Indulgence 2: One Glimpse (44 page)

“I love John.”

“I love Richard.”

They both smiled. No one was confused. No one was trying to rekindle the past.

“You’ll be my friend again, Sammy?”

“Gladly. But, Hen?”

“Yes?”

“You probably shouldn’t call me Sammy. No one does, and you’re the only one who ever did. John probably won’t like it.”

Henry laughed and made a face. “No, I can’t imagine he would.”

“In fact…” Sam wrinkled his nose. “I must keep myself from calling you Hen. Richard definitely doesn’t like it.”

“Ah. He said something?”

“He did. And you will probably have to explain the nickname to him, because he’s likely to ask.”

Henry groaned. “Lovely.”

The memory of that day came to him, and he couldn’t help laughing. “The great Lord Hen. Peck, peck, peck.”

Henry cursed and threw up his hands, still smiling. “That was your chicken, I will remind you. What possessed you to bring a chicken into the dormitory, and put it in my rooms, no less?”

“She had a broken wing. Besides, I couldn’t keep her with me because I was sharing my room with Giles. You had your own space.”

“Yes, well, you’re not the one who ended up being called a hen.”

“They only did that because your name’s Henry. Henry, Hen. It…it works.”

Henry smiled, and they both laughed. It felt good even while it felt strange. How could so much hate drop away so quickly? Sam didn’t want to think about it. He only knew he had spent years believing Henry didn’t want him, and now he knew it wasn’t true. A part of him wondered if that made him vain, that so much of his anger had been wrapped up in the rejection more than anything else.

It didn’t matter anymore.

A knock sounded at the door, loud and urgent. “Sam?” It was John.

Sam shot Henry a reassuring look, then opened the door. John stood there, fist raised, with Richard a few feet behind him. They both looked angry and worried. For a moment, Sam felt ashamed. Had they been watching them somehow? Surely they would not think he and Henry would break faith with them.

Then he saw the letter in John’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

John waved the letter. “We have another problem. When Evers left, he didn’t leave the house. He went into the drawing room and used the stationery there to write this. One of the servants brought it.”

John handed Sam the letter. It was scrawled in pencil, slanted and barely legible.

Darnish,

You must act quickly. I’m giving you the name and direction of the man Sills hired to follow you and Shaw. He’s a Bow Street runner, but he is hard up and would forget his services to Sills for the right price. Without this man, Sills has no proof against you other than the whores. You should find them and pay for their silence too.

I knew nothing of your private business. Sills learned of it and brought it to me. He urged me to use it against Shaw for a portion of Miss Shaw’s dowry. He said he saw Garrott leave a room at a ball and that was how he came upon the two of you. Warn Garrott as well. Sills saw him leave that room, and he isn’t a fool. When he realizes there will be no money, he will take the runner to the papers and ruin you. I think he is of a mind to ruin you anyway. Hurry.

I don’t expect you to tell this to Shaw, but I am sorry for everything. There is nothing more I can say. There is no forgiveness for me. I will be out of London by tomorrow night.

Sam flipped the paper over to find a name and direction to lodgings in Cheapside. That bastard Sills.
Oh, God, God…
The room spun, and his hearing muffled like cotton was being shoved in his ears. Then he was falling into John’s arms as the world went dark.

* * * *

It was damn near midnight when John slid quietly into the tavern and eyed the man sitting at the table near the back wall. The son of a bitch didn’t even have the sense to blend in. There he sat, like a fashion illustration in blue superfine and stark white linen, looking so superior to the working men around him even though he had not paid his tailor’s bills in six months. John moved forward, but Richard grabbed his arm.

“Need to be smart about this,” Richard whispered. “Get him outside, into the carriage. Don’t reveal your hand.”

John nodded reluctantly. Richard had been the cold voice of reason in his ear since that afternoon, when John had reluctantly left Sam to Brenleigh’s care so he and Richard could spend the next hours scrounging up ready coin, flying to Cheapside, then descending upon the whorehouses John had visited on occasion. He had found every girl, the pretty, slinky things telling him about the rough brute who had come asking questions about their viscount. Their viscount, indeed. John paid each of them more than enough to leave their professions behind. And he had dealt with the runner too. He and his family would be on the first available passage to America with more money than the man would have made in three lifetimes.

