Indulgence 2: One Glimpse (40 page)

Albert screwed up his face in irritation. “Can’t say as I know the man on a good day, so who’s to know what he looks like hale or hung? And I last saw the short one he was stepping out to some swell party round Grosvenor.”

Michael practically snarled in Evers’s direction. “Never mind that. You’re certain they haven’t managed to meet? Good. Is the girl still at the house in Mayfair?”

“The young one what hides behind her hat? Aye, she’s there. Have a boy watching the place like you said. She ain’t gone nowhere.”

Michael finally let himself smile. It stood to reason Shaw would have sent his little sister from town due to the scandal, so her still being in residence suggested that Shaw was keeping her on hand for the eventual marriage. Not that Michael needed such proofs. As he had already told Evers, Shaw had no options.

“Excellent. Keep watching them. I’ll meet you here again Friday night.” Michael scooted his chair back, more than ready to leave.

“Aye, sir, but the issue of my wages?”

“On Monday, when this is all settled,” Michael said, turning away. He already had a far more pressing list of debts to attend to as soon as Evers handed over his portion.

“Can’t settle for that, sir,” Albert said, also rising. “I ain’t been tendin’ my other duties, and the office is noticing. Might get the boot any day, and I’ve got mouths to feed.” He lifted his chin with a visible effort. “I’ll be having somethin’ now, or I can’t do no more watchin’.”

It was all Michael could do not to shove the lowbred cur back in his seat and storm out. As if he was accustomed to paying his accounts in person. The fact that he needed the last coins in his pocket for a cab was neither here nor there.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “We agreed.”

“’s all right,” Evers cut in as he rose on shaky legs and started searching through his coat pockets. “I’ll pay it.”

Michael threw up his hands. He was done with Evers too, the gutless whelp. He should have known the man would grow twitchy as things progressed. He settled his hat on his head and started pulling on his gloves.

“Suit yourself. Friday night, Ev, if you can manage to remember anything tomorrow. And stay away from Shaw and Darnish.” With that, Michael spun on his heel and headed out, doing his best not to touch any of the unwashed herd.

THE OTHER MAN, the one called Evers, nearly fell across the table the moment Mr. High-and-Mighty was out of view. He grabbed Albert’s sleeve at the same time he tossed his half-full purse at him.

“What’s your name? Where do you live?”

Albert pulled back, startled by Evers’s frantic eyes. He snatched up the purse. “I done told yer friend there. He knows all about me. Said it was important for if we ended up goin’ to the papers.”

“I don’t trust him. He…he might not pay you, and that doesn’t sit well with me.”

Albert hesitated, then weighed the purse in his hand. It wasn’t all he was owed, but a fine bit. He would be able to buy some food on the way home, maybe even some strawberries to put a smile on his Sally’s face. And that other swell was a bit too stuffed in his shirt fronts for his liking. At least this one knew a man had family and bellies to fill. He couldn’t see the harm in any case.

“All right.” Albert shrugged and emptied the purse in his pocket. “Name’s Albert Flannery, and I keep house near to Camden Town…”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Desperate Ships

John sent another letter the next morning and forced himself to wait at home for a reply. When it finally came, he felt his last tether snap. John held his own letter in his hand, still sealed. Written across the back in shaky ink was a single word.
Stop.
It hurt him, it angered him, but more than anything it scared him. Sam had written that on the outside of his letter for anyone to see and had given it back to John’s servant. Such a blatant snubbing was the kind of gossip servants lived for, and Sam would never have done such a thing. Not unless he was no longer in his right mind.

John had muttered “Something is wrong” so many times to himself the words were beginning to lose meaning. And the feeling that it was true had reached a breaking point. He had to do something, and if Sam refused to see him or speak to him, he had very few options. In fact, there was only course of action he could think of, and it was likely to be less than useless.

Those were his thoughts, at least, as he ran up the white stone steps of one of the finest homes in Mayfair. He had been calm the entire journey over, though that could be attributed to the sickly amount of brandy he had consumed to fortify himself. It must have worked, for his pride and embarrassment seemed like a distant worry. All he could think about was helping Sam and being with him. His means to that end be damned.

