For the Love of a Soldier (13 page)

Havers stood beside the lead horses. His brawny arms were crossed over his barrel chest and his eyes, hard and inscrutable, shifted between Garrett and Alexandra. Suddenly they narrowed on Alexandra’s delicate features, his first view of them in daylight, and then his mouth, pursed in a thin line, relaxed. His gaze met Garrett’s and he gave a curt nod before he mounted his perch on top of the box.
Eyes like a damn hawk.

He glanced over at Alexandra, who watched Havers in confusion. Without responding to her unasked question, Garrett’s gaze swept the area, relaxing only when he noted they stood alone. “Shall we go? Your uncle might be worried over your absence.”

“Yes, well, he might not be home.” She walked ahead of him to the front door of one of the residences in the nondescript line of row houses.

He surveyed the building, its appearance a step above the slum dwellings populating the East End. The lack of gaslights, the broken windowpanes littering the first floor, and the stench that rose from the unswept and unpaved streets betrayed its poor address. It wasn’t poverty level, but it struggled to keep its head above it. He clenched his jaw as his hand caught Alexandra’s elbow and he escorted her to the front door.

“Sometimes his work keeps him away for days at a time.”

“And what work is that?”

They had paused before the door while she withdrew a key from her jacket pocket. At Garrett’s query, she fumbled with the lock until he relieved her of the key and opened the door. “After you,” he bowed low and extended his arm.

She stepped inside and paused before a flight of stairs. “It’s on the third floor.”

He nodded and preceded her up the staircase as etiquette dictated. It would not be proper for a gentleman to be staring at a lady’s derriere as she climbed. Pity that. With Alexandra attired in her form-fitting breeches, he would have enjoyed the view.

“He was a stable manager, but since returning from the Crimea, it’s been hard to find full-time work.”

Garrett frowned. He knew that when men who weren’t career soldiers sought to return to their places of employment, others had often filled their jobs. If a soldier was maimed or disabled, there was no work to be found for cripples. Disgust curled in Garrett’s gut, and he clenched his teeth.

Alexandra caught up with him at the top landing and made her way to the door at the end of the hall. She withdrew a second key and while the door unlocked with ease, she appeared reluctant to venture inside. He stepped behind her and opened his mouth to question her, when she suddenly whirled around and nearly collided with him.

Surprised, she stumbled back. “We should be quiet. When Gus is home, he keeps late hours and often sleeps till noon.”

He studied her, aware she hid something, aware of her tension. But he simply nodded, not pressing her. “Of course.”

When they entered the apartment, he studied the surroundings. The windows were coated with the city’s ever-present layer of coal dust. A threadbare rug covered the floor, a tired sofa lined the back wall, and the lone table was defaced with watermarks. A lone wall hanging consisted of a faded picture of a country cottage. Sparsely furnished and nearly empty of personal effects, the space was clean yet barren. No answers here.

A gasp from Alexandra drew his attention. She had entered the adjacent galley kitchen. She crouched beside the wood-burning stove that dominated the room, leaning over the prostrate form of a bear of a man, sprawled belly up across the floor.

Gus.
Her fierce, war-trained uncle.

He moved to Alexandra’s side, noting the rise and fall of the man’s barrel chest, the discarded bottle in the corner, and the absence of Gus’s right leg from the knee-down. Something twisted in Garrett’s chest as he knelt beside her. He had seen this scene played out all too often. Christ, he had lived it.

He slid an arm beneath Gus’s shoulders and hefted him to a sitting position, propping him against the wall. The man exhaled on a loud snore, and Garrett nearly gagged on the waft of stale gin. The poor man’s poison.

“He…ah, must have fallen asleep here, not made it to his bed,” Alexandra said.

Seeing her flush and avert her face, he simply nodded. “Right. Why don’t I assist him while you go collect your things?”

“Oh, no, I should—”

“It’s all right.” He paused as another snore from Gus interrupted him. “See. He agrees. He’ll be fine. I can handle this.” When she didn’t respond, he added. “You forget, before returning to the ranks of
supercilious imbeciles
in Hammond’s card room, I fought in the Crimea.” When her eyes met his, he lowered his voice. “I promise you, Gus is not the first soldier whom I have assisted in getting to his bed. Trust me.”

