Just a Little Wickedness

by Merry Farmer

  He wasn’t going to let that happen.

  He moved away from the settee, walking to the fireplace to lean against the mantel, staring into the low flames. He would do his duty by his family. If his father wanted him to court Lady Alice Norton, or any other woman, he would buck up and do it. He would push his true self aside to be who his father needed him to be. He would produce an heir, take over the running of the estate, and do whatever it took to be the best Earl of Winslow possible, no matter how quickly it all happened. He would—

  “Excuse me, my lord. I was told you were in need of the services of a valet?”

  Alistair turned away from the fireplace to look straight into the deep, dark eyes of the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life. He was tall, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and dark hair that was swept rakishly to one side. As soon as he saw the startled look on Alistair’s face, his perfect mouth formed into a smile that went straight to Alistair’s cock.

  There was only one thing Alistair could say as every resolution to do his duty blasted away from his mind.

  “Fuck.”

  Chapter 2

  Time was running out. The longer Joe remained in the employ of Lord Burbage without discovering so much as a clue as to what had happened to Lily, the less likely he was to find her. He strode through the halls of Eccles House, tempted to explore his employer’s study or the library or to look for some other corner of the house that he hadn’t already pored over while Burbage and his father were occupied at supper. He was clever enough to explain his presence where he wasn’t meant to be—cleverness had never been his problem—but even so, he couldn’t risk being dismissed. Not until he had answers about Lily.

  Giddy whispers from around the corner closest to the formal dining room caught Joe’s attention as he debated doubling back to search Burbage’s study. He knew what he was about to find before he turned the corner and grinned. As quietly as he could, he approached the two bright-eyed children on their knees, peering into the grand dining room. They were so absorbed in ogling Lord Chisolm’s guests that they didn’t hear him approaching until he bent close to them and whispered, “Boo.”

  The children squealed and leapt up, scrambling backward, knowing they’d been caught.

  “Toby, Emma, what are the two of you doing?” Joe asked, laughing.

  Before the two could answer, first footman, Ned, marched around the corner looking as though he would call for the children’s blood. “Get back to the kitchen or I’ll tell Mr. Vine to sack you and kick you back to the gutter where you came from.”

  Joe reached for Toby and Emma’s hands. “There’s no need for that, Ned,” he warned the young man.

  Ned stiffened, tugging at the bottom of his livery jacket. “I think there’s every need, Mr. Logan.”

  “I’ll take them back downstairs.” Joe sent the uptight footman a flat look and turned to lead the children away. “Don’t mind him,” he told the children as they walked. “Ned has ambitions, and you can never quite trust a man with ambitions.”

  The children giggled.

  “Did you see how grand they all looked, Mr. Logan?” Emma asked.

  “Is that woman at the end of the table the queen?” Toby added.

  “No,” Joe laughed. “She’s just some fine lady. I’d rather spend a night playing soldiers with the two of you than sit down to eat with that lot.”

  “But they’re ever so grand,” Emma argued, looking preciously earnest as she did.

  “I’m going to be a soldier when I get older,” Toby insisted. “Even though I’m just a hall boy now.”

  “Count your blessings where you find them,” Joe told them as they neared the door to the servants’ quarters. “Being a hall boy and a scullery maid is a damn sight better than what you could be.” He would know. The stark difference in the lives of his siblings who had gone into service versus those who had stayed on the farm as day laborers was astounding.

  And then there was Lily. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had lured her into a harlot’s life, by hook or by crook. Lily was uncommonly pretty. But he’d found no evidence of her at all in any of the brothels he’d investigated. Which had led him to the theory that a guest of the Eccles family had sweet-talked her away from an upright life. He could find nothing to support his hunch, though. If he didn’t find out what had happened to his sister soon, he didn’t know what he would do.

  “Now, don’t you two have work to do?” he asked, shooing them toward the servants’ door.

