Kidnapped by the Gentleman

by Drake LaMarque

  Kidnapped by the Gentleman

  Gentleman’s Bounty: Book One

  Drake LaMarque

  Grey Kelpie Studio

  Copyright © 2020 Grey Kelpie Studio

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Any similarities to people living or dead is purely coincidence, this is a work of fiction and fantasy.

  ISBN ebook edition 978-0-473-52647-4

  Cover by the most incredible woman in the world

  Printed in United States of America via Kindle Direct Publishing

  Published by Grey Kelpie Studio

  Chapter 1

  Kingston, Jamaica - 1720 September

  I woke up suddenly, heart racing as if a door had slammed or someone had shouted, startling me. I couldn’t remember dreaming, perhaps I had heard something in the real world, but I was distracted from what it could have been by a thumping pain in my head and various aches in my body. I was lying face down… somewhere.

  Groaning, I tried to remember the night before. It was largely a blur. The taste in my mouth was of stale wine and tobacco smoke, which told me I had been drinking, perhaps at a party. Hardly surprising.

  It seemed as if I were on a bed, at least, something large and flat and comfortable. The fabric under my hands felt like a bedsheet.

  I couldn’t tell if I was alone in the bed, or not.

  I rubbed my eyes, dislodging an alarming amount of dry, sandy sleep from them. Finally, I dared to open my eyes a crack, which hurt because there was bright morning sunlight streaming in from somewhere. Somewhere high up.

  I groaned again, and there was a responding noise from nearby. My eyes flew open and I pushed myself up on my hands to look around. I instantly winced, closing my eyes again, because there was a pain over my back.

  What on Earth did I get up to last night?

  The other person sighed again, making the kind of ‘let me sleep’ noise I was accustomed to making myself when a servant came to wake me for breakfast. I forced my eyes open to, at the very least, identify who it was making the noises.

  There were, apparently, several people sleeping nearby. So the question wasn’t so much ‘who’ as ‘how many?’

  The room was unfamiliar, but slowly memories started to return. The Hellfire Club. The mysterious and scandalous secret society, which I’d managed to snag an invitation to. The Masquerade, that’s what I’d come for. A masquerade the night before…

  Must’ve drunk too much and passed out.

  Or done something else.

  I looked down at myself. Yes, I was indeed naked.

  Right, find your clothes, that’s the first step. Clothes. Dressing yourself is the next step, and then get out. They might try to tell you they love you or some ridiculous thing like that.

  A small voice in the back of my head suggested I might be concerned that I couldn’t remember the night before or where I was, but the ache in my head had been joined by a sharp pain in my throat.

  From the quality of light (bright) and the taste in my mouth (stale), I deduced it must be morning.

  Probably Oliver would be worried about me. I should get back.

  I rubbed my hand over my forehead before hauling myself up off the bed and pulling my trousers on. I winced a little at the movement, I was aching all over.

  Probably just means I had a really good night.

  I had no idea where the peacock mask I’d worn the night before had gone, but fuck it. Not like I was about to wear it again.

  No, the next thing I needed was my shirt. Where was my shirt? I found it crumpled on the floor, and picked it up. I pulled it on with trembling hands. My skin hurt.

  Why does my skin hurt? Must’ve… maybe there are scratches down my back from some particularly rough love making?

  I buttoned my shirt and walked to the door, picking over the sleeping forms, careful not to wake anyone.

  My head pounded with each step, and my eyes blurred. What had I been drinking the night before?

  When I got to the door, I tried to turn the handle and open it but it was locked. Which did seem curious, but not exactly unheard of for a party where people had been doing such debauched and fun things.

  I felt in the pocket of my trousers but found nothing there.

  I looked around for a key but it made my head spin to do so.

  The nearest sleeping form, of which there were perhaps three or four, but one had her hair in what must have been an elaborate coiffure. It had somewhat fallen down now, but it was partially held a hairpin in the shape of an orchid.

  I exhaled, trying to steady my vision, then leaned in and plucked it from her hair. I didn’t breathe, in case she woke, but all that happened was the golden coils of her locks uncoiled prettily over her bare neck. I watched for a moment, transfixed until it settled.

  Time is of the essence. I need to get back home, to Oliver.

  I did hate to make Oliver worry, but well. He worried about me plenty, I’m sure, but I hated to make him proper worried.

  I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and using the hairpin I picked the lock in the door. This was a skill I had learned by necessity back in London. Back there, I’d had too many lovers who had spouses fond of suddenly returning without warning.

  Quick escapes were important to be able to accomplish with minimal tools.

  The door’s lock clicked and I pushed the door open before setting the pin down next to its owner. Whatever else I was, I wasn’t a thief.

  It seemed I was in some sort of cellar, as the landing was small and dark, and largely dominated by a set of stairs.

  I took the stairs up, found myself in the foyer of the grand house the masquerade party had been held in. In the absence of any servants, and hardly wanting to attract attention, I showed myself out.

  I was halfway up the road before I realised shoes or boots may have been a good idea. My feet began to hurt on the rough cobbles, but it was just another pain on top of the pounding in my head, the aches in my limbs and the weird way my skin itself hurt.

