by Ruby Moone
Fear gripped Tristan. Hard and brutal.
He pushed Gareth aside and took Samuel’s face in his hands. Eyes closed, unmoving. He couldn’t see a wound, but then Gareth dragged his arm from behind him and his coat was covered in blood. They both stared stupidly until Gareth put a hand to the back of Samuel’s head and it, too, came back coated in blood.
Tristan pushed his fingers into Samuel’s neck, frantically searching for a heartbeat. It was there. It was strong. He managed to breathe through the fear that strangled him.
“Go and get my cousin.”
“Who the fuck is your cousin? He isn’t going to listen to me. You go. I will take care of him.”
“I am not leaving him.”
“You have to. He won’t die.”
“How do you know?”
“I won’t let him. Go. Now.”
Tristan hesitated and then tore out of the building. He ran until he found a hackney. The driver took one look and sprung the horses all the way to Mayfair. Tristan fell out of the cab when they arrived at Alfie’s door. Threw coins at the man, told him to wait, and scrambled up the stairs of Alfie’s house. He didn’t even knock. He staggered into the hallway, slipping on the polished tiles.
“Alfie! Alfie! Where are you?”
The butler bustled into the hallway looking deeply affronted. “My lord.” He bowed. “Lord Alfred is in his chamber. He is not yet dressed…my lord…?”
Tristan ran past him and up the stairs until he located Alfie’s room and barrelled through the door. Alfie was standing in his shirtsleeves as his valet slid his waistcoat on for him.
“Good God, Tris?” he shrugged his valet’s hands away and did up the buttons himself. “What are you doing haring about at this ungodly hour?”
“It is past noon,” Tristan panted. “I need your help.” He looked pointedly at the valet and Alfie flicked his fingers and the man left.
“Sit.”
“I can’t. I need your help. Samuel has been injured. Someone hit his head. He is bleeding and unconscious. I need you to come you will know what to do. You served in the army. You saw injured men. I am afraid to get a physician in case I give us away…”
“Show me.” Alfie was pushing his arms into his coat and Tristan had to help, it was so well fitted.
“I have a hackney waiting outside.”
* * * *
Gareth still had his arms around Samuel in exactly the same spot as he had left him. He was still crooning softly, and Samuel was still unconscious.
“Let me.” Alfie moved Samuel so that he could lay him on the floor and examine him. Alfie may have all the hallmarks of a dandyish fop, but during the wars against Napoleon he had fought valiantly and spent time as a medic tending to the wounded. There was no-one else that Tristan would have trusted to look at Samuel. Alfie ran his hands all over him, and then pulled up his shirt revealing bruises and contusions. He felt his pulse and opened each eye carefully.
“Concussed I would say, but otherwise appears in good shape. What happened?” He looked up at Tristan and then ran his eye over Gareth, who was looking shaken.
“We don’t know. Might I introduce Gareth…” Tristan looked at Gareth, conscious that yet again he was introducing a man to his cousin without knowing his name.
“Scott. Gareth Scott.” He held out his hand.
Tristan completed the introduction.
Alfie took Gareth’s hand, shook it for a moment, and then returned his attention to Samuel. “We need to get him to bed.”
“We can’t stay here,” Gareth said. “They might come back for him.”
Tristan knelt by Samuel’s side and ran his hand gently over his hair, and then down his face. Gareth surprised him by gripping his shoulder and casting him a warning look.
“Don’t worry. Alfie knows.”
Gareth stared for a moment and then nodded.
“I am presuming you do, too?” Alfie said with an unreadable look in Gareth’s direction. Gareth nodded, chin in the air. “We need to take him out of here and get him somewhere safe,” he said.
“Get him to my house,” Alfie said. “We will drag him in and make it look as though he is foxed.”
Tristan gathered up everything that belonged to Samuel that wasn’t ruined, thrust it into a bag, and then between the three of them they got him down the stairs. Samuel started moaning softly as they did so and never had Tristan been so pleased to hear someone groaning.
