Hell, Alfie thought, looking at Dominick's meager room, It probably saved my life.
But it meant that the boy he had been and the boy he had known had grown so far apart that they might as well inhabit different worlds. And any bonds they might have had were long since broken.
Really, it was grossly unacceptable for him to be in the quarters of a strange man, touching his bare skin and tending to his injuries. However… Alfie squared his shoulders. It would only be more awkward if he were to stop now and draw attention to his impropriety. Best to continue on as he had begun, then never think of this strange night again.
“Tilt your chin back,” he said, reaching out with wet cravat. His hand only wavered a little. Dominick hesitated slightly before complying, closing his eyes as Alfie wiped gently at his face, then scrubbed harder when the drying blood refused to comply.
“Ow.”
“Hush,” Alfie leaned in closer. He placed two fingers against Dominick's jaw, pointedly ignoring the sharp rasp of stubble under his fingertips. Tilting Dominick's head to best catch the scant light from the fire, he leaned in and hummed thoughtfully.
“It doesn’t look deep, but I think you should see a doctor regardless, that was an awful lot of blood.”
“Head wounds always bleed like a stuck pig. It’s fine.”
Dominick opened his eyes, and Alfie was struck suddenly at how close they were. Dominick sitting on the bed with Alfie leaning over him, just barely touching, the firelight casting a warm glow that didn’t reach into the corners of the room. It was like they were all alone in their little pocket of the world.
“For the rest of you then,” he whispered. “You took quite a beating. What kind of man takes a fight he knows he’ll lose?”
“The kind willing to take the risk.” Dominick smiled. This close the effect was devastating. “I got off lightly thanks to you. Only a few bruises and cracked ribs. I know the feel, I’ve had worse.”
“My doctor wouldn’t mind. He’s already seen me once today, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind doubling his fee.”
“Oh?” Dominick's hand brushed against Alfie's hip. “And why were you being examined by the good doctor anyway?”
Alfie swayed, closing his eyes. He murmured, “Because I was shot,” and leaned in.
Dominick jerked back and grabbed Alfie by the arms.
“You were shot?” he yelled.
Alfie cried out as Dominick unintentionally gripped right over his injury. Instantly Dominick released him and was on the other side of the room faster than Alfie could see him move.
“Shit! Fucking bloody hell! Why didn’t you say something? Christ, when I grabbed you before, no wonder you kneed me in the balls.” He paced then turned to Alfie. “What the hell happened?”
Alfie sagged, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. He was suddenly so very, very tired.
“It’s a long story, and it is very late. Suffice to say, it’s the reason I followed you out of the pub this evening. I was trying to hire you.”
Dominick shook his head. “Hire me for what?”
“For protection,” Alfie said. “To watch my back while I investigate precisely who it is that wants me dead.”
Out loud, it didn’t sound quite as great a plan as it had before. Surely there were agencies one could consult for this sort of thing.
“Oh wonderful.” Dominick threw his hands in the air. “First you’re a lord, now you’re a detective. Will wonders never cease. ‘Who it is that wants me dead,’ he says. Christ. I’m surprised there isn’t a queue.”
Alfie huffed and stood up. This was a mistake. All of it. It would be better to cut his losses and put the entire idea behind him. Perhaps his solicitor could suggest a discreet firm. Or Alfie could just leave the country. That plan had worked for others, surely it would be the easiest solution.
“Thank you for your time,” he said stuffily, straightening his coat and smoothing down his shirtfront. “I respect that you are uninterested in the—”
He stumbled over his words. “The offer of employment. I suppose the person who placed second in a two-man fight is not the best choice for the position anyway. It was most pleasant catching up, but I won’t trouble you again.” Alfie walked swiftly towards the door.
“Wait, wait!” Dominick called out. Alfie paused with his hand on the knob. Dominick scrubbed his hands over his face vigorously. Even from across the room Alfie could see him wince as the action hurt both his injured hands and face.
