A Private Gentleman

by Heidi Cullinan

  She gave him a smile and a nod goodbye, but as she headed for the door, an idea struck Michael, and he called out, “Wait! Wait—I have something I wish you to give him.” He rushed past her, pausing to touch her arm. “You will wait? It’s up in my room.”

  “I will wait,” she promised.

  He hurried as best he could, afraid she would disappear, afraid that Rodger would shout her out before he returned. They were only glaring at one another in the front hallway as he entered it, and so he pressed the glass jar into her arms.

  “What is this?” she asked, looking confused.

  “He will know. Tell him I did my best, but that I expect him to take over from here. And tell him—” A lump in his throat caught, but he pushed past it. “Tell him I expect him to show me how it blooms.”

  “Michael,” Rodger warned, “don’t let him drag you back in. He already hurt you once. If you go back to that no-good—”

  Michael stepped forward hastily and clapped a hand over Rodger’s mouth as Barrington’s body went taut. “Don’t, Rodger. I believe she truly will hit you. And you’re ugly enough as it is without a broken tooth to boot.”

  Rodger glared at Barrington, then looked pleadingly at Michael. “Don’t let him hurt you again.”

  Michael smiled and kissed Rodger on the cheek. “Thank you, mother hen. But I’ll be fine.” He turned back to Miss Barrington. “Besides, I won’t be seeing him anytime soon, it seems.”

  “I will endeavor to make it as soon as I possibly can,” she promised. “And I will give him this and tell him what you said.” She gave one last warning look to Rodger, then turned to several large men Michael did not recognize, men who he’d thought were new bodyguards of Rodger’s but indeed they appeared to be hers. “We should go. Traffic will be ghastly at this time of day.”

  They left, and Michael felt as if it was his heart in that jar being carried away.

  Rodger sighed heavily and put his arm around Michael. “I hope to God he’s worth it, ducks.”

  “He is.” Michael leaned on Rodger’s shoulder and watched Penelope Barrington’s coach drive off into the evening fog. “He is.”

  Three weeks later, Wes sat in the sitting room of Penny’s house, waiting for Michael to come.

  “There’s no reason to be nervous.” Penny rested her hand on Wes’s shoulder as she sat beside him. “It’s Michael, not the devil.” Her hand squeezed lightly. “And he’s lovely. Handsome, charming, and unless I am completely fooled, utterly in love with you.”

  Wes smiled wryly despite his nerves but kept his eyes on the door to the hall. Eventually footsteps sounded, and Penny urged him to his feet.

  “Look sharp, Wes. He’s coming.”

  Rising unsteadily, Wes faced the opening door. The fears roared inside Wes, nearly weighing him down. He could not help his nerves, nor could he his fears. What if he had waited too long? What if Michael found him weak? What if he couldn’t forgive Wes because of his father?

  What if someone else had come along, and Michael loved him instead?

  Michael appeared in the door, and Wes forgot to breathe.

  Beautiful—he was so beautiful, as beautiful as ever. He was dressed more soberly than he ever had been before, even on outings, but he still looked so smart and handsome that Wes wanted to take him up in his arms and spin him around, he was so lovely. His beautiful face, his thin, sensual lips, his glowing cheeks, his bright, large eyes—Wes could not stop his smile. Michael wore his spectacles. They only added to his charm.

  Wes’s eyes widened, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth. “You c-cut your hair.”

  Michael had been hovering in the doorway, looking quietly uncertain, but now he seemed very self-conscious, and his hand lifted up to his shorn hair. “I’m sorry. I was angry.”

  Wes smiled, no artifice, and shook his head. “I l-like it. It s-suits you.”

  Michael’s hand ran along his hairline again, then lowered. He smiled, but hesitantly. “It’s easier, I confess.” Clasping his hands together in front of himself, he rocked slightly on his heels. “Are you well, my lord?”

  My lord. Wes’s smile melted away, and he tried to mask his hurt, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded. My lord. We will be formal now? Have you only come to say goodbye? He replaced his smile as best he could, and offered a nod. “Y-yes. Th-th-th—”

  Yes, thank you, my beloved. Come here so I may embrace you properly.

