by March, Ava
Jack’s jaw dropped. “You can remember every card played? That’s... Isn’t that impossible?”
Pride rushed through Will.
He could keep his features blank while holding a prial of threes in a game of brag with a fat pot just waiting for him to claim it, yet he couldn’t keep the smile at impressing Jack completely off his lips. “Difficult but not impossible.” And definitely required Will’s full attention to keep all the cards straight in his head. “It’s vingt-et-un. The suits don’t matter. All the tens, kings, queens and knaves are worth ten. They all go into one bin.” He tapped a fingertip to his temple. “The aces in another—there aren’t many in a deck—and then I keep track of how many of the lower cards have been played.”
If anything, his explanation further impressed Jack. “When did you learn how to do that?”
“Years ago. Figured it out once I started playing at hells.” After he’d been old enough for guards to admit him to hells and after Jack had left him. “Shall we play a few hands? You can be dealer and I can show you how it’s done.”
Jack held out a hand. “I get to shuffle the cards first.”
Without an ounce of hesitation, Will set the deck in Jack’s hand, his fingers just brushing Jack’s warm palm. “Shuffle away, my friend.”
* * *
“Will.”
A hand nudged his shoulder, rousing Will from a deep sleep. He didn’t bother opening his eyes. The lack of a warm body covering him told him exactly who was nudging his shoulder. “What, Jack?”
“I need to escort His Grace’s friend. I’ll lock the door behind me and leave you the key.”
He and Jack had played cards well into the night, so late that Jack hadn’t been fond of the idea of Will walking back to his room alone. The solution had been for Will to remain at the hotel with Jack. A solution Will had had absolutely no objections to.
“What time is it?” Didn’t feel as though he’d slept more than a few hours. Had to be much too early for any rational individual to consider throwing back the blankets.
“Ten past eight.”
Exactly as Will had suspected.
“You don’t need to get up yet,” Jack continued. “Get some more rest. I’ll be back around six or so. If you need to leave, just lock the door. I can get another key from the hotelier.”
There was the click of a door shutting, the snick of a lock turning.
Curiosity pushed Will out of bed. Cold air snapped against his bare skin, bringing him to full alertness and killing the erection that sharing a bed with Jack had produced. Jack left the drapes closed. Standing off to one side of the window, Will pulled back an edge of one panel. His gaze instantly landed on Jack, striding across the street, the length of his greatcoat flapping behind him. Clasping his hands behind his back, Jack stopped before an individual standing on the last stone step leading to the boardinghouse’s front door.
His Grace’s temperamental bit was certainly beautiful with a lean, lithe figure. Large, wide set eyes. Full, rose-tinged mouth. A ginger-blond without a freckle marring those high cheekbones.
Beyond beautiful, in fact.
A beyond-beautiful young man.
With a shake of his head, Will chuckled.
Now he knew why Jack had tried his damnedest to conceal the details surrounding his latest assignment.
Jack’s employer—the lofty, arrogant Duke of Pelham—preferred men.
How the hell had Will not predicted that? If nothing else, Jack had not once referred to the duke’s friend as a she.
A nod from Jack, and the two set off along the walkway.
Will grabbed his clothes, tugged them on. He could see to a shave later. Bending down, he snatched the key Jack had slid under the door from the floorboards. Then he was out of the room, the door locked behind him and the key shoved into a pocket.
Chapter Four
Jack pulled a chair from the small table in front of the window and sat down. Within a moment, a serving girl was at his elbow.
“A cup of coffee.”
“Anything else?” the girl asked.
Jack shook his head. Leaning back in his chair, he settled in for a long wait and turned his attention out the window, to the tailor’s shop situated across the street. Mr. Walsh had seemed in good spirits when Jack had deposited him there, and last night the young man had allowed His Grace to visit for supper. Yet Mr. Walsh had clearly not allowed the duke to remain with him. Not much more than an hour after Jack had checked in with His Grace, he’d watched his employer emerge from the boardinghouse and hail a hackney cab.
He couldn’t help but feel for the young duke. If there was anyone in all of England who deserved to find happiness, it was the Duke of Pelham. Honorable, hard working and principled. The type of man who commanded respect from his actions alone. The type of man who willingly put his responsibilities before himself. Yet Jack truly feared the duke’s current efforts were for naught. That within a handful of days, the man would find himself alone, exactly where he’d found himself almost a year ago, after his last lover left him.
Those who preferred men, those like the duke and especially like Jack himself, were destined to be alone. They’d never have someone to grow old with, someone who would never leave them, someone to love until the end of their days.
The scrape of chair legs against floorboards jolted Jack from his melancholy thoughts.
“Fancy finding you here,” Will said, as he sat in the chair opposite him at the table.
The serving girl set a cup of coffee before Jack. Tendrils of steam rose from its surface. Jack pulled a couple coins from his pocket and tossed them on the girl’s tray.
“Coffee for ye, too?” she asked Will.
“Not at the moment.” Will held Jack’s gaze, a smile that could only be called smug pulled at the edges of his mouth. A bit of stubble covered his jaw, the simple knot of his cravat slightly off center. His short, light brown hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb yet that morning, as if he’d merely ran a hand over it.
