But working together is always preferable to fighting."

"I did try to apologize," Dean muttered.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean it won't happen again. Will you please remember that I don't have to be helping you with this? And that what I've done, or will do in the future, is none of your business?"

"I remember. And you're right. I'm sorry. Truly."

A smile warmed Rob's features as he regarded Dean. "Oh, my. You are colorful today. The purple around your eye would be bad enough with the ginger hair, but when your face is that shade of red as well—"

"If we're avoiding sore spots," Dean began indignantly, but Rob hushed him.

"You're adorable. That hasn't changed." He resumed looking out the window, and they rode in silence for several minutes.