We’d become fast friends on the interminable voyage from London, and he hadn’t been too awful about the whole lessons and tutelage thing.
I crept towards his door and was gratified to find it open. Inside, I could see Oliver moving about, picking up shirts and folding them. I positioned myself in the shadow of the door and allowed myself to just stare at him.
He wasn’t much taller than I, perhaps a little more muscular. He’d mentioned some dock-work to pay for his rooms as he studied in university once or twice. His shirts fit him very well, especially since I’d started paying for my tailor to make his clothing (and possibly had hinted to the tailor that his clothes could be on the tighter side). I liked his fondness for rolling his sleeves up and displaying the soft downy hairs on his forearms.
It wasn’t purely a physical attraction, mind you. I loved how he saw who I was clearly, but he still could smile at me, or be patient, or try to make things easier. Kind. He had an unfailing kindness that I found hard to understand.
He started whistling as he worked, some tune from a sea shanty we’d heard on the trip over, all those months ago.
All right, I’m definitely stalling now. I should get going.
But I lingered a few moments longer, and watched as he bent to place some shirts into his chest, then added a layer of tissue paper. His trousers tightened with the movement and I thought of several unspeakable things I could do to him and his arse.
And then he straightened and I thought about how perfect a composition he'd make, with the soft island light diffusing through the mesh curtains and bringing out the gold in his hair.
Beautiful.
I hurried down the stairs and out the front door. Ionie was beating a carpet that usually sat in the living room. I expected the house would be cleaned and leased to someone else within a day.
“Master Cedric,” she called as I rushed past her. “Oliver was most insistent on the time of your departure. Do you wish for me to continue to pack your things?”
“No need,” I said. “I’ll be back in the shake of dancing girl’s arse.”
Ionie made a scoffing noise, but I was quite pleased with that turn of phrase, so I was smiling at my own puerile humour as I made my way through the city to the tailor’s, adjusting my shirt collar as I went.
Judging by the position of the sun, I had slept a few hours, and the rest had done me some good. The fresh air cleared my mind more thoroughly. Or possibly it had been the water I’d swallowed?
At any rate, the sunlight wasn’t as painful on my eyes, and my limbs had ceased aching. I felt halfway human again. There was even the idea for a painting tugging at the back of my head.
It would be Ionie on the front porch, beating a rug with a twisted wicker carpet beater - the colours of the rug reflected in the flowers that lined the garden path, the sunlight reflecting on the windows…
It could be quite charming. Except, of course, that I wouldn’t get the chance to paint it from life if I had to sail for grey old England tonight.
I wondered if I would be able to recall it from memory in a manner satisfactory enough to capture the beauty. It didn’t matter, either way.
The tailor’s wasn’t far from my home, so it took little time to get there. The shop was one in a row of fashion based stores, a milliner’s, a cobblers, a rival tailors and then my man. His sign read “Providing the latest in European fashions” and his name was painted beneath: Victor Howard Phillips, est. 1690.
As I let myself in, the bell over the door rang and my heart tugged sadly, thinking that I wouldn’t hear it again after this visit. I had grown rather fond of the old man and his clever ways with needle and thread.
“Good afternoon, Master Cedric,” Mister Phillips said, looking up from the shirt he was sewing. His eyes widened as if in surprise.
Perhaps he hadn’t expected me for a few more days? “Good afternoon, Mister Phillips,” I said. It was easy to be polite and proper with people I respected. “I do hope you’re well.”
“Quite well, thank you. You must be here for your jacket. Let me fetch it for you.”
“Indeed.” I gave him my most charming smile, then let it drop. “I shall have to thank you for all your service to me. I shall miss you, indeed.”
“Miss me?” He had moved to the back of the store and was rifling through a rack of clothing, half of it pre-made and waiting for a purchaser, but he had custom made pieces in there as well. I did sometimes wonder why he didn’t have a better organisational system, but perhaps he was of the type of creative mind that doesn’t lend to such passé matters.
“I come with sad tidings.” I allowed the genuine regret I felt leak into my voice. “My father has insisted on my swift return to England, and my dear tutor saw fit to obey him instantly. If it had been down to me, I would have pretended to not have received the letter, or at least booked passage on a ship in several weeks.”
Mister Phillips turned back to me, the waistcoat and jacket clutched tightly in his hands. “Beg your pardon, Master Cedric, are you leaving Kingston?”
“Yes, that’s the general idea. Not particularly happy about it myself, but well, when pater calls, and so on.” I held my hand out for the clothing. “It’s all paid for, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Mr Phillips said. “Oh, uh, well perhaps I should just check that the fit is correct.” He held the jacket back out of my reach.
