by Judith James
Sarah shivered. “How innocuous it looks,” she mused aloud. It should look more foreboding, ominous and dark with crenulated towers, like a witch’s house, or an evil castle from a fairy tale. Her palms itched, and she had to concentrate to breathe. Ross, his face grim, helped her down from the carriage.
A diminutive redheaded man stepped forward to shake Ross’s hand. “Mr. Giles, of Bow Street, sir. My partner, Mr. Smythe, is inside with the boy.”
Sarah’s cousin and Ross’s best friend, known to his intimates as Gypsy Davey, had arranged the paperwork they needed to travel to France, and it was he who had first suggested they try the services of the Bow Street Runners. A relatively new development in the world of law enforcement, the runners were known to take private commissions and their reputation was excellent. The investment had been well worthwhile. In four short months they had produced results where the past four years had proved barren.
“Mr. Giles, may I present my sister, Lady Munroe?”
“An honor, ma’am,” Mr. Giles said with a bow. “It’s not that many would bother bringing a lad home from a place like this.”
Sarah stiffened. “Why ever not, sir?”
“No offense, milady, just speaking the God’s truth.”
“How is the lad?” Ross cut in before Sarah could respond.
“He seems surprisingly well, sir, under the circumstances. Not the best-mannered little jackanapes, but the lad has spunk. He doesn’t appear to be much the worse for wear.” Blushing, he cast a glance in Sarah’s direction. “Begging your pardon, ma’am. Shall we go in, sir? Ma’am? He’s waiting in the drawing room with Mr. Smythe. The old harridan, Madame Etienne, is in the library.”
A sour-faced majordomo, stiff, formal, and elegantly attired, ushered them into a spacious entrance hall with a lofty ceiling and black and white marble-tiled floors. The walls were hung with paintings featuring some of the more notorious scenes from classical myth. They followed him through a sumptuous salon decorated in silk wallpaper, depicting men engaged in amatory acrobatics with a variety of partners, both male and female. The overall impression was one of opulent debauchery.
The library was a welcome relief from the calculated lasciviousness of the rest of the house. Paneled in oak, it contained book-lined walls, an imposing fireplace, and furniture comfortably appointed in rich brocades and plush velvets. There was a large desk, and behind it sat a tiny, steely-eyed, silver-haired woman who, if not for the gleam of avarice and contempt in her eyes, might have been mistaken for someone’s dowager auntie. She didn’t bother to rise, but motioned regally for Ross and Sarah to be seated.
“Tea? Brandy, perhaps?”
“We did not come here to socialize, Madame Etienne,” Ross said.
“No? Well, then, to business. You wish to see the boy. First, let me tell you this matter has been a great nuisance and I shall expect compensation, whether the boy is related to you or not. You should also know he has cost a pretty penny to feed, to clothe, and … to train.”
Ross stiffened slightly, and leaned forward. “Be very careful, Madame,” he warned softly. “If this boy is my brother, it means you have kidnapped, and held imprisoned, the heir to an English peerage. You will hand him over to me immediately, without question, and my sister and I will take him home, or I give you my word, I will most certainly see you … compensated.”
Momentarily nonplussed, Madame Etienne drew back, blinked, and then rallied, her malicious smirk replaced by a look of wounded innocence. “But, monsieur, this is ridiculous! I did not kidnap the boy. I rescued him! I did not imprison him. I gave him a home! You make such threats! To me, who has nursed and cared for the poppet, fed and clothed him when he had no family to turn to. Of course, if he is your brother, you must take him. I have only meant well by the boy.”
“We wish to see him, Madame. Now!”
Madame Etienne motioned to the servant standing silently at attention by the door. “Bring the boy, Henri,” she snapped.
An uncomfortable silence followed, relieved only by the monotonous ticking of the clock and the distant sounds of Paris. All eyes turned when the door opened with a slight click, and a young boy, delicate featured, towheaded, and slight of stature, stepped hesitantly into the room. He was accompanied by a beefy dark-haired man who looked like he’d be more comfortable in a boxing ring. “Good evening, Governor, milady.
