by March, Ava
“Yes.” Jack let out a sigh, heavy yet full of unwilling surrender. “He’s about your height and build. Chestnut brown hair. Handsome and unassuming. From a good family and a friend of a viscount.”
Five-foot-eleven. Fit but not bulky. Brown hair. On the quiet side. Reeked of Quality. A prime mark. Will passed his mind over all the various men he had played against or otherwise earned a few coins from over the last couple of fortnights. “I might have seen him.” Actually, Will was rather certain he had played at a vingt-et-un table with Mr. Tilden a few days ago. The handsome nabob had lost soundly. “Dennett’s. It’s off Cheapside. Have you checked there yet?”
Jack shook his head.
“I don’t know if he regularly visits the place—I don’t frequent the same haunts night after night.” Variety, and a lot of it, kept Will’s arse out of the gutters and the sack tucked under his floorboards growing. “But we can start at Dennett’s, and if he’s not there, I know of a few similar gambling hells we can try next.”
As they crossed the street and made their way toward Cheapside, Will couldn’t help but hope they wouldn’t find Mr. Tilden sitting at a table at Dennett’s.
* * *
Will crossed to where he had left Jack standing near the door of the main room of the fifth hell they had visited that night. “The croupier said he saw a man matching Tilden’s description in here a week ago. Hasn’t been back since.”
Arms crossed over his broad chest, Jack frowned, yet again. “Where to next?”
“To bed. It’s almost four o’clock in the morning. If he was out playing tonight, he’s likely gone to his own bed by now.”
That frown grew heavier. “But...”
“The tables are past thin and the sun will be up in too few hours. I really don’t want to actually witness it rising, and I’m beyond tired from traipsing about the city with you.”
There was that concern again in the dark depths of Jack’s eyes. “We could have taken a hackney—”
“No need to waste coins when I have two capable feet. My lodgings aren’t far. We can get some rest and resume the search again tomorrow. Not to worry. We will eventually find him.” He clapped Jack on the shoulder.
Without another word in protest, Jack heeded the pressure and stepped from the wall. The man might have definite opinions about Will’s chosen profession, but Jack also had a tendency to do as bid. A trait which his employer took full advantage of, as evidenced by Jack’s current errand. But Will couldn’t get too upset about it—the duke’s abuse of Jack’s willingness to bow his head had led Jack back to him. And regardless of Will’s protesting feet, it felt damned good to have his friend back.
For tonight and now tomorrow, at least.
“Are you hungry?” Will asked, as they left the hell. “There’s a tavern up the way that will still be open. Passable fare.” And more importantly, inexpensive. “We can grab a bite and eat at my room.”
Jack nodded. “All right.”
Of course Jack would be hungry. A man as big as him needed food, and lots of it. There had been a time when most every halfpenny Will won or earned went toward filling Jack’s stomach.
Will parted with a bit of his winnings to get them an extremely late supper, then they made their way to Will’s lodgings. With a clapboard exterior and a front door that somehow managed to stay on its rusty hinges, the boardinghouse wasn’t anything to be proud of. But none of the windows were broken, his fellow residents weren’t overly noisy, and the roof didn’t leak...at least it hadn’t in the month Will had resided there.
The stairs creaked, the sound echoing about them in the narrow stairway, as they went up to the third floor. “Right here,” Will said, stopping before the first door and pulling out his key.
Jack shut the door behind them. There was a snick of a lock turning. By the moon’s light streaming through the single window, Will lit a candle and then set the pewter candlestick holder on the chest of drawers.
The meager room didn’t have much to recommend it either. A bed along one wall, a straight-back chair at a small square table in the corner, a chest of drawers and a washstand. Decidedly Spartan. At least it was somewhat tidy. Wasn’t as if he had a lot of possessions to leave lying about.
He pushed the small stack of agricultural pamphlets and books to the far corner of the table, clearing a space for Jack. “Take your coat off. Have a seat.” He pulled out the chair and motioned Jack to it.