  Before they could answer, Mr. Vine stepped out of one of the fine parlors near the front of the hall, spotted Joe, and changed direction to march toward him. Joe pushed the children on, praying they were smart enough to scurry downstairs to work before Mr. Vine questioned what they were doing upstairs.

  “Ah, Mr. Logan,” Mr. Vine said, ignoring Toby and Emma, much to Joe’s relief.

  “Mr. Vine.” Joe nodded to the butler, careful to observe all the formalities that their positions in the household required. God knew he couldn’t afford to land on the butler’s bad side. Not with his reasons for being in the house and not with all the things Mr. Vine could discover about him if he scratched the surface.

  “There is a guest in need of assistance in the Queen Charlotte parlor.” Mr. Vine got straight down to business.

  “Assistance?” Joe shook his head slightly. “From me?”

  “Lord Winslow has spilled soup on his diner jacket and is in need of a valet’s skills to set things to right.”

  “Ah, I understand. I’ll attend to him right away.” Joe bowed slightly, taking great pains to show respect, and then hurrying on without being told. He didn’t care much for Mr. Vine, but a comfortable life depended on befriending everyone around him and giving them no reason at all to take notice of things they shouldn’t. He hadn’t made it safely through as much of his life as he had, being who and what he was, by drawing attention to himself, that much was certain. Although it meant he hadn’t had as much fun as he’d wanted to either. But circumspection was necessary when a man had his sorts of tastes, and ever since Lily had disappeared, he couldn’t afford distractions.

  Which was why striding into the Queen Charlotte parlor and coming face to face with a perfectly dressed gentleman staring into the fire with the most sorrowful expression Joe had ever seen felt like running headlong into a solid brick wall.

  Joe drank in the sight of the man—the way his clothes fit perfectly over an obviously fit body, the slight curl of his light brown hair, and above all, the intensity of emotion shining from his devilishly handsome face—before clearing his throat and saying, “Excuse me, my lord. I was told you were in need of the services of a valet?”

  The man jerked away from the fire and his eyes met Joe’s. The spark that passed between the two of them was palpable. On top of that, Joe could have sworn the man muttered, “Fuck,” in a deep, rich tone.

  Fuck indeed.

  “Mr. Vine informed me you spilled soup on your dinner jacket,” Joe said, taking a step forward, clasping his hands behind his back and attempting to adopt the proper, submissive posture. He couldn’t do it, though. Every fiber of his being wanted to stand tall and to move gracefully, to catch the gentleman’s eye.

  The gentleman watched him for a few more, captivating seconds before shaking his head and saying, “Not me, my father.” He nodded toward the settee closest to the fire.

  Joe hadn’t noticed the sleeping man. He had a feeling someone could have fired a canon in the parlor and he wouldn’t have noticed. Not with the vision of masculine perfection drawing all of his attention. He threw caution to the wind and met the gentleman’s look with a flirtatious smile. If his instincts about the man were wrong, he could make light of his overly friendly look and save face, but he doubted he was wrong.

  Only when he reached the settee did he pull his gaze away from the gentleman to study his father. In an instant, pity raced through him. The father had, indeed, stained his finely tailored jacket. A jack
et that must have fit him well at some point, but which was too large for his shrunken frame now. The man was obviously ill, and if Joe knew anything about anything, he wouldn’t be recovering.

  “May I?” he asked the gentleman, reaching for the jacket to assess the stain better.

  “Go right ahead,” the gentleman said with a sigh, crossing to the settee.

  Joe could tell in an instant that it would take more work than he could do in the parlor to clean the stain. At the same time, he was loath to undress the older man. He was so frail that, even next to the fire, the poor dear might catch a chill. Instead, he stood. A rush of excitement coursed through him at the gentleman’s proximity.

  “You’ll have to have your valet or his clean the jacket once you get home,” he said, his voice dropping to the warm tone he usually reserved for men he wanted to become more than his friend.

