“Damn it to hell,” he snarled beneath his breath.
With a sharp jerk, he wheeled about on his heel and headed out of the Club. Outside, Jasper was waiting for him across the street with the Berline. As he grabbed the carriage’s door handle, he hesitated.
The thought of going home to Chiddingstone House was unappealing. Lily and Grace were beginning to take far more interest in his social life than he liked. If they learned he’d come home early, they’d seize it as a weapon in their newest campaign to find him a wife. He closed his eyes for a brief second. There was only one place to go—Seymour Square. Even though Mary and Davy were gone, it still felt like home. Not to mention it would be peaceful.
In less than fifteen minutes, the carriage pulled up at the steps of one eleven Seymour Square, and he used his key to enter the house. The door closing behind him, he turned to find Carstairs emerging from the back of the house with an expression of concern.
“My lord, I see you got my note.”
“Note?”
“Yes, sir, I sent one to Chiddingstone House. I thought your arrival . . .” Carstairs frowned as if realizing Garrick hadn’t received any message. “I’m afraid there’s a bit of a problem.”
“What sort of problem?”
“It’s Willie, my lord. He’s brought home a stray.”
“He’s no stray, my lord.”
The defiant words made Garrick lean slightly to the right to see Willie emerging from the back hall with a smaller boy at his side. The young footman had appeared at the door of Caring Hearts early one morning more than a year ago asking for nothing more than a meal in exchange for some type of work. Lily had immediately assigned Garrick the task of finding him some.
Willie had been little more than skin and bones then, which made it difficult to find the lad a position, so he’d brought him home to Seymour Square and employed him as a footman. With the help of Mary and Carstairs, the boy had exceeded everyone’s expectations, even those of Carstairs, who was an exacting taskmaster. But at the moment, it was obvious the butler was far from happy with the strapping young footman. Rubbing the back of his neck, Garrick heaved a sigh.
“Carstairs. A glass of whiskey. Willie, you and your friend, come with me.”
As he entered the salon, there was a vague sense of something being off kilter. It feathered its way through his cluttered brain until he suddenly realized what it was. He’d never really taken notice of Mary’s decorating before, but the difference in this room and Ruth’s salon was like night and day.
Here, everything was cool and sedate, whereas Ruth’s home had a passionate warmth that made him wish he were there now. He suppressed a groan at the way his mind kept returning to Ruth and the way he’d left her. With a grunt, he dropped down into one of the chairs and waved his hand abruptly at his footman.
“Explain.”
“This is Samuel, my lord, and I told him that if anyone can help him, you can.” Willie straightened to his full height, which was considerable.
“And what makes you think I can help your friend?” He shifted his gaze to the young boy standing in his footman’s shadow.
“Because you helped me, my lord.”
The unadulterated hero worship in Willie’s voice made Garrick wince. If his footman had witnessed the way he’d treated Ruth tonight the man would realize he was bowing at the wrong altar. He was nothing like the man his footman thought he was. His gaze shifted to Samuel.
The lad couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven at best. Tall, but scrawny, his cut lip and black eye made him look as though someone had beaten him severely several days ago. His jaw tightened with anger. As he stared into the boy’s eyes, the look of hopelessness he saw there enraged him. He despised anyone who thought it acceptable to beat a child. Whoever had battered the boy deserved to be horsewhipped. Carstairs entered the room and handed him his drink. He took a stiff gulp of the whiskey then set it on the table next to his chair. His gaze pinned on the boy, he frowned.
“Well, Samuel. Can you speak for yourself?”
“Aye, me lord.” There was a false bravado to the boy’s response as he took a step closer to Willie’s side.
“Where are your parents?”
“Me mum’s dead, and I don’t know who me sire is, me lord.” The boy met his gaze with a good show of confidence, but he failed to completely disguise his apprehension. “It’s just me, and Lucy.”