Last he’d seen Will, the man had been naked under a blanket, crammed up against the wall, half-asleep, his sleek yet strong body a temptation Jack had had to pull himself away from. That couldn’t have been but thirty minutes ago, almost the same amount of time it had taken Jack to escort Mr. Walsh to the tailor’s shop.
Fancy finding you here, indeed.
Yet oddly, Jack wasn’t annoyed Will had followed him. “Did you at least lock the door?”
“Yes.” Shifting in his chair, Will reached into his pocket. With a clank of metal against wood, he dropped the brass key onto the table.
After slipping the key into his own pocket, Jack brought the coffee cup to his lips and blew across the surface, then took a sip. The coffee house made a surprisingly decent cup, almost as good as what came out of the duke’s kitchen.
“Visiting the tailor, is he?” Then Will lowered his voice. “The duke’s very generous.”
There was no point in trying to evade the truth, at least not a part of it. Will would discover it soon enough anyway. “He’s not visiting the shop. He works there.”
That took Will aback. He hadn’t expected that answer. “He works there?”
“Yes. There are some who do see the merit in an honest day’s work.”
“Interesting concept, that.”
“You should consider it sometime.”
“Maybe another day.” Will passed his gaze over Jack’s face, then out the window to the tailor’s shop.
He just knew Will was trying to work out the particulars of the duke and Mr. Walsh’s relationship. That agile brain of his sorting through all the bits and pieces, adding what he’d learned that morning, trying to connect them together.
Will was damned quick and smart. Barely twelve hours ago, he’d given Jack a marked display of his powers of recollection. Jack had stopped the game five hands in, asked Will to tell him which cards were left in the deck. Without hesitation, Will rattled off the remaining cards. Then Jack
had shuffled, started the game anew, waited nine hands and asked Will to repeat the feat. To which Will did with complete success.
The trick had quite impressed Jack, but also left him frustrated. Will had far more natural intelligence than most every man in England, save perhaps His Grace. Within a handful of short lessons at St. Pancras, Will had mastered reading, writing and maths. Had even taught Jack how to write his own name so it was somewhat legible. When they’d been about fourteen, Will had decided he didn’t want to sound like a street urchin anymore. Jack had gone with him to Mayfair, where they’d been shooed out of most every shop they’d visited. But one day walking those streets had been enough for Will. Listening to him, one would never know he had not received a formal education. And books. The way his face would light up whenever he got his hands on one had made Jack wish he could purchase a shop’s worth for him.
There were few who had the means to truly break free of St. Pancras and to make something of themselves. To make their mark on the world. Yet Will chose to use that agile brain of his to cheat at cards.
“Must have been some argument,” Will said, “if he left the country estate to come here and work.”
Based on the aftermath, it had been a major argument. Of a level that ended relationships. “Perhaps it had nothing to do with his desire to find a respectable position.”
Will rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt—” He cut himself off mid-sentence. Paused. Then leaned forward, that smirk back on his lips. “Versus the unrespectable position he held previously?”
It was all Jack could do to hold back the groan. He shouldn’t have said anything. Should have kept his mouth shut on the subject.
Will chuckled; a knowing, smug chuckle. “Wonder what that unrespectable position entailed?”
Jack clamped his jaw shut, refused to say another word.
The smirk faded from Will’s lips. He shook his head, something that approached disappointment in the depths of his eyes. “I can understand you feeling like you need to protect your employer,” he said, voice pitched low. “But I know the most damaging bits already. I don’t care who he prefers in his bed, and I’ve got no one else to tell, so you might as well stop trying to hide it. Save us both more rounds of questions and no answers.”
Jack took a sip of his coffee.
Leaning back in his chair, Will gave him another shake of the head. This time, the disappointment was unmistakable.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Will.” The man might be a cheat, but he’d never done anything to betray Jack’s trust. “But it’s not my place to discuss—”
“Yes, yes. I understand. He has your loyalty.”
“You speak as though that’s a bad thing. It’s not.”
“Of course it’s not. You need to protect your position with him. It’s important to you. I understand.”
Though Will didn’t sound as if he understood. If anything, he sounded hurt.
And it frustrated Jack. It was just a different sort of example of how Will felt rules didn’t apply to him. That he could do as he pleased, and Jack should simply fall into line, accept it, without question.
The chair creaked, the old joints protesting, as Jack leaned forward. The coffee house wasn’t overly busy, but he’d rather the patrons scattered about the other tables not overhear their conversation. “If you were having difficulties with someone you cared about, would you want me to discuss it with someone else?”
Will pulled his attention out the window. “But I’m not someone else.”
Jack sighed. “Correct.” Will wasn’t just a vague someone else. He was his best friend. Even their years apart hadn’t changed that fact, hadn’t altered the bond between them. “But I’d still like you to respect my decision not to discuss his business with anyone, not even you.”
After a long moment, Will nodded. “All right.”
“No more questions?”
“No more questions.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Perhaps Will did possess some level of regard for honor and loyalty.