“Where are you going to sit?” Jack asked, still standing near the door, holding the sack containing their late supper.
“The bed.” After taking off his own coat and hanging it on a hook near the washstand, Will dropped to his haunches and started a fire in the hearth, the old brick surround blackened from soot.
It wasn’t until he turned from the hearth that Jack finally did as bid, removing his greatcoat, draping it over the back of the chair, and sitting at the table.
Will took the proffered sandwich of cold meat from Jack. They ate in silence, Will pulling off his boots and tugging on the knot of his cravat between bites. The cool, October air seeped through the sleeves of his shirt, but soon the fire would chase some of the chill from the room. Before he tucked his boots under the bed, he grabbed the knife hidden in one of them and wedged the blade into the gouge in the door’s frame. Even if the lock was picked, the knife would hold the door closed long enough for him to grab the one under the mattress.
The sandwich finished and his belly full, Will moved the clay pot containing his latest attempts from the windowsill so the thin drapes could be drawn closed.
“What are you growing?” Jack asked.
“Spinach.” Setting the pot on the chest of drawers, Will poked a finger into the soil. Almost time to water the three little plants again.
“To eat?”
“When it grows large enough.” If it grew large enough. But according to Every Man His Own Gardener, spinach could be grown in the winter. Should be hardy enough to survive his drafty windowsill.
Using a short length of towel from the washstand, Will wiped off his hands. Dark smudges underscored Jack’s eyes, the usually straight line of his spine was slumped the tiniest bit. The black stubble from his day’s beard covered his strong jaw. The man looked exhausted. Likely had been up since dawn.
Damn that duke for pushing Jack to work so hard.
“We should get some rest.”
“But you only have one bed.”
And it was a narrow one at that. Will heard the words as though Jack had spoken them.
“Yes, but it’s not as if we’ve never shared a bed, Jack. All that matters is that we both get some sleep.”
Will shrugged his unbuttoned waistcoat from his shoulders, pulled his shirt over his head, took off his breeches—careful not to spill the contents of his pocket—and put his clothes in the top drawer. Tomorrow, he’d tuck his winnings away. Tonight, while Jack was in the room, they were safe in the drawer.
Bare as the day he was born, he crossed to the bed. “Come along now.” He slipped under the blanket. If he acted as though there was no cause for concern, then hopefully Jack would follow his lead.
Gaze fixed on the table, Jack made a little project of folding the paper sack.
Turning onto his stomach, Will scooted over until the wall was but an inch from his nose.
There was the scrape of chair legs. The creak of floorboards. Then the room was plunged into darkness. Jack must have blown out the candle. Will heard the rustle of clothing. Three more creaks. Cold air hit his back as the blanket was lifted. The mattress dipped as Jack lay down on the bed. A hair-dusted calf brushed Will’s heel then was snatched away.
Will held himself perfectly still and waited.
Seconds passed.
For a reason he couldn’t fully explain, it was suddenly very important to him that Jack felt comfortable in his bed. Comfortable enough to press up against Will without a second thought, as if he belonged there, just as Jack had done many a night over the years.<
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A shift of Jack’s weight, another dip of the mattress, and then a warm, linen-clad body pressed against his.
That moment of suspense clutching at Will’s chest vanished as if it had never taken place. Will smiled. Modest Jack. Some things never changed.
The bed wasn’t large by any definition. Designed to sleep one not two, and especially not a second with shoulders as broad as Jack’s. But with Jack sprawled half over Will, they fit perfectly in the narrow bed, just as Will had known they would.
Jack’s deep, rhythmic breaths fanned the nape of Will’s neck. His shirtsleeve-covered arm was draped across Will’s waist. The fabric of his linen smallclothes just brushed Will’s arse. Jack’s hard body, the strength of it, the heat radiating off him, warming Will from the inside out...