Mr. Smythe, at your service. May I present young James here?” he said, encouraging the boy forward with a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Sarah and Ross rose as one, stunned the moment had finally come. There was no question. He was taller and his face had lost its childish roundness, but the brilliant green eyes and hint of freckles were unchanged. A handsome child, he was the spitting image of their father.
Eyes narrowed with hostility, the boy glared at the bawd before turning to examine the strangers who had sent for him. His gaze was direct and self-assured, and he eyed them with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.
Ross noted with relief, and some degree of surprise, that there was nothing servile about the lad, no hint of depravity. There was caution and distrust, but no fear. Mr. Giles was correct. Somehow, remarkably, the boy seemed undamaged. “Good afternoon, James. Do you know who we are, and why we are here?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“Gabriel says you’re my parents and you’ve come to take me home,” Jamie answered with a hint of challenge.
“We are not your parents, James, but we are your family. My name is Ross. I’m your half brother and the Earl of Huntington. This is your sister, Sarah, Lady Munroe, and we’ve been looking for you for a very long time.”
“It took you long enough to find me,” Jamie said, unimpressed.
“Yes, Jamie, we know,” Sarah interrupted. “Do you remember me? We used to play soldiers together a long time ago.” The boy looked at her with a gleam of interest but shook his head, no. Sarah stepped forward impulsively, enveloping him in her arms. “Well, I remember you, Jamie, and I’m so glad we’ve found you at last.”
Jamie’s face turned crimson, and after a moment’s surrender, he pulled away.
Ross clapped him on the shoulder. “I know we seem like strangers now, lad, but that will change soon enough. Give it a bit of time. We are family, and you’re safe now. That’s all that matters at the moment. We shall all be well acquainted by the time we get you home. Mr. Smythe? Please inform Mr. Giles, and ask him to alert the coachmen.”
“What about Gabriel?”
“Gabriel?”
“I’m not leaving unless he comes, too, and I’ve not had my dinner,” the boy stated emphatically. His lips took on a mulish cast as he prepared himself for battle.
Sarah reached out a hand to ruffle his hair but he pushed it away. “Calm down now,” she said in a soothing voice. “Who is Gabriel, Jamie?”
Madame, who had been watching everything with calculating eyes, answered for him. “He is one of my prize employees, highly sought after by the men and women who frequent this establishment.”
The boy glanced her way warily.
“Leave us now, Madame,” Sarah commanded. “We would speak in private. My brother is hungry. See that a meal is prepared for him.”
Sputtering in indignation at being ordered from her own library, the old bawd complied, certain there was money to be made here, despite his high and mighty lordship’s threats.
“Now then, Jamie,” Sarah said, “tell us about Gabriel. Is he another boy who lives here, a friend of yours?”
“Gabriel’s not a boy he’s a man. He’s my big brother. He takes care of me and teaches me things.”
Ross crouched down so that he and Jamie were eye to eye, and clasped him by the shoulder. “How does he take care of you, James? What does he teach you? Has he ever hurt you?”
The boy snorted in disgust and jerked from Ross’s grasp, angry now. “Gabriel wouldn’t hurt me. He’s my friend! He doesn’t let anyone hurt me. When the German tried he … never mind.”
“I know.” Jamie said, his bottom lip quivering.
“What’s wrong?” she asked gently.
“Nothing,” he blurted. “Just sometimes I get in trouble. They hurt him instead of me when I make a mistake or make someone angry. He says that’s all right because he’s bigger than me and he doesn’t mind and I shouldn’t worry ‘cause it’s not my fault … but I think … mostly it is my fault.” His voice was only a whisper now, the ticking clock a counterpoint. “He never cries, though. He says I shouldn’t, either.”
“Oh, Jamie!” Sarah gathered him into a hug, her heart breaking. “It’s all right to cry. Sometimes it’s good for you.”
Ross, distinctly uncomfortable, cleared his throat and rose stiffly to his feet, grateful and content to let Sarah steer the way through these unfamiliar and dangerous shoals.
