Pleasure Me (19 page)

“Might we be of assistance, Lord Stratfield?” Rothschild’s voice was low, but the note of warning in his voice was unmistakable as the baron sent Wycombe and the other two men a cold stare.

“Thank you, my lord, but Wycombe, Marston, and their
guest
were just leaving.”

Garrick studied Tremaine with a look of contempt as the man offered him a feral smile. Wycombe shook off his friends’ grasp and tugged at his clothes in an effort to straighten them. As he pulled at the cuffs of his shirt, the earl eyed Garrick with a menacing look. Behind him, Marston’s expression was one of worried pacification.

“Actually, we’ve yet to have the drink we promised our friend here,” Marston said, his mannerism one of forced joviality that indicated how uncomfortable he was at the moment.

“I think it best if you perhaps found another establishment in which to entertain Lord Tremaine.” Despite the pleasant tone of the baron’s voice, there was a hard note of steel layered beneath his words. “It would be most unfortunate if his Royal Highness arrived this evening to find the atmosphere in the Club less than harmonious.”

“Now see here, Rothschild, I’ve no quarrel with you—” Wycombe blustered, his expression a mixture of humiliation and anger.

“Nor I with you, my lord.” Rothschild tilted his head in an appeasing manner as he interrupted the earl. “But I
am
well-acquainted with his Royal Highness’s likes and dislikes. And indiscreet behavior is something he abhors.”

Wycombe paled at the baron’s quiet statement, his expression one of trepidation. Banishment from the Marlborough Club was akin to social ruin. The man swallowed hard and offered them a stilted bow.

“My lords,” he said in a vicious tone then whirled around to stalk out of the Club’s lounge. Marston hurried after the earl like a puppy chasing its master, but Tremaine paused for a moment in open defiance of Baron Rothschild’s obvious disapproval. The viscount smiled with more than a trace of insolence as he met Garrick’s gaze.

“I must say, Stratfield, I’m puzzled that you’ve not considered having that sweet little Mary of yours or even the Lady Ruth dispute Wycombe’s speculations.” The man shrugged as if entertained by some private joke. He seemed on the verge of leaving, when he suddenly paused and eyed Garrick with growing amusement. “By the way, I’ll be certain to give your regards to your uncle, Stratfield.”

The man’s comment was like a punch to Garrick’s gut as he went rigid with a combination of dread and foreboding. Satisfaction tipped the viscount’s mouth up into a derisive smile as he nodded his head and walked away. Rage rushed through Garrick as he made to follow the bastard, but a strong hand held him back.

“Another time, Stratfield. When your head is clear,” Rothschild said quietly.

Garrick jerked his head in a hard nod of agreement as he watched Tremaine disappear from the lounge. The ache in his jaw didn’t ease when the man was gone. He wanted to roar with anger, but locked his lips to keep the sound inside him. Between Wycombe’s and Tremaine’s innuendos, he was willing to lay odds that his uncle had betrayed his secret. And Tremaine was waiting for the right moment to use the knowledge against him. The sharp thrust of humiliation pierced his chest like an axe, and he forced himself to turn away from the entrance to the lounge.

“That man is a blighter,” Cassel said with a snort of disgust. “Never have liked him.”

“I agree. A most disagreeable fellow.” A look of assessment on his face, Rothschild looked at Garrick as he nodded his agreement with Cassel’s observation.

“Then the three of us are in complete agreement,” Garrick bit out as he looked down at his drink on the table.

More than ever he wanted to return to his drinking. Anything to blot out the knowledge of what was on the horizon. It was like seeing a storm approaching and being helpless to stop it from destroying everything he’d built.

The moment he heard Rothschild clear his throat, he lifted his head to meet the man’s gaze. There was no censure in the baron’s eyes, simply curiosity, but he had no intention of satisfying the man’s inquisitive nature. The drink he’d already had strengthened its grip on him, and he swallowed hard as he realized he’d not expressed his appreciation for the man’s intervention.

“I am obliged to you for your assistance with Wycombe and the others.”

“Don’t mention it. Cassel and I never have cared much for the man.”

“You’ve a mortal enemy there,” Cassel observed quietly. He shrugged with resignation at the financier’s comment.

