by Ava March
Those questions did not sit well. Gabriel had never given a hint there was someone else, but then again, Gabriel didn’t much like talking about himself. Any questions posed from Anthony were usually met with short, vague answers, giving Anthony the distinct impression Gabriel did not want him to pry. Hence why Anthony hadn’t put much effort into prying of late. He had been afraid one too many questions would lead to no more knocks on his door.
“Were you or are you expecting someone?” Pelham asked.
“Expecting? No.” He hoped to God Gabriel hadn’t found someone else, but if he had, Anthony wanted to know. It would hurt—hell, it would be downright agonizing to learn Gabriel had cast him aside again—but the unknown was going to drive him to Bedlam if he didn’t get answers soon.
“Waiting for someone, then?”
Anthony dragged his attention from the door. Perhaps Pelham...
No, Pelham wasn’t the social sort. His friend wouldn’t have any answers for him. Then again, what if by some off chance he did? And since Pelham preferred men, Anthony needn’t worry Pelham would find it suspicious that he was asking after another man. Before he could argue himself out of it again, he asked, “Have you seen Tilden about Town of late?”
Pelham’s dark brows lowered. “Tilden?”
“Gabriel Tilden. Of the Cheshire Tildens, though until recently he was residing in Derbyshire. I was good friends with his younger brother at Eton, spent a summer at their estate when I was sixteen. Gabriel Tilden married shortly after, though his wife passed away earlier this year. Anyway, he’s in London now, though he’s been proving a bit elusive of late.” That was an understatement. “And I wondered if you’d seen him.”
“I don’t believe so, but I also don’t believe I’ve ever met the fellow. He has a brother in the Commons, an older brother, if I recall correctly. A bit of a condescending, pompous bore.”
“You are correct, on both counts, though Stephan doesn’t resemble Gabriel in person or manner. Gabriel Tilden’s about our height, no overfed belly, chestnut brown hair instead of dark, quite handsome and unassuming in manner.”
Breath held, Anthony waited for his description to spark a recollection.
Please, say you’ve seen him, even if just in passing along a street.
Pelham shook his head. “I don’t believe I’ve seen him. Then again, I haven’t been gallivanting about. I’ve been to my solicitors’ office then here.”
The breath whooshed out of Anthony as his shoulders fell. So much for that idea. Now he was back where he’d started before Pelham had joined him at the table—with too many questions and no answers.
His disappointment must have been obvious, for Pelham said, “If you’d like, I can ask my driver to try to locate him. Morgan’s a useful sort and knows his way about Town. He can track him down then let you know what he finds without Tilden being the wiser.”
A tempting offer, but... “I wouldn’t want to put you out of a driver.”
“It’s not a bother. I’ve got grooms enough to take his place for a couple of days and ferry me back and forth from the solicitors’ office.”
“Well, if it’s not a bother. It’s just...” I need to know why he’s stopped knocking on my door. Bloody hell, he had turned into a pathetic, spurned lover. Anthony shook his head at himself. He and Gabriel had made no promises to each other. Gabriel wasn’t accountable to him. For all he knew, a business concern had pulled Gabriel out of town for a few days or he had gone to visit one of his other siblings for a short bit. Maybe there was no reason at all for concern. Still... “Thank you, Pelham. I’ll definitely take you up on your offer. Much appreciated.”
“Think nothing of it. I owe you for those rather persistent nudges.”
Anthony gave him a tip of the head. “Yes, you do. You have a tendency to be a stubborn, grumpy bastard. Took a lot of effort to nudge your arse.”
Rather than spear him with an annoyed glare, a short chuckle shook Pelham’s chest. And he actually smiled. He didn’t beam or anything, but that was definitely a smile curving his mouth. “You might be correct on that point.”
Damnation, the man was downright content. Amazing what a lover could do to lift one’s spirits. And it made Anthony long for Gabriel all the more.
By God, he hoped Pelham’s driver would be able to track down Gabriel.