Desire pooled in his groin, his hardening cock trapped beneath the mattress and his body. Yet Will remained still, didn’t make one move. He and Jack had once occasionally sated their lust together. Darkness and grasping hands, urgent tugs on hard pricks and sweat-slicked skin. But what desperate adolescents didn’t do such things when given the opportunity? None of those instances had indicated a preference on Jack’s part. Wasn’t as if Jack had ever kissed him. Hadn’t necessarily meant anything to Jack, though it had meant a lot to Will.
Unwilling to do anything to scare Jack away, Will turned his mind from his erection and let his eyes drift closed, content simply to share a bed with Jack once again.
Chapter Two
Sunlight cut through the breaks in the threadbare drapes, illuminating the small room. Jack pushed aside his trousers from the pile of clothes he’d left on the table, unfolded his waistcoat, and pulled his watch from its pocket.
Just as he suspected. Past time to start the day.
An early morning was a habit long ago ingrained in him. There were grooms aplenty at the duke’s stables—both in London and in Hampshire—to tend to the task, but he preferred seeing to the horses’ hay and grain himself. Gave him an opportunity to give them each a quick once-over glance, ensure the prime horseflesh was fit for whatever task the duke would need of them.
Though this morning, the grooms would have noticed Jack wasn’t pushing the hay cart down the brick aisle and they would’ve already stepped in and seen to the horses’ breakfast. He still had a very good reason to have dragged himself out of bed though. While His Grace wouldn’t leave London until Jack’s errand was completed, Jack knew the young duke was impatient to return to Hampshire and to his houseguest.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pulled on his trousers, and turned from the table. Will was where he left him, lying on his stomach, crammed up against the wall. One arm was tucked under the pillow, his head resting on but a corner of that pillow, his light brown hair sticking up at odd angles. The rumpled blanket half covered him, exposing most of his bare back and the top of the curve of his arse.
I’m not staring at my friend’s arse, he told himself, as he crossed the short distance to the bed, careful to keep his footsteps light, to minimize the noisy floorboards. Will had a gorgeous arse, firm and round. Will was gorgeous. His body muscular yet sleek and honed. His features sharp and crisp yet perfectly in balance. But it didn’t matter how attractive he found his friend. It wouldn’t be right to ogle someone whilst they slept, and it wouldn’t do to be sporting an erection when Will finally woke up. Jack could always blame it on the dawn. Wasn’t uncommon for a man to awaken with a stiff cock. Still...
Reaching out, he nudged the blanket’s frayed edge, fully revealing Will’s left side. Pale, unmarred skin molded smoothly over his waist and the sleek curve of his hip.
“I told you he didn’t nick me.” Will’s voice was scratchy with sleep.
Jack let out a grunt. He wouldn’t put it past Will to lie to him. The man made his living lying, if one could call it a living. “Out of bed with you.”
“What time is it?”
“Already eight.” An hour past when Jack usually rose. “We need to resume the search.”
“Later.”
“If you don’t want to help, say so.” He had a higher chance of success with Will, but that did not mean he was guaranteed failure without him. He might not be as familiar as Will was when it came to places for those seeking vice and sin, but Jack had spent a good portion of his life in this part of Town. It would just take him longer on his own, and time was of the essence.
“I do want to help you, Jack, but there’s no point resuming the search yet. If Tilden was gambling last night, he’d be abed right now. Where we should be.” Where Will currently still was. He shifted, looked over his shoulder at Jack. His heavy-lidded eyes were mere slits. “Put your trousers back on the table and get in bed. We both could use the rest.”
With that, Will flopped back onto his stomach.
Jack stood there, duty clashing with his friend’s logic. Last night, he’d promised himself they’d resume the search at dawn.
Eventually, it wasn’t Will’s logic, but those tired blue eyes that had Jack taking off his trousers and dropping them onto the table.
Before he followed all of Will’s instructions, he prodded the embers in the hearth. Satisfied the fire wouldn’t go out soon, he slipped back into bed and pulled the blanket up to fully cover himself and his friend. A few hours in Will’s bed were all it had taken to push aside the hesitation that had gripped him last night. He was only sharing a bed with his old friend, nothing more, and they’d done that very thing many times in the past. Still... As Jack laid his head on the other half of the pillow, he did his best not to touch his groin to the round curves of Will’s arse, the image of which was much too fresh in his mind.