“Shh, love. Nearly there,” he whispered. Samuel opened his eyes a moment and there was a look of such relief, such trust, that Tristan had to look away.
* * * *
Every inch of his body hurt. Sam peeled open an eye as he tried to make his feet work. He found himself being bundled into a hackney, and the only thing that kept him from passing out again was Tristan’s firm arm about him. His head lolled because his neck appeared to be too weak to hold it up.
“Come on, old chap.” Tristan’s voice broke through the fog and he felt him stroke his cheek. “Chin up. Have you safe in a trice.”
“Wha…wha…” Sam tried to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Wha’ happened?” His head wouldn’t work any better than his mouth.
“Don’t you remember?”
Sam didn’t really want to remember so he let his eyes close and leaned into Tristan’s warmth, feeling thankful that he was there.
He was being dragged upstairs. Sam tried to lift his feet but the pain exploding in his head made it hard. He heard someone calling him a lazy sod and tried to give them a piece of his mind, but his mouth wouldn’t work properly.
Tristan. Where was Tristan? He had to warn him, couldn’t let them get to him. Couldn’t let Mosely anywhere near Tristan.
“Tristan! Tristan!”
* * * *
“He’s calling for you,” Alfie said.
Tristan was off the bed in Alfie’s guest room before he was fully awake. He staggered a bit but grabbed the bedpost. “Is he awake?”
“Not really, but he is getting himself agitated and that can’t be good.” Like him, Alfie was still dressed, but his hair was messed and his cravat wilted. “Though I confess I will feel happier about him when he wakes up.”
Tristan rubbed his eyes and followed. Samuel was in the guest room and they were taking turns at watching over him. He had wanted to stay the whole time, but had finally allowed Alfie and Gareth to share the burden on the proviso that they called him if Samuel so much as moved. He hurried down the dark corridor, and on hearing Samuel call his name in a state of high agitation he broke into a run. His stockinged feet padded soundlessly on the carpet.
“I’m here,” he said, sliding onto the bed beside Samuel. “Shh, I’m here.” He took the man’s hands and rubbed them. “You are quite safe.”
“You have to get away. They are coming for you. Mosely is coming for you.” Sam’s eyes were still closed but his brow was furrowed and his head thrashed on the pillow. “Tristan! Tristan!”
“Hush now. I am here with you so I am safe. We are all safe.”
Samuel subsided into the pillow and closed his eyes still muttering. Tristan stroked his head.
Gareth came into the room yawning. “What was that?”
“He said they were coming for me.”
All three men looked at each other. “Is this Dante’s men? Mosely?” Tristan asked of Gareth.
“I’d lay odds.”
Alfie arched an eyebrow. “What in God’s name would they want with Tristan?” he said to Gareth. He then turned to Tristan. “Do they know who you are? Have they your direction?”
Tristan shook his head. “No, I have been careful to remain anonymous.” His heart was beating fast.
Gareth pulled a face. “I hate to tell you this, but I guarantee that Dante and Mosely know who you are, and are perfectly aware of where you live.”
“Wonderful,” muttered Alfie, running his hands through his hair.
“Gareth, you should return,” Tristan said. “They might r
ealise you are gone.”
Gareth flicked his hair over one shoulder. “Too late for that. The men who attacked Sam are Moseley’s men. They recognised me and probably you, too.”
Alfie made an exasperated sound and let his hands flop to his sides.
Gareth glared at him. “The problem is, Sam’s cousin ran away at Christmas, and Mosely was sent to get him back. He failed. If Dante realises that Sam is gone, and now me…” He shrugged.
“I have no connection at all to Dante so we should be safe here,” Alfie said.
“Well, I am not going anywhere,” Tristan said. “If Dante works out the connection between us and wants to come here we will be ready for him. Damned if I am letting the man chase me away. Samuel needs to rest. We are staying here.”