  Wes stopped, shut his eyes and started to turn away.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw the orchid thriving in the sun beside his bed. He gathered his courage and turned to face his lover again.

  “Please come in,” Penny said to Michael, “and have a seat.”

  She directed Michael to the chair beside Wes’s sofa, and Michael placed himself primly on the front part of the chair. He looked ready to bolt. Wes sat as well, though he mirrored Michael’s position. He foresaw half an hour of stilted, painful conversation ahead of him. His only consolation was that Penny would be there to keep things from being too stilted and awkward.

  Except she was heading toward the door.

  “I’ll leave the two of you alone,” she said, a sparkle in her eyes. “Ring if you need anything, but other than that, I’ll be sure to see you’re not disturbed.”

  Horrified, Wes stared at the door, watching her leave. When the door shut, he turned, palms sweating, to Michael.

  Michael smiled—a little thinly. Was he nervous, or was he uncomfortable because he didn’t want to be here?

  Michael cleared his throat. “You look—” He stopped, hesitated, biting his lip. “You look too thin.”

  Was that worry in his tone, or horror? Wes smoothed his hands over his thighs nervously. “Th-the op-p-p—” His hands shook, and he shut his eyes. God help him, he wasn’t ready, he should never have done this—

  A warm hand closed over his knee. “Where is your pad and pencil?”

  Wes laughed darkly and shook his head. “N-n-no. Sh-sh-sh—” He stopped, drew a breath and let it out. Calm. Calm. You can do this. “I’m m-m-meant to t-t-t-try and r-relax.” He sighed, a ragged exhale. “I’m-m s-s-s-sorry. I th-th-ought I w-w-was b-b-better.”

  The hand on his knee stroked gently. “But why—?” The hand hesitated, then made as if to withdraw. “Is it I making you nervous, Albert?”

  Wes’s eyes snapped open. Squeezing Michael’s hand, he searched for his words and a sense of calm. I’m sorry, Michael. Sorry for leaving you. Sorry for being gone so long. Sorry for my father. For my clumsiness. For my failures.

  “I l-love you,” Wes said.

  For a moment Michael stared at him, his expression fixed, his eyes wide. Then they filled with water, and Michael leaned forward, took gentle hold of Wes’s chin and kissed him. Wes opened his mouth to Michael and reached up to touch the back of his lover’s neck.

  Michael made a soft mew, shivered and slid onto Wes’s lap.

  “I was so frightened for you,” he whispered. “I thought you were lost. I thought you were dead.” His arms tightened around Wes. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

  “I’m s-s-sorry. I w-w-was w-w-w-weak. I’m s-s-s-sorry.” Wes clung to his lover. “I’m s-s-s-sorry f-f-f-for my f-f-father.”

  “I don’t give a damn about your father,” Michael cried. “I only want you, Albert. Only you.” He nuzzled deeper into the collar of Wes’s dressing gown. “I love you too.”

  Wes shut his eyes and held him close. As Penny had warned him, he was tired, completely exhausted in fact. But Michael was here now. Michael was here, and he loved him.

  It was medicine more heady than any opiate could ever be.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I m-missed you.”

  The words, Albert’s words, the ones he had so longed to hear, rumbled from his lover’s chest, and Michael smiled, his head upon Albert’s shoulder as he reached out to trace his nipple. “I missed you too.”

  “Th-Thank you for taking care of my o-or
chid.”

  Michael glanced at the glass jar on the shelf near the window, where the orchid was indeed thriving once more. “It was my pleasure.”

  “I worried you w-w-would not come.” Albert’s fingers teased in Michael’s hair. “I f-feared I had w-waited too l-long.”

  “No.” Michael turned and kissed Albert’s salty skin.

  Albert looked sad. “I’m s-sorry for my f-father,” he said again. He didn’t know that he could ever say it enough.

  Michael pressed a finger against Albert’s lips. “You have no cause to apologize for what he did. You aren’t Daventry. Not even close.”

  Albert’s smile turned black. “For so many years, that w-was my p-prison. W-wanting to be D-Daventry.” His fingers teased Michael’s hair. “To be good enough for him.”

  Michael shut his eyes against the pleasant sensation of Albert’s touch. “Your stammer is so much improved.”