  The gentleman blinked once, his eyes locking with Joe’s. A moment later, he took in a breath and said, “I don’t have a valet.” Prickles of excitement raced down Joe’s back, as though the gentleman had told him he didn’t currently have a lover but would like one. “Father does, though,” he went on, breaking away to sit on the settee and take his father’s hand.

  The moment of connection evaporated, much to Joe’s regret. It had been ages since he’d reacted to a man like that. “If you’d like,” he said, “I can fetch some soda water to take out the worst of the stain for now. It’ll be enough for you to make your way home presentably.”

  “Thank you,” the gentleman said with a weary smile.

  Joe’s heart skipped a beat. What wouldn’t he have done to wipe that sadness out of the gentleman’s eyes. Several ideas of how he could make the man forget whatever hurt him—and everything else—popped to his mind.

  “Give me just a moment,” he said, bowing, then turning to leave before his body betrayed him by showing just what he thought of the gentleman.

  He walked sedately out of the parlor, then broke into a run as soon as he was around the corner. He dashed downstairs, nearly knocking Toby over as the boy swept the downstairs hallway, fetched the soda water and a cloth, then darted back toward the stairs, not wanting to spend a moment more than he had to apart from the gentleman. He skittered to a stop as he passed the wine cellar, then backtracked to pluck a bottle from the shelf, then raced to find a wineglass and corkscrew as well.

  Finally, he made his way back up to the parlor, his arms filled with all the things he’d fetched. He forced himself to stop just shy of the parlor and to wait for his heartbeat to slow. At last, he checked his appearance in one of the many hall mirrors, then walked calmly into the parlor as though he’d been as cool and disinterested as the North Sea the whole time.

  “Here we are, my lord,” he said with a friendly smile as he approached the settee. The gentleman hadn’t moved, nor had the pain in his expression eased as he watched his father. “I took the liberty of bringing you something to drink as well.” He hesitated, then added, “You look as though you could use a drink.”

  The gentleman hummed in agreement, drew in a breath, then stood to make a place for Joe. As Joe handed him the bottle and glass, their fingers touched. The effect was so electric Joe’s face went hot.

  “Do you think he’ll mind if I work on his jacket while he sleeps?” Joe asked, just above a whisper. He prayed the gentleman would think he’d lowered his voice to avoid waking the father up.

  The gentleman met his eyes, and for a moment the undeniable attraction was there again. The gentleman’s eyes dropped to Joe’s lips, then he let out a sigh, turned away, and said, “Not at all. He probably won’t even notice.”

  “Understood, my lord.” The moment was gone once again, so Joe sat, took the bottle of soda water from his pocket along with the cloth, and unstoppered the bottle. The gentleman’s sleeping father barely moved as Joe went to work, dabbing at the stains.

  “We shouldn’t have come tonight at all,” the gentleman said as he took the wine bottle to a small table against the wall. He paused, then asked, “Do you have a corkscrew?”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  Joe paused in his work to reach into his pocket for the corkscrew. When the gentleman came to take it, their hands brushed again. Joe could have sworn the man lingered before turning away and returning to the table.

  It was ridiculous. Joe was a valet from a background that was barely middle class. The gentleman was obviously wealthy and titled. And yet, what made them different from normal men leveled the playing field between them. At least to a certain degree.

  “Why do you say you shouldn’t have come?” Joe asked, eager to keep the conversation going, as he worked on the father’s jacket.

  The pop of the wine bottle sounded before the gentleman spoke. “You can see that my father’s health is not good.”

  Joe made a sympathetic sound, smiling at the slumbering gentleman.

  “His mind is increasingly unsound as well,” the gentleman went on. He paused, then said, “It is agony to watch the man whom I have admired and looked up to for my entire life decline into little more than a shell of what he once was. And for him to decline at so young an age.” He paused again to take a drink of wine as he walked back to the settee. “He’s not yet sixty.”

  “I’m sorry,” Joe said, glancing up from his work to show him just how sympathetic he was.

