James huffed. “I have done so, but I fear it is long gone. A gold-set ruby will not remain unsold for long. But enough of this. You are here to raise my spirits. What say you to Maw? I promise to leave you with at the least your undershirt.”
“We will see who is the one to lose their clothing,” replied Adam with a smirk.
James had to admit he liked Adam’s bravado. “You are not a stranger to the card tables, but maybe you are too confident.” James collected a deck of cards from the bureau in the corner. “Today you play against me, and by all the odds my luck must be due to change for the better.”
Adam took the deck of cards out of James’s hand. “Cards are not a game where you are only dependent on luck. You may have to learn to lose with grace!”
“You are very full of yourself.” James snatched the cards back. “You will do well to learn a lesson in humility.”
Before he could let his mouth get him into more trouble, he knocked back the contents of his glass. Added to what he’d already drunk at the palace James was well on the way to being tipsy and he felt his inhibitions loosen. He really should stop drinking. Despite his better judgement, he refilled his glass.
James offered the same to Adam, but he shook his head. “I haven’t finished this yet.”
“I must be especially thirsty this evening, and this is a particularly fine brandy.” James drained his glass again and refilled. “But enough of my thirsty nature. Let us play.”
James dealt the cards for Maw, a game his father had taught him to play. “Now, what are the stakes? We want to make this all the more interesting.”
“How about sixpence per trick? I would not wish to bankrupt the Crofton estate.”
Adam was a cocky devil, and the alcohol and James’s desire intermingled as he tried not to overthink. “You concern yourself with the contents of your own purse. I assure you I will have no trouble paying my dues. If you are able to beat me, that is.”
“I see there will be no reasoning with you this evening. Not that I have any evidence you are being any more unreasonable than normal.”
James huffed. “What do you mean by that? I am the very definition of reasonable.”
“In comparison to Lord Knaiper you may have a point. In regards to others, less so, but you are generally no worse or better than the average member of the peerage.”
“That is hardly a ringing endorsement, but I have been called far worse things by more important men than you.”
James examined his cards. Not the best hand he’d ever held, but they had potential. Unfortunately, Adam’s hand had even more, and before James could reconsider his strategy he had lost the next three tricks and was forced to concede Adam might be better at this game than himself.
Several rounds later he hadn’t won a single hand and was almost a whole pound down and several glasses drunker. He sank into his chair and watched Adam examine his cards carefully. Adam gnawed his bottom lip as he concentrated, making James desperately want to kiss him. James shifted in his seat, his cock hardening at the thought of getting his hands on Adam’s skin. It had been far too long since he’d enjoyed physical release with another, his recent relief coming by his own hand, and with everything else that had gone on, he thought some mutual pleasure with Adam would be a perfect restorative.
Adam placed his card down. “I fear you owe me another sixpence.”
James sat forwards in his chair, resting his chin in his hands. He smiled, in what he hoped was his most seductive manner. “There are other ways to collect your winnings.”
“Are there now?”
James couldn’t read Adam’s expression. The alcohol wasn’t helping him figure out what Adam was thinking, but it gave him the courage to lean in and slide his hand on to Adam’s thigh. “I think we could come to an amicable arrangement.”
Adam brushed his fingers over the back of James’s hand. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before interlacing his fingers with James’s. “You are very, very tempting. But you are also worse for wear from drink and grief.”
“No, you misunderstand.” James moved closer. “Your company would help. I find there is no shame in asking for comfort. Your comfort would be most welcome. Quite the restorative, even.”
Adam brought James’s hand to his mouth and placed a kiss on each of the knuckles. “You are beautiful, James—a true temptation—but I cannot and will not make love to you tonight in good conscience.”
“You do not need to worry about recriminations. I am very willing.”
Adam stood, pulling James to his feet. James waited breathlessly for the kiss, but it did not come. “I will escort you to bed, but to sleep, and in the morning, you will be rested and not be filled with regrets.”
“You must realise I would not regret spending the night with you. I have wanted you for a long time.” James tried to initiate a kiss, but Adam leaned away. “Please, do not make me beg.”
“Oh, James, you must understand that this is not a matter of desire but of doing the right thing. I am not a man to be romanced lightly. I will not easily be dismissed.”
“I do not wish to dismiss you!”
“Ah, if you knew me you would.”
James frowned, but the action made his head hurt. “I do not understand.”
“Probably for the best.”
James’s muddled brain could not come up with a suitable reply, so instead he let Adam lead him by the hand out of the parlour. As they mounted the steps, James had a brief moment of optimism that maybe Adam had changed his mind. At the top of the stairs, he pulled Adam in the direction of his bedchamber. “This way.”
Once inside, James shrugged off his jacket. “Come on, Adam. Your clothes won’t shed themselves.”
Adam’s hands on his biceps stopped him. Adam was so close the heat from his body drove James to distraction. “I will not do this. As much as I like pretty things, and you are one of the prettiest to have crossed my path, our friendship, as tentative as it is, would not weather the storm if you were to wake with regrets. No matter how passionate and delicious it might taste tonight, it will be ashes in the morning when you wake alone.”
