by Lee Rowan
“Oh, no, nothing. His manner is all that is pleasing, it is only…” Elspeth bit her lip. “One of my friends who married a few months ago—I cannot tell you her name—discovered that the gentleman who was so well-behaved and courteous in public drinks terribly at home. His whole household lives in terror of his temper… and she is married to him now, and trapped. I do hope Harry is a true gentleman, but how ever would I learn something like that?”
“Ask our redoubtable Norwood to talk to some of Edrington’s servants,” Brendan said promptly. “I learned that in Oxford. The servants know everything.”
“Oh, I could not!”
“No, of course not; a young lady is not supposed to know about such things. But I can, and I will, if Edrington offers and you are inclined to accept his suit.” He patted her hand. “Fear not, little sister, I’ll see that you are kept safe from any lurking Bluebeard, no matter how well he may dance.”
She bounced from her chair and hugged him. “You are the best brother! And what of your own game? Has any lady yet caught your fancy?”
Brendan hoped his smile looked as carefree as her own. “No, not as yet. You know very well that I cannot think about settling down until I decide what I mean to do with myself, Ellie. It’s as well that my heart seems to be immune. And no matter what Mama may expect, I have no more desire to be a churchmouse than you do.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I have heard all about Mr. Fenwick.”
Elspeth covered her mouth to hide a smile. “Oh, dear. Yes, Mr. Fenwick is a good man, I am sure, but he is so dreadfully somber. We should make one another quite unhappy, whatever he may believe. I have decided to introduce him to my friend Millicent Peabody. She thinks him quite handsome, and her father is a Vicar, of a very good family. Millicent also has a serious, reverent outlook on life. She has cross-stitched several of the Proverbs, and they hang on the walls of her father’s study.”
Brendan would never have rolled his eyes if their mother had been present, but he felt free to do so now. “I hate to speak ill of your friend, but she sounds a bore.”
“You would find her so, I’m sure, and I am seldom able to spend much time with her without being driven to distraction. But she is exactly what Mr. Fenwick needs in a wife. Millicent would be excessively happy organizing a parish and scheduling christenings.”
Brendan thought the prospect appalling. “How do you propose to transfer Mr. Fenwick’s affections from yourself to Millicent?”
“I mean to ask Anne’s advice. Mama has advised me not to meddle, but it would be an act of Christian kindness to put them in one another’s way.”
He grinned. “And an act of kindness to yourself to remove yourself from Fenwick’s!”
“Yes, indeed!” Elspeth admitted. “Virtue is its own reward, they say.”
Brendan laughed aloud. Almack’s would be dull as dust, no doubt, but his sister was never so. He could do much worse than to devote the next few months to helping her sort the wheat from the chaff.
CHAPTER 4
The next week passed in such a blessedly ordinary whirl of social activity that Brendan began to feel as though the disquieting incident at The Arbor had been some sort of unpleasant dream. He found himself content to be settled in the normal routine of his family home, with Elspeth’s social success the focus of everyone’s attention and the only crisis he had to deal with the uproar that occurred when Imogen borrowed her aunt’s pearl-and-silver bracelet without permission and forgot where she had put it. But even that was not an unmixed blessing; the resulting scramble put Elspeth into such a state of exasperation that she forgot to be anxious about her debut at Almack’s.
Brendan duly escorted his sister, made his manners to the esteemed ladies who ruled Almack’s, met the Honourable Harry, and liked him at first sight. Edrington was a young man of medium height and forthright address, and Brendan had to admit that if his sister’s suitor had not been obviously smitten with Elspeth, he’d have wished him inclined in another direction. Harry’s coloring was similar to Tony Hillyard’s—light hair and blue eyes—but there was a spark of energy and intelligence about Edrington that Tony lacked completely.
“Well?” Elspeth asked, as Edrington set off, unnecessarily, to fetch her a glass of lemonade. “What do you think?”
“I remember him now,” Brendan said. “I was not as keen on sports as many of my peers, but that gentleman was said to be his college’s finest bat at cricket.”
“That’s—” Elspeth frowned. “I fail to see what difference that makes in his potential as a husband, though I suppose it might be helpful in raising a son. But what do you think of him?”
It seemed to Brendan that he could have given no higher praise, but he only said, “He seems a promising specimen. And he’s quick off the mark to protect you from thirst—I perceive he’s already won through at the refreshment table. See, the conquering hero comes!”
He stayed nearby while Elspeth consumed the offering brought by her devoted Ganymede, and made desultory conversation with them both until the floor was cleared for dancing. He made his own escape to the refreshment table when Edrington led his sister off to take their places in the first country dance.
It was at affairs like this that Brendan was most keenly aware of the difference between his own feelings and those of his contemporaries. The card-players, already settling down at the tables to play whist and basset, the music-lovers who were there mainly to dance, the peacocks displaying their finery to the young ladies… it seemed that everyone else in the place was there to see and be seen, the ladies flirting with their fans and the gentlemen bestowing their lordly attention.
