Sharp Love (Gambling on Love)

by March, Ava

  “He’s crossing the street. Coming toward the hotel.”

  “Who?”

  Jack pushed up from his chair, grabbed his coat from the chair’s back. “His Grace. I should go down and see what he needs.”

  When Jack returned, he informed Will that what the duke needed was for him to play his faithful hound again. Well, Jack didn’t put it in quite those words, but that’s what it amounted to.

  “Mr. Jonathan Peterson? Isn’t that the fellow we tracked down almost a year ago? He was keeping a room on Wood Street.”

  Jack nodded. “But I doubt he’s residing at the same room, if His Grace requested I discover his current address. Will you help me look for him?”

  “Of course. But after we finish supper.”

  So much for Will’s plan to toy with Jack during their meal. Getting Jack on his knees would have to wait for another night.

  As soon as Jack finished off the second turkey leg, the man was pushing up from his chair, reaching for his greatcoat, his errand the only thing occupying his mind.

  A search of the taverns and hells in the area turned up nothing. When the clock pushed against three in the morning, Will pushed Jack to retire for the night. A push Jack resisted.

  “We should try the tavern up the street. Maybe the barkeep has seen Mr. Peterson of late.”

  “No, Jack. It’s late. We can continue traipsing about the City in the morning.”

  “But I’ll need to see Mr. Walsh to the tailor’s shop and be available if he has need throughout the day.”

  Goddamn duke. “Your employer knows you cannot be in two places at once, Jack. You needn’t fret over it.”

  But the conflict was so clear on Jack’s handsome face that Will offered to resume the search tomorrow on his own, freeing Jack to see to his escort duties. By the time they made it back to the hotel, they were both exhausted. Any urge to indulge in more gone. They slipped into bed together, Jack pulled Will close, and before sleep overcame him, Will had to give himself yet another reminder.

  * * *

  Will set the sack containing their supper on the table, and as he sat in one of the straight-back wooden chairs, he angled it not toward the table, but toward the bed.

  “Stand up, Jack.”

  Jack looked to Will. He must have seen something in Will’s carefully neutral expression, for he didn’t hesitate or voice a question. Pushing up from his armchair, he got to his feet.

  “I am in the mood for you to suck my cock. Now.”

  Jack’s attention darted to the window. “But I’m on duty.”

  “He just went into the boardinghouse. He’ll be over there for at least an hour, likely more. I’m not going to bend you over...yet.” Will kept his voice even and casual, as if he was merely speaking of the weather. “Later this evening, I’ll take you on your hands and knees. Now though, I only want you on your knees. A bit of indulgence before we partake of our supper.”

  Will paused, gave Jack a moment. Watched as tension began to seep into his powerful body. Not the tension of uncertainty, but the tension that went hand-in-hand with anticipation.

  Oh yes. Jack was definitely ready for more wicked play.

  “Draw the drapes, Jack.”

  Jack gave an obedient bob of his head and did as bid.

  Spreading his legs, Will settled back in his chair. Then he unbuttoned the placket of his trousers, pulled out his erect cock. “Remove your clothes,” he said, lightly grasping his length and giving it a casual stroke. “All of them. I want you bare before me.”

  Jack’s breath caught, his dark eyes alighting with eagerness. Then he dropped his gaze to his feet, his shoulders relaxing. Hell, his entire body seemed to relax, to sink into the moment. Will’s instincts had been correct. This was definitely what Jack needed. “Yes, Will.”

  Article by article, Jack’s clothing found its way to the floorboards, the table, the armchair. Each piece discarded without care to where it landed, his focus fully on following Will’s commands and nothing more. And then he was kneeling between Will’s spread thighs, a large hand reaching for Will’s cock, his silken lips sliding down Will’s rigid length.

  “Suck me harder. That’s it, Jack. Bring me right to the edge but not over it.”

  Jack bobbed up and down Will’s cock, obeying Will to perfection.