“Lucy?” Garrick’s gaze shifted from the boy’s face to Willie’s sudden look of chagrin.
“Me baby sister, me lord. We ain’t got no one else, and I take care of her the best I can.”
There was a protective note in the boy’s voice, and Garrick immediately recognized a part of himself in the boy’s defiance in the face of what had to be immeasurable odds. Life on the streets was difficult enough for a boy, but for girls it was almost always a death sentence. An image of his uncle testing Lily’s bedroom door sent ice through his veins.
“Where is she now?” he bit out in a tight voice. At his question, Carstairs, who was observing the small drama from a short distance away, coughed softly.
“She’s with Cook, my lord.”
Garrick shot the butler a sharp glance then closed his eyes in an attempt to clear his cloudy head. Damnation, the boy had a sister. Fingers pressed into his temple, he reached for his whiskey and tossed down the rest of the liquor. In a silent command for more, he extended his glass to Carstairs and didn’t look at the man as the butler took the crystal from him. Christ Jesus, this was turning out to be a hell of a night. He looked at Samuel again and frowned.
“Who beat you?” Garrick’s question sent a shudder through the child as he looked up at Willie. The footman nodded with encouragement.
“It’s all right, Samuel. His lordship’s going to help. You can trust him.”
The confidence in his footman’s voice made Garrick wince. Trust. Something Ruth could enlighten the young man about when it came to him. His head suddenly began to throb as the echoes of Ruth’s humiliation reverberated through his head. He frowned as he waited for Samuel to answer.
“His name is Billings, me lord. He said he’d give me food and a place to sleep if I worked for him.”
“What kind of work?”
“He told me he needed someone who could run fast and deliver messages.”
“And why did he beat you?”
“Because the last bloke I delivered a message to refused to pay. Said I was too late. That the message didn’t do him any good if it was late.”
Garrick clenched his jaw. His uncle had rarely laid a hand on him, but Beresford’s treatment of him and his siblings had been as harmful as what Samuel had suffered at the hands of this Billings. Abuse was abuse. It was what drove him to help those who couldn’t help themselves.
As he studied Samuel, he remembered what it was like to feel alone in the world with no one to turn to. He swallowed hard at the memory. Despite the difference in their stations in life, Samuel could have been him. Well, he’d be damned if he was going to let this bastard Billings touch the lad again. He’d been thinking of finding a boy to help Jasper in the stables for a number of weeks, but hadn’t done anything about it. Now he wouldn’t have to look elsewhere. He steadily met the boy’s wary gaze.
“Do you like horses, Samuel?”
“Don’t know much about ’em, me lord.” The boy paused for a moment, his face lightened slightly. “But I suppose I do, like ’em that is.”
“Would you like to learn how to care for them? My driver could use some help in my stables if you’re willing to work hard.” Garrick spoke quietly, watching as Samuel’s face brightened with hope then grew suspicious again. The boy looked up at Willie, who nodded his head. Looking back at Garrick, the child straightened to his full height.
“Yes, please, me lord. I’m a hard worker, too.” Samuel eyed him with a mixture of optimism and fear. “And Lucy? We’re a bundle, me lord. I don’t go nowhere without ’er.”
“For
the time being the two of you will stay here until I can make other arrangements.” The boy opened his mouth as if to protest and Garrick waved his hand at him. “I have no intention of separating the two of you, but she’ll need someone to look after her.”
“I look after Lucy, me lord. She needs me, an’ I don’t like leaving’er with strangers.” Samuel’s stubborn stance said his sister’s fate was nonnegotiable, and Garrick nodded his agreement.
“All right, but we’ll discuss it tomorrow. For now, you look like you could use a bath and some supper.” The words immediately threw his thoughts back to Ruth and everything that had followed after she’d emerged from her bath.
“Thank ye, me lord,” Samuel said. “I’ll work ’ard. I promise.”
“I imagine your sister needs a bath and supper as well. See to it, Willie,” he grunted.