Brendan checked his own self-pity and reminded himself that he was not here for his own amusement, but for the protection and encouragement of his little sister. He might as well resign himself to his fate and try to bring a bit of happiness to some of the young ladies who were a little too plump or too plain of face, and not receiving the attention being paid to the belles of the ball. He was, after all, probably not the only person here who would prefer to be at home with a good book.
He sighed, and marched off to do his duty.
The week passed quickly, and the following Tuesday found Elspeth anticipating her second Wednesday evening at Almack’s with far less fluttering than the first. Brendan offered to take her for a turn around the Park, but she cried off, all her attention focused on choosing her costume for the next evening.
The role of older brother was proving much less onerous than Brendan had anticipated. At home to receive callers or out on feminine errands of their own, Elspeth and his mother were kind enough not to demand a gentleman as escort every day; he even suspected they preferred to be on their own, free to dawdle in the shops. As a result, he found himself with plenty of time to give Galahad a daily hour of exercise that did them both a great deal of good.
He dismounted at the stable yard and, with a final pat, handed Galahad’s reins over to the boy on duty, the only question on his mind whether to walk home or stroll about for awhile. When he turned to the street, however, he found himself face to face with Tony Hillyard, who said, without so much as a word of greeting, “Have you been avoiding me?”
The accusation was so abrupt that Brendan had no immediate answer. Then he said, “Your manner last week, when I passed you in the Park, suggested you would prefer I did just that. How is the young lady?”
“To hell with the young lady!”
“That sentiment is hardly flattering to either of you,” Brendan said. He did not wish to continue the conversation in the presence of the hostler idling beside the stable door, so he turned and started off up the street, with Tony falling into step beside him as he made his way down the bustling avenue. “What brings you looking for me, Tony? I was not avoiding you, precisely, but I have been occupied with my family, as I mentioned in my note.”
“Your family is well, I hope?” Tony asked, apparently recalling the niceties of polite speech.
; “Very well, thank you.” He knew better than to ask after Tony’s father. “And how have you been?”
“Bedevilled. Caught between my father and a blackmailer. Brendan, you must help me.”
Brendan’s heart leapt into his throat. “A blackmailer? How—No, we must not speak of this in the street. Do you have your carriage nearby?”
“No. I’ve left the rooming house and taken a room at the York—we can talk there. I’m at my wits’ end!”
Brendan saw no way out. “Very well, I’ll come with you.”
Tony hailed a hackney, and once they were seated within, Brendan asked, “Why did you leave Mrs. French’s?”
“I gave that as my residence when I registered at the club. Not that the change will do me much good—the cur knows how to reach my father—but at least he can’t lay hands on me quite as easily.”
Brendan nodded and fell silent. He could hardly caution Tony against careless speech in public and keep chattering in the cab-driver’s hearing. But the drive was brief, and in too short a time Brendan found himself following Tony up to his room.
The door was scarcely closed and locked behind them when Tony threw himself into Brendan’s arms. “God, Bren, I’ve missed you… how could you be so cruel?”
Brendan’s head told him this was a very stupid thing to do. His heart had mixed feelings—irritation at Tony’s presumption, pity for his anxiety, and some lingering affection. But his body, particularly his cock, thought that this was the best thing that had happened in nearly two weeks. He was hard before he knew it, and Tony’s body pressing him against the wall didn’t make self-control any easier. “Tony, if you’re to be married, we should not—”
“I haven’t proposed, Bren. I’m not engaged. And even if I were…” His lips, warm and insistent, covered Brendan’s; then he moved his attention to Brendan’s neck, always a vulnerable spot. “Bren, you were right. I was a damned fool to ever go to the Arbor, and I must have been mad to let that molly get his paws in my breeches. I’m sorry, truly I am. Won’t you let me apologize?”
It was a poor excuse and Brendan could guess that Tony’s main purpose was to have it off with someone he knew would not betray him…but it had been a long dry spell, and damned if it wouldn’t feel good to just let Tony slide his hand down and unbutton—yes!
Brendan thrust forward as his flap fell open, and reached around to clutch at Tony’s warm, firm buttocks as the crafty little devil thrust against him. Nothing too intimate, he’d never risk that again, but dear lord, why was it that something so universally condemned could feel so perfectly wonderful? He stopped considering the matter in any coherent way as his body demanded what it had been missing, and in a few brief moments he was brought to climax by Tony’s hot seed spurting against his belly. He stayed there, leaning against the wall, pinned by Tony’s weight, until they both had time to catch their breath.
At last Tony stepped back, grinning, and Brendan straightened, taking a step away from the wall. He felt thrown off-balance by the sudden, almost impersonal intimacy, resented Tony for springing it on him, and was furious with himself for allowing it to happen. “Your hospitality is a little abrupt, Mr. Hillyard,” he said, taking refuge in formality as he tidied himself with his handkerchief. “I thought you wanted to talk.”
“Are you complaining?” Tony asked, his self-satisfied smirk fading.
“Perhaps I should be. If that was your only purpose in bringing me here, I think I had better take my leave.”
“Oh, Bren…” Tony took two steps across the smallish room and flung himself on the bed. “I said I was sorry, I admitted you were right—what more do you require?”
