by Lauren Smith
“It isn’t wise to trust a man deep in his cups,” the boy said warily.
“Ha! Never have truer words been spoken!” Charles laughed and spied a smirk from the lad. “Now, I am drunk enough to consider offering you a position, but sober enough to swear on my father’s grave my intentions are good and I won’t forget my promises in the morning. Would that interest you? I would pay double whatever you are getting paid now.”
“But my lord, you do not know how much I’m currently paid!” the boy exclaimed, eyes widening to the size of saucers.
“Believe me, Linley, whatever you are receiving here, it is nothing compared to what I’d pay for a decent servant. I have need of someone to attend to me while I’m about town. For me a valet is more than a personal attendant.”
“Surely you possess footmen for such duties?” Linley inquired.
“I do, but their duties keep them homebound. They’re hard working, but not much fun to be around. There’s only so much professionalism I can stand. I’d rather hire a scamp like you to entertain me.” Charles had noticed Linley’s articulated speech and controlled grace, something that only came from a person raised in a good environment. “You seem to be educated enough to provide amusing conversation.”
“I am the son of the lady’s maid to the Dowager Countess of Haverton,” Linley supplied.
“Haverton? I know the earl, he’s a good man. Now, what say you, Linley? Care to take on the job?” A delightful buzz was warming his veins as he mellowed. Linley was already proving a useful distraction.
“Before I agree…permit a question, my lord.”
“Go on.”
Linley fidgeted in his chair. “I am not the sort of man who would agree to—well I wouldn’t allow you to use me.” The young man’s face flushed as he sought the words to clarify his meaning. “I mean, I have no interest in men and will not allow you to…to use me for physical sport. If that is your intention, then I must respectfully decline.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” Charles laughed. His sexual interests had always been towards women and he was amused by the man’s assumptions. “I know I have a certain scandalous reputation, but it isn’t for that. Mr. Linley, the truth is you remind me of myself when I was younger. Scared, alone and in need of a friend.” He paused, shocked at how the truth came so easily. “I offer only a position and some companionship. Nothing else. Have I passed your test?”
Linley studied him before he replied. “I should like to know exactly how much I’d be paid and where I would expect to lodge. Also, I have a problem.” Linley’s brows furrowed. He paused to draw a slow breath. “I am the sole caretaker of my young sister, a babe only one year old. I must have a means to care for her as well.”
Charles contemplated this news with a surprising level of seriousness. He did want the lad to work for him, and a baby seemed to be part of the terms. There was certainly room at Charles’s house.
“Very well.” He lightly smacked his hands on his thighs and stood up. “I should like you to start right away. No sense in you staying here a moment longer. I will speak with the management to secure your release on good terms. You may accompany me to dinner tonight at the St. Laurent house. Afterwards we can see about moving you into my townhouse and finding a nursemaid for your sister. I daresay my housekeeper would be up to the challenge whilst you see to your duties with me. Her own child just left for school and I fear she’s becoming lonely.” Charles set his glass of brandy down. “I am willing to offer thirty-five pounds a year as your salary. What say you to that?”
Linley’s eyes grew round as he mouthed the words back in wonderment.
“May I take your befuddled reaction as an acceptance?”
Linley nodded mutely.
“Excellent. Have a drink of brandy, in celebration of your new employment.” Charles handed Linley his glass and Linley took a small sip, sputtering almost immediately. Charles laughed and slapped Linley on the back as the boy coughed.
“Haven’t much experience with liquor?” he asked.
Linley’s face drained of color. “Only to receive the beatings of those too deep in their cups.”
Charles’s chest tightened. He despised those who used drink as an excuse to unleash their demons on others.
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir, how did you come by that shiner?” Linley asked quietly.
“This?” Charles touched his purple eye. “I got this after I aided a friend of the female persuasion.”
“Someone tried to harm you when you helped a young lady?” Linley looked doubtful.
Well, if this young man was going to be his valet, it would be best if Linley understood what kind of adventures—or rather misadventures—he could expect to see in his service.
“The lady was a sister of my close friend.” He paused, uncertain of how to explain what sounded like terrible behavior. “She wishes to marry someone, but her brother is being a bit of an arse, if you will. So she asked me to make it look like she’d been compromised so that her brother would be willing to discuss her marriage to this other fellow.”
“Oh?” Curiosity gleamed in Linley’s eyes. “Did she succeed?”
“Somewhat. Her brother has agreed to discuss marriage, once he’s done with some, er…business.” Charles found himself limiting his comments. One could never be too careful. Waverly had a vast reach in the London underworld and Charles knew better than the others how low he would stoop to achieve his evil ends.
“That is fortunate, for the lady I mean,” said Linley. “She is lucky her brother is so kind and understanding.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I got this after all.” He pointed again to his eye. “But it will all work out in the end. I trust in that.”
The resigned look the boy had entering the room earlier was now gone. Charles felt a warmth in his chest that seemed to spread through his body and it had nothing to do with the brandy. Helping the boy had made him feel good in a way he hadn’t felt in ages. It reminded him of how the other members of the League once saved him.
Linley cleared his throat. “Thank you for the opportunity, my lord.”