A maid poked her head into the room. “Is the boy to have his dinner, then?”
“No!” Ross barked. “We shall be leaving the premises immediately.”
“I’m not going without Gabriel. You can’t make me.”
Ross gritted his teeth and refrained from telling him that, indeed, he could. He was sick of this place, desperate to remove the boy as quickly as possible and take him back to the good clean air of Cornwall. “You’re a good lad, Jamie, and it’s to your credit that you hold by your friends, but Gabriel has his life here, and yours is with us now,” he said patiently.
“He says that, too. But I won’t go. Not without him.”
Mr. Smythe interrupted with a knock. “Your pardon, my lord, but a meal’s been laid in the parlor for the young master. I should be pleased to accompany him, if you wish.”
Jamie looked eagerly toward the door, his stomach growling. “I’m hungry,” he informed them.
“Yes I can hear. You won’t run away, James?”
“No, ‘course not! You’re here to take me home. Gabriel said to go with you so I will … if he comes too.”
“I see … Well then … Mr. Smythe will accompany you while your sister and I discuss your … friend. You will be perfectly safe with him.”
Ross eyed Sarah ruefully as Jamie left the room. “Gabriel says, Gabriel thinks, Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel. It’s a bit of a tangle. I don’t want to upset the boy, but good Lord! We can hardly bring home a fully grown male prostitute, no matter how good a friend he’s been.”
“Why can’t we?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why can’t we? You’ve seen Jamie, Ross. He’s still innocent, untouched. It’s miraculous! When I think of what might have happened—” A sob tore from her throat, and Ross awkwardly patted her back and passed her a handkerchief. She blinked and smiled, dabbing her eyes. “Sorry, that’s not at all like me, but I confess to feeling somewhat overwrought. Ross, this man, Gabriel, prostitute or not, was here for Jamie when we couldn’t be. He’s guarded him and protected him, at no small cost to himself. It’s due to him alone Jamie has been allowed to remain a child; that he’s been spared the horrors we most feared.”
“Your point is well taken, Sarah.” Ross patted her hand. “Of course I’m grateful, and he will be handsomely rewarded. Well enough that he can choose to live as he pleases.”
“Jamie wants us to bring him home, Ross. What harm can it do? If he’s looked after him these past five years, he’s hardly going to harm him now.”
“Think, Sarah! This isn’t a boy we’re talking about. He’s a fully grown man. I can assure you he’ll not be an innocent. For heaven’s sake, my dear, the madam has all but said he’s a catamite and a whore!”
“He is Jamie’s friend and rescuer,” she insisted stubbornly. “The least we can do is meet him.”
“Very well,” Ross grunted, “but I promise you it will do no good. The bawd will not wish to release him, and even if she will, he’s not likely to want to come with us.”
“Perhaps so, Ross, but then it will be this Gabriel who refuses, rather than you, and that will be easier for Jamie to accept.”
Madame Etienne sailed regally into the library several minutes later. Reestablishing herself behind her desk, she favored Ross with a sour look. “Well, monsieur, I trust you have made yourself at home? The only thing you’ve not made claim to is one of my ladies. Perhaps one of my gentlemen would be more to your taste. Your young heir, he is your heir, is he not? His friend, Gabriel, might suit … for either of you,” she smirked, “or both. Non? C’est bien.”
“Madame, if you know what is wise, you will close your foul mouth and never speak of my brother again, except to make arrangements for his immediate departure. You will also set a price on this man Gabriel, and bring him to us now.”
“I will be happy to let you have Gabriel, for a price. You may have him for the evening. He is highly skilled and very versatile, I assure you. He is much sought after by our clients, male or female, no matter their tastes.”
Ross replied coolly, each word clearly enunciated, “Madame Etienne, my patience wears thin. How much to release this man from whatever obligation he has to you?”
“I am not prepared to release him, monsieur. He brings a great deal of money to this establishment.”
“If that is so, Madame, then any obligations must be long since settled,” Ross replied silkily.