  The gentleman let out a long breath and shrugged. “There’s nothing to be done. Every doctor money can buy has been consulted. No one knows how long it will be. Years still, in all likelihood. But that just means more years to watch…this.”

  “I cannot imagine,” Joe said.

  “I just wish I didn’t feel so useless,” the gentleman went on, resting his free hand on the back of the settee. “There’s so little I can do.”

  On impulse, Joe reached up to rest a hand over his. “I’m certain you’re doing the best you can.”

  The gentleman didn’t move his hand or shake Joe off. He stared at their fingers in a way that made Joe want to thread his through the gentleman’s and to hold on for dear life.

  “I’ll have to assume the duties of the title and all that entails,” the gentleman went on. “Father seems to know it as well. He has taken to pointing out eligible brides to me every time we go out. He’s desperate to see me married and to have a grandchild before he goes.”

  “Which must be painful for you,” Joe said in a frank tone.

  The gentleman’s eyes jumped to meet his, suddenly fearful.

  “I’m the same way,” Joe rushed to confess. “But I think you sensed that from the moment I walked in the room, as I did with you.”

  Color splashed onto the gentleman’s face. He pulled his hand away, taking a long drink from his wineglass. Once he’d swallowed, he said, “So you understand how far I must go to be the dutiful son.”

  “I do.” The gentleman’s father’s jacket was as clean as it was going to get, so Joe tucked the cloth back in his pocket, set the soda water on the floor, and stood. “I have a duty of my own,” he said. “My sister has gone missing, and our family is counting on me to find her.”

  The gentleman’s brow shot up in surprise. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”

  A smile played across Joe’s lips in spite of the heaviness of the situation. “That’s very kind of you, my lord.” He hesitated, then extended his hand. “My name is Joe. Joe Logan.”

  The gentleman took his hand and shook it. “Alistair Bevan.” When Joe raised one eyebrow, he went on with, “Don’t bother with the Lord Farnham part. I’ve already confessed more to you than I have to my own family, so it wouldn’t feel right.”

  “If you say so, Alistair.” Joe’s grin widened. Especially since their hands were still joined.

  Alistair seemed to notice and let go quickly. “Your sister is missing, you say?”

  The seriousness of the situation returned, but a sense of camaraderie remained between the two of them. “For eight months now. She’s fourteen and
came to London to work as a kitchen maid. I fear she has been lured into a dangerous situation. She was here for six months before she vanished without a trace.”

  “Here?” Alistair frowned slightly. “Here as in London?”

  “Here as in Eccles House.” Joe lowered his voice. “Which is why I applied for the position as Lord Burbage’s valet.”

  Alistair’s frown deepened. “Were you working as a valet before?” He immediately shook his head and said, “That wasn’t the question I wanted to ask.”

  “I was trained as a tailor first, but yes, I worked as a valet in the country, near Leeds, before,” Joe told him. “It’s how I know that soda water isn’t enough to remove a stain from a tomato-based soup, and that your father needs all of his clothes retailored to accommodate his weight loss.”

  Alistair’s eyes went wide for a moment before the gloom settled in on him again. He laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “Most people think the fate of the world and the empire and its colonies is the most terrifying thing we have to deal with in life, but they’re wrong.”

  “It’s the little traumas of our families that frighten us the most,” Joe picked up the thought.

  Alistair met his eyes. They understood each other. It was the most beautiful and true moment Joe had experienced in years. He would have given anything to stay there with Alistair, talking through their lives, their sorrows, and their joys. He would have given even more to have the freedom to walk around the settee that separated them, to take the sad gentleman in his arms, and to kiss him until his sighs of sorrow turned into moans of pleasure.

  “Any suggestions about how to do what has to be done when it’s the very last thing you want to do?” Alistair asked, the heat in his eyes hinting that he had the same thoughts.

  Joe opened his mouth to say no, then stopped. “Actually, I might have an idea,” he said. It came to him out of nowhere. “Have you ever heard of an organization here in London called The Brotherhood?”