Chapter Nine
As Anthony entered the dining room, his sister was just pushing back from the table.
“Anthony, how nice to see you again. It’s been ages since I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Indeed. All of twelve hours. I missed your delightful self.” As he’d not mentioned to Pelham that he spent most of his time at his bachelor apartments, he had taken to loitering around the town house, waiting for word from Pelham’s driver. “And I couldn’t resist the lure of one of Cook’s breakfasts.”
“Ah, the true reason reveals itself.” She presented her cheek to him, and he gave it a brotherly kiss. “I’ve finished but if you’d care for company, I can have another cup of tea with you. Simon’s still abed. Mother wishes to pay some calls this morning, but there is no hurry for us to leave.”
His younger brother had become quite the laze-about of late. Likely storing up sleep before he returned to Oxford. “Thank you, but you needn’t hold up Mother on my account. I can make do with my own company and a large plate from the buffet.”
“You just want an excuse not to accompany us if Mother asks you to.”
Anthony inclined his head. “Perhaps.” There was no perhaps about it. He had no plans to leave the town house unless absolutely necessary that day.
She gave him a little shake of the head, a small smile touching her lips. “Your secret is safe with me. Enjoy your breakfast, brother of mine.”
With that, she left the dining room. Anthony piled his plate with eggs and toast from the silver serving dishes on the buffet, then took a place at the table. He poured himself a cup of coffee and settled in to wait.
Almost two full days had passed since he’d shared dinner with Pelham. He hadn’t yet decided if it was a good omen or a bad one that Morgan, Pelham’s driver, had yet to give him a report on Gabriel’s whereabouts. If Gabriel was still in Mayfair, it shouldn’t have taken Morgan over a day to locate him. Mayfair wasn’t all that large. But perhaps the longer search didn’t necessarily mean Gabriel had taken up with someone else in another part of Town. Perhaps Gabriel had indeed gone to visit another of his siblings. Maybe he had gone to see Pearce. Wiltshire was closer to London than Gabriel’s house in Derbyshire, making the journey a more reasonable one.
He heard the tap of feminine footsteps as his mother and Penelope came down the stairs and departed for their calls. Given his mother hadn’t stopped in to bid him good morning, Penelope must not have mentioned to her that he was there. She was a good sister. He loved his mother, but he was in no mood to have to refuse her a request.
He had just poured himself another cup of coffee when a knock sounded on the front door. A moment later, his butler appeared in the dining room.
“Your lordship, you have a caller. A Mr. Jack Morgan.”
Finally. “Show him to the study. I will be up shortly.”
When he entered the study, he found Pelham’s driver standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back. He’d seen the dark-haired man many a time on the driver’s bench of Pelham’s town carriage, yet he hadn’t realized just how large Morgan was. Anthony wasn’t short by any means, but compared to Morgan, he felt both short and slight of build. The man had to be a good five inches taller than Anthony’s own almost six feet, and he was damned broad too. Or maybe it was just the long dark greatcoat exaggerating his size.
Or maybe not, Anthony thought, as he stopped before Morgan and extended a hand. “Good morning, Mr. Morgan. You have my thanks for the call. Were you able t
o locate Mr. Tilden?”
“Yes, your lordship,” Morgan said, with a deferential tip of the head.
Thank heaven. “Please, have a seat.” Anthony waved a hand toward the armchairs.
“Thank you for the offer, your lordship.” Though Morgan didn’t make a move toward a chair. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and produced a folded piece of paper. “His whereabouts are detailed in this note.”
Like that would do him any good. But rather than leave Morgan standing there with the note in hand, Anthony took it. “Just tell me what you found.”
A nod from Morgan. “Mr. Tilden has taken a room at Smith’s Inn, which is located around the corner from The Old Goose, which is off of Cheapside.”
“Smith’s Inn,” Anthony repeated, committing it to memory. “Cheapside? What has he been doing there?”