Within seconds of pressing up against Will, he heard the soft sounds of Will’s snores. It wasn’t but another handful of seconds later when those little trembles of air lulled Jack to sleep.
* * *
“Do you think that’s him?” Jack nudged his chin toward a roulette table. The fellow in the navy coat certainly fit the description His Grace had given Jack. The man’s attention was fixed on the wheel, the red and black squares a blur as the little white marble clacked and bounced about the spinning wheel.
Will passed his gaze over the man. “Could be him,” he said with a shrug of indifference.
Or had that been a shrug of uncertainty? “Do you know anyone who could verify?”
A pause. “Wait here. I’ll see what I can do.”
“If you don’t want to help—”
“I do. And stop asking me that question.” With that, Will stepped from Jack’s side.
Using his height to his full advantage, Jack kept his eyes pinned on Will as he made his way through the other patrons milling about.
It had been close to noon when Jack had finally succeeded in prodding Will to resume the search. Even then, Will had insisted they wait until evening to canvass hells. According to Will, only hardened gamblers and those with nothing else to occupy them visited the tables during daylight hours. They’d have a better chance of bumping into Tilden on the street, and that was only if Tilden was residing in the area. Will at least had agreed they could check nunneries, molly houses and taverns, ask if Tilden was a regular patron.
And so they had spent their afternoon thus, with Jack passing coins to Will so the man could coax the whores and barkeeps to answer their question. The effort hadn’t been an entire waste. They had discovered Tilden had not acquired a taste for cheap whores or watered-down ale.
If that wasn’t Tilden at the table, then Jack was about ready to admit defeat. Hadn’t taken them but a day to locate his quarry last November, and His Grace’s ex-lover had not been a gambler or fond of brothels, thus making the search more difficult. But after two nights, countless hells, and an afternoon of questions, it was beginning to appear as though Tilden might not currently be in the area. As much as Jack hated the notion of having to inform his employer he had not succeeded, he couldn’t very well make a man materialize someplace he was not.
Jac
k watched as his friend turned from the cashier’s cage and made his way back to him.
Will didn’t return to Jack’s side, but stopped before him. “That’s Tilden,” Will declared, his voice flat.
“Are you certain?” Will definitely didn’t sound certain.
“The cashier is certain. Tilden has been almost a regular patron recently. Given the late hour, it will be difficult to locate a hackney cab, but you might be able to find one on Silver Street.”
“Why do I need a cab?” Was Will that eager to be rid of him?
Will arched a brow. “To return to Mayfair,” he said, as if stating the obvious. “You’ve completed your errand.”
“No, I haven’t. I can’t simply report he visits this particular hell. He might not be here tomorrow or the next night. His Grace’s friend indicated Tilden’s proved elusive of late. I can only assume Viscount Rawling has called on Tilden at his London residence to no avail. We need to wait until Tilden leaves then follow him. I need to discover if he’s taken up lodgings in the area or if he’s staying with an acquaintance.”
Jack’s plan seemed to please Will, for his friend’s spine straightened. “Well, we can’t just lurk near the door all night. You’ll make the other patrons nervous, throw them off their game, and they’ll complain to the house.” Will glanced over his shoulder, to the tables scattered about the room. “Let’s play a bit of vingt-et-un. There’s a table next to his roulette wheel. You’ll be able to keep your eye on him without being overly obvious.”
Or perhaps it wasn’t Jack’s plan, but the prospect of sitting at a card table that brought the spark to Will’s blue eyes.
Reluctant to encourage Will’s gambling habit, yet at a loss for any other option, Jack nodded his agreement and followed him to the table. He hadn’t played cards in years, but the lessons Will had given him during those long, cold rainy afternoons should keep him from embarrassing himself. And he’d keep his bets low. Very low. The notion of willingly giving his hard-earned money to such a disreputable establishment raked across his nerves.