“Au contraire, monsieur.” Her smile was vicious; her voice sweet. “How do you think he protected your precious heir? Every time someone wished to whip or pet the child, Gabriel paid the house for him to be left alone. He should be glad to see the brat gone. Now he’ll become rich.”
Ross rose to his feet. “I warned you not to speak of my brother again. This has become a matter for the gendarmes.”
“No, no, monsieur, surely not! I apologize. I will guard my tongue and you will reflect on the embarrassment your heir would suffer should his circumstances be made public. I am certain we can come to a satisfactory arrangement. Ten thousand pounds, monsieur, and you may have him.”
“You’re joking, woman!”
“I assure you, Lord Huntington, I am not. An evening’s pleasure does not come cheaply here. Why it’s hardly more than Gabriel has spent over the past few years keeping your precious little brother pure and untouched.”
“Very well,” he said tightly, “but he is not to know. I can’t imagine he’d appreciate being haggled over, bought, and sold, like a bloody piece of meat.”
“Oh, he’s used to it, I assure you, monsieur. Yet, I fear, we shall both be disappointed. He will certainly refuse. Henri! Go and find Monsieur Gabriel. Tell him les Anglais sont ici, and wish to meet him.”
CHAPTER
2
Gabriel was confused and resentful; surprised Jamie’s family would ask to see him. He would not have expected them to know anything about him, or to care, if they did. He supposed Jamie must have said something. He supposed they were curious, this English lord and his lady. He had hoped to be spared any leave-taking. He resented being paraded like some zoo animal for their titillation and edification, but he was curious, as well, to see what kind of people came across the ocean to claim a little boy, what sort of people lost one in the first place.
He was expecting clients this evening and was already well begun on the brandy, the alcohol thickening him, distancing him, making it all just a little more bearable. It never inhibited his performance. If anything, it enhanced it, gracing him with a charming insouciance of demeanor he was well-known and well-paid for. It was better to work tonight, anything to fill the void widening at an alarming rate inside him. He hated them, without seeing them, for taking the boy away. He hated them for what he feared most, that they would make him see Jamie one last time, and he would betray the boy and what little pride he had left by begging his indifferent Creator to make them leave the child behind.
He took a deep breath, preparing himself, then pushed open the door and stepped into the room. The bitch regarded him with
gleeful eyes. She expected entertainment. My lord, tall and elegant in the severe way characteristic of certain military men, was rising, his eyes showing his alarm, a polite smile of welcome pasted on his face. Gabriel favored him with a feral grin.
Milady had also risen. He regarded her knowingly. Unfashionably tall, unfashionably dressed, a somewhat mannish creature with an air of health and vitality, she’d forgone corset and powder, and her chestnut hair tumbled loose in riotous curls. A cast to her smile, and a set to her eyes, suggested intelligence, and hinted at kindness and good humor. With amber-colored cat’s eyes and a light dusting of freckles, she was an exceedingly handsome woman. It caused a small flare of genuine interest, but she stared at him like all women did, and many men. Mercifully, there was no sign of the boy.
Ignoring Ross’s proffered hand, he moved to stand against the far wall. Striking a negligent pose, pale face impassive, his exotic kohl-lidded eyes flicked over each of them in turn, looking with bitter calculation and unconcealed contempt as he arranged the bountiful folds of lace at his wrists.
Riveted, Sarah studied him carefully. This was the man Jamie thought of as family, who’d sheltered him at considerable cost, and for reasons of his own, these past five years. It was difficult to imagine this hard-eyed glittering, stranger showing kindness to anyone, let alone a child, and impossible to imagine that they might take him home.
Her eyes traveled his length. Broad-shouldered, he was tall and lean, and despite his languid posture and elegant clothing, there was something infinitely hard and cold, almost wolfish about him. He wore a black silk coat, edged in a peacock motif of blue and gold. His legs were encased in tight-fitting trousers and soft leather boots. Blushing, Sarah lifted her gaze and flitted to his waistcoat. Its gold brocade and silk buttons matched the etching on his coat. Lace spilled from his cuffs, framing long, beautiful hands, and skillful-looking fingers a musician might envy.
