Wes was so lost in his own reverie that he didn’t notice the urchin until he’d tugged twice on Wes’s arm. The boy made a clumsy bow, handed Wes a note, and once Wes had given him a guinea, hurried off. The note was from Legs, written in rough scrawl.
Hav flowr. Bring Tusdy at dark. L.
First all that with Penny, and now a promising day with Michael, and then his flower at last. The day, it seemed, would only get better and better.
He felt full. Full and happy and almost…wild. It was as if he’d ingested too much opium, but instead of putting him to sleep as it buzzed his nerves, it made him want to climb buildings. He wanted to do something rash. Something…something with Michael. Perhaps a longer outing. Perhaps…oh, did he dare consider the opera? Would this euphoria keep his fears at bay?
An idea hit him, and the perfection of it made him stop still in his tracks. Yes. It wasn’t perfect, no, and not as flashy as the opera, but if he could call in a few favors…well, most men wouldn’t find it exciting, but if Michael had been impressed by the Athenaeum, surely…
The plan solidified in his mind, and Wes quickened his steps.
When he got back to his apartments, the butler came out to greet him, holding a letter on a tray.
“From your father, my lord. He said it is most urgent.”
Wes took the letter, for all its single sheet feeling like lead. He nodded thanks to the butler and carried it down the hall to his room. He stood staring at it for several moments before going inside.
He didn’t open it right away, setting it on the side table as he gathered what he would need. He started toward it twice, only to walk away and water a few of his plants and pen instructions for the maids.
In the end he left it lying there, unread. Urgent or not, he wouldn’t let his father ruin his good mood. Not this day. Not this time.
Feeling reckless and wicked and quite good, he left his rooms, straightened his hat and went to find the butler to hand him the notes and order his carriage.
Michael sat at the window in the front parlor, waiting for Albert to arrive, when Rodger sent a message asking him to his office. The summons irritated him, but since Albert’s carriage wasn’t in sight, he went.
Rodger stood at the window, staring into the courtyard where Cook raised her vegetables and herbs, his right foot resting on the wide ledge where Michael frequently made a nest to read, though Michael always drew the screen taut before it to cloak himself. Rodger kept it folded back now, and when he saw Michael enter, he pushed off the window and nodded to the space, indicating Michael sit.
It was an odd move, and it stayed Michael’s chiding remarks about Albert’s imminent arrival. He sat where Rodger indicated he should. “Is something wrong?”
In response, Rodger huffed and flattened his lips in a grimace. He didn’t pace exactly, but he fidgeted back and forth for some time before he spoke, and when he did, he didn’t look Michael in the eye. “You seem to be happy with Lord George.”
“Yes, I am,” Michael said carefully. Good Lord, was Rodger jealous? “Is that the problem?”
Rodger sighed and rubbed his mouth. “I don’t know. It might be.” He turned to Michael at last. “I don’t like where this is going, Michael. I think you should be more careful.”
Michael almost laughed. “Careful of what? Rodger, be serious. You think he is a threat? He’s nothing like his father. He’s nothing like anyone. He’d never hurt me.”
“Are you in love with him?” Rodger demanded.
Michael only hesitated a beat. “Yes.”
A tic appeared in Rodger’s cheek. “And this, ducks, is exactly why I’m worried. If you’re in love with him, he can wound you beyond anyone.”
Now Michael was irritated. “For heaven’s sake. Obviously, yes, he can hurt me. But I meant that he won’t hurt me like his father.”
“No. He’d hurt you far worse.” When Michael started to protest, Rodger stood over him, boring those angry eyes into his. “Have you told him?”
“Told him what?” Michael asked, but his stomach flipped over, for he knew what Rodger meant.
“About what his father did to you.”
“Yes,” Michael said, willing his cheeks not to color. It wasn’t a lie.
But Rodger was no man’s fool. He smiled mirthlessly. “And did you mention that it was his father who did it?”
Michael longed to lie. He might have, too, except Rodger was certain to test out the truth. Michael averted his eyes and said nothing, which was of course the same as an admission.