“Then do not leave.”
“Not tonight. Maybe never. Or possibly one day and then for eternity. Oh, James, you could tempt a saint, but I must refuse.”
Adam moved him backwards and James hit the bed, sprawling across the cover. He reached out and tried to pull Adam down, but Adam evaded capture.
“I will call your manservant.”
“I don’t want you to go,” whined James, knowing he sound pathetic. “Why are you doing this?”
“It is for the best.”
James huffed and threw his arm over his face. He wasn’t sure long how he lay there, but when he next moved his arm, Remembrance was standing uneasily by the bed and Adam was nowhere to be seen.
He struggled to sit up. “Just help me with my boots, and then you may go.”
Remembrance sniffed. “If you don’t mind me saying, you would be more comfortable if you were to undress and put on your nightshirt.”
He nodded and let Remembrance undress him, the sting of Adam’s rejection dulled by the wine, but his heart sore. Sleep was what he needed. Maybe he could stay in bed for a week or two before Marchent came looking for him.
Chapter 12
James was not the type of man to mope, and although Adam’s, albeit gentle, rejection had not done his pride any good he had returned to court the next day with his head held high. In the cold light of morning, he’d appreciated Adam’s intent. It didn’t make it any better that he’d turned him down, but from his muddled memory James recalled that Adam had seemed genuinely regretful. However, he’d not seen Adam in the last few days, which had gone some way to reducing his embarrassment, but which also meant he’d not had the opportunity to talk to him. Last night at court, the king had hosted a troupe of acrobats and James had to laugh at the antics of a couple of his fellow nobles who seemed to think they had the same dexterity as a tr
ained contortionist. He had already spent a few hours that morning shoring up business deals, which had more weight since he was now the earl and no longer only the viscount, and he had just finished a meal of roast beef when Remembrance arrived at his study.
“There’s a young man saying he needs to talk with you, my lord. I tried to chase him off, but he wasn’t having any of it—close to rude, if truth be told.” Remembrance carried his indignance well, looking annoyed on James’s behalf that someone dared demand his master’s time.
“Did he say where he was from and what his business was?”
“He’s from Crofton Hall, my lord. One of the grubby younger servants. When I asked him the nature of his inquiry, he said it was none of my business, but the earl must see him.”
Poor Remembrance. He’d taken the disrespect to heart. “For someone to have travelled here from the hall to speak to me, I imagine they must think it very important.”
“I suppose so, my lord.” His shoulders sagged. “Shall I send him in?”
“Yes, please do.”
Remembrance huffed but left and a few minutes later returned with a young man, probably not much older than seventeen, with dirty-blond hair and clean but well-worn clothes. “I understand you need to speak with me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
James might not have had the years of experience of his father, but he prided himself on having the ability to tell if a man was lying or not, and the way the young man looked so pained meant he was sure anything he had to say was the truth.
“You came from the hall this morning, correct?”
“Yes, my lord. Officially I am here for the cook, to buy some spices.”
“And unofficially?”
“Well, it’s a bit awkward, my lord.”
“Yes, I imagine it might be if you felt the need to speak to me in person. Tell me your name and position in my household.”
James vaguely recognised him, but there were many servants at the hall and James only had real dealings with those who affected his personal daily tasks.
“Colin Merriweather, my lord. I suppose I’m a groom, but I’m more a general skivvy really.”
“Right. So what have you to tell me that is so important?”
“The thing is, my granddad, well, he had fine notions and he taught me how to read. Not brilliant or anything, but I know my numbers and a lot of words—some of them quite long.”
James laughed at that. Colin had a charming manner and he was pretty sure several of the maids would consider him a good prospect. “You know there are not many servants who can read?”
“Yes, my lord. That’s why I help Mr Clement. Although I don’t think he knows that I can read as well as I can. Not that I’ve told him otherwise.”
James suddenly realised where this might be going. “I suppose you read things he does not expect you to.”
Colin wrinkled his nose. “Not deliberately, my lord. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m looking in things I shouldn’t.”
“But?”
From a simple leather satchel he had strapped across his body, Colin removed a handful of charred sheets of paper. “I rescued these from a fire I was meant to watch until it died down. But I don’t think these should really have been burnt.”
James took the tattered pages and immediately recognised his father’s handwriting. “There were more?” he asked carefully, trying not to give away his thoughts that this might be all that was left of his father’s diary.
“I can’t be certain, but I think they came loose from a book that got jammed under a bit of damp wood, so it didn’t get the force of the heat.”
James quickly read the pages. Nothing told him of the concerns his father had had, but at least he knew what had happened to the diary. As much as he hated the idea that it was gone, at least they no longer had to search for something that was lost forever. “This was all you could save?”
“Rest was charcoal, my lord. I did have a look around, but I’m afraid there weren’t anything else worth saving.”