  “Penny has t-taught me tricks.” He kissed Michael’s hair. “I ap-pologize I couldn’t use them earlier. I was too nervous that you w-would not want me.”

  Michael laughed and slid his naked leg up along Albert’s thigh. “I hope I’ve put that fear to rest?”

  “Mmm.” Albert’s hand slid down Michael’s back to the top of his bottom. “I m-may require a rem-minder.”

  “Anytime, darling.” Michael rolled over slightly to press his body closer, but he looked up at his lover in earnest. “Will you go home now?”

  Albert looked away. “I c-can’t.”

  Michael tensed. “But why not? Are you—do you fear you will go back to the opium again?”

  Albert’s hand stroked idly against Michael’s naked hip for several seconds before he responded. “Sometimes. But I kn-know now the true issue is wh-what drives me to it.” He stilled, then sagged helplessly. “I c-cannot face my f-father. N-not kn-knowing what he has done to you.”

  It upset Michael to hear this.

  Dejected him, even—it wasn’t that he’d wanted a champion, but that Albert feared his father? Hid from him? Hid more now than before?

  Leave it alone, a voice cautioned quickly in Michael’s mind, but he could not. He would admit he had hoped…for anger, perhaps, or for Albert to decry his father.

  “You still fear him?”

  The space between this question and Albert’s answer was vast and heavy. Albert’s fingers strayed occasionally across Michael’s skin, but it was as if they were thinking and considering too. Finally Albert spoke, his voice soft and slow and careful, marked more than anything by not just what he said, but how calmly he said it.

  “Once I heard m-my father b-boast to another lord that his p-p-power and will was s-subject only to the Queen herself, and even there h-he thought he had more leeway than m-m-most. ‘I c-can have anything I w-want in this world,’ he told his f-f-friend. ‘Whatever I d-d-desire from it is m-m-mine.’” His hand on Michael’s body stilled again. “N-N-Never, not once, did I d-d-dream he would use it to harm someone h-h-helpless.” His hand fell away from Michael. “F-Fear him? No. I h-hate him. I l-l-loathe him. I want to sp-spit in his face. But do I have f-fear of something else? Yes. I f-fear that I have been t-timid so long that now, now w-w-when it truly matters, I will try to f-face him and be cowardly out of h-h-habit.”

  Michael moved out of Albert’s embrace but did not leave his side. He pushed himself up on both hands, sliding his body against Albert’s, needing to keep him close. His soul felt so full, so warm—for once, it was he who could not make the words leave his mouth. “I would n—” He stroked Albert’s cheeks. “I would not ask you to face him. You need not—I do not need defending, my love.”

  Albert drew Michael against him, capturing a hand and kissing it softly. “It is n-not for you that I must f-face him.” He placed Michael’s hand over his own heart. “For m-me. For m-my own injured little boy.” His fingers tangled with Michael’s, and he looked up at him hesitantly, almost questioningly. “D-does th-that d-d-disap-point you?”

  Michael could only shake his head as he bent forward to kiss him softly on the lips. “No.”

  This made Albert smile and turn his head to kiss Michael’s hand. “I should have l-liked to have known you when I was a b-boy. We could have h-hidden and r-read together. You could h-have fit in my h-hideaways with me.”

  “And I would have gone with you to school,” Michael vowed. “I would have kicked the bullies and given them a scathing put-down. Then I would have put mud in their shoes and snails in their beds. Were Rodger there as well, he would have organized a gang to steal all their pocket money, and we could have picnicked together on a hillside, dining on fine things and drinking wine as Rodger plotted to take over the headmaster’s quarters and we read books of faraway places.”

  Albert smiled up at him. “I love you.”

  It caught at Michael’s heart every time—I love you. Clear and bold, no hesitation.

  Let there never be hesitation between us again.

  He threaded his fingers in Albert’s. “I want to help you with your father.” When Albert looked uneasy and opened his mouth to object, Michael overrode him. “I will admit, I’m still nervous to face him. But I could do it for you, if it came to it. Which it may not. More than anything else, I want to help you. I want you to be as free as I feel.” He tightened his grip on Albert’s hand. “And then I want to be with you. Wherever you go, for the rest of our lives.”

