Viscount’s Wager

by Ava March

  “I understand. Though that one—” Drake nudged his chin in the direction of the interior wall behind him, toward the driver’s bench “—isn’t pleased with himself. We were sent to watch over the two of you, but Carter had had his carriage stopped up the drive from the house and with the storm, it took a few moments for us to realize something might be amiss and come to your aid. Unfortunately, we weren’t quick enough to intercept Carter before he got to the two of you. If it is not asking too much, if you could reassure him that you do not lay the blame on him for your little journey to London, I would be most grateful.”

  “But of course. And I do not blame him, or yourself, Mr. Drake. The two of you were out in the stables and Carter came in the dead of night. It’s a wonder you even suspected something was amiss. And if I had known Carter would seek me out, I would have been much more expeditious in tending to matters in Derbyshire. But as I did not predict...” Letting out a sigh, he shook his head. What a right fine mess he had caused. “Neither of you should feel at fault. As I said, the situation is over and done with. Let us put it behind us. And I will have a word with Mr. Morgan, so he understands his guilt is unwarranted.”

  “And, Mr. Drake,” Anthony said. “I will be sure to extend my thanks to Pelham next I see him, for lending me the use of his most excellent and useful driver. You have my thanks, as well. If ever I can be of use to either you or Morgan, please don’t hesitate to seek me out.”

  Drake blinked, taken aback, as if he had not expected to be thanked. “You’re very welcome, your lordship. Just happy to be of assistance.”

  The carriage wound its way north and east toward Mayfair, Morgan expertly guiding the carriage through the busy streets. Anthony had turned his attention out the window. Gabriel studied his profile—the tightness of his jaw, the furrowed brow, the slightly pursed lips. Something was most assuredly pressing on Anthony’s mind.

  Ask, don’t assume, he reminded himself.

  Gabriel glanced across to Drake, who had begun reading a book he had taken from one of the unfamiliar bags and seemed completely absorbed in it. Satisfied Drake was paying them no mind, Gabriel reached out, took hold of Anthony’s bare hand that was resting on his thigh. He gave Anthony’s hand a comforting squeeze.

  Anthony pulled his attention from the view outside the window, a question in the gray depths of his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Gabriel asked, less than a whisper.

  Anthony gave Gabriel’s hand a squeeze in return. Such a simple gesture, yet somehow it helped to lift some of the worry from Gabriel’s heart. “It’s been a long day.”

  An excuse if ever Gabriel heard one. But perhaps now was not the best time to press Anthony. They were almost at the apartments anyway. He rubbed his thumb across the back of Anthony’s hand. “It’s not even close to noon. Though yes, it has been a trying day.”

  The carriage slowed to a stop before Anthony’s building. Gabriel reluctantly released Anthony’s hand, strong fingers slipping from between his own, and reached down to grab the bags he knew to be his and Anthony’s. “Thank you once again, Mr. Drake. And Lord Rawling will surely wish to thank Mr. Morgan on the morrow, when I am not forced to wear the same clothes a third day in a row.”

  Anthony made not a comment. Merely reached for the lever on the door. Gabriel’s teasing, lighthearted lover had vanished, and in his place was a tense, quiet man Gabriel barely recognized.

  After they all exited the carriage, Anthony paid his thanks to the two men again. Then he made to enter his building, pausing at the door to look back to Gabriel.

  “I’ll follow you up,” Gabriel said.

  It took some doing, but eventually he was able to convince Morgan that the man was not at fault for the events of the past day and a half. Well, he was able to get a nod of agreement out of Morgan. Hopefully that meant he’d been able to convince him, though the self-reproach in Morgan’s dark gaze indicated he could rival Gabriel in his ability to hold on to guilt.

  One could recognize one of one’s fellows, after all.

  “Truly, Mr. Morgan, I can do nothing but thank you for all you have done for myself and Lord Rawling. The duke is very fortunate to have you in his employ.”

  A pause. Then Morgan tipped his head. “You are most welcome.”

