Discreet Young Gentleman (28 page)

"No, Mr. Tyler." Dean rose. "That will be all."

"Erich!" Outside, Dean all but flew down the steps of the Bank.. "Erich, Herr Black ist—" What was the word for wealthy? 'Much gold,' he could say that instead. "Er hat viel Gold, Erich. Er nicht muß..." He cut himself off from saying exactly what Rob didn't have to do anymore, realizing Erich couldn't be aware of it in the first place. "Er ist gut," he finished lamely.

Erich laughed out loud, the sound ringing out more naturally now. "Das ist gut."

The coachman asked where Herr Graf wanted to go now, and Dean realized he didn't have a clue. To the Lake District, he supposed, in search of Rob. Joy welled up from within. Because if Rob was free, so was he. It was impossible to get his mind around it. Free! But what if Mr. Tyler were wrong, or Rob had changed his mind, driven away forever by Dean's harsh words? He could spend months, fruitlessly searching. If only there were a way to get in touch with him...

But of course, there was. A smile spread over his face.

"Zur Fleet Street, Erich. Schnell!"

On the way, Dean leafed through the Quarterly, looking for the news of Silas's death. Here it was, posted by Uncle Silenus once the circulating letter had made its lumbering way around to him.

July 23rd. Regret to inform the Family that Si is gone to his Rest on Monday the 12th of June, Eighteen hundred and fifteen. The Girl who brings Milk found them all exceeding III, running to fetch the Doctor. Alas, it was beyond his Powers to save them, for the entire Household did perish viz. Silas, his Housekeeper, the Sister of his Housekeeper and the maidservant, even unto the Cat as well. The Doctor believes it was a Lot of Potted Shrimps causing the Sickness, that had gone bad in the Heat. So many empty Jars of them were found that it must have been a veritable last Feastfor our Brother. Scrawled under it in smaller script was the following: Do not get your Hopes up, A I, for the Lot goes to young Dean, in the memory of their fishing together in years past.

Dean smiled and shook his head. Young Dean was going to make some changes in the way the family communicated from now on. Starting with insisting that all six remaining uncles, plus Albertus's entire brood, came to Carwick to celebrate Christmas together. His friend Peter, too. Hopefully, by then, Carwick would have another guest as well...

Erich pulled the carriage up smartly in front of the office of the Times. Dean leapt from the coach, instructing his driver to wait. Inside, the young man at the counter gave him a bright smile.

"May I help you, sir?"

"I should like to place an advertisement. These words exactly." He copied them down on a scrap of paper, with a pencil provided by the Times clerk.

"Very good, sir. How long did you want this to run?"

Dean considered. Long enough to be certain Rob saw it. The Times circulated all over England, but there was no guarantee that any particular issue would reach his intended target. "I suppose... six months?"

The clerk looked astonished. "Six months?"

"Best make it a year, to be safe."

"Yes, sir." The young man totted up a hefty reckoning, which Dean paid promptly out of the money Uncle Silas—Silenus had given him. 'It'll all be yours someday,'

indeed. He smiled to himself at his uncle's strange sense of humor, and turned to go.

Although the bit in the Quarterly about the cat did nag at him just a little...would Silenus have brought his own cat with him when he went to close up his brother's house?

"Wait, sir!" The clerk held up the piece of paper with his advertisement on it, a supercilious smile on his face. "I believe you've forgotten something quite important."

"What?" Dean returned to the desk and retrieved the paper. "No, it's—damn.

You're right." Seizing the pencil again, he printed one more word. "There," he said, pushing the advertisement back to the clerk. "Now it's absolutely perfect."

The employee read the revised copy, and called again after Dean's back. "But sir!

Sir!" Dean ignored him and kept walking. The last thing he heard when exiting onto the street was the clerk's exchange with a fellow employee: "He's not going to get many replies, without advertising a way to contact him." "Not our problem. Paid, didn't he?" Time to go home to Carwick. And wait.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The September sun was slanting across the tops of the trees as Dean made his way across the smoothly manicured lawn leading to his house. Carwick's stone walls glowed a soft gold against the backdrop of green hills, warm and inviting in the autumn afternoon. Incredible to think how close he had come to losing it. Dean shook his head, and paused to adjust the fishing pole dangling over his shoulder, heavy with a line of fresh trout. It had been a day to dream back on once old age has made such pleasures impossible: hours of warm, reflective solitude and hopeful plans for the future.