Rodger swore under his breath. And then he did pace, wearing a trench in the floorboards as he went on. “Your month is up next week. I have half a mind to tell him thank you for his donation and move on.”
“You wouldn’t.” When Rodger just gave a dark laugh in reply, Michael stood, shaking with fury. “I’m not your property, Rodger Barrows.”
“Aren’t you?” Rodger shot back. “He’s a danger to you, and you won’t even hear it, because you’re in love with him. You want his protection over mine? Fine. If there’s anything left of you once he breaks you, I’ll find you somewhere quiet to live, but it won’t be here. I can’t stomach the thought of cleaning up after that fucking family again.”
Michael didn’t know if he should be furious or terrified. He ended up both. “Rodger, where is this coming from? Why are you suddenly so adamant against Albert?”
“I’ve been against him since the moment I met him.” He stopped pacing and shut his eyes, looking pained. “I’ve been talking myself out of my apprehension, trying to give the bugger a chance. But it’s no good. Not after the report I got this morning.” He turned to Michael. “Your Albert’s an addict, love. You can give him your heart, but his soul belongs to the poppy.”
Michael blinked a few times, not even sure what Rodger was saying. “You think Albert is addicted to…opium?” He laughed, feeling relieved. “Rodger, your report is wrong. Albert can’t even go into a bookstore. You think he could go to an opium den?”
“He doesn’t take it in a den, ducks.” He held out his hand, cupped like an offering, and smiled grimly. “His little pills. And his tea. Laudanum, they call it, but it comes from the poppy all the same. Been increasing regularly for months. He downplayed it to me, which was why I had the boys look into him. He’s even seeing that bluestocking chit down in Southwark—that’s why he moved your outings to the afternoon. Spends every morning with her. Won’t do a bit of good, though. All her wiles are shite.”
Michael’s ears had pricked at chit, but wiles gave him pause. “He—he’s seeing a woman?”
Rodger paused, frowning at him, then shook his head. “Not like that, love. God knows I’d love to use that to turn you off him, but no, she’s not a doxy. Fuck, she’s practically a nun, that bleeding idiot—she thinks she’s an angel, Miss Barrington does, saving lost souls. She has Lord George singing songs and breaking dishes, as if such nonsense will break him away.” He rolled his eyes.
Michael calmed somewhat. “But he’s trying to quit, yes? Isn’t that a good thing?”
Rodger barked a laugh. “It’s a nice sentiment, but it won’t work. Not like that. I’ve seen only a handful of men break free of the dragon, and it marked each one as surely as a scar. It takes a strength of iron to walk through that fire.”
“And you’re saying Albert doesn’t have that strength?”
Rodger snorted.
Michael’s cheeks colored again. “He’s strong enough,” he said, but with less heat than he wanted. “Albert is strong enough to defeat opium. And strong enough to protect me from his father.”
“Glad to hear it.” Rodger smiled darkly. “You won’t mind if I let him know about your history with Daventry, then.”
“You wouldn’t,” Michael cried.
“I will if you don’t tell him yourself,” Rodger promised.
Michael felt panicked. And sick. “Why?” he demanded. “Why are you being so unreasonable? All because he uses opium, suddenly he’s
too weak to be with me? And why do you get to make that decision?”
“Because I’ve made every decision for you for the past thirteen years,” Rodger replied, without pity. “Because you aren’t strong enough to even sleep in your own bed.”
That jab cut deep, and Michael all but hissed at the pain. And lashed out to distract from it. “Are you sure it isn’t because I’m not warming yours?”
Rodger’s anger, to Michael’s surprise, abruptly gave way, leaving him looking only pained. “No, love. It isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care enough about you to bleed with you when the house of Daventry guts you all over again.”
Michael tried to hold on to his anger. He couldn’t. His voice broke as he asked, “Are you telling me I can’t see him?”