  Drake got up onto the driver’s bench to sit beside his lover, and then Morgan gave a flick of his wrists. The team of four obediently slipped into a trot, pulling the carriage down the street.

  Gabriel entered the building, went up the two flights of stairs and found Anthony’s door slightly ajar. He pushed the door fully open. Anthony was seated on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands.

  Doing his best to keep the worry from completely overwhelming him, Gabriel shut the door, turned the lock and set the bags on the floor. “That was thoughtful of them to pack for us.”

  To which Anthony gave no response.

  Sunlight cut through the breaks in the drapes, providing enough light to keep dense shadows at bay. Anthony hadn’t paused to open them on his way to the couch. The hearth was dark, as well. The air in the parlor held the sort of chill one associated with a room left empty for days.

  Gabriel crossed to the fireplace and started a fire. As he turned from the hearth, the flames popping and cracking, he noticed the stacks upon stacks of letters on the desk. Most had already been opened, with some crinkled, as though once crushed into a ball and then an attempt made to press them flat. The open valise on the floor behind the desk contained more.

  Hadn’t Anthony told him he had gone through everything until he had found a letter he’d thought could be from Gabriel?

  Christ, there had to be a good hundred or so, not counting the ones still in the valise.

  His heart went out to his lover. What he must have gone through to try to find the one Gabriel had written him. And once again, Gabriel laid the whip across his own back, the lash stinging and smarting. He should have never walked out of Anthony’s door, should have never argued with him, should have never lied to him. Should have never needed to write him a note. If he had been honest, he would have saved Anthony those weeks waiting in vain for Gabriel to pay him a call. Would have saved Anthony from having to go through all those letters.

  The guilt began bearing down on him once again. Heavy and dense. He tried to shrug it off. Anthony’s forgiven me. And today wasn’t about himself. It was about Anthony and all that his lover had done for him and the unknown worry that had turned Anthony so silent and grave.

  “I’m forever indebted to you.”

  To which Anthony shook his bowed head.

  “But I am. I don’t know what I would have done if you had not so generously offered to assist me. If you had not been there with me.” If he had been alone in Derbyshire when Carter had called... A shudder of true fear skipped down his spine. He was certain he’d have far more than the blackened eye Carter’s thugs had given him during their first attempt to get Gabriel to settle his debts. “Thank you, Anthony, and I’m sorry—”

  “Please, stop apologizing,” Anthony interrupted him, his tone approaching an irritated snap. “You owe me nothing. I did it because I love you. Though I hope I didn’t just put the viscounty on the brink of insolvency.”

  Gabriel stopped in his tracks on his way to the couch. Insolvency? “Pardon?”

  Anthony scrubbed his hands through his hair, fingers tight, as if he was pulling on the strands. “I should have asked after the remaining balance, but hell, I was scared to hear the number.”

  Gabriel’s eyes widened in shock. “You don’t know how much you have in your account?”

  Letting out a short, low growl, Anthony shot to his feet. Without looking at Gabriel, he crossed the parlor. “I told you already. I can’t bloody read.” He stopped before the desk, let out another low growl. “Hell, the mess she must have walked in on
,” he muttered under his breath.

  “She, who?”

  “Lizzie. My maid.” Anthony grabbed two of the stacks. “Damn letters. Bloody hate them.” Turning from the desk, he stalked toward the hearth, the newly stoked flames reaching up toward the flue.

  Gabriel lurched forward, intercepting Anthony. He put a hand on Anthony’s chest to stay him. “Don’t burn them. That won’t solve anything.”

  Anthony finally looked at Gabriel. Looked him directly in the eye. Anger, shame and the most intense worry filled Anthony’s beautiful gray eyes. A moment passed. His mouth twisted in an ugly scowl. Dropping the letters, he turned on his heel, a deluge of paper falling to the floorboards.

  Stooping down, Gabriel quickly gathered the letters. As he did so, he passed his gaze over a few. Bills from tradesmen, a correspondence from the Offices of Shueler and Oswald, an invitation to a dinner party, a report on crop yields from a Mr. Reginald Babbage. The dates varying from a few weeks ago to back in the spring.

