by March, Ava
He passed his mind back over the day. Will had seemed his usual self when he’d shown up at the coffee house. At Jack’s request, he’d written the note with Mr. Peterson’s address. Had knocked on Jack’s door at the hotel but a few minutes after Jack had deposited Mr. Walsh at the boardinghouse. With an intoxicating air of confident nonchalance, Will had asked Jack to strip off every article of clothing, get on his knees and suck his cock. A little frisson of lust raced over Jack’s skin at the memory. Will sprawled in the chair, the placket of his trousers unbuttoned, cock standing stiff and hard, just waiting for Jack’s eager mouth...
And even when the duke had knocked on his door, Will hadn’t seemed nervous or upset. A bit annoyed at the interruption, but that was to be expected given the circumstances. And Will had never hidden his dislike of Jack’s employer. Like many in that end of London, the aristocracy was looked upon with a distinct note of contempt, and Will wasn’t any different.
Mr. Walsh’s window went dark.
Jack tapped a finger against the table. Floorboards creaked overhead, another of the hotel’s patrons moving about in their room. And then silence descended. Seemed to damned well envelope him.
Grabbing those two keys, he pushed up from the chair. Donned his greatcoat and left the room. Yet he paused in the corridor, one of the keys poised over the lock. Best to leave the room unlocked. Wasn’t as if he had any possessions worth stealing in there. Only a few clothes and Will’s supper. Maybe Will had merely gone to his room to water his plants or grab a few coins. If he came back and found the door unlocked, he’d know Jack was back from his errand and had only stepped out for a short bit, leaving the room open for him.
He slipped the key into a pocket to join its fellow and went down the stairs.
But if Will intended to return to spend the night with Jack, then the question of the key notwithstanding, he would have been back by now. Will’s room was a good walk from the hotel, but nowhere near two and a half hours’ worth.
Was Will upset with him for going with the duke? Contrary to the man’s assurance, Jack had the impression Will still harbored a bit of resentment against him for not only taking the position at the livery ages ago but also for going into the duke’s employ. Yet Jack hadn’t had a choice tonight. His employer had requested his assistance, and he could not have refused. But if leaving that key behind had been Will’s way of showing his displeasure...
That thought did not sit well.
When Jack reached the street, he headed west, in the direction of Will’s room. Tomorrow was Sunday. Will knew Jack wouldn’t need to spend the day at the coffee house. The man would have no reason to show up there. Would Will knock on Jack’s door tomorrow? Would he make an appearance at the hotel? Or did that key mean he was done with Jack, their time over, his patience for Jack’s various errands finally snapping?
Jack’s gut tightened, his breath stuttering. A hackney cab came up the street. Rather than hail it, he quickened his pace.
Perhaps he was letting his worries get the better of him. Perhaps there was no reason at all to worry. Perhaps Will had really only returned to his room for a while rather than wait alone for Jack.
Yet when Jack stopped before Will’s door on the third floor of the rundown boardinghouse and knocked, he received no response. He didn’t bother knocking again. No light leeched from under the door. The room was dark. Will wasn’t there.
That sense of foreboding settled on his shoulders, a heavy, oppressive weight. Left him feeling just as he had when he was barely six years of age. When he’d returned home only to find the room empty, all traces of his father gone.
Had Will left him? Honest and truly left him for good?
Jack swallowed hard. Turned from the door. Tried to push that horrid, distressing thought from his mind. He should go look for Will. He’d grown rather good at doing just that over the years.
As Jack made his way back to the hotel, he stopped in at every tavern and hell he came upon. With his height, it didn’t take long at all to sweep his gaze over a room. Each instance found him turning and walking back out a door. And each time he walked out a door, the old worry built.
Had Will gambled against the wrong men? Had those men he’d cheated a fortnight ago sought revenge? Had he been accosted on the street, pulled into an alley and pummeled to bits?
Jack’s pulse stumbled, heart clenching in fear.
He went down the next alley he came upon, eyes searching the dense shadows along the sides of buildings, ears attuned for any sounds of pain.
The fact he found nothing but a couple of rats, old crates and discarded rubbish didn’t do a thing to ease the worry clutching his heart. It simply meant Will hadn’t been accosted in this particular alley.
And so he continued searching the alleys in addition to the taverns and hells.
He couldn’t help but be reminded that this was exactly why he’d felt such relief when the duke had promoted him from groom to carriage driver, relocating Jack to Hampshire. In the country, miles from London and miles from Will, he’d been spared these searches, this near-crippling fear that the next alley he walked down would lead him to Will’s broken and discarded body.
He pulled open the door of a gambling hell that was situated a street from the hotel. Pausing just inside the doorway to the main room, he swept his gaze over the men clustered around various gaming tables, standing in groups along the walls and those before the cashier’s cage. The din of voices and dice, the shouts of victory and the clank of roulette marbles, pressed against his ears. The unpleasant mix of cheroot smoke and unwashed bodies hung in the air. Even for a Saturday night, the place was packed.
He was contemplating taking a quick stroll along the perimeter, just to verify Will wasn’t there, when an overlarge man stepped away from a group of men near the back of the room, revealing a light brown head, black-coated shoulders held in a familiar lax line, at the leftmost spot at a card table.
