Thief of Hearts

by Ruby Moone

  Jeremy’s shoulders sagged. “Even if you had managed it, how could I possibly go back?” he said and turned to face him. He looked older. Infinitely sadder. That irrepressible passion and joy completely snuffed out. “How could I do that when not a single person stood up for me, not a single person believed I didn’t do it and on top of that, all of them saw my clothes. I can’t ever go back.” David’s chest hurt as he watched Jeremy shake as he spoke. “They saw everything. They know everything. David, they laughed. How can I go back? How will I ever work again?” There was a desperate edge to his voice.

  David opened his mouth and closed it. He held out a hand to touch him, but Jeremy winced and moved.

  “You’ve ruined everything. You’ve ruined me. I thought you understood. I thought I…” He stopped and rubbed his face. “I thought you were special.” The words were spoken so softly but they hit David with the force of a blow.

  “Why didn’t you tell them it was me?”

  Jeremy stared at him. “How could I do that to you?”

  David was at a loss. “You could have saved yourself. Saved your job.”

  Jeremy gave him an odd look. “Because I was stupid enough to care about you. I thought you were…I thought…” He shook his head and looked away. The cold wind ruffled his hair.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Have you any money?”

  “What’s it got to do with you? Just leave me alone. Go back to the party.” He turned and picked up his case.

  David’s heart beat uncomfortably and guilt churned his gut. It was an unfamiliar feeling. What the hell was he to do? This was supposed to be the point where he said goodbye and walked away. Walked away for good. No entanglements.

  “Well, if you won’t go back, you’ll have to come with me. We can find somewhere to spend the night and talk about what to do next.” The words tumbled out and surprised him.

  “I don’t have to do anything of the sort. I’m going nowhere with you.”

  David should have been relieved at the refusal but instead, it stung.

  “Why not.”

  “Because you are a thief and a liar. Is David Lambert even your name?”

  He shrugged uncomfortably.

  Jeremy slumped a little. “Who are you?”

  “Come with me and I will tell you.”

  He watched him struggle. Probably with his conscience. And didn’t that thought make him feel like an out an out cad. He’d forgotten what it was like to have a conscience. Apparently his had wide violet eyes and pink cheeks. He didn’t know what to say to make him give in. Well, he did, but he didn’t really want to have to say it. He watched as the indecision on Jeremy’s face started to fade, and the sadness filled his eyes. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he pressed on resolutely.

  “Lady Framling is demanding Sir Granville calls the magistrate. She wants you hung or deported. You can’t afford for them to find you.”

  Jeremy’s eyes widened. “I…what?” The tremor in his voice almost undid David.

  “Let me get you away from here. You can bathe, have something to eat, and get a good night’s sleep. After, you will be able to make a decision about what to do.”

  Jeremy was staring at him. Eyes wide. “Why?”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  Jeremy’s eyes seemed to bore through him. Looking for something. David had to look away.

  “You’re right. You owe me this. This is all your fault.”

  David looked back at him. Jeremy’s spine was stiffened, a hitherto unseen mulish cast to his chin, and eyes guarded for the first time since he had met him.

  David heaved a sigh. “I do. Now, do you have any ordinary clothes in your bag?”

  “Ordinary?” Jeremy frowned.

  “Yes, something that doesn’t make you look like a footman or…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Or a servant.”

  Jeremy glared at him. “I have some ordinary clothes.”

  “Put them on and we can be off.”

  Jeremy chin went up, still holding his bag. “Turn around.”

  David arched an eyebrow. “Surely not.”

  Jeremy just stared so David gave a frustrated sigh and turned his back. Several moments later, Jeremy emerged dressed in what was probably his Sunday best. It was all worn and looked as though it had been handed down a few times and it was badly creased, but he looked clean and relatively respectable.

  “Perfect.” David gestured to the horses and the waiting carriage. “Shall we?”

  Jeremy nodded, hesitated, then took the footman’s wig and flung it into the trees.

  Chapter 9

  Jeremy sat beside David as he drove the carriage, keeping a respectable distance between them and feeling utterly wretched. He ached from head to toe, his face throbbed, and his backside and leg was bruised from where Fisher had gone berserk. It hurt to sit, but he managed to do so without fidgeting too much. His damned heart hurt more though. Every time he glanced at David he had to accept his handsome, aristocratic, respectable lover, the man who had given him so much, was nothing but a common thief. A pretty package, but a thief nonetheless. What a damned mess. After David had found him, and still wanted him even though he was dressed up, he didn’t think his life could be any better. Then in the blink of an eye it was all gone. All a lie. He should have known.

  By the time they pulled into the closest town it was getting quite late. Jeremy’s stomach rumbled.

  “Hungry?” David glanced at him. They hadn’t really spoken once Jeremy had agreed to go with him and they had set off. Jeremy didn’t know what to say.

  “A little.”

  “We had better feed you. You have a tendency to keel over.”

  They pulled into the courtyard and David saw to the horses whilst Jeremy looked on.

  “Come on, I will see if I can get us a room.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes, us. I think it best we stick together. That way, I can keep an eye on…things.”

  “Well, just tell them I’m your servant. They might be able to set up a truckle bed in your room.”