  He put the pile back on the desk and turned to find Anthony standing before the front window, his grip so tight on the curtain he was holding back that his knuckles stood out in sharp relief. The line of his broad shoulders was tense. Christ, his entire body was strung taut.

  Gabriel took a slow breath, gathered his thoughts. There was no doubt about it. He had stumbled upon the source of the strain and worry that had turned Anthony so silent and grave that morning. And Gabriel knew he needed to proceed carefully. His first instinct was to reassure Anthony that everything would be all right, yet Gabriel had no clue if that reassurance would hold any merit. And neither did Anthony. Hence the crux of Anthony’s worry.

  “Why don’t you have a secretary or man of affairs?” Gabriel asked, keeping his voice even and calm, without a trace of accusation or censure. He needn’t ask after the existence of such a person. If Anthony had employed one, then those hundred or so letters wouldn’t be occupying the desk.

  “Why do you think?” Anthony snapped, brittle vulnerability ringing through the room.

  He put himself in Anthony’s place, the need to hide the truth overpowering logical choices. Gabriel had been in a similar place not long ago, after all, and was well familiar with it. “You didn’t want anyone to find out you couldn’t read, and were afraid a secretary would eventually figure it out.”

  A pause. Anthony gave a single nod.

  “You inherited a good three years ago. How have you got by?” Managing an estate, being a viscount, a peer of the realm... How had Anthony been able to keep his illiteracy hidden for so long?

  Anthony flicked his free hand behind him, in the direction of the desk covered with letters. And those letters told Gabriel what Anthony would not say—he had done nothing. Had let everything pile up because he was unable to tend to even a simple bill from a tradesman. “Though I do attend Parliament. Every session. All pending legislation is read aloud three times before being put up for vote.”

  And it occurred to Gabriel—anytime Gabriel had asked after Hawkins Hall, Anthony’s property in Somerset, Anthony had flipped the question back onto Gabriel. Yet Anthony claimed to enjoy riding and being out-of-doors—activities one associated with the country. He was comfortable at social gatherings, comfortable mixing with the ton and squiring his mother and sister about, yet...he seemed more to tolerate it than to truly relish life in busy London. “That’s why you spend all your time in Town. You’ve been avoiding your estate.”

  With a distinctly frustrated grunt, Anthony released the curtain and crossed to the console table. Glass clicked faintly as he removed the stopper from the decanter and poured himself a glass of what looked to be whisky. He took a long swallow, then said, “When I’m there, Babbage—one of my tenants—gives me reports and asks me questions and I don’t know how to answer him.”

  “So you haven’t returned to Somerset in...?”

  “Three years.”

  But the country was littered with farmers who had received no formal education. One didn’t need to know how to read to be able to till the land or make decisions on crops. “Your father, didn’t he teach you about the estate before he passed?”

  Anthony shot him a glance over his shoulder, one filled with embarrassment and frustration. A glance that said it all—Anthony had avoided any lessons with his father, just as he had avoided those letters and had avoided his lessons at Eton. His back to Gabriel, he took another long swallow and slammed the empty glass onto the console table. “I’m well aware I’m an idiot, Gabriel. Please do stop reminding me.”

  “No,” Gabriel rushed to correct him. “That wasn’t my intention. You’re worried about the state of your finances and I’m just trying to understand how you reached this point. That’s all. But...why did you do it? Why did you offer to cover the two thousand pounds if you don’t know what is in your account?” If Anthony had, in fact, put his viscounty on the brink of insolvency because of Gabriel... “You didn’t have to do it.”

  “And what would we have done instead?” Anthony whirled around, pointed a sharp finger at Gabriel. “And don’t you start back up with the guilt. This is not your fault. It’s not your doing. It was my decision to open my damned mouth back in your study. My decision to step in and offer to cover the remainder.” He paused, gave his head a weary shake. His arm dropped to his side, the anger seeming to drain out of him, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion. “And I thank God above I had enough in the account. Truly I do, for our remaining options were severely limited.”