“I didn’t say that, just Christ, it’s late. Would you be willing to go over this again—slowly—when I don’t feel like an entire music hall has been dancing on my face?”
Alfie shifted, warring with himself. Really, from the egregious way he’d been acting, the correct response would just be to end this now and never have to face Dominick again. On the other hand…
✽✽✽
Alfie watched wide-eyed as Dominick chased off Baz and two other boys. He bent and threw a clod of dirt, hitting Baz squarely in the back of the head. The boy tripped, but kept running as Dominick shouted obscenities at him. Once the other boys had disappeared around the corner of the shed, Dominick jogged back to where Alfie was sitting on the ground, clutching his knee.
“What did I tell you about going around without me, eh? Bound to get yourself in trouble.”
Alfie couldn’t help the sniffle. He’d known better, but Baz said a frog had tadpoles in the puddle behind the shed, and Alfie had wanted to see.
“Hey now, none of that.” Dominick went down to one knee in front of him. “Let me see.”
He pried Alfie's fingers gently from around his knee, examining the graze there, before he spit on it, and rubbed in some dirt from the edge of the sadly empty puddle. At Alfie's disgusted expression, he laughed.
“That’ll make it heal up twice as strong. And this,” he pressed a quick kiss to the knee. “Will take away the pain. Feels better already, don’t it?”
Alfie unbent his leg cautiously, then nodded.
“See, you can always count on your Dominick.” He dusted off his hands and stood, reaching down to Alfie. “Come on, let’s see if those sad eyes can’t con a spoonful of honey from one of the girls on kitchen duty.”
Alfie's eyes lit up at the thought of an unexpected treat. He was ready to run off, knee forgotten, when Dominick grabbed the collar of his shirt to hold him in place. He bent over until his eyes were level with Alfie's.
“I can’t look out for you if I don’t know where you are, Alfie. Next time you want to go off on some adventure, you take me with you. Promise?”
✽✽✽
“I promise,” Alfie whispered. He shook himself, trying to loosen the tendrils of the past that clung to him.
“What’s that?”
Alfie straightened up, donning the manners of aristocracy like armor. “I said, very well. I’m at 43 Bedford Square. Do you know it?”
“I’m sure I can find it.”
“Good. Call on me, let’s say tomorrow morning? If that is convenient for you.”
“I’ll have to reschedule tea with the Duchess, but I think that’ll work,” said Dominick dryly. “My apologies for not seeing you out, but I think I’d fall asleep halfway down the stairs. When you get to the bottom, there’s a drunk sleeping by the door. That’s Old Frank, give him a kick and tell him I said to take you somewhere you can find a cab to get home. All sorts out this time of night.”
Alfie flushed with warmth at Dominick's consideration. He hadn’t even thought about how he was getting back, too flustered from the entire night.
“Thank you... Dominick.”
“Goodnight, Alfie.” Dominick eased himself down onto the bed and lay back, throwing an arm across his eyes.
Alfie hesitated, the invitation for Dominick to come with him pressing against the back of his teeth. He was momentarily overwhelmed with the desire to take him away from all this, to bring Dominick with him the way he should have found a way to do when he was taken in by Lord and L
ady Crawford as a child.
But there was nothing he could have done then. And now, it was best for them both if Alfie kept a measure of distance between them. Two poor children in the workhouse could have a friendship, but an earl and a backroom boxer? It was impossible. Any chance for that had ridden away in the coach with Alfie all those years ago.
“Goodnight,” he said, and shut the door behind him as softly as he could. It wasn’t until he was halfway home that he realised he’d left his cravat behind.
Chapter 7
Dominick groaned as the dawning sun fell into his eyes, waking him. He tried to roll over, only to curse as his entire side erupted in flame. He reversed course and lay on his back, blinking. What had happened last night?
Oh. Oh.
He smiled, wincing only slightly at the pull on his bruised and swollen face. After that last day at the workhouse, he’d never expected to see Alfie again.