“I don’t know.” Rodger ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know, ducks. I don’t. I wanted you to have a good fuck with him. Wanted you to play and feel free. But you aren’t. You aren’t fucking him, and you aren’t playing.” He turned back to Michael. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you won’t be broken if he isn’t what you want him to be. Tell me you aren’t looking for a fairytale prince who will buy you a cottage in the country and fill it with books and pace the front walk to keep your demons at bay in between making sweet love to you.”
Just hearing the words spoken out loud made Michael fill with longing. Yes, he wanted all that, and he wanted it with Albert.
And yes. If Albert betrayed him, it would break him to his core.
He shut his eyes, and Rodger swore. Michael wanted to cry.
“When—” Michael’s voice broke, and he swallowed hard before continuing, keeping his eyes shut. “When will you tell him? Today?”
He braced himself, ready to hear Rodger say yes, that it was already over. When Rodger didn’t answer, Michael had to open his eyes. Rodger was looking at him strangely.
“You’d give him up that easily?” He frowned. “Am I wrong and you don’t care that deeply—or is it too late, and it’s me who’s broken you?”
Michael faltered. “I don’t know what you mean. Broken me?”
Rodger looked pained. “God’s teeth, but I did, didn’t I? Fuck me.” His laugh was bitter. “That’s why I pushed you out of my bed those years ago. I thought if I kept fucking you that you’d never take any control over your life. I didn’t want you to become my pet, unable to do anything without my say-so. But it didn’t matter, did it. You were my pet anyway.”
“But you just said—” Michael shook his head. “You just told me I’m too weak to make a decision, just ordered me to end it with Albert and told me he was too weak to—”
“And you didn’t fight for him,” Rodger cut in. He watched very carefully. “Because you don’t love him, or because…”
He left the rest unfinished.
Michael tried not to understand him. Tried to be angry, but all he felt was fear. Why was Rodger doing this? The ground kept shifting beneath him, and he hated it, hated this feeling. He felt exposed, confused and afraid. All at once it was just as it had been when he’d been with the men in the rooms, before Rodger had brought in Albert, and he panicked.
“Rodger,” he said, trying to not let the panic show, but he couldn’t keep the pleading from his voice. “Rodger, why—” His palms began to sweat, and the room felt too close, the air too heavy. “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you trying to turn me mad?”
Even before Rodger’s face crumpled in despair, a deep part of Michael realized the answer. Rodger is right. You are his slave. Rodger’s slave, Albert’s—both. You aren’t just weak. You don’t even know how to think for yourself.
Like a snake, the old memory crept from the back of his mind, Daventry smiling down at him, running his hand over Michael’s hair as he suckled his master’s cock. “Such a sweet pet. One day I’ll put a collar on you, boy, and keep you beside me forever.”
Michael had gagged on the cock, swearing he would never let him do it, that he’d run away first. And yet after all this time, the joke was on him. He’d collared himself.
The knock at the door startled them both.
“Sir,” a servant said, sticking his head inside the room, “Lord George has arrived.”
Rodger waved the man away without looking at him, his eyes staying on Michael.
Michael wanted to sob. “What do I do?” he whispered.
Rodger rubbed at his cheek. “Good God, I’ve no idea.”
“Don’t tell him,” Michael pleaded. “Don’t tell him about Daventry.”
“Will you tell him, then?” Rodger asked.
No. Never. But Michael swallowed hard and nodded. “Just—not today.”
“I’ll give you three days,” Rodger replied.
“Three! Days!” Michael cried. “It isn’t anywhere near enough time.”
“It’s more than I should give you.” Rodger sighed and reached out to brush his fingers across Michael’s cheek. “If it goes badly, ducks, you’re done whoring for me. I won’t send you away,” he amended quickly, when Michael stiffened, “but this can’t go on. I should have seen it long ago. I’m sorry I didn’t.” He grimaced, exhaled hard, then smiled placatingly at Michael. “Shall I send him away and have him come back tomorrow? I can do so without letting him know anything is amiss.”