Only Sills remained.

“About damn time,” Richard growled. “I’m going to sleep for a week when this is done.”

John nodded, and Richard headed back through the rain to their waiting carriage. John steeled himself and made his way toward the table.

“Lord, Michael. There you are,” John grouched, falling into the opposite chair. “Devil of a time finding you.”

Michael jumped in his seat and looked quickly around the room. “John? The blazes are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same.” John wiped his hand across the sticky table and cringed. “You told your footman you were going to Brooks’s, and from Brooks’s someone said the Hyde stables. You know how it is. Anyway, what are
you
doing in this sty? Want to go to Cally Finn’s and play the tables?”

Michael stared at John like a gaping fish, then seemed to catch himself. “Really? You’re not, eh… You don’t have other plans?”

John was ready for this. Michael would bait him to mention Sam since he knew everything. “No, I don’t,” John said, making his tone pitiful. “Turns out I’m not as, eh, popular with some people as I had thought.”

“Oh?”

“Well, to hell with them anyway, eh? I already have the best company and, um…” John cleared his throat and looked away. “And better for me, anyway. Good riddance to poor company.”

Michael’s shocked expression turned delighted. “I see. Well, good! Yes, Cally Finn’s, if you like. I have no other plans. You have your carriage?”

“Waiting outside.” John waved a hand as he rose. “I would say we stay for a pint, but judging from the stench of their brew in here, I say not.”

Michael laughed. “Aye, don’t risk the swill. Let’s go. Say, Darn, could you spot me some playing funds for the night? I will be paying you back Monday, as I’m expecting a generous increase in my allowance.”

I’m sure you are, you fucking traitor.

“No problem. What are friends for?” John led them out, running through the downpour to the waiting carriage. He opened the door and stood aside from Michael, who shot him a silly look of thanks before jumping in. The silly expression faded at once.

“Avery? The devil are you doing here?” Michael fell into the opposite seat.

Richard leaned forward, his hand clenched on the top of his cane. “You’re the second person to ask me that today. Evers was the first.”

Michael’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry. What?”

John took his seat next to Richard and rapped the roof with his cane. The carriage pulled away quickly, nearly sending Michael out of his backward-facing seat.

“What Richard means is that we had a very interesting conversation this afternoon with Evers, and because I am tired of the witty banter, it means I know what you did, you two-faced fuck!”

Michael lunged for the door, but John struck down his arm and shoved him back in his seat. Before Michael could make a grab at the other door, Richard pulled the head from his cane and drew a foot-long blade against Michael’s throat.

“It’s dark in here, and I really can’t see where the tip of this blade ends,” Richard growled, his teeth clenched. “So sit down and don’t fucking move.”

Michael pressed back into the seat, his eyes fixed on the near-invisible sword. “Avery, I don’t know what he told you, but it’s a lie. He’s a filthy, buggering sod. Him and Shaw, I saw them both. Now he’s trying to kill me to keep his perversion quiet.”

“Don’t you dare say his name!” John fumed. The bloodlust was so heavy he could taste it. He had called this man a friend. He had gamed with him and laughed with him, bailed him out of messes, and they had carried each other home after too much drink. This man who would destroy him over a few thousand pounds. John wanted to see his blood.

“Calm, John.” Richard pressed a hand to John’s chest, but his glare never left Michael. “Don’t waste your breath, Sills. You’re sermonizing to the wrong flock. This filthy sod would have no issue running you through right now, but I must have a care for Darnish’s upholstery.”

The carriage turned sharply, and the dim lights from the house lamps vanished, leaving only the tiny lamp near John’s head. Close brick walls filled the view in each window as they entered an alleyway. The carriage came to a hard stop and jostled as the driver and footman hopped down. A single rap on the door told John that his servants were leaving them, just as he had ordered.

Michael looked from window to window like a trapped animal.

“Since that we’re alone, Michael, I will tell you what we told Evers,” John began. “There are others like us who won’t look kindly on blackmail. You know as well as I that the docks are overflowing with men who would slit a rich dandy’s throat for nothing more than the pleasure and a few quid.”