It was fitting in a way. He had been fighting the day Alfie was taken from him, forced to watch Alfie leave him through blackened eyes. It was only right that he watched him return the same way.
And the years in between had clearly been good to him, in more ways than one. Dominick's childhood friend had grown into a lovely man. Strong too, if the way he’d held his own against Dominick and helped him up the stairs was any indication. Nobility, false or otherwise, suited him well. He looked as if he was born to the part, all lofty and refined.
Over the years, Dominick had hoped that Alfie was somewhere warm and safe, since even those modest ambitions were too often beyond his own reach. But this was more than he could have ever dreamed for his friend.
He didn’t regret the decision he’d made that day at the workhouse for one second. Alfie deserved to have all of the finest things. If Dominick hadn’t done what he did then, that rat-faced weasel Baz would have—
Dominick scowled, covering his face with his arm. No reason to ruin such a fine morning thinking about that vermin.
Something soft brushed against his fingers. Even from such a light touch he could tell it wasn’t the coarse muslin of his bedclothes. He pulled it down, squinting as he tried to figure out what it was. A long piece of white fabric, very fine, but smeared with dried bloodstains. Alfie's cravat. Dominick flushed at the memory of Alfie taking care of him the night before. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers. The silk glid between them, catching on his many scars and calluses before sliding away.
Alfie’s hands were almost as soft, he remembered. An aristocrat’s hands that had touched Dominick so gently. For a moment last night, he’d almost thought that Alfie might be like him, but surely not. Alfie was just a good man helping to care for an old and injured friend.
Still… Dominick's prick twitched. There was no harm in thinking about it. All that fine pale skin. Those beautiful blue eyes staring at Dominick in surprise and wonder.
He slid his free hand down over his stomach and under the tie of his trousers. What else might give Alfie a similar look? He raised the hand holding the cravat to his face and breathed in deeply. The smell of copper and iron hit him first, his own blood, but underneath lurked some fine cologne, spicy and warm, and beneath that, just the faintest hint of clean, masculine sweat. He wrapped his hand around his slowly rising cock then tugged hard, the way he liked.
He yelped, his hand flying out of his trousers.
“Christ,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
Apparently there was plenty of harm in thinking about it. Especially if the man doing the thinking was trying to pleasure himself with busted fingers on a bruised cock. Dominick groaned as pain rolled through him on waves of nausea. He might not regret his actions Alfie's last day in the workhouse, but he certainly regretted whatever day it was he’d taught the little fuck to aim for the crupper.
After taking several minutes to regain his breath, Dominick gingerly rolled up to sit on the side of the bed. He could have used a few more hours, days, weeks of sleep but he was awake now. And he had promised to meet with Alfie again today.
He winced. Maybe if he left now, he could walk slowly enough to not be limping too badly by the time he arrived.
Spying the cravat still lying on the bed, Dominick folded it as neatly as he could before painfully climbing down onto his knees in the middle of the room. He pulled up the loose floorboard, and felt around for the little tin box hidden underneath.
Pulling the box out and placing it on the bed, inside were only the few coins he’d managed to scrape together and his ring. He pocketed a few of the coins to pay for breakfast, then a few more. He was getting ten quid from Alfie today after all, and maybe more work besides; he had earned a treat after the excitement of the day before. He picked the ring up too and examined it.
A cheap and poorly made thing, the little bird and leaves that had once encircled the band now lived more in his memory than on the chipped and worn pewter. Made for a man’s hand, it was some token given by his mother to a father he didn’t remember, and left with him after both his parents died.
At least, that was the story he told himself.
In reality, all he knew was that it had been left behind by whoever dropped him off at the workhouse as a child. There had been a system in place where someone abandoning a child could leave a token, something worthless but unique. If they ever wished to have their child back, all they had to do was describe the token to prove they had a rightful claim and the child would be returned to them immediately.