“Thank you, my lord. I knew you’d be able to help.”
Willie shot him another one of those heroic looks that only served to make Garrick grimace with self-disgust. As the footman led Samuel out of the room, Carstairs returned with another glass of whiskey. He noted the butler had filled the glass almost to the brim, and he arched an eyebrow at the man before taking a drink. His elbows resting on the arms of the chair, he leaned back and closed his eyes with a weary sigh.
“Is there anything else I need to be made aware of, Carstairs?”
“No, my lord. I believe that is the last of the excitement for the evening.” A touch of relief accompanied the butler’s response. “Do you require anything else this evening?”
“Nothing other than a little peace and quiet.”
“Very good, my lord.”
The butler’s soft tread and the salon door closing told Garrick he was alone once more. He opened his eyes to stare at the full glass of whiskey. Although his head was a bit fuzzy, the amount of liquor he’d consumed had done little to wipe away the remnants of the evening’s disastrous events.
Ruth. He should be happy that she’d thrown him out. He’d caressed her like a lover then rejected her in a humiliating manner. How was he supposed to explain himself without sharing his secret? The internal question lanced through him like a sharp, poisonous spear. Secret. Whatever secret he thought he had, there was a very strong chance his uncle had divulged it.
A vicious hatred welled up inside him as he took another drink of his whiskey. He’d destroy the man. Beresford would have nothing left when he got done with the bastard. Deep down, he’d always known his uncle would one day break their contract. But he’d prepared for that. His solicitor had been keeping track of his uncle’s financial matters over the years.
Every time Beresford had invested his finances, Garrick had reviewed the venture. If it was a sound investment, he’d bought a higher stake in the business for the sole purpose of destroying Beresford if the time ever came. Wycombe’s persistence in attempting to learn more about his personal affairs had been more of an inconvenience than a threat. But his appearance at the Club with Tremaine in tow had changed all that, particularly with Tremaine’s reference to Beresford.
Just the way the bastard had smiled at him when he’d mentioned his uncle had been enough to make Garrick believe the worst. It was possible his uncle hadn’t revealed the specifics of his secret, but whatever Tremaine knew or had deduced, the son of a bitch would use it against him. He released a groan and leaned forward in his chair with his head bowed.
Bloody hell, what was he going to do? He didn’t want Ruth to look at him with the same amusement Bertha had that night so long ago. He snorted with disgust. Look at him? Ruth wasn’t going to have a thing to do with him after tonight. The knowledge should have made him happy, but it didn’t.
Whenever he was with her, it felt right. There was something about her that made him trust her. But you don’t trust her enough to tell her your secret, do you? He growled with anger. Tonight should never have happened. Thank God he’d come to his senses before things had gotten out of hand. He tossed down the last of the drink and stared at his empty glass. When the hell was this stuff going to numb his senses to the fact that he’d hurt her?
He didn’t like the answer that came back. The idea that nothing could alleviate his guilt only made thinking about it that much worse. All of this could have been avoided if he’d just stayed away from the woman from the start. But he hadn’t. The compulsion to pursue her was something he didn’t understand, but he knew the need wasn’t going to go away.
God help him, but he wanted to see her again. Wanted the opportunity to try and explain why he’d touched her and then rejected her. Even if he could form a rational explanation for her to believe, he wasn’t very confident she’d even give him the chance to explain himself. It didn’t matter. He had to try, if only to make sure she understood how desirable she was.
That was paramount. He wanted to make sure she knew his rejection had been because of his own inadequacies. Not hers. He was the one with the flaws. Damaged goods. His uncle and Bertha had made him understand that so many years ago. Christ Jesus, his head ached. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his fingers against one temple. He needed to go to bed, but he was feeling too damned drunk to bother getting up out of his chair. It was much easier to simply stay where he was. The liquor was doing exactly what he’d intended all along. It tugged him downward into the darkness where he could forget all the pain. His glass slipped from his fingers to fall to the floor as he slid deeper into the alcohol-induced shadows. The tinkling sound of crystal shattering against wood was a distant sound, and he vaguely wondered where it was coming from.