  ...what would we have done instead.

  ...our remaining options.

  Gabriel hadn’t missed those words. Even though the debts were his own, even though it was Gabriel’s fault they had been put through hell over the last day and a half, Anthony had—and still—looked on them as a team. A couple who helped each other out and shouldered responsibilities for each other. Anthony’s instinct had been to come to Gabriel’s aid, regardless of how it would affect Anthony personally.

  Anthony had told him already that he loved Gabriel. More than once, in fact. And it wasn’t as if Gabriel hadn’t believed him. But this? This was that love in action. And Gabriel could do no less than to show him that same depth of unconditional love and support in return.

  “You helped me, even when I caused the situation and didn’t deser—”

  Before he could get the full word out of his mouth, Anthony slashed a hand through the air. “Cease with that didn’t deserve nonsense. If I offered, then you deserved it. End of discussion.”

  “All right,” Gabriel said with a startled nod.

  And Anthony was correct. He needed to cease with the self-pity. Claiming he didn’t deserve something was simply guilt wrapped up in a different package. It reminded him of the discussion he’d had with Morgan not an hour ago. It had been Gabriel’s decision not to allow Morgan and Drake to interfere with Carter, and therefore Morgan had no cause to beat himself up for the consequences. Just as Anthony had decided to speak up back in the study, and therefore Gabriel had no cause to wallow in self-pity as a result. Still, that didn’t mean Gabriel couldn’t help Anthony shoulder the burden of the consequences.

  He tried again. “You helped me. Therefore, would you allow me to help you? We can return to the bank this very instant, if you wish. Inquire as to the balance.” That seemed to be Anthony’s primary worry, so best to deal with it first. “I’ll be right there with you.”

  Anthony rubbed at his temples. “The last thing I want to do at the moment is return to that goddamned bank.”

  “But you can’t...” Avoid. Ignore. Refuse to learn the truth. Yet Gabriel didn’t say any of those things, for they were sure to put Anthony back on the defensive. “You seem most worried about the balance. Perhaps it is not as dire as you believe.”

  “I know I need to return to the bank, Gabriel, and in the very near future. I’m not that much of an
idiot. I just don’t want to do it today. I’m too bloody fucking tired.”

  The blond stubble covering Anthony’s jaw, the dark smudges under his eyes, the slump of his shoulders... Though returning to the bank was the most logical course of action, Gabriel couldn’t press Anthony to do it now. The man was exhausted. He’d been through enough that day.

  “All right, then. But you need to get some rest. Yes? Tomorrow, we can go to the bank. Today, let’s laze the day away.”

  Anthony pursed his lips, considering. “Will you laze the day away with me?”

  “Are we negotiating?”

  “Yes.”

  Negotiations usually implied some sort of compromise, and Gabriel would certainly classify sharing a bed with Anthony as a win, not a compromise. Yet... “You’d mentioned a maid earlier. When will she be by?”

  “She won’t come again until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Then yes, I will laze the day away with you.” Gabriel crossed to Anthony and clapped him on the shoulder, steering him toward the bedchamber. “Come along now. Let’s get you to bed.”

  Anthony scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I need a shave first. I’m damned tired of this stubble. It bloody itches. And I need to wash up. And so do you.”

  “Am I that offensive?” After spending over a day stuck in a musty old carriage with men who likely hadn’t bathed in weeks, Gabriel knew he needed to wash himself and change his clothes, but he hadn’t thought the situation dire.

  Anthony nudged him with his elbow, one of those friendly sort of ribbing nudges. “I couldn’t smell you from across the room. So no worries there. But if we are going to be lazing the day away in bed together...” A wicked, familiar spark lit the depths of his eyes, briefly vanquishing the exhaustion. “Just something to consider.”

  Something to consider, indeed.

  Lust wound into Gabriel’s veins, visions filling his head of him and Anthony in bed, the sheets tangled and twisted, bare skin pressed to bare skin, Anthony’s teasing mouth coasting down Gabriel’s chest.