“I see. Nevertheless, thank you.”
Colin reached up and scratched his neck. “You see, my lord, this wasn’t what I wanted to speak to you about—well, not on its own.”
Whatever it was, it was bothering Colin enough to make him nervous, but still important enough he needed to address it. “Speak up then, Colin.”
“I… er….”
James understood his hesitation. “Are you concerned what you say may get you into trouble?”
“I’m scared it may see me dead.”
James sighed and pointed to the seat opposite. “Sit down. You have come to me despite fearing for your life. I am sure it is not so grave, but if you tell me what it is that bothers you, and I believe you, then we will see what protection I can offer.”
Colin sat in the chair. James saw him glance in the direction of the wine jug on the desk, but James wasn’t that accommodating to his servants. Colin huffed out a long breath before starting to speak. “I saw Mr Clement copying numbers into a big book, lots of columns and lists of what other people had been buying, but sometimes the numbers were different, or he added extra things to the list that weren’t on the other. If I am honest, my lord, I think he’s trying to cheat you.”
“Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”
“Not exactly, my lord. But I did say something to the cook about a side of beef, and she said she’d asked for it but it had not been delivered. She was quite annoyed, I can tell you.”
“Yes, I can imagine. Mrs Walters has somewhat of a temper, I believe.”
“Tell me about it.” Colin rubbed the side of his head, and James suspected he was remembering a ghost boxing around his ears he’d received. “Anyways, that side of beef was written down in the ledger Mr Clement used to present to your father. But last I looked for the book, it had gone.” He added “my Lord” as an afterthought.
James removed the ledger from his desk drawer. “Was this what you were looking for?”
He placed it on the desk and opened it for Colin to examine. “Yes! Yes it is.”
Colin flicked to a few pages before the end and pointed out an entry. “That’s the rogue beef, my lord.”
Colin had brought him the endorsement he needed to act. “Right. I’ll tell you what, Colin. I need some extra help in London, so I think you should remain here until I return to Crofton Hall next week.” It was the offer of safety James knew Colin wanted. “I hope that will not be an inconvenience for you.”
“Not at all, my lord. I’d be happy to stay here and help in any way you need.”
“Then you can start by taking a message to the Duke of Marchent. One of the servants will tell you where to go.”
James wrote out a quick message, then sealed it and handed it to Colin. “Wait for the answer. Understand? Then come straight back.”
Hyde Park was one of his favourite places in London. It also afforded him somewhere to speak to Marchent without being overheard. He did not want word getting back to Crofton Hall, giving his corrupt steward the opportunity to escape.
A few days of dry weather had made the ground easy underfoot and he found a large bay tree to laze under while he waited for Marchent to arrive. He would welcome his friend’s advice, not just on how to deal with his steward but how to further understand the running of a large estate. The extensive list Clement had provided had made him realise how little he knew, and despite the source not being trustworthy, he suspected the list at least accurate in terms of the work needed to be done and the oversight required. James knew he would need someone he could trust to do the job of steward, but at the same time he wondered if he could truly hand over that responsibility.
Marchent came striding across the grass, looking as if he was missing several hours’ sleep.
“You look like you spent the night in a whorehouse!”
“I could only be so lucky. I have spent the better part of the night with the king and his advisors over the discussions wit
h the French.”
James was not surprised. Marchent had helped the king on many occasions, just as their fathers had done. James had tended to be involved in more domestic discussions, and for now that suited him just fine. He had enough concerns without adding international politics to the pot. “Rather you than me. I think my own troubles may be mere foibles by comparison. Perhaps you should get to bed. I did not mean to inconvenience you.”
“It is not you who is the inconvenience. Come, unburden yourself, Crofton.” Marchent yawned as he sat next to James. “Remember, to me helping you is as important as helping the king.”
“You smooth-tongued devil. One day I may believe you.”
Marchent chuckled. “Oh, the scandals we could have started if I had even an ounce of attraction towards my own sex.”
James’s thoughts flicked back to the conversation he had shared with Adam. His and Marchent’s friendship had sent tongues wagging for as long as James could remember. They were the very best of friends, but it had never progressed further than that. Even if Marchent had found men to his tastes, he and James were too close, like brothers, for it to have developed into anything sexual. Not that court believed it—that would not be exciting enough for the gossipy janglers.
“Back to my problem, rather than our mythical desire for one another. One of my servants from the hall turned up at my London town house with a tale about my steward.”
Marchent sniffed noisily. “Then you have the culprit and the evidence you were seeking.”
“Yes—for the petty thefts at least. I want to move as swiftly as possible but yet be in control. I do not want people to think the new Earl of Crofton is prone to panic and to overreact.”
“You should not concern yourself with that. In my opinion, if you delay and dilly-dally you will cause more trouble. You might be seen as weak, unable to act when needed, and before long others will try to cheat you.” He prodded James in the chest. “Then, if there truly is something more going on, you will be seen as soft as the underbelly of a spaniel.”
James, Earl of Crofton Page 11