Michael wanted to scream. He wanted to shout, scream, cry out, kick—at Rodger, at Albert, at the whole world. How had this happened? How had everything run so abruptly mad?
I only have three days left with him.
“No,” he said hotly. A tear ran down his cheek, which he hated but could not stop. He wiped angrily at it. “I will see him today.” He drew a breath. “And I will tell him within three days’ time. Myself. I will tell him about Daventry myself.” Pride made him add, “I’ll prove to you that I don’t need either of you. That I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”
He was ready for condescension, but Rodger only looked at him with weary sadness. “I hope you do, ducks. I hope you do.”
Rodger leaned forward and brushed a kiss against his forehead before heading back to his desk.
Michael stood there stupidly a moment. Then he squared his shoulders and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Before he could go to the parlor he had to step into the dark alcove by the water closet and press his face into the wall. When he stopped shaking, he wiped the wet from his cheeks, drew a deep breath and pinched his cheeks to give them color as he went out into the parlor to meet his lover.
“Let’s go somewhere different today.”
To Michael’s credit, he managed to keep his voice largely in line. Even better, Albert wasn’t just receptive to the idea—rather, he almost seemed pleased. In fact, he was in a mood Michael hadn’t ever quite seen in him before.
“Wh-Where would you like?” He leaned back against the carriage cushions and smiled. “An-n-nother bookstore? Club?” His smile curled up at one corner, and his eyes twinkled. “Or p-perhaps something…out of town?”
Michael stilled. “Are you jesting?” He realized what Albert must mean and relaxed a little. “You want to take me to some suburban garden, don’t you.”
He must not have marshaled his tone very well, for Albert’s smile turned from devilish to wry. “I’ve t-t-taken you to t-t-too m-many gardens.” He sighed and turned his palm up in a conciliatory gesture. “No g-g-garden. Something j-just for y-y-you.” He paused. “Though w-w-we w-w-will need to st-st-stay the n-night. Is that a p-p-problem?”
Michael didn’t know. Was it? “How far out of town are we going?”
Albert’s lips quirked as he shook his head. Ah. So it was a secret.
Well.
Michael tried to think quickly, though he wasn’t sure if that meant reason or heart were leading. He hadn’t been out of town in years. In fact, he’d left town exactly twice in his entire life, and both had been…before. It shouldn’t make any difference, but…well, it did. Overnight with Albert. There would be no running away if things
went badly. No bursting into the streets, finding an urchin and summoning Rodger.
Rodger, who’d accused him of being unable to think for himself, take care of himself.
“H-How long?” Michael asked. Despite his best efforts, it came out a whisper. His blood wasn’t just pounding in his ears now. It was banging at the back of his throat.
Albert looked somewhat chagrined. “I m-must be back by tom-m-morrow evening.”
Michael let out a relieved breath. “That’s fine.” One night. One night with Albert.
Three days.
He swallowed his fear and nodded. “Yes. Yes—I can go.”
“Do y-you need anything?”
Michael shook his head. “I’ll need to send a messenger to Rodger, but other than that, no.” His cheeks colored as he added, “Though I don’t have any coin with me.”
Albert waved this idea away with his hand. “W-We will s-send word from the st-station.”
Michael blinked. “Station?”
Albert nodded. “I th-thought you m-might enjoy the t-t-train. Is th-that all r-r-right?”
Michael didn’t know. He’d seen the trains, of course—he’d gone down to watch them for a lark. He’d read several papers about them. But ride one? Of course he’d love to. But it just seemed so…so…
Well.
He cleared his throat. “Of course. I only—you surprise me, Albert. I would think trains would be a bit…busy for you.”
Albert grimaced. “I w-w-wear c-cotton in my ears.”
“So you’ve been on the train before?”
He nodded. He was still watching Michael closely. “W-We could take a c-c-carriage, if you’d r-r-rather.”
On a bumpy country road. Michael remembered that part very well. He shook his head. “No, a train would be lovely. I’m simply…surprised.”
A Private Gentleman Page 18