  At least it wasn’t far to get home.

  Kingston was such a little town after all. I spared a glance up the hill at the Governor’s house, where there had been a fancy to-do the night before - one I’m sure my father would have wanted me to attend with all the finest of ex-London society, but instead, I’d gone to the party at the Hellfire Club.

  It was somewhat curious that I’d fallen asleep there… usually, I favoured slipping out on my lovers in the early hours of the morning and sleeping at home. Curious.

  But I’d made a clean escape, and I felt sure there was nothing to worry about.

  Chapter 2

  In which Cedric returns to the townhouse

  The house was in a bit of uproar, which was unusual for a… what day was it? Thursday? I had no idea. It was unusual.

  I let myself in the front door - the townhouse was small but well-appointed, rented by my father to house me in my exile. There were three maids, a cook and a valet as well as Oliver of course.

  My heart did its usual little flutter when I thought of how soon I’d be seeing Oliver again.

  Stupid, foolish heart. It will never come to anything. I know that. And yet, the heart continues to yearn.

  I hurried up the stairs to my room, which was in the process of being cleaned by the maid, Ionie. I hesitated in the doorway, realising with some surprise that she wasn’t simply cleaning, she was packing some of my things into my travelling chest.

  Now why would she be doing
that?

  I cleared my throat and Ionie looked up at me with a surprised expression.

  “Master Cedric! You must hurry,” she said.

  “I must hurry for what, exactly?”

  “You don’t know?”

  I felt a hand on my shoulder, which made me startle. I hadn’t heard anyone behind me. Of course, my head was still throbbing with pain and there was an unpleasant ringing noise in my ears, so I don’t think I could have heard anyone behind me, but I startled all the same.

  “Cedric?”

  Oliver. I turned to look at him, my mouth going dry all over again. He was as pretty as ever. His wire rimmed glasses a little grubby as usual, hiding the brightness of his azure eyes.

  “Good morning, oh tutor of mine,” I said, trying for mischievous charm.

  From Oliver’s curled lip and raised eyebrows, it came across as slightly mania-fuelled.

  “Good morning, where have you been all night? Or shouldn’t I ask?” He rubbed his thumb against my back, which felt impossibly uncomfortable, not from the intimacy of the gesture which frankly I appreciated, but somehow his touch stung. He saw my flinch and quickly dropped his hand. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s nothing, I was simply… out at a party. What’s going on, why is Ionie packing my paintings and paints?”

  “A letter arrived late yesterday afternoon. You’re… well, we’re asked to return to London,” Cedric said. He had a piece of paper in his other hand, I recognised the fluid script my father used. My throat tightened, and I winced at the feeling.

  “Asked to return? But surely he doesn’t mean right this minute?” I swallowed and plucked the paper from his hand, scanning the words and feeling doom settle upon my shoulders.

  The letter wasn’t addressed to me, of course, I couldn’t be trusted with matters of… myself.

  Instead, it was directed to Oliver, the perfect, well-behaved good boy that he was.

  Mister Stanhope,

  I trust this letter finds you well.

  Reports of Cedric’s continued misbehaviour have reached us here in London. His mother is terribly upset and I myself am beyond disappointed.

  We had hoped sending Cedric away from the bad influences in London would improve his disposition. This, as you know, is why we engaged the services of an upstanding young man such as yourself.

  In order to keep a firmer rein on Cedric’s misadventures, I have no choice but to insist on his immediate return to London. I trust you to chaperone him back on the next available Naval vessel, I have enclosed a letter to the Governor to arrange this.

  Once the passage is secured, I understand the Navy has some way of sending messages quickly. I should like to know when to expect my son.

  Terribly sorry but please understand, under the circumstances, I cannot continue your contract as tutor for Cedric once he is back in my care. I shall, of course, pay you for all the days leading up to the one where you bring him to my door.

  Yours faithfully

  The Honourable Ackley Hale-Harrington, esquire

  “Trust Father to use his full title when he’s sending a scolding letter for the return of his son,” I joked, although my heart wasn’t in it. “I’m surprised he didn’t add what he’s currently the minister of.”

  “I understand that he did in the letter addressed to Governor Keene,” Oliver said. His voice was a little softer than usual, he was trying to joke as well.

  Poor sod’s just lost his job. Thankless though it was at least it was a wage.

  “Oliver, I’m so sorry about your contract,” I said. I looked up to meet his startlingly blue eyes. My breath caught for a moment. “Really, I can argue with him and get your contract continued, none of this is your fault in the least.”

  Oliver shook his head and raised a hand, placating. “It’s fine, this was never a permanent role. The fact is that he’s right. I haven’t been a good chaperone to you.”

  “You weren’t supposed to be a chaperone, you were teaching me Latin and Literature, and you’ve done that. I’ve read Shakespeare, I know the difference between thee and thou, you’ve done well.”

  Oliver’s gaze slid to the side and I read the letter again, an unpleasant thought occurring to me. “He hired you to do more than that, didn’t he?”