  David stopped and faced him. He gave him a long serious look. “You are not my servant.”

  “Well, I know that, but we will have to pretend.”

  “Never.”

  Jeremy looked at him for a moment, surprised at the vehemence in his tone. He shook his head. “No other way.”

  “Yes, there is. You are my younger brother. Sent down from Oxford for a scrape where you and some friends masqueraded as locals. I’ve come to collect you and take you home. As brothers, no-one will bat an eyelash if we share a bedroom.”

  Jeremy had to admit the idea was a good one, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to share a room with David. He could hardly put him to the cost of two rooms though. “Very well.” He sounded reluctant, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Well, come along, brother dear.”

  “We don’t exactly look like each other,” Jeremy grumbled.

  “Do you have a brother?”

  Jeremy nodded.

  “Do you look like your brother?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “Well then.”

  David let go of him, and as they reached the door the most dreadful thought hit Jeremy right between the eyes.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered, a hand going to his chest. David didn’t hear him as he had gone through the door. Jeremy trailed after him, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He half listened to the tale David spun the bartender, realising just how good a liar he was, and then they were trooping up the stairs to a small, but pleasant enough room with a fire burning and a big bed in it. One bed.

  David closed the door and leaned against it.

  “Is something bothering you?”

  Jeremy put his bag down and ran his hands through his hair. “Elliot will know.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  Jeremy looked over
at David who was frowning at him.

  “Elliot. He will know…and if they tell him about the clothes…” Jeremy put a hand over his eyes and tried to hold onto his composure. He felt sick. Sick to his stomach.

  “Who the hell is Elliot?”

  Jeremy looked up and blinked at the sharpness of David’s tone. “What? Do you think I have another lover?”

  “Do you?”

  “Do you think I am the kind of man who would have a lover and then bed you?”

  “No. So who is he?”

  Jeremy glared at him. “He is my brother. Lord Fane’s butler. Do you know him?”

  David’s shoulders relaxed a little. He shook his head.

  Jeremy sat on the edge of the bed. “Elliot found this position for me. He used his contacts to find me a respectable opening. He’s going to be so angry and disappointed in me.” He could picture his face now.

  “But you didn’t steal anything.”

  “Do you think that matters? I’ve been turned off for theft, and Sir Granville is hunting me to have me hung. I think that’s enough to disappoint my brother, don’t you?”

  David scratched the back of his neck. “You need to get a message to him. Get in first and tell him you were wrongly accused.”

  “What do I tell him about the dress?”

  David shook his head. “Don’t even mention it. Just tell him you were wrongly accused, and you left because of it. Whatever rumour reaches him he will know is embellished. It’s the way of the world. Can you write?” David asked.

  “I can, but my penmanship…” Jeremy shrugged.

  “I’ll help,” David said briskly and went to bank up the fire. “But first, let’s get you looking respectable again.”

  Jeremy wanted to weep. Respectable. He’d tried so hard to be respectable. To work hard, be a credit to his brother and the memory of his parents, but whatever tentative veneer of respectability he’d managed to conjure had been stripped away to reveal the truth. He was perverted. Unnatural. A freak.

  He couldn’t look at David. He fussed about the room and went to his battered case sitting on the floor. He picked it up and held it to his chest. There was nothing much in it to unpack, since there was very little in it. What possessions he had were still in the room at Sir Granville’s. He put it on the bed and fished through the meagre contents. His robe and dress were there. Creased and torn, but there. He found some smalls and a nightshirt. Fortunately, there wasn’t much space in the room he shared with Micky, so most of his clothes were kept in the valise. But then he realised. His comb and brush. His perfume bottle. He closed his eyes as another wave of nausea threatened.

  “What is it now?” David’s voice was wary.

  “I’ve lost all my things. Things which belonged to my parents. My comb and hairbrush belonged to my father and a perfume bottle that was my mother’s.” He blinked rapidly and clamped his jaws together. “It smelled of her.” Grief and loss washed over him anew. He stared at the carpet.

  David stood beside him. His fingers tapped rapidly against this thigh. “Which was your room? I will go and get them.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “You can’t do that.”

  “Which was your room?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous…” He sighed. David was unmoving. Basement. Third from the left. You can’t go back. I shared a room. He’ll have taken them.”

  A knock at the door interrupted them. David answered it, and the barkeeper brought in a bath and put it in front of the fire, closely followed by a troop of maids with hot water. When the bath was full, and the servants gone, David locked the bedroom door and gestured to the bath.

  “Get in.”

  “For me?” Jeremy stared at the inviting water, and then at David.

  “For you. Strip.”

  Jeremy hesitated, but then couldn’t wait to get out of his clothes, David be damned. His Sunday best was better than his uniform, but still starchy and uncomfortable. He pulled his shoes off, discarded his woollen stockings and his breeches, and peeled out of his shirt. Naked, he hesitated by the side of the bath, and put a foot in. He groaned. It was hot. Lovely and hot. He got in gingerly, holding his equipment in his hand out of the way as he sat down and folded his knees up and sank in the water to his chin.