“The other thing is…” Gareth hesitated and then continued. “I am afraid Mosely has something of an obsession with Sam. That was one of the reasons he ran when he did. Mosely is not a good man. He’s a bastard through and through.” Gareth rolled his shoulders and then spoke again. “When Harry Wilson got out he managed to get one of the children out with him, too. Mosely was furious. I heard Dante was apoplectic.”
“Children?” Tristan frowned. “What do you mean, children?”
Gareth looked at Tristan, over to Alfie, and then back to Tristan. He cleared his throat. “Some of the clients like them young.”
Tristan went cold all over. “I see,” he whispered.
“If Dante finds out that Mosely has lost another then…” he shrugged.
Alfie crossed his arms over his chest. “I still don’t see what the hell this has to do with Tristan. This chap Mosely would have nothing to gain by coming for the Earl of Chiltern.”
Gareth tilted his chin at Alfie. “He will think that the Earl of Chiltern has an awful lot to lose and it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if Mosely didn’t fancy making up the lost income from a spot of blackmail.”
“Bastard tries anything like that and…” Alfie said. Tristan place a hand on his sleeve, halting his tirade.
“Alfie, we just need some time for Samuel to recover. How long will it take?”
Alfie controlled himself with some difficulty. “It depends when he wakes. If there are no ill effects, a day or two.”
“What kind of ill effects?”
Alfie looked away.
“Alfie?”
“Well, injuries to the head are tricky. Mostly, one wakes up with a raging headache, but I have seen men wake and forget who they were. I have seen people apparently recover only to die…” He shrugged. “I can’t say.”
Tristan’s heart squeezed so tightly in his chest that it was hard to breathe.
“I see.”
“I think we need to lock all the doors, just in case, and get some rest.” Alfie moved with brisk precision.
“I agree. I am going to stay with Samuel. I suggest you two rest.” Both men left with some reluctance, and Tristan slid into the bed with Samuel, Alfie’s words ringing in his ears. He was damned if he was going to lose him either to Mosely or to a head injury. Samuel stirred as he settled himself beside him.
“Tristan?”
“I’m here.”
Samuel dragged open his eyes, but they were unfocused. “Stay away from Mosely,” he whispered. “You must stay away…”
“Shh.” Tristan stroked Samuel’s cheek. His head was bound with a cravat, leaving tufts of dark hair sticking up out of the top. His face felt warm. “Hush now. You are quite safe here. We all are.”
“Jus’ keep away from him. Promise.”
“I promise,” Tristan whispered and stroked his face again until he settled. When he appeared to be sleeping naturally he moved silently from the room and returned to the parlour where Gareth and Alfie appeared to be having words.
“Is aught amiss?” he asked and both shook their heads.
“I think we should get away somewhere,” Gareth said, planting his hands on his hips.
“I am not running away.” Tristan couldn’t see how going anywhere would help, but then he realised that Gareth was probably in the same position as Samuel. Beholden to Dante, owned by Dante and wholly without money.
“Please don’t worry, Gareth.” Tristan closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders. “I will make sure you are safe and provided for.”
Gareth stared at him, and Tristan braced himself for the rejection, the prickly show of pride, kicking himself for speaking without thinking.
“Damned right you will. You got me into this, so it’s your responsibility to get me out of it. And to make sure I have enough blunt to live.”
Tristan opened his eyes wide. Well, that was direct.
Gareth walked over to him and put a finger under his chin. “Do not mistake me for Sam. I will take everything that you offer and more.” Those dark eyes were disconcerting, but Tristan held his gaze.
“I will not run away. I will…”
“Oh, for crying out loud will you listen to yourselves,” Alfie said, and pulled at Gareth’s arm, moving him out of Tristan’s way.
“Do you recall the invitation I extended for the house party this weekend?”
Tristan halted with a frown, nodded.
“Why don’t we go there?”
Tristan hesitated.
“We are not running away; we are simply taking up the offer of a weekend of likeminded company.”
He had a point. Whilst he was not prepared to run, he could see the sense of getting Samuel away until he was well enough to deal with the situation himself, and Gareth was right, he did have a duty to him.