“Think nothing of it, lad.”
Linley made an odd little noise before trying another sip of his brandy. It seemed to go down easier this time. Charles took in the companionable silence as he waited for Linley to finish off his glass.
“Well, we’d best be off if I’m to dine at Essex’s tonight. First, we’ll see to your employer, then I shall need to return home to change.”
Horatia stared at Lucien’s riderless horse as it galloped around the side of the house and found its way back to the stables. Even as fast as it was moving, it seemed to be favoring its left foreleg. The reins hung limply in front of it.
Where was Lucien? She ran to snatch her cloak and left through a side door close to the stables. She dashed outside and took hold of the horse’s reins. The horse fixed her with a baleful stare. It was then that Horatia saw the trickle of blood near the back of the saddle. She loosened the girth and raised the saddle with trembling fingers.
A sprig of barberry was embedded into the horse’s skin, the thorns causing a painful wound on the animal. If Lucien had sat back too hard he would have forced the thorns deeper. Horatia gazed out towards the field. Where was Lucien? Perhaps the horse had escaped him when he’d returned.
She brought the horse to the stables where a groom took the reins.
“He had some barberry tucked under his saddle,” she informed him.
“What?” The groom looked mortified. He removed the horse’s saddle to inspect the damage. “Blast, the thorns must have caught on the saddle blanket somehow. Did his lordship find this?”
“No. I thought Lucien was here. Did he not return?”
When the groom shook his head, Horatia felt her heart leap into her throat. She ran to the nearest occupied stall where
a stout horse was feeding contentedly. She pulled out a loose bridle and quickly fixed it before dragging it from its stall.
“I’ll saddle him quickly. Allow me to go with you.” The groom hastily threw a blanket and saddle over the horse’s back and strapped him in. “You’ll need help if he’s had an accident.”
Horatia shook her head. “No. If he’s had an accident I need you to get the doctor from Hexby immediately. We can’t waste any time.” She raised a hand when he started to protest. “You’ll be able to ride faster to the village to get the doctor.”
“Very well.” The groom frowned but did as she asked.
Once mounted, she guided the house out of the stables and looked along the ground for hoof prints. Only one set of tracks led away from the hall. Horatia followed them, urging the horse to gallop. Its heavy large hooves pounded through the snow steadily.
Lucien, where are you?
After what seemed like acres of endless white, Horatia spotted a dark shape in the distance. As she drew closer she realized with horror that it was Lucien’s body.
“Oh God!” she gasped. “Faster, damn you!” she shouted at the draft horse and it increased its pace.
When she was within a few yards she slid from the saddle and ran to Lucien. He was face down in the snow, cloak wrapped about him. Horatia rolled him onto his back and paled when she saw the bloody gash above his forehead. His eyes were closed and his pale lips parted.
She couldn’t lose him now, not after everything that had passed between them. Memories flashed across her eyes—the way he’d twist his lips up in a wicked smile, the brush of his lips against hers, the sweetly whispered words he’d spoken to her when they’d shared the room at the Midnight Garden.
“Lucien!” She bent her ear to his lips, praying to feel the warmth of his breath. It was there, but barely. Horatia put her palms on either side of his cheek, letting her warmth seep into his cold skin. Once her hands grew too cold she dragged his body into her lap and held him close, rubbing him, praying her body heat would have some effect. After what felt like an eternity, Lucien’s dark lashes fluttered. When his hazel eyes focused at last, it was not on her face but on her bosom, which was mere inches from him. He managed a weak smile.
“Heaven looks quite lovely from this angle.” The smile changed into a playful leer, even as Horatia’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ll ignore that because you are alive.” She cupped his cheek and pressed her trembling lips to his forehead in a thankful kiss. She could have wept with relief, but she pushed the tears back. He wasn’t out of the woods yet. She needed to get him back to the house and have the doctor see to him.
“Scared you, did I?” Lucien teased but still she couldn’t stop shaking. “More than I’d care to admit. What happened?”
“Not sure, I was riding and suddenly my horse threw me.”
“There were thorns under the saddle blanket digging into your horse.”
“Thorns?” Lucien struggled to sit up.
“They must have snagged on the blanket as it was being saddled.” Horatia allowed him to pull away as he unwound his cloak and tried to stand. He wobbled so unsteadily that she threw one of his arms over her shoulders to support him as she led him to the horse.
“Can you mount him?” she asked.
“I’d rather mount you,” he said with a grin. His gaze seemed to grow unfocused again.
Horatia gripped the horse’s neck and mane as she pulled herself up in the saddle.
“This is not the time nor the place, you fool.” Horatia pinched his arm, bringing him back to reality. “Now, focus! Can you get up or not?”
“Hold him steady and I shall find out.” Lucien managed to swing himself up. He immediately slumped against her back, his head falling on her shoulder.
“Stay conscious, Lucien. Hold on to me.” He wrapped his arms about her waist and she urged the horse back to Rochester Hall.
It seemed to take ages to reach the house. There were a few more moments when Lucien threatened to slip away into unconsciousness. Horatia knew little in the way of medicine, but she’d been told she should not allow him to fall asleep with a head wound.
“Stay awake!”