“There’s no need for that,” I said. I was starting to get slightly irritated by this point. “We’ve had fittings for the thing, and besides you have my measurements on file. It’s hardly as if you don’t know what size clothes I wear. I really should be going, I have my paints to pack up.”
I could see Mr Phillips’ jaw working, his eyes were wide and it seemed as if he were trying to think of some reason to withhold the jacket. I cleared my throat.
“I really must insist.”
His shoulders slumped and his face brightened. “Yes, of course, sorry, just… the shock of the news.” He laid the waistcoat and jacket out on the countertop then began to fold them, wrapping each piece in tissue paper before bundling them in brown paper and tying the whole thing up with string.
My irritation softened. “I’m truly sorry I won’t be able to visit any more, I’ve very much enjoyed your creations.”
He handed me the package and gave me a wide smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Pleasure doing business with you. Best of luck sailing out.”
First it seemed as if he wanted me to wait around in the shop, and now it feels like he wants to be rid of me as soon as possible. What strange behaviour, he’s usually so very, painfully ordinary.
Whatever the reason for his actions, I was happy to take my leave of him. Not that I was truly in any hurry to get back to packing my things. If this was to be my last day in Kingston then I wished to at least visit the local tavern and have a drink.
The King’s Court was down by the wharves, and thus often delightfully full of bored sailors and privateers. It was a little rougher than the kind of place a person like me was strictly supposed to frequent but I’d never let that stop me before.
I made my way through the street market, with all its strange wares, delicious smells and hot fresh food.
I didn’t often pay the market much mind, aside from to check if anyone had brought any interesting paints from far off lands. I was scanning the stalls for just such a person, when I heard a couple of voices shouting. It wasn’t entirely unheard of for fights to break out. The criminal element liked to stay quiet while the Navy was around - and the Naval men usually waited until night had fallen to get rowdy.
A witch waved at me, she had an interesting copper sheen to her skin, and her dress was of fine Indian silk. She had a selection of crystals, oddly painted cards and woven strings - charms against evil, charms against drowning. I tried to pretend that I hadn’t seen her but she waved again.
“You there, boy, come here, I have something you need.”
I sighed, tucked the paper parce
l under my left arm and approached her stall. “I’m sure you say that to everyone who passes,” I said, trying to keep my tone light so she didn’t curse me.
She narrowed her eyes. “Watch your tongue, boy. And watch your back.” She had something in her hand, and I tilted my head to the side, trying to make out what it was. “It’s not too late yet,” she said. “But it soon will be, go on take this.”
“What have you got for me, there? And what will it cost?”
“Two silver florins and a kind word,” she said.
I almost told her it was too much but it didn’t pay to be smart with a witch. Curses and hexes were real, after all. I bit my tongue and pulled out the coins, offering them to her from an open palm. “I’m sorry for joking earlier,” I said, as politely as I could manage. “Thank you for your concern, I should love to take the charm you recommend.”
“Hm, well. That’s a bit better.” She took the coins and placed a charm in my hand. It was a thumbnail sized, oddly heavy brass idol, perhaps a god or goddess from her homeland, it was bound with thread and three crystals held against its back. “Keep it on your person, boy. It might save your life.”
I slipped it into my trouser pocket. “Thank you, what does it do?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” she said. “It’ll protect your dreams, maybe think of it like that.”
“Sure, thank you.”
“Hurry on, now,” she said. “Never seen a boy with more chasing after him than you.”
Chasing after me?
I glanced over my shoulder as I walked away, thinking the old bat must’ve been delusional. No one was chasing me.
Well, that’s what I thought until a group of men jumped me in an alleyway.
Chapter 4
In which Cedric is kidnapped
I took the side alley to get to The King’s Court, a thing I’d done dozens of times, if not hundreds, with no incident.
I could hear footsteps, which wasn’t anything unusual, it was a busy part of town.
Then a man stood in front of me, and when I tried to step around him, he barred my way. I had been trying to hurry past, but the man forced me to stop. I looked up at him with a huff of annoyance.
He was a tall man, and had the kind of face that told you either not to mess with him, or to definitely mess with him if you wanted a beating. My heart could go either way depending on the day, but in this case I’d rather have avoided him.
His hair was deep brown, with red highlights in the afternoon sun, and his skin was the colour of oak leaves in Autumn, a deep, rich ochre with orange undertones. The kind of colour I’d struggle to reproduce in oils, although if I could…
“Cedric Hale-Harrington?” he grunted.
Cold water pooled in my stomach and I swallowed. “Uh, no, never heard of him,” I said, on instinct.
“Yeah, that’s him,” another man said from behind me. I didn’t dare look away from the man in front of me, but my hand strayed to my hip. My hip, where I’d failed to strap on a sword or any kind of protection. Lulled into a sense of security simply because nothing like this had ever happened to me before.