She had a beautiful laugh. Everything about Bertha was beautiful. From the first minute he’d seen her, he’d known he was in love with her. It was impossible not to take pleasure in watching her. Every movement she made was poetry in motion. A ballerina, it was natural for her to be graceful, but Bertha was ethereal in her movements.
It was as if the angels had given her wings when she’d danced for his uncle’s houseguests. For the first time in more than two years, he’d not minded his uncle entertaining friends. If not for Beresford, he’d never have met Bertha. For the past three days, he’d courted her—wooed her. Then this morning she’d invited him to her room after everyone had retired for the evening.
The day had dragged on interminably, but the evening even more so. During supper, his uncle had paid a great deal of attention to Bertha. The fact that she’d laughed at Beresford’s jokes had made him want to pull her away from his uncle. He didn’t want her talking to that bastard. She was meant for him.
Instead, he’d simply sat back and watched, keeping a tight leash on his jealous anger. He was the one she intended to welcome into his bed, not that son of a bitch. It was best to remain silent. If his uncle were to learn how he felt about Bertha, the man would torment him with the knowledge—possibly even turn Bertha against him.
The bastard enjoyed cruel jokes like that. He looked out on the lawn of Chiddingstone Manor. The pale moonlight was translucent as it illuminated the flower garden. The entire scene was reminiscent of Bertha’s fragile beauty. The bluish black of the night sky was the same color as her hair, and the moonlight resembled her beautiful ivory skin.
The mantel clock chimed the hour, and he quickly left his room to move silently through the manor’s hallway to Bertha’s room. In front of her door, he hesitated. What if he didn’t please her? He knew nothing of women other than the crude comments of his uncle and his friends. The memory of Bertha’s inviting smile made him rap softly on the door.
She wouldn’t mind. She cared about him and wouldn’t have asked him to come to her otherwise. The door opened to reveal her in a sheer nightgown, and the air left his lungs at the sight of her. She quickly pulled him through the open doorway, and an instant later, she was in his arms.
Her lips tasted of wine, and he grew rigid as her hand caressed his erection. The minute she pulled back from him a shudder wracked his body. A mysterious smile curving her mouth upward, she tilted her head in a pro
vocative manner.
“Are you all right, my darling?”
The bewitching sound of her voice tugged at his cock until he was ready to spill his seed. He nodded as he fought not to explode and embarrass himself. He knew she could have had any man she wanted this weekend, but she’d chosen him.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. I just can’t believe I’m here with you. That you’re mine.”
“Why wouldn’t I be,” she whispered as she stepped away from him and moved toward the bed.
With a seductive sureness that made his mouth water with need, she slipped her gown off her shoulders. In the candlelight, she looked like a beautiful angel condescending to grant him access to her body. She stepped backward and sat down on the bed, her hand capturing his to pull him forward. He went willingly and cupped her breast. It was plump and firm in his hand.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Am I?” She smiled with pleasure at the compliment. “Do you want me, darling?”
Her question was a heated invitation that made his blood run hot. Unable to speak, he simply nodded his head and quickly started to undress. His eyes didn’t leave her sylphlike form as he disrobed.
In seconds, he stood naked in front of her. She eyed him with calculation. The thought that she might find him lacking vanished from his head the minute she smiled up at him. Bertha stretched out her hand to drag her fingers down his chest toward where his erection was jutting outward. He trembled as her thumb brushed over him, and she laughed lightly.
“You like that don’t you, dear boy.” She laughed again when he nodded. “Am I your first woman?”
“Yes,” he choked out.
“Then what are you waiting for? Isn’t it time you gave me a little poke?” Clearly amused, Bertha leaned forward to blow on his cock, then jerked back from him. “Good lord.”
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