“I’m trying.” His frustrated voice vibrated against her ear. “You’re too damned warm. I just want to hold you and fall asleep…” His words softened into a drowsy murmur.
“What would keep you awake?” she hissed. “If I could turn around I’d happily slap you—” His hands slid up from her waist to her breasts, cupping them and then gently kneading them. Horatia arched in shock, though not without pleasure.
“Now this is keeping me very awake.”
“Take your hands off of me!”
He squeezed her breasts and chuckled, then shifted even closer to her from behind. She felt a distinctive prod against her backside.
She glanced up at the skies. Even in grave bodily danger the man was a cad. “Fine. If it helps you stay awake…but I swear to God, Lucien, the second we’re in sight of the house, move your hands, unless you want my brother to see!”
That comment had him drop his hands straight back to her waist, but he stayed awake the rest of the journey home. The sting of disappointment that he hadn’t tried to push her further surprised her. Did she want him to just walk all over her and force her to admit she wanted, no, craved his touch? Yes. She loved it when he did that.
When she drew the horse up by the main doors she was relieved to see a carriage and a separate pair of horses had beaten them there. The two riders she recognized at once.
“Avery, Lawrence, help!” The two younger Russell brothers leapt from their horses and ran to her.
“What happened?” Avery reached up to help her down. She let him catch her waist and drop her gently to her feet.
“His horse threw him. I found him out in the meadow a good deal away.” Horatia pointed to Lucien who slumped immediately without her body for support. “He was unconscious, and he has a nasty head wound. Before I left I sent the head groom for the doctor in Hexby.”
“Well done, Miss Sheridan. Come on, Lucien. This way, towards me.” Lawrence coaxed his drowsy elder brother down from the horse.
Avery seemed reluctant to release Horatia. “And you, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, really. Help Lawrence.”
The brothers carried Lucien inside like he’d staggered home drunk from a tavern. Horatia handed the bridle to a groom, then took off after them.
The entry hall of Rochester Hall was full of people. Lady Rochester had apparently been in the midst of welcoming the Cavendishes, who had arrived at the same time as Lawrence and Avery.
“Get out of the bloody way! Wounded man coming through!” Avery bellowed as he and Lawrence carried their brother through the crowd towards the stairs leading to Lucien’s bedchamber.
Lady Rochester started to follow them but Lucien shook his head. “I’m fine, Mother. Please, stay with the guests. Horatia will see to me and send you up when I’m settled.” His tone, while breathless, brooked no argument.
“I’ll be up to see you soon, my dear,” she promised him.
Horatia tried to follow after Avery and Lawrence, but Lady Rochester grabbed her arm, demanding answers. In a breathless rush she explained the events in an attempt to calm the crowd at large. Strangely, the act soothed her for the moment as well.
“He looks well,” Sir John Cavendish said. “Don’t fret. If he’s walking and talking he’ll be fine. I suffered worse during the war.”
Sir John Cavendish and his wife Marie were old family friends of the Sheridans and Russells. Until Sir John had moved his family to Brighton four years ago, the three families had often spent the holidays together.
His calm words drew a trembling nod from Horatia. He was right. Sir John was always right. She’d never met a more level-headed man.
“Sir John, how lovely to see you again.” Horatia greeted him with real warmth and embraced the lovely and Rubenesque Marie. The Cavendishes had two children, Gregory and Lucinda with them. Lucinda was Horatia’s age with blond hair and blue eyes. She was a more feminine version of her impossibly attractive brother Gregory, who had been schoolmates with Avery at Eton and Cambridge, being only year apart in age.
“Excuse me, I must go and see how Lucien is.” Horatia managed to slip away from everyone and dash up the stairs.
Lucien’s door was open and he was lying in his bed stripped of his wet clothes. His eyes were closed and his chest bare with the blankets pulled up only to his waist. His muscles were smooth and sculpted and for a second her mind blanked before reality crashed in. Three pairs of eyes studied her and Horatia felt her face heat up.
“I…” she stammered.
Lucien stirred. “Horatia?” His voice was hoarse.
“Yes?”
Lawrence stood back, allowing Lucien’s seeking gaze to find her.
“Come in, please. I wish to speak with you. Alone.” He shot pointed looks at both of his brothers.
The two exchanged a look of disapproval, hesitating until finally Lawrence gestured towards the door that he and Avery should leave. Lawrence, still frowning, made a grand show of leaving the door ajar. Lucien in turn scowled comically at the open door.
“If only he knew he was mere inches from you at the Midnight Garden,” Lucien chuckled dryly. “I daresay he’d faint if he knew he’d offered to ravish you there.”
Horatia blushed, even as a smile pulled at her lips. The memory of that night should have been painful, embarrassing, but it wasn’t. There was a part of her that relished it. Perhaps that was the price of falling in love with Lucien. His wickedness was rubbing off on her.
“How do you feel?” Horatia lifted her skirt a bit so she could sit on the edge of the bed. She leaned over and stroked his hair back to better examine his wound. It had been cleaned and looked more likely to bruise than to develop an infection like she’d feared.
Lucien shut his eyes and rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his closed lids. “I think I’ll live.”
