William’s words were heartfelt, that was obvious enough, but Richard didn’t want to believe he truly meant it. The passions of youth were the strongest, but they were also the most fleeting, and built upon the weakest foundations. William wasn’t the only one with a heart to break.
“You are as sweet-savored as you are sweet-faced, and you know I am tempted. More than tempted, even—I could not lie to you about that. I will admit I enjoyed kissing you, and you felt my desire for you last night, but you barely know me, and I know you not at all. You would not love me if you understood my character. I am only decent enough not to promise you a love affair that might not last.”
William stood and looked down at him, putting himself in the position of power. He wasn’t listening; Richard had seen the change in him when he admitted again that William tempted him. Beyond that, William appeared to hear nothing.
“I know all I need. My body aches for you to touch me. Isn’t that love?”
Richard laughed again, though it was gentle, not mocking. “It is not. That is lust, and it is a far more unruly emotion.” He couldn’t help himself as he continued, “Nevertheless, it’s often where love starts.”
“You lust after me, don’t you?” William asked, lips curling into a smug grin. He was playful again now he believed he might get somewhere.
Richard looked him up and down slowly, too weak to pretend he didn’t want the lad. “I’m not blind. I’ve been lusting after you from the moment I saw you, and that is no exaggeration.”
“So you may fall in love with me soon enough if you give in to your craving for my body?”
“And you may find that when you’ve satisfied your desire for me, you feel nothing.”
“It would be foolish not to find out,” William whispered as he climbed onto Richard’s lap and kissed him.
The trembling was gone. After the kisses on the stage, William was as confident as any of Richard’s other lovers.
Richard fell back onto the bed, pulling William down with him. He knew he should stop this, but he couldn’t. All he could do was hope Geoffrey wouldn’t find out.
The bed creaked beneath them as Richard rolled over and on top of William. Pulling away from the lad’s lips, he placed kisses on his jaw, then his neck.
“Lower,” William moaned, pressing upon Richard’s shoulders, trying to force him down his body. “Or give me your hand at least. I’m going to burst.”
It was the lad’s first time. Richard shoved his hand down into William’s hose. There he found his prick hot and hard, the skin velvety smooth, the tip wet. He gripped it and gave him a tug, which elicited another cry of pleasure from William. After only a few more pulls, he stopped, knowing William would come off if he did not. Instead, he pushed down farther, running his fingers lightly over William’s tight balls and toward the crack of his arse.
He would not enter William, not his first time and not with a dry finger, but he wanted to touch him there and had thought about it a great deal the previous night when he was filling his cup downstairs in the bar. It was a promise to both of them of what was to come, but right then, William didn’t seem interested in it. That was all right. Richard liked to give and take, and if William wanted to give, he would happily take it all night.
“My cock,” William begged. “Touch my cock again. I haven’t come off in a week.”
Before Richard could move his hand, a loud thump on the door interrupted them.
William froze in his arms. “Who’s that?” he whispered, alarmed.
“I’m busy!” Richard shouted at the door.
There was another loud thump and then another, and another.
“I said go away!”
The banging stopped.
“They’re gone.” Richard went straight back to his work, finding William’s cock and giving him a strong stroke to bring him back into the moment.
William gripped Richard’s shoulders tighter, gasping for breath. “Do that again,” he pleaded.
It would be over in seconds if he did. Richard hesitated, and William thrust into his hand, groaning. The lad was so close. If Richard wanted more, he would have to pull his hand out now, but he couldn’t do it. He looked at William, finding his cheeks flushed, face showing the deep concentration he needed to hold his seed back. When their eyes met, William smiled. He was comely before, but now Richard thought he was one of the loveliest men who ever graced his bed. Passion suited him.
“What are you doing?” Geoffrey barked as he shut the door behind him.
“Cousin!” William gasped, all excitement gone. He pulled away from Richard and scrabbled backward along the bed, yanking up his hose as he moved.
“William!” Geoffrey exclaimed, even more surprised. “They told me Richard had a whore in here.”
William was too embarrassed to be insulted.
Richard moved in front of him, protecting him from Geoffrey’s disapproving glare. “I was just persuading William to stay,” he muttered.
“Of course you were.”
“What are you doing walking into my room anyway?”
“There’s a man in the hallway demanding to see you.”
“So? Send him away.”
“I’ll send him in,” Geoffrey huffed. “William, with me. Now.”
William, still embarrassed, didn’t argue. He went to the door silently with his head down, but he looked back at Richard and winked when Geoffrey wasn’t looking.
Geoffrey opened the door, and before they could leave, a tall, fair-haired, thickly muscled man pushed past them without a glance and entered the room. Richard didn’t know his face, but he could tell from his manner that he was trouble.
“He’s all yours,” Geoffrey grunted as they left.
He may only have been an actor these days, but Richard could fight like a soldier with sword and dagger. His fists, however, were another matter, not gentlemanly enough to have bothered learning. He didn’t fancy his chances in a brawl.