  Will coasted his hand along Jack’s bare arm, over those hard muscles and to Jack’s equally hard shoulder. He was tempted to let his head loll back, let his eyes drift shut, to simply luxuriate in Jack’s attentions, in the glorious rush of an approaching orgasm. Yet he could not take his eyes off Jack. The man had one hand braced on the chair next to Will’s hip, the other gripping the base of Will’s cock, holding him steady for each delicious stroke. Jack’s erection hung between his legs, the crown glistening with moisture and flushed with need. Yet Jack didn’t reach down. Didn’t grab his own cock. He applied himself thoroughly to the task at hand.

  Jack drew back, a long slow drag that pulled a rough moan from Will’s chest. Damnation, he was going to need to call a halt to their play soon else their night would be over far quicker than Will intended. A luscious flick of Jack’s tongue, teasing the small slit on the head of his cock. Will’s thighs trembled. Oh hell, very soon.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Jack jerked his head up. His eyes flared, his lips wet and reddened. His broad chest went still, breath held.

  “Do you want me to see to the door?” Will asked in an undertone.

  The question jolted Jack out of his shock. He lurched to his feet. “No. I’ll do it.” Reaching down, he grabbed his trousers and shirt from the floor. Tugged them on.

  “It’s not him,” Will said as he tucked his prick back into his trousers. “He hasn’t been over there for even a half hour yet. Likely the hotelier. Or another patron merely has the wrong room.”

  After shoving the tail of his shirt into his waistband, Jack went to the door and opened it partway.

  “I am in need of your assistance.” A man’s voice, deep and cultured, crisp and business-like. A voice accustomed to having its wishes heeded.

  Jack’s large frame blocked Will’s view of the corridor, yet Will didn’t need to lay eyes on their caller to guess the man’s identity.

  “Did you receive my note?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, and I need you to take me to him.”

  Disappointment whooshed through Will like a tidal wave, killing the lust lingering in his veins. So much for his plan to share a meal with a thoroughly aroused Jack. Both of them hard and aching, the exquisite torment of delayed gratification. He would have had Jack put his clothes back on, bid him to sit at the table as they partook of their sandwiches of cold meat and cheese. Would have made Jack wait until the boardinghouse window had gone dark. And then—

  “Shall I fetch the team and the old town carriage?”

  But just as with last night, there would be no and then tonight.

  “No need,” the duke said. “We can take a hackney.”

  Jack nodded once, ever the diligent servant. “If you can give me a moment to grab my coat, we can be on our way.” He shut the door.

  “He has the address. Why does he need you?” Will knew exactly what the note contained, as he’d written it for Jack. Had put it in Jack’s hand shortly before five. Jack had assured him he’d give it to Mr. Walsh to relay to the duke. And thus Will had deemed that particular errand completed.

  Apparently the duke hadn’t deemed it complete though.

  “Keep your voice down,” Jack admonished in a hushed whisper, as he snatched his waistcoat from where it had landed on the armchair not fifteen minutes earlier. “I don’t know and I didn’t ask.”

  Of course Jack hadn’t asked. Will tamped down the growl before it could rumble his throat.

  The waistcoat on, Jack shoved his arms into the sleeves of his drab brown coat. Jerked the collar in place. Head tipped down, he did up the buttons, fingers fumbling in their haste. His mouth was pressed in a hard line,
one that bore a heavy suggestion of self-recrimination.

  Why in God’s name had the damned duke needed to call on Jack at that very moment?

  Will pushed aside the frustration. “Jack,” he said, using a calm and composed tone.

  When Jack went to grab his cravat from the table, Will laid a hand over his, staying him.

  “Jack. It’s all right. He won’t suspect.”

  Dark eyes met his. Dark eyes filled with fretful worry. “I wasn’t even half-dressed.”

  Ah hell.

  It wasn’t the knowledge that Jack would never again agree to indulge before the boardinghouse went dark that cut like a lance into Will’s gut. But the knowledge he, Will, had been the one to push Jack to take the risk. Had assured Jack there was no risk. Jack had trusted him, put himself willingly in Will’s hands, and Will had failed to keep him safe.