  “Oh God,” he murmured. He watched as David stripped off his coat and turned up his sleeves. He came to kneel beside the tub and picked up a cloth and a bottle of what Jeremy presumed was soap. He sniffed it and nodded.

  “Let me wash your hair.”

  Jeremy hesitated. He should be throwing the man out. Should have nothing more to do with him. But the offer of a bath, he never, ever got to have a bath, and then him washing his hair…Jeremy sank beneath the water line to wet it and came up, stripping the wet from his face. David was looking at him with an odd expression, but then he smiled. Just a small smile, but it was a genuine one which warmed his eyes. He poured some soap into his hand, and applied it to his hair, rubbing and massaging Jeremy’s scalp with a strong rhythm. It was heaven. Jeremy couldn’t help the moan which escaped his lips.

  “You’re like a cat,” David said as he tilted Jeremy’s head back to rinse out the soap.

  Jeremy silently agreed. David had long, strong fingers which rubbed and caressed his head. Lord, but he loved being touched.

  David lathered up the cloth and ran it down his back but stopped when Jeremy winced. He pushed him to one side to look and went still. Jeremy peered down and could see the huge welts marred his side and his hip. They were probably on his backside too judging by the discomfort.

  “I always thought Fisher was a decent sort of chap. Never thought he would turn into such a nasty bastard.”

  David was gripping the cloth. A muscle ticked along his jaw as though he was clenching his teeth. He tilted Jeremy’s face up and brought up the cloth to wash his face. Jeremy closed his eyes and sighed as David stroked him gently. Dabbing at the cuts on his mouth and his head. He lay back as David cleaned him from head to toe and by the time he was done, Jeremy was utterly boneless.

  David held out a hand and Jeremy let him pull him from the tub. He wrapped a towel around him, and David stripped off and got in. He scrubbed himself in a practical way.

  “Do you want me to wash you?” Jeremy asked.

  David shook his head. He was out of the tub in minutes and rubbed himself dry. Jeremy watched him with a heavy heart. What was he to do now? No home, no work, his brother would be ashamed of him and the man he thought he could love was a thief. A charming, handsome and, it had to be said, kind thief, but a thief nonetheless. And here he was. Sat in nothing but a towel in an inn with him. He pulled it tighter around him.

  David wrapped another towel around his hips and ran a comb through his hair. Jeremy hadn’t moved from the bed where he still sat huddled. He watched David hesitate before going to his battered case. He pulled it open carefully and took out the colourful silk robe. It was crumpled into a ball.

  “Here,” he said, shaking it vigorously, and holding it out. Jeremy looked up but didn’t move. “Come, slip into this and let me comb your hair.”

  Jeremy rubbed his nose with the end of the towel and then stood up and let it fall. He wouldn’t look David in the eye. David held the robe, so he could slide his arms in, and then he tied the belt.

  “Sit.” David indicated the bed and Jeremy sat. David got up onto the bed and kneeled behind him and gently pulled the comb through his wet, tangled hair. He did it a bit at a time, tugging gently, and when he had worked out the tangles, he stroked the comb through it repeatedly. Jeremy gradually leaned back and relaxed.

  “Why don’t we have a nap until it is time to eat?” David pulled back the blankets, so they could get in. Jeremy watched, feeling certain he should protest, but he was so damned tired. He clambered in and lay on his back, side by side with David without touching.

  “Are you warm enough?” David asked.

  Jeremy nodded.

  “Sleep then.”

  When Jeremy a
woke, it was dark, and he was alone in the bed. He presumed David had gone to get something to eat. He toyed with the idea of getting up, but he was too warm and comfortable, so he let his eyes close.

  * * * *

  David opened his eyes and blinked. It was daylight, and he was alone in the bed.

  Jeremy stood by the window, still in the silk, arms folded, with his forehead resting on the window frame. Frost painted the inside of the widow.

  “What are you looking at?” David said, his voice scratchy.

  Jeremy glanced over at the bed, then back out of the window. “People.”

  “Are they doing anything interesting?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Just going about their business.”

  “And is that more interesting than being in bed with me? You must be cold out there.” Pink stained his cheeks, making David sigh. “Look, why don’t you just ask me what’s bothering you. I will do my best to answer you truthfully.” He heaved himself and sat up in the bed, propped against the headboard. He scratched his chest and Jeremy’s gaze dropped to where he touched himself and the desire that was never far away crackled between them.

  “Or you could get back in here and we can forget the last few hours and go back to where we were.”

  “Where was that?”

  “I think, if I recall correctly, I was inside you and you were crying my name.”

  Jeremy blushed. His whole body. His face flamed, his slender neck went red, and what David could see of his throat flushed. But not in that charming way David had been so taken with, not that shy but excited flush which set off a sparkle in his violet eyes, this was a deep blush of embarrassment and shame. David felt like a complete bastard.

  “I’m sorry.” It seemed wholly inadequate, and it was. Jeremy had bared something so deep, so profound, but they had never had chance to talk about what had happened between them. They had been thrust into this ridiculous farce, the reality of his own life had been rudely exposed, and they simply stared at each other. Stripped naked of the masks they wore in public, stripped to the very essence of who they were and both wanting answers, but both seemingly unable to speak.