“Frequenting gambling hells, my lord. There are quite a few in the area.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Yes, my lord. I tracked him to The Old Goose—it is a gambling establishment—and according to the cashier, Mr. Tilden has been a regular patron. He has also been known to frequent other similar establishments in the area.”
“He’s been gambling?” Hopefully he didn’t sound as shocked as he felt.
The compassion in Morgan’s dark eyes indicated Anthony hadn’t succeeded on that front. “Unfortunately, yes, my lord. Witnessed him at the tables myself.”
“Was he winning?”
“I don’t believe so.”
When had Gabriel started gambling? Never once had Gabriel even brushed against the subject of gambling tables with him. “And you are certain he is staying at Smith’s Inn?”
“Yes. I followed him there after he left The Old Goose.”
“Did he see you?” Not that it mattered. Pelham had just recently arrived back in London, and Anthony highly doubted Gabriel would have any cause to connect Morgan with Pelham, and Pelham to Anthony.
“He did not give any indication that he had. I followed at a distance, and remained outside the inn until the light in his room went out. He didn’t emerge from the inn, so he must have retired for the night. His room is on the second floor of the inn, the front left window.”
Doing his best not to let on that the next question had been pressing most heavily on his mind these last two days, he asked, “Was he alone?”
“He returned to the inn alone.”
Thank you, God. “And how did he appear, when you saw him at the hell?”
“Disappointed by his loss, but otherwise, he appeared well.”
That was something, at least.
“Is there anything else you found?”
“No, my lord. Everything is as I’ve relayed to you.”
“You have my thanks, Mr. Morgan, and I will be sure to extend my thanks to Pelham for your services when next I see him.” With his free hand, Anthony pulled a few coins from his pocket and held them out to Morgan. “For your time and efforts.”
Morgan shook his dark head. “Thank you, but that is not necessary. Will that be all, my lord?”
At Anthony’s nod, Morgan gave him a half bow and left the study, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Anthony closed his eyes for a moment. Smith’s Inn, around the corner from The Old Goose. Cheapside. Satisfied he wouldn’t forget the details, he tossed Morgan’s note into the hearth. The flames popped and cracked as they devoured the white paper.
Cheapside was east and south of Anthony’s apartments. At least now he knew why Gabriel headed in that direction after he left Anthony’s bed. Yet how had Gabriel ended up in Cheapside? It wasn’t the best part of London, that was for certain. He’d never taken Gabriel to the East Side. Had someone else? Did Gabriel have another set of friends in London that Anthony wasn’t aware of? Was he in Cheapside because he was spending time with them? Or had he gone specifically looking for gambling hells? It was common knowledge Cheapside held a plethora of such establishments. Anyone who was in London for any length of time would have come across that information.
But why had Gabriel taken a room in that end of Town?
And Gabriel was choosing to spend his nights at the tables instead of with him?
Anthony scrubbed his hands through his hair. From what Morgan had seen, Gabriel wasn’t sharing the room at the inn with another. That worry, at least, was alleviated. But Morgan’s report spawned a whole other set of questions. Hopefully, Gabriel knocked on his door again soon, because if he didn’t, Anthony would...
Damnation, he couldn’t just go knocking on Gabriel’s door, then Gabriel would wonder how Anthony had come to find out exactly where he’d taken a room. And the last thing Anthony wanted to do was admit he’d had Gabriel followed. That would certainly make him look like a desperate, lovesick fool.
Ah hell. At least he needn’t loiter about the town house for the rest of day. The sun was shining, so maybe he’d take a gallop in the Park to clear his head, and then he could go back to loitering at his bachelor apartments every night, waiting for Gabriel to call.
And when next Gabriel did call, Anthony would find a way to nudge him on the subjects of inns and hells, giving Gabriel an opening to tell him the truth.
* * *
Hand on the doorknob, Anthony took a deep breath in an effort to push aside the giddy eagerness. That knock had to be from Gabriel. Focus, he reminded himself.
Three days had passed since Morgan’s report. Three days of Anthony deciding just how he would nudge Gabriel. And now Gabriel was finally here.