  “For all he knows, you could have been resting after working all through the night to track down Mr. Peterson.” It had been Will who had awoken at dawn to resume the search. Who had spent the day traipsing about the City, inquiring with shopkeepers and eventually tracking the man down to a building a few streets from Vauxhall Gardens, but the duke didn’t know that. Would never know that, if Will had his way. In fact, he highly doubted the duke even knew of Will’s existence. Who would willingly admit to their employer that they had someone like Will as a friend? He gave Jack’s hand a squeeze. “It’s all right, Jack. Truly.”

  Jack gave a single tight bob of his head.

  “Here, let me help you.” Getting to his feet, Will pulled the cravat from beneath Jack’s hand. The backs of his knuckles brushed Jack’s jaw as he tied the linen in a simple, neat knot.

  “I wonder why he wants to see him.”

  Will arched a brow in question. A little tug, and he centered the knot.

  “He’s his ex-lover.” Then Jack shrugged. “But it’s not for me to wonder about. It will likely take a good hour or so to travel there and back.”

  “Your hair. It needs a comb.”

  “Yes, of course.” Stopping at the washstand, Jack tidied his hair, combing the tousled strands so they lay neatly in place. “I’ll leave the key. Lock the door behind me.” He left the comb and the key on the washstand, shrugged on his greatcoat and then he was out the door.

  Will had crossed to the washstand, had the key in hand when a cultured voice seeped through the door.

  “Don’t you need to lock it?”

  Will went still, his attention snapping toward the sound of that voice.

  Would Jack claim he forgot the key, come back into the room for it?

  “No. Nothing of value in there anyway.”

  Jack’s response slammed into him with all the force of a runaway stagecoach.

  He could not have stopped the flinch if he tried.

  But Jack’s right.

  There wasn’t anything of value in the room.

  He was an orphaned bastard, raised in a workhouse. Didn’t possess a single useful skill that wouldn’t get him dragged to a watch house. He could perish tomorrow and London would be the better for it. Hell, he shouldn’t have even made it to adulthood. Men like him ended up facedown in gutters or discarded in the Thames before they were twenty years of age, their absence noted by no one. The only reason Jack was spending any time with him was because his company was preferable to the alternative—dull days at the coffee house that defined monotonous. Even then, Jack hadn’t sought him out when his errand had brought him to the East Side. It had been Will who had pushed himself on the man.

  Yes, Jack had entrusted his desires to Will, but what man would turn down the opportunity for a climax? Their play meant as little to Jack now as it had years ago.

  Jack had made his choice tonight. Had jumped to do his employer’s bidding without a backward glance. Had left Will behind without a second thought. A fact that should hold no surprise at all. Jack had made his choice a decade ago. Had made it again six years ago when he’d gone to work for the duke. And as much as Will wanted to, as much as he wished he could, he could not in all honesty blame Jack. If he was given the chance to get the hell out of the stews, he’d choose the countryside over himself, too.

  A sigh deflated his chest. The key in hand, he made to take a step toward the door then stopped.

  What the hell was he doing there?

  Inviting heartache and pain, that’s what he was doing there.

  Bloody fool.

  Jack didn’t love him. Would never love someone like him. And therefore there was no reason to wait for Jack to return from his most recent errand. It would only delay the inevitable. Jack would return only to leave him again. There was no other possible outcome. None at all.

  A harsh wince crossed his face, squeezed his eyes shut.

  He gave himself a moment. A moment for the pain to radiate through him, to give his heart a swift punch, to settle deep in his soul.

  He’d never come home to Jack.

  Another wince, and then he let the dream go. Gave it up completely, as he should have done years ago.

  Opening his eyes, Will took a deep breath. Let it out slowly.

  Enough.

  With a shake of his head, he grabbed his coat from the chair. Appetite gone, he left the sandwiches in the sack for Jack to have when he got back to the room. He moved the screen fully in front of the fire, extinguished the candle, and went out into the corridor.