“There’s been no love lost between Wycombe and me since our school days, but he’s more bluster than action.”

“Not him. Tremaine,” Rothschild said as he nodded at Cassel before looking back at Garrick. “I’d watch your back with that one.”

“I shall. Thank you,” he said as he cleared his throat and glanced down with longing at the Hennessy before raising his head to look at the two men. “I believe I’ll find my way home. It’s been an eventful evening.”

“Certainly,” Rothschild said with a smile of approval. “By the by, why don’t you join the baroness and me for a small dinner party we’re giving for His Royal Highness next month?”

Startled by the unexpected invitation, Garrick tried to think of a coherent response. What Rothschild had just offered was a highly coveted honor in the Set. He didn’t speak. He simply nodded his acceptance. The baron’s smile was friendly as he extended his hand to Garrick. Even if he’d not been drinking, he would have been just as sluggish at accepting the man’s hand. As Rothschild turned with Cassel to walk away, he suddenly paused to look back at him.

“And bring the lovely Lady Ruth with you. My wife has a fondness for her. The baroness serves on several charitable boards with the lady.”

As Rothschild and Cassel walked away, Garrick stood staring after them for a long moment. Bring Lady Ruth the man had said. He released a vicious growl of disgust. The odds of that happening were almost nonexistent. He’d humiliated the woman this evening. She wasn’t likely to let him within fifty feet of her.

“
Damn it to hell
,” he snarled beneath his breath.

With a sharp jerk, he wheeled about on his heel and headed out of the Club. Outside, Jasper was waiting for him across the street with the Berline. As he grabbed the carriage’s door handle, he hesitated.

The thought of going home to Chiddingstone House was unappealing. Lily and Grace were beginning to take far more interest in his social life than he liked. If they learned he’d come home early, they’d seize it as a weapon in their newest campaign to find him a wife. He closed his eyes for a brief second. There was only one place to go—Seymour Square. Even though Mary and Davy were gone, it still felt like home. Not to mention it would be peaceful.

In less than fifteen minutes, the carriage pulled up at the steps of one eleven Seymour Square, and he used his key to enter the house. The door closing behind him, he turned to find Carstairs emerging from the back of the house with an expression of concern.

“My lord, I see you got my note.”

“Note?”

“Yes, sir, I sent one to Chiddingstone House. I thought your arrival . . .” Carstairs frowned as if realizing Garrick hadn’t received any message. “I’m afraid there’s a bit of a problem.”

“What sort of problem?”

“It’s Willie, my lord. He’s brought home a stray.”

“He’s no stray, my lord.”

The defiant words made Garrick lean slightly to the right to see Willie emerging from the back hall with a smaller boy at his side. The young footman had appeared at the door of Caring Hearts early one morning more than a year ago asking for nothing more than a meal in exchange for some type of work. Lily had immediately assigned Garrick the task of finding him some.

Willie had been little more than skin and bones then, which made it difficult to find the lad a position, so he’d brought him home to Seymour Square and employed him as a footman. With the help of Mary and Carstairs, the boy had exceeded everyone’s expectations, even those of Carstairs, who was an exacting taskmaster. But at the moment, it was obvious the butler was far from happy with the strapping young footman. Rubbing the back of his neck, Garrick heaved a sigh.

“Carstairs. A glass of whiskey. Willie, you and your friend, come with me.”

As he entered the salon, there was a vague sense of something being off kilter. It feathered its way through his cluttered brain until he suddenly realized what it was. He’d never really taken notice of Mary’s decorating before, but the difference in this room and Ruth’s salon was like night and day.

Here, everything was cool and sedate, whereas Ruth’s home had a passionate warmth that made him wish he were there now. He suppressed a groan at the way his mind kept returning to Ruth and the way he’d left her. With a grunt, he dropped down into one of the chairs and waved his hand abruptly at his footman.

“Explain.”

“This is Samuel, my lord, and I told him that if anyone can help him, you can.” Willie straightened to his full height, which was considerable.

“And what makes you think I can help your friend?” He shifted his gaze to the young boy standing in his footman’s shadow.

“Because you helped me, my lord.”