His weapons lay across the room, and he couldn’t get to them without raising suspicion, not that he even wanted them. Richard had enough blood on his hands.
There was a time when he wouldn’t have hesitated, when the dagger was never out of arm’s reach, but he was not that man now, and he hadn’t been for a long time. He’d only had to fight for his life once to understand that it was no way to live.
No, he was not a spy, not anymore, and he wouldn’t behave as such in front of this man, whoever he was. Too many years had passed for him to believe this visit had anything to do with that despicable part of his life, even with all the little jobs he’d somehow ended up taking on in exchange for a bit of warmth from Bennett.
Besides, his cheek was painful enough after the slap from William, and he didn’t fancy finding out what the man might do to him if he provoked an attack. He didn’t imagine it would be as pleasurable as what had followed with the lad.
“Good day,” he said, as if such an interruption were nothing. “How can I help?”
“Are you Richard Brasyer?”
Richard’s heart sank even further. He’d found himself in far worse situations, but his adversaries didn’t normally know his name.
“’Tis I.”
“I’m here to collect a debt.”
Richard sighed, a mixture of relief and resignation. “It wouldn’t happen to be owed by a man calling himself Nick Smythson?”
“I don’t know his full name, but Whoreson would be more appropriate than that. All I know is he’s a talkative fellow who likes to gamble, and he claims he’s connected to someone that can pay.”
“How much does he owe you?”
“Fifteen pounds.”
Richard was anticipating a sum in shillings and wondering how he might pay that. Fifteen pounds was beyond anything he could have imagined. “How much?” he asked, shocked.
“Sixteen pounds.”
“I thought you said fifteen!”
“It’s twenty now.”
“What’s going on?�
� Richard demanded.
“Thirty pounds. Any more questions, and it will get higher.”
Richard shut his mouth. He had plenty of questions, but nothing to pay for them with. As he couldn’t afford thirty pounds, what did it matter if it ended up at a thousand? But he knew where he could get the money and pay it back on good terms.
“I can get you thirty pounds tonight,” he promised. “I will meet you in your place of business—wherever that may be—in three hours, and we can swap, the money for Nick.”
“Your young swain is long gone. That’s why we’re after you for the money. I will collect before your show tomorrow, at the door, one minute before you are due on stage.”
Richard opened his mouth to protest, but the man continued, “It would be expensive to try and negotiate, and even more expensive to attempt to follow me. Now, I’m going to have a drink in the bar. I expect to see you leaving shortly.”
Silently Richard nodded and watched him go.
“Oh, Nick,” he murmured as he sunk down on the bed, “what have you done?”
This was bad for him, but it might be much worse for Nick, even if Richard could pay.
William entered moments later and hurried to embrace him. Richard stood quickly, thinking it better they stayed off the bed. He could not afford to give the lad ideas right now.
“I watched for him through the keyhole in Geoffrey’s room,” William said, squeezing him tightly. “Who was that man?”
“I’m not sure, but he claims Nick owes him, or whoever he’s working for, a lot of money.”
“How much?”
“More than I have.”
William stepped back and looked at him, straightening his back and shoulders and raising his chin. “I’ll protect you,” he said gallantly. “He’s big, but I’ve got three brothers. I’ve been fighting for years, and I’m pretty good with my knuckles.”
Richard knew the truth of that. His cheek still smarted. “There will be no violence. I can get the money. I need to see Bennett.”
“The whoreson who wanted to buy me?”
“That’s the one. He will lend me the money. I guarantee it.” An open purse had always been one of the few things about Bennett that Richard could count on.
“Is there no one else? Perhaps Geoffrey could give it to you.”
Remembering the furious look on Geoffrey’s face a few minutes earlier, Richard didn’t expect Geoffrey would give him a friendly word, let alone thirty pounds.
“We’ve been out of London two years, eking a living from the peasants in the provinces. Even if all the sharers banded together, we could not afford this debt. Besides, they wouldn’t pay for Nick’s folly, and I wouldn’t ask them to.”
“So you must grovel at that bastard’s feet?”
“He won’t make me beg.” Richard took up his bag from behind the chest again, ignoring William’s grumbles about Bennett’s character. “Stay here for an hour. That scoundrel is drinking in the bar downstairs, and if he sees you, he might think you’ll make a good hostage. Let him finish, then go get yourself a good dinner.” He found his purse and took out a penny. “Here. You may spend it all. Bennett will feed me.”
William looked down at the coin in Richard’s hand. “You’re very sure of all the things Bennett will do,” he murmured.
“I was younger than you when I met him. He is incapable of surprising me.”
William pocketed the money and then stepped closer so he could kiss his cheek softly. It brought a fresh sting to the slap, but Richard didn’t mind.
“Don’t be long,” William whispered. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
There was so much promise—too much—and Richard had already gone too far. He kissed William’s lips, because he could not stop himself, but the sensible part of him hoped William would be asleep when he returned.