He knew a moment, a short fleeting moment of blessed relief that Will was safe. And then the frustration and disappointment descended.
Knowing Will hadn’t been accosted or left for dead did nothing at all to soothe the frustration building sharply within. In fact, the knowledge served only to fan the aggravation and irritation. Jack had been worried out of his mind, and all along, Will had been a street away from the hotel playing cards.
Gaze pinned on Will’s light brown head, Jack made his way toward the table in the far corner of the room.
* * *
Will passed his mind over the numbers in his head then pushed twenty chips forward to join his initial bet. And got a six, putting Will at twenty-one.
The dealer flipped over a seven. Drew another card, got a nine and busted.
As the dealer pushed forty chips toward Will, the hairs on Will’s nape prickled. He cast a quick glance around. A young dandy was grabbing his chips, pushing from his spot at the table, a look of distinct unease on his pretty face. And behind that young dandy who had come to Harrison’s Hall to rub shoulders with the lower classes stood none other than Jack.
Careful not to make eye contact, the young man scurried around Jack then disappeared into the crowd. Jack didn’t make a move to take up the man’s empty place. He merely stood there, arms crossed over his chest and gaze pinned on Will. A gaze that said quite clearly Jack wasn’t pleased.
“Your bet, sir?”
Will jerked his attention back to the dealer, who lifted a brow at him in question. His bet. Of course. With a mental shake of the head, he glanced down to the forty chips still in his betting box from the last game. That would do. In any case, he needed to keep upping his wagers. He gave the dealer a nod.
With quick flicks of his wrists, the dealer started the game. As each card was put before a player, Will subtracted it from its respective bin in his head, leaving him with how many of each numbered cards remained in the deck. Actually decks, plural, as the dealer was playing with three tonight. An attempt by the house to thwart those li
ke him. But an attempt that didn’t much bother Will. As long as he could determine how many decks the dealer was playing with, he could keep track of the cards. Simple maths and memory. And concentration.
He checked his two cards against the dealer’s revealed one. He’d likely need something less than a five to win. And there were four—no, three of such cards left. Very low probability. But there was also a chance the dealer would bust.
A wave of his hand, and he indicated the stay.
The dealer ended up with nineteen, beating his seventeen.
And his forty chips were claimed by the house.
Bloody hell.
He could feel Jack’s gaze on the back of his neck. Feel the force of it, the displeasure of it. If he looked over his shoulder, he was certain he’d also see the scold at having wagered deep and lost.
The hell with Jack. While Will usually kept his bets more conservative and only played vingt-et-un for a short bit at a time in an effort to keep from getting barred from an establishment, he was determined to get out of London sooner rather than later. Tomorrow, if he could. That meant wagering deep and using every skill at his disposal to give him an advantage over the house.
He pushed fifty chips into his betting box. If Jack wanted to speak to him, then the man could do so. But if Jack wanted to stand there and disapprove, so be it. All that mattered was that Will walked away from the tables tonight significantly richer than when he’d sat down. Thus far, he’d taken the four pounds in his pocket and turned it into 713. No, 673, with the prior loss.
A growl threatened to rumble his throat. Damnation, he hated losing.
As the games continued on, he pointedly kept from looking over his shoulder, from looking to Jack. He didn’t need to glance behind him to know Jack was still there. His presence a physical force, like reproach brought to life. Looming behind Will, ever watchful. Ever judging.
Why was he just standing there?
A short growl rumbled Will’s throat. A growl those around him would take as frustration for the dealer snatching up his bet, yet again.
Will had been well on his way toward leaving this godforsaken city...until Jack had shown up.
And why the hell was he just standing there? Didn’t he have a window to guard or some other errand to see to for his precious employer? And was Jack not only displeased over Will’s gambling but also angry at Will over the situation back at the room? Did he blame Will for the interruption? Well, if Jack did, then at least that particular blame would land in its rightful place. He should have known better than to push Jack to indulge before supper. Should have known to wait until later. And of course, the house wouldn’t ask Jack to leave. No one nudged a man of Jack’s size. Prudence and self-preservation dictated to keep a clear distance, to make every effort not to provoke someone like him.
As the games continued on, the stacks of chips before Will began to dwindle along with his hopes of leaving London tomorrow. Yet so did what remained of the decks. The dealer would shuffle either at the end of the next hand or the one after, restarting those numbers in Will’s head. Shoving 200 pounds worth of chips forward, Will took the opportunity while it was his.
Two cards were placed before him. Doing his best to block out Jack’s looming presence, Will briefly closed his eyes and passed his mind over the numbers in his head. Zero. Not a single card worth ten remained to be played. No chance of going over one-and-twenty, yet given the one three that remained of the low-numbered cards, odds were very good the dealer would bust when he tried to beat Will’s hand.
Perfect.
Will doubled his bet. Left him with only three chips, but once the hand was over, he’d have 803. More than regaining what Jack’s disapproval had lost him and putting him back on the path of getting the hell out of this city. Of leaving Jack behind, before the man could do the same with him.