The front door opened, and a butler took his name, not even raising an eyebrow when he said his purpose was urgent. It was past seven, and he hoped the master of the house had yet to step out for the evening. If he had, John was not going to hesitate to scour the city for him.

“This way please, my lord,” the servant said when he returned.

John followed him, huffing irritably at the sedate pace. When they reached a door half open on a spacious study, John pushed past before the man could announce him. Standing behind the desk, his blue eyes wide with surprise, was Brenleigh. He was dressed for an evening out but wore no coat. He gave a nod to the butler, sending him away.

“Darnish?” Brenleigh’s expression shifted to concern. “Good God, man. You look a sight.”

“I must speak with you at once. I didn’t know who else I could—”

“And Richard you know, of course,” Brenleigh cut in, making Richard’s presence known.

John turned to see Richard standing next to the mantel, his eyes sharp. He and Brenleigh shared a look, then Richard stepped forward.

“I agree, Darn. You don’t look well. What is going on?”

John had not planned on baring himself to Richard too, but what did it matter? It was likely Brenleigh would have shared it all with him regardless.

“Damn how I look!” John cried. “Brenleigh, I need your help. Something is wrong, I know it, and he…he won’t…” Where to begin? How to say it? A bastard part of his brain laughed and told him he might have done well to rehearse a bit.

Brenleigh stepped away from his desk. He appeared even more worried as he raised his hands in a calming motion. “I shall help in any way I can, but what are you talking about? And forgive me for saying so, but we don’t have much of an acquaintance. Why me?”

“Because you can talk to him for me. No one else could, you understand?” John heaved a sigh of frustration. He had had firm plans of being calm and stating his worries with some damned dignity, but he must sounded like a lunatic. The half bottle of brandy had, perhaps, not been the wisest choice.

He continued. “He won’t speak to me or return my letters. Everything was fine and then he didn’t meet me Monday night and
then
he rode away from me in the park and—”

“Who?” Brenleigh cut in. “Who are you talking about?”

“Sam.” Richard and John spoke at once, and John spun around to stare at him. Richard came forward, his gaze boring into John. “You’re talking about Sam, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” John turned back to Brenleigh. “Yes.”

Brenleigh’s reaction was much like Garrott’s had been. That searching confusion, a short pause, then the slow widening of the eyes as understanding dawned. Brenleigh’s jaw dropped open.

“You a-and Sam?” He looked past John to Richard. “Rich? You knew about this?”

Richard brushed past John and took Brenleigh’s hand, lacing their fingers and cradling Brenleigh’s hand to his chest. “No. I only had a notion of something. Not enough to speak on it.”

John caught himself staring, for he had never seen open affection between other men, at least not of a romantic sort. It reminded him of his isolation and of what he had come there to get back.

“Yes, but something has happened. He won’t even accept my letters, and I need you to speak to him for me.” John swallowed at the doubtful look both men gave him. At least Brenleigh looked sorry.

“I don’t know about that.” Brenleigh frowned. “You know Sam and I are at crossed swords, but even if we weren’t, it wouldn’t be my place to interfere in his affairs. If he no longer wishes to see you…” His expression was sympathetic.

“No. You don’t understand. Nothing happened. We were going to meet and he just never came, and he has been avoiding me since. I don’t—” John sighed. “I don’t think he wants this. I feel as if something is forcing all this on him or…or maybe someone told him a lie about me? I just don’t know. I cornered him yesterday, and he seemed desperate.”

“It doesn’t sound like Sam to do something like that, but”—Brenleigh shook his head—”you must understand, I don’t know Sam anymore. I don’t know how he carries on his, um, friendships.”

“You aren’t going to help me,” John said, taking a step back. “I’m telling you I think he’s in trouble, and you won’t help him?”

Brenleigh’s expression went from pained to abject. He looked away, then back again, all while Richard stroked his hand and looked at John the way a sailor looks at a storm. Finally, Brenleigh said, “You were there in the park, you saw. Sam won’t talk to me.”

“He spoke to you on the street not even a week ago!”

“Sam and I have bad history. You can’t understand—”

“I know all about your bad history!” John glared. “You left him to the wolves then and you’re going to do it now!”

“What?”

“I think you had better temper yourself, man,” Richard warned.

“What are you talking about, leaving him to the wolves?” Brenleigh asked, looking ill.