Don’t let the opportunity pass you by.
Resolved, Anthony turned the knob and opened the door. “Evening, Gabriel. Fancy finding you at my door.” He stepped aside to allow Gabriel to enter.
“Did I wake you?”
“No,” Anthony replied, as he always did to that question. He hadn’t fallen asleep before one in the morning for the past week and a half, as he’d waited for Gabriel to call again. With a double click, he shut the door and locked it. Instead of saying I was on my way to bed. Care to join me? he held his tongue and let silence hang in the room.
Gabriel looked the same as always did—chestnut brown hair tidy, the knot on his cravat neatly tied. He didn’t appear as though he’d been spending time in a dingy gambling hell. He could have just come from a musicale.
“Were you on your way to bed?” Gabriel asked.
“Not quite yet. Take off your coat. Stay awhile. Would you care for a drink?”
A line pulled between Gabriel’s eyebrows. He shook his head. “No, thank you.” Then he did as bid and unbuttoned his overcoat and hung it on the rack by the door.
“Well, I’d care for a whisky. Was just going to pour myself one when you knocked.” He crossed to the console table. Glass clinked faintly as he poured a splash of whisky into a tumbler. “Are you still on escort duty, or has your sister’s husband returned?”
A strong, lean body pressed up behind him. Gabriel palmed Anthony’s hips, held him tight against Gabriel’s groin. The beginning of an erection nudged the crease of Anthony’s arse.
“Can the whisky wait?” Gabriel whispered in his ear. “Because I can’t wait for you.”
A heavy bolt of lust shot straight to Anthony’s cock. Focus! “I was just wondering if you’d be in Town much longer, or if you’d decided to stay on.”
“What I’m decided about is having you.” Gabriel’s hot breaths scorched past Anthony’s ear. One of the hands on Anthony’s hips coasted around to palm his cock. Gabriel gave the length a squeeze through Anthony’s trousers.
Anthony couldn’t stop the moan. Abandoning the glass of whisky, he turned in Gabriel’s arms. The distinct note of stale cigar smoke wafted from Gabriel’s navy coat. A firm reminder for Anthony to stay on task. “You smell like a gambling hell,” he m
urmured, the comment offhand and not an accusation.
He didn’t miss the quick line of tension that ran though Gabriel’s body.
“I’d rather smell like your bare skin.”
“Would you now?” Gabriel clearly didn’t want to discuss how he spent his evenings of late or his new accommodations. For an instant, Anthony debated which question to pose next. Then the worry flittered through Anthony’s head. If he kept nudging, would Gabriel stop knocking?
The hell with it. He wasn’t sharing that room at Smith’s Inn with another. Gabriel was here with him now. That was what mattered most.
“Well, I can help you with that.” Anthony nipped at Gabriel’s bottom lip. “As a matter of fact, I do believe it’s time for me to head to bed. Care to join me?”
A low growl rumbled from Gabriel’s chest, his eyes darkening with passion. Then Gabriel’s mouth slanted over his own, and Anthony forgot why he’d even wanted to nudge Gabriel anywhere but into his bed.
Chapter Ten
Red twenty-three. Please, please, stop there.
The white marble spun about the spinning wheel.
Red twenty-three. Please, please.
The wheel slowed.
His hands gripped the table’s rail tightly, every muscle strung taut, every fiber of his being focused on that small white marble.
The marble dropped down onto the numbers, clacked about, then settled into a slot on the wheel.
All the breath whooshed out of Gabriel.
“Black thirty-one,” the croupier called.
It was all he could do not to lunge toward his fat stack of chips as the croupier wiped them from the table.
Two hundred pounds. Gone.
Thick and oppressive, wretched desperation descended. What the hell was he going to do now? That had been his last chance.
Bloody hell, he shouldn’t have bet so heavily, but a win would have given him seven thousand pounds. The lure, the possibility of winning so much with one spin of the wheel, had been too great to resist. And he’d been certain, so certain, the wheel would finally look kindly on him.