No one had ever come for Dominick.
On the day he left, the warden had handed him the ring and wished him good luck. It was the one thing that had come with Dominick from the workhouse and had stayed with him all the years since. For all that it wasn’t even worth the price of a hot meal, it was his only real treasure.
He set the folded cravat down in the bottom of the box, then after a moment’s hesitation, left the ring and remaining coins on top of it. He’d grown into being able to wear the ring when he was in his teens, but with his knuckles as swollen as they were, he didn’t want to risk getting it stuck and damaging it. It would be safe enough in the box until the swelling went down and his hands returned to normal.
He closed the box and tucked it back into its hiding place, making sure to kick some of the dust and dirt on the unswept floor over the replaced board so any potential thieves could not tell it had been moved.
Satisfied, he swapped out his shirt for his slightly cleaner one. The bruises on his torso weren’t as bad as he had feared. As long as he didn’t push himself too hard for the next few weeks, he’d be right as rain.
Whistling, he grabbed his coat and headed out in search of breakfast.
✽✽✽
“Didn’t expect to see you this morning,” Jimmy McVitie boomed when Dominick finally shambled into The Barge.
His beard and hair were far too neatly groomed for the early hour, but Dominick supposed that being a married man and business owner would do that to you. Long gone were the days when he was up till all hours teaching Dominick to crack houses or sneak into unwatched stores.
He was downright respectable now, when he wasn’t getting Dominick into and out of illicit boxing matches.
Jimmy snorted, but didn’t stop wiping down the bar when Dominick sat gingerly on one of the stools.
“I suppose that answers the question of if that dandy knob ever caught up with you.”
“That’s none of your business,” Dominick retorted. “And his money was fine enough for you wasn’t it? Besides, can’t a man be moving a little slow after a go in the ring with The Body Snatcher? Christ, I feel like I’ve been beaten with an oaken towel.”
Jimmy laughed and patted Dominick on the shoulder, not as carefully as he could have.
“For that, there’s a half pint on me. Want me to see if the missus has anything left she’ll let me give you for cheap?”
“No,” Dominick said, pulling the coins from his pocket. “I’ll take the drink, we both know you owe me that and more, but I’l
l have a full breakfast to go with it, sausage, eggs, the whole lot. I’ve got a line on some work, want to be at my best.”
Jimmy raised a knowing eyebrow, but said nothing, pouring Dominick's ale, then heading into the kitchen. Dominick sipped it slowly, lost in thought.
“Oy there, Tripner! And aren’t we looking gorgeous this morning?”
A hand slapped against Dominick's back, and he coughed, choking on his beer. He wiped frantically, trying to keep the worst of the spills from staining his shirt.
“Baz.” Dominick said. The warning edge to his tone might have been more effective if he was in any shape to do anything about it.
“Saw Nunn just about knock your block off last night. Good show.”
“Really? I didn’t see you there. You should have said hello. I’d have let you in the ring first for practice.”
Baz Watts, known as Baz the Badger ever since he’d been picking on the younger lads at the workhouse, had only grown more into his nickname as the years went on. A nuisance with sharp teeth and beady eyes, he’d been bigger than Dominick for the first fifteen years or so, and made his life a living hell. But over the course of one summer, Dominick had gone from cowering from Baz, to towering over him.
Alfie must be bigger than him too now, or taller at least, Dominick thought. I’ll have to tell him later. He’ll be sure to get a laugh out of it.
Baz now barely came up to Dominick's shoulder, his small cruel eyes in a pitted face only adding to his rodent-like appearance. His pale hair already thinning on top. All and all, it was probably better that the nickname “Badger” had stuck as a child, because anything based on his adult appearance would have undoubtedly been worse.
The man had never lost his vicious streak, and all these years later Dominick was still wary of him. He had threatened to kill Dominick that day at the workhouse, and just because he hadn’t yet, didn’t mean he had forgotten.
His Lordship's Secret Page 5