  Albert hesitated a moment, then said, very carefully, “W-will y-you still w-work for R-Rodger?”

  Michael went still. “Does it matter?”

  More quiet. “Yes. B-but I will l-learn to l-live with it.”

  Oh, the pleasure, the deep, rich pleasure Michael took in smiling down at Albert. “In point of fact, I am done with whoring.” He slid his body against Albert’s sensuously. “Though I would not mind reprising the role on occasion for you.”

  Albert drew him down for a hard kiss, and they did not speak again for some time.

  Wes approached Penny in hopes she could help think of a way for him to face his father. He told her the entire story, with Michael’s help. She was not encouraging. Even more depressing was the fact that Rodger wasn’t either.

  “Going up against gentry is never simple, but going against Daventry is suicide,” Rodger said bluntly. His jaw set briefly before he added, “If it weren’t, I’d have done so years ago.”

  Penny had tried to soften the blow. “What is it, Wes, that you chiefly want? Revenge? Justice? It isn’t that I don’t think you’re entitled to either, but the truth, and even the practicality is, both will be difficult to come by against a man like your father. Even if he had been caught at the time, a nobleman dallying for sport with a whore’s son, willing or not, wouldn’t cost him much in society’s eye.” She glanced apologetically at Michael. “Casting no aspersions on you or your mother—I mean only to state facts.”

  Michael waved this aside. “Cast aspersions on my mother all you like, but I agree with you.” He returned his focus to Wes. “I consider their concern warranted, love. What is it, precisely, you wish to achieve? That would likely make a better start in finding how to face him.”

  Wes considered carefully, framing his thoughts before voicing them. “Self-respect,” he said at last, feeling a deep satisfaction in not hesitating. “I w-wish to stand before my father, call him out for his actions and n-not back down. I d-do not wish to publicly shame him—” He paused. “I do, but I understand that I cannot likely have this.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What I desire is to be f-free. F-free of my shame I c-cast on myself.”

  Michael took his hand, stroking the back of his knuckles with his thumb.

  “You do understand,” Penny said gently, “that your father will not likely cower before you? That he will brush you off?” She sighed. “I don’t wish to discourage you, but I cannot be convinced this goal, however noble, is not best achieved simply within yourself.”

  Wes took his time with his reply, wanting very much to be clear and unde
rstood. “I n-n-need to know I have this strength.”

  Penny held up her hands. “Men. Men and their tests of bravery. Do you not understand that bravery is not inherent—it is made? Not by circumstance, but by believing you possess it? Do you not understand how brave you are even to consider this? How brave Michael is for enduring what he did—and carrying on?” She shook her head. “You do not require your father’s pound of flesh for courage—in fact, it may taint it. Let him answer to God for what he has done.”

  “God damns men like Albert and me,” Michael pointed out.

  Penny snorted. “Does He? I have often wondered that. Everyone seems so quick to insist God damns ones they dislike but carves out exceptions for those who they like and for themselves. If God is, as Jesus said, nothing but love, and if our only task is to love—how is the love between the two of you wrong?” She gestured vaguely at the air. “Men like your father, Wes, will one day reap their own reward. Perhaps we will see it, and perhaps we will not. And perhaps they won’t. Perhaps there truly is no justice of any kind. But how much of your life are you willing to give him? What does this gain you, when you could simply walk away and enjoy the happiness you have found with Michael?”

  Wes didn’t like this conversation, largely because Penny seemed to make such a valid point. He didn’t know why he had to do this, only that he knew he did.

  But did he really? He was beginning not to even know that any longer.

  Penny held his hand. “Don’t act just yet. Not until you have calmed down. I don’t want to see them put you away, which is what they will do to you. Declare you mad, and then where will you be? Your father will have won again. Have patience. A moment will come, or something else will arise, and you’ll know what to do. Just don’t act rashly.”

  Wes didn’t like this, and he was so upset that later when he tried to discuss it with Michael in bed, it tangled his tongue all over again.

  “Slowly, love,” Michael urged him. “Slowly.” He kissed him, teasing his tongue. “Shut your eyes if need be.”