Understanding crossed her features. She lifted her hand to sweep Gus’s dark hair from his forehead. “Yes, of course.” She stood and pointed across the kitchen. “His room is through there.” She walked over, peered within, and turned to direct him to a bucket sitting on the stove. “This water will have been boiled. It’s probably cold now, but it should do if needed.”

“Go. He’ll be fine. I’ll take care of him.”

She hesitated a moment before hurrying from the room.

He waited until he heard the sound of a door open and close. He sat back on his heels and blew out a breath. Unbuttoning his jacket, he shrugged it off and undid the cuffs of his shirt to roll up his sleeves. Standing, he draped his jacket across a nearby chair. He collected the bucket of water and dipped his hand in to test the temperature, grunting at the cold water. It would do.

He hefted the load to carry it into Gus’s room, pausing inside the door to give his eyes a minute to adjust to the dim light. No
windows back here. He kicked the door wide to let the kitchen’s light stream into the room.

Like the rest of the apartment, the furnishings were sparse. A cot, bedside table, bureau, and a single chair filled the space. A wooden leg was propped in the corner, a set of crutches on the floor beside it. The room was a pigsty with clothing strewn over every surface, bureau drawers jutting out, and the bed unmade. He cleared a space to deposit the bucket on the floor beside the cot and went to collect Gus. Ready or not, it was time for the man to wake up. He was going to give Garrett the answers he sought.

Garrett bent over to grab one of Gus’s arms and sling it across his shoulder. He leaned lower, pressed his other shoulder into Gus’s chest, and hoisted the man over his back. Christ, he was deadweight, and Garrett nearly staggered under the heft of him. Far cry from the slim featherweight of Alexandra.

He gritted his teeth and cursed the man’s liquid diet, which had grown the protruding gut pressing into his shoulder. He felt Gus stir.

“What the—”

Before Gus could finish his bark of surprise, Garrett dumped him onto his cot, tugged him to a sitting position, and dragged over the water bucket.

“What the f—”

Garrett dunked Gus’s head into the water, drowning out his protests. He counted to four and yanked Gus out, dripping wet and biting mad. “That’s to sober you up.”

“Christ. Jesus—” Gus exploded before his second dunking.

He counted again, ignoring Gus’s thrashing body. On four, he hauled him out. “That’s to clean your mouth. Alexandra is in the next room.” Gus swatted at Garrett, who lifted his arm in time to block the blow.

Another string of expletives ripped from Gus, his bloodshot eyes blinking wildly. “You bloody jackass, sod off or I’ll—”

Back down he went. Garrett shook his head. The man didn’t listen. This might take longer than he thought.

“What are you doing?” Alexandra gasped.

He glanced up to see her frozen in the doorway, her expression horrified, her hand covering her mouth. He hoisted Gus up. “Language, soldier. A lady’s present.”

Gus spat out water, coughing and glaring at Garrett. His face was pale with a yellow sheen coloring it. “Who the hell do you—”

“Language.” Down again. “I warned him.” Garrett shook his head. “Are you finished packing?”

Speechless, Alexandra’s eyes were enormous and riveted on the bucket. When Gus reemerged and blinked his water-clogged eyes balefully at her, she ventured forward, but stopped at Garrett’s look.

“You finish there and I’ll finish here,” he advised her.

“I can’t leave him. You’re hurting—”

“No. I’m not,” he cut her off. “Trust me, Alexandra. I promise you, this is more painful for you than it is for him.”

She hesitated, indecision crossing her features and a wet sheen blurring her eyes. After a moment, she gave a jerky nod, whirled around, and left them alone.

“You gonna leave me with this madman?” Gus bellowed after her.

“That’s Captain Sinclair to you. Short of black coffee, this is the quickest route to sobriety. Worked for most of my men; worked for me,” he muttered the last.

Gus lifted a beefy hand to rub it over his face and shove his hair from his broad forehead. Coal black eyes narrowed speculatively on Garrett before dropping to his neatly tied cravat, his crisp linen shirt, and lifting again to study Garrett.

Garrett read doubt and suspicion on the man’s face. “Cavalry, Seventeenth Lancers.” He kept his eyes steady on Gus, refusing to say more, but something in his expression must have conveyed the truth.

“Christ almighty,” Gus breathed.

He nodded to Gus’s leg. “You?”

“Infantry. Fought beside the Turks at the Alma. Leg’s rotten luck, courtesy of a friend’s ill aim in reloadin’ his musket.”