Chapter Seven
WILLIAM STOOD at the window and watched Richard walk up the road. As soon as he rounded the corner, William went to work, flinging open the lid of the box and rummaging through the costumes for a suitable disguise.
Having no idea where he was going, he dressed in a clean, but rather plain, brown doublet with white hose, and found a hat large enough to hide his long hair underneath. He hoped he wouldn’t appear suspicious in the smarter parts of town or look like an easy target downstairs in the bar. Looking down at his outfit, he guessed he got it right and prayed the brute, whoever he was, hadn’t noticed his face.
When William stepped into the bar, he was pleased to find the bastard still there, sitting comfortably at a table finishing his drink. William left the inn and walked out into the busy street to wait for him to leave.
Immediately he recognized his mistake. In the Spurre, he could have sat and waited with a drink, but loitering outside could draw the wrong sort of attention. Looking around for a reason to remain, he saw the man who’d shouted up to him at the window the day before. He would fill a few minutes.
It was easier to think of him as a would-be suitor than a potential customer, and although the man would be neither, William approached him as such. They were of an age and fairly matched in both height and build. The man was a costermonger, used to humping his basket of seasonal vegetables around the streets, which built his muscle the way farm work had done for William. This must be his usual patch.
The seller’s skin was tan despite the time of year, and he had a smattering of freckles across his face. His black hair was cut short, with small wisps curling tightly against his head. William was most struck by his full lips, which curved into an unselfconscious smile as he approached. William wondered why someone so handsome needed to pay for a man’s attention when he could probably get it for free if he looked in the right places.
“Hoy! I remember you!” William called, crossing the street to greet him. His tone was playful and friendly, knowing what the seller believed him to be.
His suitor grinned at him. “I’ve not forgotten you either, even if you are more politely attired today.”
William glanced over his shoulder at the tavern door and positioned himself where he could get the best view. “I thought you were going to come knock for me.”
“You looked like you’d have knocked me out if I did.”
“I was scandalized,” William teased. “A penny for a suck? That’s not how you talk to a lady.”
The young man laughed. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”
William silently chastised himself for not bothering to hide his country accent, but it was too late now. “New to London, but not to my job,” he bluffed. “Where I come from, you wouldn’t say that to even the lowliest woman in the street, let alone a man. If you saw something you liked, then you ought to have come up.”
“How would I find you? You’re not the only pretty boy in a pretty dress in that fine establishment. You should have given me your name. What shall I call you?”
William was beginning to regret the encounter altogether now, having no desire to tell the costermonger his name. The youth was attractive and would have caught William’s eye in Oxford, but he wasn’t Richard. “Let’s talk plainly,” he said as he sidestepped the question. “I don’t care what you’re called, and you don’t care what I’m called.”
“I might care,” the seller replied, and William could tell he was wounded by the refusal. “My name’s Sam, if you’re interested.”
William wasn’t. “You offered me a penny. My name’s much more expensive than that, but I’ll wear any name you like for no extra charge.”
“Just make sure you wear the dress too,” Sam replied with a wink.
At that moment, William’s target walked out of the tavern. Resisting the urge to show his relief, he promised, “One day. I’ll lean out the window when I’m ready. Right now I’ve errands to run.”
He gave Sam his friendliest smile and turned to go, but Sam caught his arm and pulled him back.
“Hold on. When can I come see you? Are you busy tonight?”
Shr
ugging him off, William replied, “Not tonight, but soon, I promise. Now I really do have to go.”
The sinking feeling in his stomach told William that was the second mistake he’d made that evening. He would have to get Richard to warn Sam off—gently, because he seemed nice, and the attention was flattering. William wasn’t yet sure how he could explain to Richard what he’d been doing trying to convince a handsome stranger he was a bawd, but he would, no doubt, think of something.
William had to hurry down the road, as the man he followed was moving at speed. The road had no twists and turns, and the scoundrel didn’t look back to see if he was being pursued. Clearly he was confident his work was done.
At least one of them was. William didn’t know London at all. He could find his way to the theater and back, having walked it a few times now, but he had no idea where he was headed currently. After he crossed the bridge, he took note of landmarks—an interesting shop sign, stocks, a tavern—hoping vainly he would be able to see them in the dark on his way back.
To his surprise, he eventually found himself in a more respectable area than he’d imagined the brute would lead him to—a long, wide street, lined with printers and binders. The shops were closing up, but William could see a bookshop on the corner was still open. He judged from the direction they were taking that this was their final destination, but something didn’t seem right. What would a man like that be doing there?
William had to take a chance. His gut told him that was the place, and he hurried around his target and rushed into the shop.
“Can I help you, good man?” the elderly shopkeeper asked. He looked decidedly unthreatening.
“I’m looking for chapbooks,” William mumbled, unsure of himself, not for the first time. At least if he was mistaken, he would come to no harm.
The bookseller pointed to a pile of pamphlets on a table and watched him browse. Then the door opened, and in stepped the scoundrel.
The First Act Page 7