With Carwick saved and on the road back to prosperity, he was more content than he'd ever thought possible. Still, Dean couldn't help longing for the one thing that could make him truly happy.

The front door burst open before he reached it. His manservant— Dean still had trouble remembering to call him 'Jim'—spilled down the steps, face alight. "Herr Graf!

Der Straußenräuber ist hier!"

"The highwayman? Herr Black? Is he in the parlor—Salon?" Dean leapt up the steps, handing the fish off to Jim.

"Ja. Herr Black ist im der Salon." He grinned at the abundance of trout.

"Hervorragend—fünf fish!"

Dean wasn't certain he had heard the final word correctly: fish and fische did sound similar. It wasn't the first time he'd thought he heard Jim speak an English word instead of its German equivalent, but he didn't want to stop to consider the young man's possible progress right now. He skidded to a stop just outside the parlor door.

Hell and damnation, he was a mess. Clothes wrinkled, stained with grass and mud. It would only be polite to pop upstairs for a quick wash and change. But it was Rob on the other side of the door.

His appearance couldn't be helped. He had to see Rob, right now.

Dean pushed open the door.

Rob, hearing him, rose from the velvet settee. He was immaculate in exquisitely-tailored afternoon attire, from the high-crowned beaver hat in his white-gloved hand, to the mirror-like gloss on his Hessian boots. Above the boots were a pair of cream-colored inexpressibles, worn so tight as to stop Dean's heart in its tracks. New clothes, to befit his new wealth. They suited him, but in the face of such perfection Dean had a primal urge to put Rob into some disarray. Run his hands through the sleek black hair, kiss him until his clothing wilted and desire ruined the line of his trousers.

"Hello, Dean."

Rob's voice roused him from his instant of fantasy. Dean flushed, at a loss for words, wondering what the other man must think of him. "You got my message, then."

"What, this one?" Rob smiled, and removed a much-folded slip of newspaper from his jacket pocket. "At least I hoped it was from you."

Dean had never seen the message in print, and took it from Rob to read. "Discreet young gentleman needed to come to Aberdeen at once. Please. Yes, they got it right."

He handed the bit of paper back, biting his lip. "I wasn't sure you'd come. After the things I said."

"Well...you did say 'please.' I feel I should encourage such behavior."

The words were lightly spoken, but Dean was well aware that Rob was good at hiding his true feelings behind a jocular front. "Rob, I'm so sorry I said those things.

Can you forgive me? I thought.. .I was afraid you meant to get the money from Parker." Dean's hands twisted together. "I couldn't stand that."

"I wondered, later, if it were something of the sort," Rob said quietly. "It didn't occur to me at the time. I was so off balance anyway—I'd just read the news about the ship, and had no idea what would come of it, or if I could get enough money out of it to help you. For all I knew, the lot would go to the men who rescued the shipwrecked sailors. But if I'd known what you were thinking, I might have said something."

"I can never thank you enough for what you did." Dean gestured around the room.

"For this." He smiled uncertainly, feeling awkward. "Hell. I'm a terrible host. Would you care for a glass of wine, or some tea? Or.. .or something?"

"Wine, if you're having some." Rob sat back down, turning his hat in his hands.

Dean poured for them both, then handed a glass to his guest. His fingers objected to brushing against Rob's gloved hands, craving the touch of flesh instead. But it was too soon, too difficult to see beneath the other man's customary cloak of good humor and discern whether he truly had forgiven the manner of their parting. Best to keep to pleasantries for now. "You've been well?"

"Yes." There was a pause while Rob tasted his wine. "How's Erich? Is his wife here?"

"He's doing well, and yes, Charlotte and her sister are both in residence. They tried being ladies of leisure, and found themselves so bored they've taken over the kitchen between them. Charlotte is an amazing cook—I can't wait to see what she does with the trout."

Rob laughed. "Last month you couldn't find an heiress if your life depended on it, and now you've got them working in your kitchen. Has Erich recognized her yet?"

"Not yet, but he clearly likes her. They spend quite a lot of time together, so things seem hopeful. He answers to the name 'Jim' now, and lately I swear I've heard him drop an English word into a sentence from time to time."