  Oliver didn’t reply, which was, of course, all the response I needed. I sighed and went into my room. “Thank you, Ionie, I can handle the packing from here.”

  Ionie nodded and left the room, keeping her eyes down as she passed Oliver.

  My head thumped, and now the pain was centralised directly behind my eye. I didn’t want to talk about any of this. I wanted to collapse in my bed and sleep until I didn’t hurt any more.

  I was highly aware of Oliver lingering in the doorway of my bedroom.

  “Cedric,” Oliver said, his voice conciliatory. He was trying to make up, to apologise to me. I had to resist the urge to turn to him and tell him it was all right. It wasn’t all right. We had to go back to London and my freedom would be severely curtailed. It wasn’t Oliver’s fault, but it wasn’t… not his fault either.

  I couldn’t cope with this. It was too much information to take in on a day when I’d got up to God only knew what the night before. I simply couldn’t be the soul of wit and politeness any longer.

  “If you don’t mind,” I said, shorter and more abruptly than my heart truly wanted, but I’d started now, and my tongue hadn’t ever known how to stop. “I’d like a moment to myself. I need to close my eyes, vomit and give in to the sweet release of death. Probably not in that order.”

  I took hold of the door to my room and started to close it. “Good night.”

  “Don’t die, please,” Oliver said in a small voice. Then he shook his head, bracing a hand on the door so I couldn’t shut it all the way. That annoyed me. “Our ship sails at nine tonight. You must be packed and ready to go by then, Cedric.”

  “Nine?! Today?”

  My mouth went even drier than it had been, which I honestly hadn’t imagined was possible. My poor, tender, alcohol pickled brain scrambled to make sense of the words Oliver had said with his sweet pale pink lips.

  “Today?” I said again.

  “Yes, Cedric. Honestly, if you weren’t so hungover perhaps you’d understand.”

  Oooh, now I’ve made him annoyed with me. Damn but he’s sexy when he’s pissed off. I wish he’d spank me. Maybe then I’d be able to behave...

  No, I’m getting distracted. He’s still talking. What’s he saying? Focus, Cedric.

  “- your Father made it abundantly clear. The next ship bound for London is at nine tonight. It’s called the Trinity Royal and the captain has agreed to take us on as passengers.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

  I closed the door on him. Partially, so he’d stop talking and partially so I didn’t just abandon all sense of pride and throw myself into his pleasantly muscular arms and ask him to make it all better somehow.

  I didn’t think that second course of action would end the way I wanted it to.

  Chapter 3

  In which a jacket is retrieved

  This time I woke up slowly. Drifting out of a deep sleep, with the sneaking feeling I’d been dreaming but the contents of it slipped away as I became aware again. My cheek was pressed against the pillow and it felt rather like peeling it off as I woke. There was one clear thought in my head.

  My new jacket.

  I sat up, groaning as my head spun with lightness. I was unpleasantly damp and I had apparently torn my shirt off as I slept to counteract the heat.

  Should have opened a window before I passed out…

  I rubbed the bridge of my nose. I had commissioned a fine peacock feather blue jacket and waistcoat from the best tailor in town. I had been supposed to go and pick it up yesterday but with the choosing what to wear to the Hellfire Club and all, I’d been too busy. I hadn’t done it, thinking I had plenty of time.

  But if we were leaving Jamaica tonight, sailing at… seven? Nine
? Whatever time Oliver had said? That time was all gone.

  I’d already paid for the blasted jacket. I might as well enjoy it.

  I pulled myself upright, found a carafe of water thoughtfully placed beside my bed by someone kind, and drained it. I could feel the cool liquid flooding my gullet, sweet and good.

  Next, the chamber pot, and emptying my bladder of its rather insistent burden. Then I found a fresh shirt and pulled it over my shoulders.

  I winced as the fabric hit the still oddly sensitive skin of my back.

  Someone must’ve given me a good thrashing last night with a whip or a cane. Wish I could remember who…or what had happened afterwards.

  I laced my shirt looser than normal to give my back a break, ran my fingers through my hair in lieu of a proper brush and comb, which would take time I could ill afford. I grabbed the nearest footwear I could see - a pair of sturdy but not entirely ugly boots, and stuffed my coin purse into my pocket. I’d left it at home the night before, knowing full well the kinds of people who might prey on rich idiots such as myself when the wine was flowing.

  Well, wine and opium and whatever else had been going.

  I decided to try and interrogate my memory later, once my jacket was in my possession and I could relax a little.

  Quite accustomed to sneaking around, I could be rather silent in the hallways when I chose to. I chose to then. I remembered with some shame how pathetically rude I’d been with Oliver, and I didn’t wish him to scold me or worse, go for another round of ‘let’s talk about how disappointing Cedric’s behaviour is’. I hated that game.

  But all the same, I wanted to sneak a look at him. My patheticness was really all down to the ridiculous crush I’d nursed for him since Father first hired him. There he’d been, all scrubbed and clean in a brand new suit, fresh faced and ready to imbue me with a thrill for learning and, I presumed, a better moral compass than the one I had apparently been born with.