Will lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. When his gaze met Jack’s again, most but not all of the disappointment was gone. “Can I at least ask what your plans are for the day? Or do your plans involve sitting at this table until around six or so?”
“They involve sitting at this table until around six or so.” A decidedly boring prospect. He was accustomed to activity, to physical labor, to working with his hands. Being so idle scrubbed across his nerves. Yet right now, what His Grace needed of him was to ensure Mr. Walsh’s safety, so that was what Jack needed to do. If it involved sitting at a table for hours on end, keeping an eye on the tailor’s shop on the off chance Mr. Walsh needed to leave before his day was over, then so be it. “Makes for a very uninteresting day. Don’t feel you need to remain here with me if you have someplace you’d rather be.”
“I don’t have any pressing appointments. I can spend the day with you, if you don’t mind the company.”
“Not at all. You can help speed the hours along.”
A trace of a smile touched Will’s lips. “So you truly just sit here all day?”
“Yesterday around noon I escorted him down to a street vendor to grab a bite to eat. But otherwise, yes, I sit here.” He would admit a small part of his hope for the duke and Mr. Walsh to reconcile was rooted in selfish reasons. He missed the country. Missed the soft nickers of the horses as he pushed the hay cart down the aisle. Missed the fresh air and the great expanses of grass. And being here, in this part of London, roused old memories he’d rather forget.
“Then I shall make it my mission to save you from such dire monotony.” Will reached into his pocket, produced a deck of cards. “Care for a game? No stakes. You can shuffle.”
Jack held out a hand for the deck. “Will you teach me another of your tricks?” Not that Jack would ever use one of them, but he was curious what other tricks Will had taught himself. “One that doesn’t involved shuffling.” Will had shown him those ages ago.
“All right. We can play three-card brag, though I’ll have to explain the trick as there are only two of us. You need three or six players to do it properly.”
The serving girl reappeared at their table. “Another cup?” she asked, with a nudge of her chin toward Jack’s empty one.
Jack nodded. “And whatever the kitchen is serving for breakfast.”
She looked to Will, who shook his head.
Once she turned from the table, Jack asked him, “Aren’t you hungry?”
“No.”
As he shuffled the cards, he swore he heard Will’s stomach rumble.
Last night, Will had fetched their supper. While Will had never been one for a large plate, he hadn’t purchased much for himself. Jack had assumed he’d had supper recently, and therefore had the small piece of steak and kidney pie so Jack wouldn’t have to eat alone. It had to be pushing against ten in the morning by now, and Will hadn’t even had something to drink yet. And no way could Will have had time to stop on his trek to the coffee house. He’d appeared moments after Jack had sat at the table.
Suspicion nudged at the back of Jack’s mind, along with a distinct sense of repeating the past.
“How can you know what I do and do not need to do?” Will’s defensive question from days ago sounded in Jack’s head.
Will gambled and had quite a few tricks at his disposal. Jack assumed he won more often than not—certainly had won a tidy pile of coin the two times Jack had seen him gamble recently. But as Jack discovered recently, Will lived in a hovel of a room. Had worn the same coat on every instance Jack had seen him of late. Was Will not as successful at the tables as Jack had thought? Did he accept those offers from men because he needed money for a meal?
It struck Jack how little he knew of Will’s current circumstances. While various errands had pulled him to Will since they’d parted ways, those errands had been brief. A day’s duration at most. Not long enough to necessitate a stop by Will’s lodgings for a n
ight, yet long enough to provide fodder for Jack’s assumptions. But had Will’s circumstances truly not changed in the last decade?
When the serving girl set a fresh cup of coffee at Jack’s elbow, he said, “One more, and have the kitchen bring two plates of whatever they’re serving.”
Will’s brow furrowed. “Hungry this morning?”
“Yes, but so are you. And you paid for supper. The least I can do is get us breakfast.” With his attention on the cards as he dealt them each three, he added, “You don’t need to spend all your money keeping me fed anymore.”
He had known even back then what Will had done for him. He might not be as quick witted as Will, but no way could Jack not have noticed. In return, Jack had continued on as he had done at St. Pancras, ensuring no one laid a hand on Will without the man’s consent. Old habits clearly both of them were having difficulty breaking free from.
Will gathered his cards. “Wager as you normally would for brag. The trick doesn’t come into play until we finish the first hand.”
The lack of one of Will’s quick retorts spoke volumes.
“Is that why you accept those offers?” Jack asked, barely above a whisper. “Because you need the money? If that’s the case, I’ll give you some. The duke pays me well, and I don’t have much to spend it on.”
“I don’t need your money, Jack.”
“Then why?”
“I told you before.” A sharp bite more than leeched into Will’s tone, one that warned Jack to stop. Yet Jack refused to back down.
“Then why can’t you afford a cup of coffee?”
“I can. But I spent all the coins in my pocket last night, and haven’t stopped by my room yet today for more.”
Prideful, generous arse. Will had done just as Jack had come to suspect last night. “You should have said something. I owed you for supper anyway.”
“Are we going to play or not?” Will asked, with a pointed glance to the cards in Jack’s hand.