  He turned the lock then bent down to slide the key under the door. Will certainly wouldn’t need it again, and Jack could simply obtain another from the hotelier when he returned. And then he was taking the narrow stairs down to the street for the last time, his mind sorting through options and settling on the closest one.

  For the past week and a half, he’d spent money he should have been saving. The coffers needed to be refilled so he could get the hell out of this goddamn city.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jack knocked on the door, this time louder. “Will. It’s me,” he said, daring to raise his voice.

  He received no response.

  Letting out a sigh of disappointment, he went back down to the first floor and rang the bell on the hotelier’s desk.

  A few moments, and the old hotelier emerged from the narrow door behind the desk. He wiped his hands on his faded navy coat, then gave his waistcoat a tug to straighten it. “Yes?”

  “I’ve misplaced the key to my room. Would it be possible to obtain another?”

  The man scowled at Jack. “Misplaced it?”

  “Yes. Room number seven. My apologies.”

  That scowl remained firmly in place. Turning on his heel, the man disappeared through the door. He reappeared a minute later and slapped a brass key on the desk. “That will be one shilling.”

  As if Jack had a choice. Well, he did. He could track down Will, get the key from him. Will slept soundly, but not so soundly that a few loud knocks would not have woken him. And it was still early yet, not even half past nine. Much too early for Will to retire for the night. He had known Jack would return in an hour or so, but clearly, he hadn’t been willing to wait for him.

  Jack gave a shilling to the man and took the key. He found his room dark, the bed void of a shape that would indicate Will slept more soundly than Jack had believed possible, the embers in the hearth barely throwing off the faintest hint of light. Will had to have left shortly after him. Apparently Will had no interest in picking up where they had left off.

  Walking into the room, Jack shut the door behind him. As he turned from the door, he stepped on something hard and small. He reached down. Swept his hand over the floorboards near his foot. His fingers encountered cool metal.

  The key?

  Why had Will left it behind?

  With that question tumbling about in his head, Jack lit a candle. He checked the washstand, table and chest of drawers, but found no note from Will. The paper sack on the table contained three sandwiches. Will hadn’t stayed long enough to eat supper either.

  Jack frowned
as an uncomfortable feeling nudged the back of his mind.

  But Will had not told Jack he’d wait for him. The man hadn’t lied to him. And really, it was presumptuous of Jack to have assumed Will would sit idly by and wait for him to return. Still...

  Taking a bite of one of the sandwiches, he pulled back the drapes and checked the boardinghouse across the street. Mr. Walsh’s window wasn’t dark yet. Maybe it was just the evening’s unexpected errand that had Jack feeling off balance. Having the duke knock while Jack was on his knees, Will’s cock in his mouth, had not been a pleasant experience. Rationally, he knew his employer could not have known exactly what Jack had been doing at that moment. But he’d felt painfully exposed when he’d opened the door, the urge to apologize on the tip of his tongue, feeling distinctly like a depraved individual. That horrid sense of shame rushing upon him. And he still couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing that His Grace had paid his ex-lover a visit. A visit that had lasted almost a half an hour. The man hadn’t smelled of sex and sweat when he’d returned to the hackney cab. He’d been as quiet and distant on the ride there as on the ride back to the hotel. But if he and Mr. Walsh had permanently parted ways, then surely His Grace would have assigned Jack back to the carriage house. And there had been not a word from the man on any change to Jack’s current assignment.

  Seated in his chair, Jack finished off the sandwich and started in on the second. Maybe Will had merely decided to go to a tavern. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to dine alone. It struck Jack that he hadn’t a clue if Will had any close friends in the area. Anyone he would choose to spend an evening’s meal with in lieu of solitary company. Will knew that area of London like the back of his hand. Knew who to ask for information. Knew who to avoid. Yet there had been no casual mention of another person. No names slipped into conversations. No references to anyone else.

  You’re the only family I’ve ever known. Will’s words from days ago drifted through Jack’s mind.

  The candlelight flickered over the two brass keys Jack had dropped onto the table. Why had Will left the key behind?

  A sense of foreboding began to gather over his head.