This room was not as spacious or comfortable as his previous lodging, but it seemed clean enough. No doubt Tony had hired it at short notice. Brendan chose one of two straight-backed chairs beside a table near the window. “I don’t mean to be brusque, but I want you to tell me what you were going on about—what’s this drama about blackmail?”
“It’s no drama.” Tony threw an arm across his face. “It’s real, and I don’t know what to do about it. Remember I told you about Dobson—”
“Sorry, who?”
“Dobson—Dick Dobson. Calls himself Dickey Dee, so his real name doesn’t get about.” He bounced to his feet, pacing restlessly.
“I don’t know either name,” Brendan said, “or what he has to do with you.”
“He’s the owner of the Arbor, Brendan. He’s been threatening me, and I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t know what to do.”
That was obvious. Brendan found a brandy flask where he expected it to be, in Tony’s valise, and poured a tot into the cap. “Drink this, sit down, and tell me everything. Start from the beginning.”
Tony threw back the drink as though it were water, and sat on the other chair. “The beginning… That was the night you went to the club with me.”
“When you…” Brendan wasn’t sure how he should put it.
“When I got stinking drunk and made a fool of myself, yes. You told me so. I must have been insane.”
Rather than agree with this accurate but unflattering assessment, Brendan said, “You told me he asked you to repeat the performance.”
“Yes. He asked. But he’s stopped asking, Bren. Now he’s ordering me to perform at the club.”
“Ordering you? Whatever for?” No, surely even Tony could not have been so stupid! “You didn’t agree, did you?”
“Of course not! After you left, I thought it over, and I realized you were right.” He uttered the words with obvious reluctance. “And I stayed away for a week or two, but things have been so damned boring since you left…” He put a hand on the tabletop, as though reaching out, but Brendan made no move to meet him halfway. “I went back this past Friday night. Just for some company.”
Brendan nodded, but could still find nothing to say.
Tony licked his lips. “Dee called me to his office. He made me an offer. I could take my pick of one of the men from the molly house on the corner—he owns that too, did you know? Calls them his ‘downstairs gents.’”
“What about them?”
“That show we saw… he’d been inviting one or two of the mollies up to the Arbor to show off the way that one fellow was doing when we were there. They pick up a little money for the show, perhaps an engagement for the evening. What Dee wanted was to have me perform onstage. With one of those men. Or with you.”
“What?”
“Or he’ll tell my father.” Tony poured himself another drink.
“Oh, dear God.” Brendan nearly reached for the bottle himself, but decided against it. One of them had to keep a clear head. “What basis does he have for such a threat? You didn’t sign any sort of agreement, did you?”
“Give me credit for some sense, would you? Of course not!”
“Then—did you tell him my name?”
“No, I did not—and I shan’t, and even if I did he couldn’t prove it was you. But he has my name and residence on the membership register.”
“Did you actually sign the thing?”
“Yes, but it only says, ‘Membership Register.’ It doesn’t even give the club’s name.”
“Then that’s nothing. He would never dare use it. Who would he report you to? The law? He’s keeping a disorderly establishment, he’s in more danger than you.”
“Bren, he threatened to show it to my father!”
Brendan could barely contain his irritation. “It’s an empty threat. What would he stand to gain by doing that? Your father would call him out—or beat him senseless,” he added, realizing that Tony’s father was not likely to employ a gentleman’s option.
Tony was shaking his head worriedly. “It’s not an empty threat. He could see that I was afraid he’d talk. Bren, you have to help me. I told him I would do it once, if he’d tear that page from the register and burn it, and he agreed. But he said I’d have to do it with you.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Brendan!”
“Tony!” He took a deep breath, calmed himself, and refrained from mimicking his friend’s whining tone any further. “Stop and think, please. You did something foolish, but you know it was foolish, and you know it would be a worse mistake to do it again. If he can make you do what he wants by holding that paper over your head, how can you think he would ever consent to give it up?”
“He said—”
“A man who would stoop to that kind of low dealing would say anything. You must realize that it would be the most serious kind of mistake to have anything further to do with him, or with that place. As for dragging me down to that hellhole, no. Absolutely not.”
“I thought you would help me!”
“Then you weren’t thinking very clearly, were you? There is no way I would be caught dead on that stage. I told you that once, and I’m telling you again. If you have a grain of sense, you’ll realize that this is Danegeld. Once you pay it, you’re trapped into paying again and again. He’ll not be satisfied with one performance. Why should he be?”
“What can I do?”
“Stay away from the place. What do you expect me to do, suggest you set fire to it? The way those buildings are connected and the abysmal luck you’ve had of late, you would probably murder everyone but Dobson himself, and no one deserves that. Or you might just report him to the police, anonymously. It’s illegal to keep a molly house, after all.”
Tony brightened. “Do you think that would serve?”
After a moment’s consideration, Brendan shook his head. “No. The problem’s the same—you can’t do that without harming everyone else, including my godfather. And if you did turn him in, the fellow would certainly guess you had informed on him, and name you just out of spite.”
“He would,” Tony agreed. “And that’s just what he’ll do it if I refuse.”
“Tony, that’s absurd! It would make no sense—can you imagine he would be stupid enough to incriminate himself on such a serious charge, just to spite you?”