The unadulterated hero worship in Willie’s voice made Garrick wince. If his footman had witnessed the way he’d treated Ruth tonight the man would realize he was bowing at the wrong altar. He was nothing like the man his footman thought he was. His gaze shifted to Samuel.

The lad couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven at best. Tall, but scrawny, his cut lip and black eye made him look as though someone had beaten him severely several days ago. His jaw tightened with anger. As he stared into the boy’s eyes, the look of hopelessness he saw there enraged him. He despised anyone who thought it acceptable to beat a child. Whoever had battered the boy deserved to be horsewhipped. Carstairs entered the room and handed him his drink. He took a stiff gulp of the whiskey then set it on the table next to his chair. His gaze pinned on the boy, he frowned.

“Well, Samuel. Can you speak for yourself?”

“Aye, me lord.” There was a false bravado to the boy’s response as he took a step closer to Willie’s side.

“Where are your parents?”

“Me mum’s dead, and I don’t know who me sire is, me lord.” The boy met his gaze with a good show of confidence, but he failed to completely disguise his apprehension. “It’s just me, and Lucy.”

“Lucy?” Garrick’s gaze shifted from the boy’s face to Willie’s sudden look of chagrin.

“Me baby sister, me lord. We ain’t got no one else, and I take care of her the best I can.”

There was a protective note in the boy’s voice, and Garrick immediately recognized a part of himself in the boy’s defiance in the face of what had to be immeasurable odds. Life on the streets was difficult enough for a boy, but for girls it was almost always a death sentence. An image of his uncle testing Lily’s bedroom door sent ice through his veins.

“Where is she now?” he bit out in a tight voice. At his question, Carstairs, who was observing the small drama from a short distance away, coughed softly.

“She’s with Cook, my lord.”

Garrick shot the butler a sharp glance then closed his eyes in an attempt to clear his cloudy head. Damnation, the boy had a sister. Fingers pressed into his temple, he reached for his whiskey and tossed down the rest of the liquor. In a silent command for more, he extended his glass to Carstairs and didn’t look at the man as the butler took the crystal from him. Christ Jesus, this was turning out to be a hell of a night. He looked at Samuel again and frowned.

“Who beat you?” Garrick’s question sent a shudder through the child as he looked up at Willie. The footman nodded with encouragement.

“It’s all right, Samuel. His lordship’s going to help. You can trust him.”

The confidence in his footman’s voice made Garrick wince.
Trust.
Something Ruth could enlighten the young man about when it came to him. His head suddenly began to throb as the echoes of Ruth’s humiliation reverberated through his head. He frowned as he waited for Samuel to answer.

“His name is Billings, me lord. He said he’d give me food and a place to sleep if I worked for him.”

“What kind of work?”

“He told me he needed someone who could run fast and deliver messages.”

“And why did he beat you?”

“Because the last bloke I delivered a message to refused to pay. Said I was too late. That the message didn’t do him any good if it was late.”

Garrick clenched his jaw. His uncle had rarely laid a hand on him, but Beresford’s treatment of him and his siblings had been as harmful as what Samuel had suffered at the hands of this Billings. Abuse was abuse. It was what drove him to help those who couldn’t help themselves.

As he studied Samuel, he remembered what it was like to feel alone in the world with no one to turn to. He swallowed hard at the memory. Despite the difference in their stations in life, Samuel could have been him. Well, he’d be damned if he was going to let this bastard Billings touch the lad again. He’d been thinking of finding a boy to help Jasper in the stables for a number of weeks, but hadn’t done anything about it. Now he wouldn’t have to look elsewhere. He steadily met the boy’s wary gaze.

“Do you like horses, Samuel?”

“Don’t know much about ’em, me lord.” The boy paused for a moment, his face lightened slightly. “But I suppose I do, like ’em that is.”

“Would you like to learn how to care for them? My driver could use some help in my stables if you’re willing to work hard.” Garrick spoke quietly, watching as Samuel’s face brightened with hope then grew suspicious again. The boy looked up at Willie, who nodded his head. Looking back at Garrick, the child straightened to his full height.

“Yes, please, me lord. I’m a hard worker, too.” Samuel eyed him with a mixture of optimism and fear. “And Lucy? We’re a bundle, me lord. I don’t go nowhere without ’er.”