“Bad luck was all that was plentiful over there.” A moment of silence passed before Garrett spoke. “Alexandra says you work with horses.”

Gus’s expression darkened, looking defensive. “I did. Ah, I do.”

Garrett nodded. “I’ve sold my commission, demoted from captain back to Lord Kendall. I’m rebuilding the stables on one of my estates. You know good bloodstock?”

Gus grunted. “As well as many, better than most.”

“Good, you’re hired.”

“What? Just like that? Without references? I lost my leg, not my wits.” Gus narrowed his eyes. “What do you take me for? What’s in it for you? And what the hell you doin’ with Alex?” He balled his hands into fists.

“Smart man. You’ll do.” Garrett stood and crossed to the bureau. He yanked out a dry shirt and tossed it to Gus, who managed to catch it.

Garrett closed the drawer and folded his arms across his chest. “
Alexandra
is fine.” He emphasized the name, making it clear he knew of her disguise. “You saw her for yourself. We met at a card game at Hammond’s. Next time, you should voice your concern
before
she leaves. After is too late.”

Gus glanced away, guilt shadowing his features.

“Considering her actions, she clearly believes her welfare is her own concern, so let’s leave her out of this. We were discussing you or rather a job for you, and I did get a reference. Alexandra vouched for you. Now I have need of a stable manager, and you have need of a job.” Garrett paused to let his words sink in.

Gus furrowed his brow, clearly struggling to find the snare, to understand him.

Garrett refused to give him the chance. He steered the conversation into the area he had been aiming for all along. “Remind me how long you were at your last employ…?” He let his words trail off, hoping for Gus to fill in some of the pieces of his puzzle.

“I was at Viscount Langdon’s estate in Essex for nigh on two decades. And,” Gus said defiantly, “I’d have been there still if he hadn’t sold off his stables and then died. The old staff left when the viscount’s younger brother gained the title.” Anger etched his words and his black eyes hardened. “Alex’s uncle dismissed the lot, questioned their loyalty. Hmph.” He snorted. “More like didn’t want to cover their wages.” He spat on the ground. “But when the viscount’s stables were full, he had the best stock there is, none better than during my time. That I saw to. Ask anyone in the area. You’ll get your references.”

“I will,” Garrett murmured, suppressing his surprise.
Viscount Langdon? She was the daughter of a viscount?
Breeding
there indeed. He had pegged her right.
Langdon. Lady Alexandra Langdon
. He ran the name over in his mind, yet it meant nothing to him. But he had been absent from society for over two years. He would have Brandon investigate the family, see what he could learn of them and their circumstances.

Why had the stables been sold? And what of this uncle? Why had Alexandra fled? Gus’s answers created more questions, but Garrett didn’t dare prod more for fear of rousing Gus’s suspicions. Besides, he was pressed for time. Alexandra should be ready any minute, and she wouldn’t like him interrogating her
uncle
.

Gus ran a hand through his mop of wet hair and straightened his shoulders. “But I know my stock. Know my job.”

“I’m counting on it,” Garrett replied. “Give me a day to get a letter of introduction to my secretary. He’ll fill you in on what the job entails and give you an advance on your wages to cover transportation and other necessary expenditures.” His eyes narrowed. “There will be no drinking on the job. What you do on your own time is your own business. How soon can you be ready to work?”

Stunned, Gus opened his mouth and then closed it. He cleared his throat and swallowed a few times. They both ignored the sheen of moisture clouding his bloodshot eyes before he looked away, blinking furiously. After a moment, he straightened up, squared his sodden shoulders, and faced Garrett with a level stare. “Yesterday, Captain.”

Garrett lips twitched. “
Sir
will do. A week should be early enough.”

“Right, Captain.”

Garrett raised a brow. The man appeared to take orders about as well as Alexandra. No surprise there. He crossed to Gus, offering his hand. Gus stared at it for so long that Garrett wondered if he had sprouted a sixth finger.

Finally Gus wiped his hand along his good leg before planting it firmly in Garrett’s and lifting his eyes to meet his gaze.

A glimmer of hope had seeped into his expression like a flicker of light, and Gus gripped his hand like a lifeline. The war had wounded countless soldiers, but the loss of a limb wasn’t the worst they had suffered. The loss of dignity was far graver.