“And if you are stupid enough to utter a word, no one will believe you anyway.” Richard wiggled the blade. “We found your Bow Street runner and sent him packing, and the whores too. You have nothing. And I think I and a few other esteemed gentlemen will suddenly recall that Sills has been acting very strangely of late. Talking to himself, seeing things. So sad. His father really should do something.”

“You can’t do anything to me.” Michael sneered, but there was no hiding his fear. “Do you know who my brother is? When I tell him about this—”

“Who is your brother?” Richard laughed. “The same man who plays piquet with my brother and dines at his house twice a week? My brother knows about me, you imbecile, and there is not a chance in hell he would let anything tarnish the Avery name. He would probably kill you himself if you told such tales to your brother. Tommy is just the sort, trust me.”

Michael was enraged. Even in the dim light, John could see his face pitched and glistening with sweat. “And if I do nothing, forget this, then what? You’ll leave me alone?”

“No,” John scoffed. “I will hire my own men to note your every move for months because I don’t trust that you won’t try to do all of this again. Only next time, one would hope you had the bollocks to do it yourself instead of using Evers as a shield. But it doesn’t matter anyway.” He leaned forward. “Because you won’t be here. I want you gone, immediately, but I know you don’t have the funds to buy a crème cake, let alone change residence. So I make this offer only once. I will purchase a commission for you, and you will leave to take up the uniform within the week. You will accept stations abroad. I don’t want to see your face in London.”

“The army?” Michael seethed, his fingers digging into the cushions. “You can’t. You ask me to give up my whole life?”

“And what did you think you were threatening to take from me? My whole fucking life! The army or the navy, Michael, and the blues aren’t nearly as tolerant of purchased officers as the army. Take it. Take it, or so help me I will beat you within an inch of your life, then leave some other man to finish it.”

With a shiver, Michael’s rage turned to fear, as if John would make good on his threat any second. He shook, and his reddened eyes seemed to be holding back tears. He had no corner to turn, and he knew it. He nodded.

“What?” Richard pressed.

“Yes.” Michael gritted his teeth. “All right.”

Relief flooded John but not nearly enough to calm him. He needed Michael away from him, and fast. “Good. You’ll receive word of the commission and all the arrangements. If you decide fleeing is better than the army, fine. Flee. But don’t ever come back. Get out.”

Michael hesitated, his gaze still on Richard’s blade, then bounded for the door and practically fell into the street. The sound of fast heels on the cobblestones echoed in the alley, then faded away.

Richard slid his weapon back into the cane. “Do you think he will follow through?”

“Michael has always detested work and responsibility of any kind. He might choose to flee, live in Bath or Edinburgh, or to go crawling back to his father’s house. We’ll wait and see.” John pulled his watch from his waistcoat. His servants were ordered to make themselves absent for fifteen minutes. They would be returning soon, and then he could go back to Sam.

Lord, Sam
. He was no delicate flower, so there was no telling how many days Sam had been without sleep or food before he fell. Perhaps since Monday night. He had stirred only a moment after his fainting spell but had looked near death’s door. Brenleigh had quietly suggested a laudanum dose, and John had reluctantly agreed. Sam might very well be angry with him when he returned, but he did not regret it. Sam had been forced to handle enough.

“Rich,” John began, suddenly wondering, “will you be honest with me about something?”

“I can’t imagine I wouldn’t, considering. What is it?”

“The threats we’ve made today, all these ‘other men’ with no scruples. Is it true, or are we bluffing?”

Richard was silent for a time, and then he released a long sigh. “Ah, John…we are lying through our teeth.”

“Fuck.” John rubbed his face, exhaustion setting in. “For the love of God, don’t tell Sam.”

Richard snorted. “Don’t tell Henry.”

Both men were silent after that, their mutual exhaustion almost dragging them to sleep by the time the servants returned and the carriage jostled. As they moved through the streets toward Sam’s house, John fantasized about a deep, warm bed and Sam’s gentle breath against his chest. It wouldn’t be tonight or tomorrow. They could not risk returning to the empty shop, not when the runner could have mentioned it to someone. They would have to make new arrangements, and John’s sleep-deprived brain was already conjuring possibilities, for he had meant what he said to Sam. Nothing would keep Sam from him. Whatever lies he had to tell, whatever facades he had to construct, he would do it all.