The dealer’s eyebrows raised at the size of Will’s bet, then he shrugged. As the man made to take the next card from the deck to give to Will, anticipation mixed with a distinct note of loss gripped Will’s heart.
He shoved that note of loss aside. There was no reason to feel the loss of something he never had nor would ever have.
The dealer laid a card before him.
Will couldn’t keep his jaw from dropping.
Where the bleedin’ hell had that king come from?
There hadn’t been any left in the deck. Will had been certain of it.
Without a shred of remorse, the dealer snatched up Will’s chips. Snatched up all the ground Will had made that night toward reaching his goal. Then the man flipped over his second card, revealing a queen.
What? How had he lost track of two cards in the tens bin?
Bloody goddamn Jack!
A growl deep and low and steeped with frustration rumbled his throat. He wanted to shout, to scream, to rail at Jack. Are you bloody happy now, Jack? I lost. That’s what you wanted, right?
Before he lost every trace of composure, Will pushed from the table, left his three remaining chips behind. Three. One less than what he started with. A negative he’d need to make up on yet another night at the tables. He needed to get out of this hell, away from Jack, before the thin leash he held on his self-control snapped. Before he couldn’t stop himself from screaming at Jack in earnest.
Refusing to look in Jack’s direction, Will turned from the table. As he took the straightest path to the door, he heard heavy footsteps behind him. Felt that sense of self-congratulatory reproach following him, poking him on the shoulder, admonishing him for being so foolish as to believe he could gamble his way out of London, out of the stews and out of his current life.
He stepped out the front door and headed west, toward his narrow lonely bed in his pathetic excuse for a room. A bed he’d need to spend another night in.
Christ, he’d never get out of this godforsaken city.
“Will, wait.”
Will’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He lengthened his stride.
“Will.” A large familiar hand palmed his shoulder, grip requesting rather than demanding.
With a harsh roll of his shoulder, Will threw that hand off him.
“Will, wait,” Jack said again, exasperation leeching into his tone.
Stopping in his tracks, Will turned on his heel. “Do you have any idea how much money you lost me tonight?”
Jack jerked to a halt. “I didn’t lose you anything. You were the one who was gambling.”
“Eight hundred pounds, Jack. Eight hundred bloody pounds,” he said through clenched teeth, muscles drawn tight against the effort to keep his voice down. To keep every person within a half-mile radius from hearing their argument. “That may not be of any consequence to you, but it sure as hell is significant to me.”
“You shouldn’t gamble if you aren’t willing to lose.”
“I wouldn’t have lost if you hadn’t been there.”
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“But standing there, looking down your nose at me. But I should be accustomed to that by now. It’s what you do after all.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The genuine confusion on Jack’s face didn’t help matters in the slightest. “You disapprove. You criticize.” Will flung the words at Jack. “You take every opportunity to judge me and find me wanting. You pretend to apologize, but you aren’t truly sorry you never stooped to my level. You stood back and allowed me to do it all. Kept your conscience clean and left it all on me. All the while, you looked down your nose at me from your vaunted high moral ground. Continue to look down your nose at me. You even blame me for what happened tonight. My apologies if I’m not as good as you, Jack, but it’s because of me that you didn’t starve ten times over. And I would appreciate it if you remembered that the next time you think to disapprove of me.”
“I’ve already expressed my gratitude many a time for all you’ve done for me when we were younger. When we were younger,” Jack repeated. “When decent positions couldn’t b
e had for boys like us. But we’re grown men now, yet you never moved beyond your dishonest means. Never once expended the tiniest bit of effort to find a position. You’re one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever met. You could do so much more with your life, yet you’d rather cheat and whore, risk your neck, than earn an honest living.”
“I don’t have a choice, Jack.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t. There’s nothing of value in me. No one will hire someone like me.”
“How can you say that? You’ve never even tried.”
There had been no reason to try when he had known the outcome with absolute certainty. He’d been rejected enough in life. No reason to invite more instances. And even if some foolish shop owner took pity on him, no job someone would hire him for could ever earn him enough to leave this city. “Go run back to your duke. I’m sure he needs you for something or other.”
“What?” Jack threw up his hands. “I didn’t have a choice tonight, Will. He’s my employer, I can’t refuse—”
“God forbid if you put anyone, least of all yourself, before your precious position.”
“It is a precious position, as you put it. I value it, and I’d like to keep it. To not have to find myself back here.”
“You mean back with me? Back living with someone you hold in such disdain? Well then I understand completely.” He gave Jack a little wave of his hand, and didn’t bother at all to mask the sarcasm. “Please continue on jumping like a faithful hound whenever your master beckons.”
“You’re an arse. That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes, I am an arse. I never claimed to be otherwise.”
“Why did you leave the key to the room behind?”
“Because I was leaving you before you could leave me again.”
Will went still, breath caught in his throat. He swore his heart even stopped.
Had he actually said that? Admitted it to Jack? Admitted it right there, on a poor excuse for a walkway but a couple dozen paces from the gambling hell?
Yes, he had.
At least it was dark, the moon none too bright, the street mostly empty. Yet all that held little consolation.