John scoffed. Brenleigh didn’t know? After all Sam had told him, John wasn’t surprised. “He got lost in that cellar, you know,” John growled. “When you left him down there after throwing him aside, you took the fucking lantern. And he thought you were going off to tell the headmaster about him, so he panicked. He tried to leave but got lost in the dark and fell to pieces, and who do you think found him hours later, curled up and weeping like a convict at the noose? Evers. Sam’s life was hell from that moment on and—”

John stopped. He pressed his hands over his face, willing back his anger. Now was not the time for old hurts, especially those that did not even belong to him. Going to Brenleigh had been a mistake. He was not sure what he had expected, but the encounters he had witnessed between Brenleigh and Sam, at Jackson’s and then in the park, had given John some notion that Brenleigh was contrite and reaching for Sam’s favor. But perhaps Sam had been right. Perhaps Brenleigh had only been making the efforts to appease his own guilt so he could think better of himself.

John headed for the door.

“Wait! I’ll speak to him,” Brenleigh declared, crossing to John.

Richard was fast at his heels, and the look on his face suggested he did not like the turn. “You have tried and tried with him. He is not your worry—”

“Rich.” Brenleigh laid a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “I owe him. You know I do.”

Richard looked as if he wished to argue further, but kept his silence.

Relief rushed through John. “Thank you.”

“Out of curiosity,” Richard began, crossing his arms over his chest, “did Sam tell you about us or did you guess?”

John looked between the two of them. “He told me. I would like to pretend my intuition was better, but I had no idea. Hell, I didn’t even know about Garrott.”

Brenleigh looked relieved while Richard snorted a laugh, probably with regard to Garrott. It only then occurred to John that his sudden appearance and knowledge of their relationship would have been alarming to them. John added, “I really had no idea, I assure you. Eh…did you ever suspect that I…?”

Richard belted an incredulous laugh. “No. Good God, man. You have gone to some lengths. Lily? And that country party in Richmond a few years back? Do you have any idea how much I had to pay that girl to pretend she had an incomparable night in my bed? The girl you pushed into my lap, if you will recall.”

Fucking hell.
John rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, eh, I was trying to push her off mine. Sorry about that.”

Brenleigh placed a hand on John’s arm, pulling his mind back to the moment. “I will call on him tomorrow, first thing. I will do my best to make him see me, I promise.”

“Thank you,” John croaked, swallowing. Seeing the affection between Richard and Brenleigh had eased him, so it was not the nightmare he imagined it would be when he continued, “It’s important to me. I care about Sam. If he won’t tell you anything, I still thank you for trying.”

Brenleigh nodded, and something in his soft blue eyes, the way they bored into John’s, told him Brenleigh knew John felt more for Sam than he was admitting. He knew John loved him.

The air grew awkward then, and the sense that John stood naked before an old friend and a man he hardly knew made him shiver. They all felt it and exchanged knowing looks before John finally took his leave. As he climbed, exhausted and numb, into his waiting carriage, his old fear made itself known. What if Sam was in trouble, and what if that trouble was catching? Was John willing to risk his reputation, his life, everything? Perhaps it would be best to do as Sam had asked and simply walk away.

Just the thought of following that path left John feeling broken. It was not an option.

* * * *

Sam would have given anything to return home and fall into a deathlike sleep. Instead, he was out in the frosty night air on a fool’s mission. He was so weary he felt strained with every movement, like a threadbare sack holding too much weight. At any moment, the bottom might give out and he would scatter across the floor. What a ridiculous thought. If he did not sleep soon, he would start hallucinating. He already swore he just saw John’s carriage turning the corner up ahead.

He walked on.

Sleep was not likely. His thoughts overflowed with the few possible courses of action, run over and over despite the knowledge that none of them would work. He had already considered the many ways he could bribe Evers, but none of them included a believable story to explain so much money. The ton, which decried money obsession to be vulgar, nevertheless knew
everything
about the finances of its members. With that option worthless, he had even begun wondering if it would be possible to convince Flor that Evers was a good man, that he did indeed care for her and she should accept his suit. But each time that thought invaded his mind, he wanted to savage himself for his disloyalty. He could not give up his sister. How could any man with a soul sell his family to save his lover?