“I suppose we could,” he said.
“Likeminded company?” Gareth said.
Alfie tugged his ear and then turned to Gareth. “The weekend is a gathering of likeminded individuals; you would be welcome to come if you feel that your position within the club has been compromised by helping my cousin.”
“I think we can safely say I have been compromised,” Gareth said, casting a sly glance in Alfie’s direction.
“You can pose as my guest,” Alfie said, surprising Tristan.
Gareth stared at him, chin in the air. “Is it a molly house?”
“Good God, no. This is a gentlemen’s weekend at the home of Lord Overdale where a few of us will meet for a weekend of gambling and sport on the face of it. There is nothing sordid about it, I assure you. It is merely an opportunity for men of our…persuasion to have time where we can act as we please and not have to look over our shoulders every moment, not have to guard our expressions at all times.”
Tristan watched the exchange with interest. He also wished he had known that this kind of party existed. It would have made life significantly more tolerable.
“You appear to be assuming that my nature is the same as yours.” Gareth tilted his hips slightly and put a hand on one. It was a ridiculously effete gesture and Tristan had to smile, particularly as his oh, so smooth cousin was looking a little flustered. “Are you asking me as your partner for the weekend?”
Tristan’s eyes were bouncing from one to the other, he was fairly certain his mouth was hanging open.
“I am suggesting that we all go somewhere safe. The exact arrangement can be decided upon later. I am merely suggesting that you stay with us out of interest for your safety given your efforts to protect my cousin. Take it or leave it.”
Gareth straightened, tossed his long shiny hair over one shoulder, and walked sinuously across the small distance that separated them and stood before Alfie. Alfie stood his ground and didn’t move an inch. There were almost nose to nose.
“Thank you,” said Gareth, his voice low and husky. “Your concern is touching.” He blinked slowly, leaned forward, and touched his lips to Alfie’s and kissed him gently. “I think I would rather like to be yours for the weekend.” He flicked Alfie gently on the cheek with one finger and then turned back to Tristan. He rubbed his hands together, changing demeanour and tone completely. “Right. Let’s get cracking. We need proper togs for this
outing. I for one am not turning up looking like a country bumpkin. He strode over to Tristan. “We are much of a height and build, perhaps you could loan me something?”
Tristan smiled. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, watching Alfie, who was flushed and touching his fingertips to his lips.
Chapter 10
After a swift visit to Tristan’s house, the bags were packed and loaded into a carriage. Samuel had enough outfits still at the house for a weekend away, and Gareth was suitably outfitted for the excursion having raided Tristan’s wardrobes. The doors were bolted, staff alerted to the possibility of intruders, and Tristan worked out that they had a few hours before setting off, so he made sure that his guests had all they needed and then bade them goodnight.
He took a deep breath and headed in the direction of Samuel’s room. He needed to stay with him through the night to make sure that he didn’t take a turn for the worse. Alfie had terrified him and he wasn’t prepared to take any risks. He crept into the room, feet soundless on the thick carpet. The fire was burning low in the grate, casting a soft shadow over the room and as the door clicked closed, Samuel moved. He groaned and rubbed his eyes.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Tristan moved to stand by the bed. “How do you feel?”
“I have a headache and I feel as though I have been trampled. By horses. Large ones.” He shifted a little and put a hand to his head. “What the hell happened?”
Tristan had to breathe evenly and force himself not to gather him up into his arms. He was awake. Awake and lucid. That was something, but Alfie had said that sometimes men did that and then died. He didn’t know what he would do if Samuel died.
“Mosely sent his men to find you. Gareth and I arrived just as they were beating you…” Tristan stopped and took another deep breath. The memory of that moment would haunt him for a long time. “I thought you…I thought they had killed you. Do you remember Gareth?” he said, and then cleared his throat.
Sam moved his hand and stared at him. “Of course I remember Gareth. What were you doing at my rooms? What are you talking about?” Samuel said, after considering him for a moment, squinting a little at him in the firelight.