"That does seem hopeful," Rob said. "I'm glad to hear it."

They both sipped at their wine some more, and then Dean put down his glass.

"Speaking of names, is it still 'Rob?' I mean..." He gestured at Rob's fine clothes. "Can you be yourself again?"

Rob looked down into his wine instead of at Dean. '"A man is what he makes of himself,' remember? There's no going back from some things, and too many people who would know me for what I used to be. No, I'm 'Rob' for good now."

"Just as well. I mean, 'Adalbert'?" That got a brief smile from his guest. He cleared his throat. "Rob. Have I said you look wonderful?"

"Thank you." Still too politely said for Dean's taste. "So do you."

Dean laughed, finding it hard to breathe. He raised a hand to his face. "I forgot my hat this morning. Tried to keep to the shade, but I'm afraid I'm even spottier than—"

"You look wonderful," Rob asserted again, the intensity of his gaze giving the words weight. "Sun-kissed." He took a breath, and Dean realized that the other man was as nervous as he was. "Well. You invited me, and I'm here." The question was in his eyes.

"I hope you can stay." Dean reddened again. "I mean, at least for a while. If you want to. I want to show you Carwick, show you what you've saved. The house, and the land, and the people. Little Stream." He looked down. There was mud on his boots.

"The fishing was terrific today."

"I've been occupied with house-hunting lately, but I can spare a few days for that,"

Rob said cautiously.

Dean's eyes flew up to his with alarm. "I hope you can stay more than a few days. I have some money for you. Oh, God." He put up a hand at the look on Rob's face.

"That didn't come out right. Give me a moment." Rising, he crossed to the mantel and fished an envelope from where it had been waiting for over three weeks, behind a gleaming candlestick. "I want to start paying you back, Rob."

"That's not necessary," Rob said quietly.

"It is. Please, it is. I was thinking.. .as long as I owe you money, you have a stake in Carwick, right? So you should stay here, and—and keep an eye on it." He tried to smile, couldn't. "Keep an eye on me, so that I don't do something foolish like gamble it away again."

"Ah," Rob said. "Stay close to you...to protect my investment?"

"Very close. Here." Dean thrust the envelope at Rob, who removed his gloves and set them, and his hat, on the couch beside him before taking it.

"Just until you've paid me back." Rob looked down at the envelope.

"Open it." Dean's voice fell to a whisper.

With a shrug, Rob broke the seal, and sat staring at the contents. A slow smile suffused his face with warmth, and what looked like relief. "Dean," he said.

"I know it isn't much," Dean hurried to say. "But I can manage the same amount every quarter."

"The same every quarter?" Rob was laughing now, rising to grab Dean by the hand and pull him to his feet, his fingers warm and alive. "Dean, there's ten pounds in here."

"Yes, I know. At that rate, I should have you paid back in about—"

There was nothing wrong with Rob's math skills. "In about two hundred and fifty years."

Dean's hand tightened on Rob's. "Right. Think you can spare me that much time?"

"I'll clear my calendar." And then Rob was kissing him, and there was only one thing Dean could think of that could make this day any better than it was. Rob drew back from him slightly, just enough to allow his mouth to form words. "That tour of Carwick—shall we start with upstairs?"

Dean felt his face heat. "In the middle of the afternoon?"

Rob laughed at him, stroking his flushed cheek. "Night is not a necessary prerequisite, mein Traumprinz."

"Lack of housemaids in one's bed chamber is, though. Did I tell you I have servants now? They clean upstairs every afternoon."

"Good for you. Is there anywhere else we could go to be alone?" Rob's voice was low with passion.

"Rob." Dean leaned in to kiss him again. "Can you wait until tonight? Believe it or not, there's something else I want to do, even more. Please, I'll make it up to you."

A shiver went through the other man. "You said 'please' again. I'm utterly at your command."

"You can make me say it again later, I've no doubt at all."

Rob smiled slowly. "I'm looking forward to that."

"Good." He tugged at Rob's hand. "Come with me." Dean led him over to the pianoforte occupying the corner of the room, a new purchase, watching Rob's eyes widen at the sight of it. "Sit next to me here, on the bench. Pay attention, now. No, Rob, don't look at me, look at the keys. Now, this is middle C."