What a complete fool I am.
“Aye, fits the description,” a third man said, moving uncomfortably close on my right hand side. I looked down in time to see his hand reaching for my arm, and I darted out of his way. “Fine clothes, short dark hair, grey eyes, no sense of self-preservation.”
Ow, all right, that description might be accurate but it hurt to have it said out loud and by a total stranger.
“If you don’t mind,” I said. “I’ll be on my way.”
“No, I don’t think you will,” the first man said. He drew a long, wicked looking cutlass and raised it towards my throat. I tried to back away but was caught by hands on my shoulders. I looked to see who had me and saw a truly frightening man with pale, almost grey skin, and long straight, black hair. His fingers held me tight.
“What is this? Am I being press ganged? Because I’ll have you know my father is a member of the British parliament.”
“Yes, you see, it is him. I told you.”
“Fine, Marco, I’ll give you a gold coin. Let’s get him onto the ship first.”
I struggled against the strange man’s grasp. My paper package dropped to the ground. “Fuck, my jacket. Let me go, I say!”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” the one called Marco said. “Not this time.”
He held his cutlass to my throat and I went still. “Now if you agree to come quietly, this will be quite straightforward,” the man behind me said. His voice was deep, almost seeming to vibrate.
Quiet, right. I don’t have to do that at all.
I took a breath, raised my voice and started to yell. “Help! Someone help me!”
That’s when I felt something hard and solid connect with the back of my head.
I had no way of knowing how much later it was when I woke up.
My head ached - again - but this time it was a dull ache at the back of my skull, rather than the throbbing ache of too much wine.
I groaned, tried to stretch and ease the ache in my limbs, only to find my movement severely hindered.
Tied up? Oh, now that is interesting… I squirmed a little and felt the rope cut into my wrists. Just like that time with the not-nearly-so-proper Lady Evangeline. That was a fun night.
A small moan escaped me before I realised I definitely wasn’t in that kind of situation.
I opened my eyes to find only darkness. My mind ticked like a clock, trying to work out what was happening.
Men accosting me in an alleyway.
Men who knew my name and who I was.
A blow to the back of the head, which I could still feel.
Ropes and a blindfold.
Oh right. Kidnapped. I wonder who by? The men in the alley didn’t look familiar.
And now that I was working things out, I realised there was a motion I was feeling. Motion that was sickeningly familiar. I was on a ship at sea.
“Fuck,” I said.
My first thought was of Oliver. He’d miss me. Or I’d miss him. It’d be up to him to explain what had happened to my parents, the poor thing. I didn’t want to worry him… or well, worry him any more than I already did on a daily basis.
Poor Oliver. I’d miss him, horribly. I wondered how long it’d be before I could get back to him.
I tried to get into a sitting position - tricky with my legs bound as well as my arms, which were pinioned behind my back so tightly I could barely move them. I bit down another moan. It really wasn’t the time to think about being bound for pleasure. I had to focus.
I managed to get myself upright, but there was nothing to lean against. I was part way through tossing my head side to side to see if I could dislodge the blindfold when I heard heavy footsteps - boot heels on a wooden deck, and the sound of a lock being opened.
“Fuck,” I said again.
“Indeed,” a voice said. I couldn’t tell for sure if it was one of the men from the street, so I kept my mouth shut.
The footsteps came closer, and someone pushed the blindfold down my face so it settled around my neck.
I blinked a couple of times and looked up into the eyes of my captor.
Handsome.
Weirdly, I did sort of recognise him. I couldn’t pick from where, though. He was tall, his eyes were a blazingly bright hazel colour, his stare was intense. His hair was a sandy blond colour, and he was dressed all in black. Leather pants, a black shirt and crossed bandoliers loaded with bullets as well as a sword and pistol at his hips.
“Pirate,” I said, before I could stop myself. Sometimes my mouth just said things without my mind’s intervention.
His mouth tugged up at the side a little and his eyes crinkled. Handsome, I thought again.
“Very astute, Mister Hale-Harrington. I hope you’re comfortable.”
That had to be a jibe, but I couldn’t help myself writhing in order to feel the way the ropes cut into my skin
, because it was hot, and it made my cock throb in a pleasant way. I managed to swallow an out loud response this time though, because it seemed like it wasn’t the time to beg him to fuck me. It seemed as if he had more to say before I did that.
“Do you recognise me?” he asked.
“I thought I did, but I couldn’t place you, I’m sorry,” I said. My voice was a little hoarse, it turned out, when I had to string more than one word together.
“Have you heard of the Devil’s Whore?” he asked.
I blinked. Of course I had. Everyone had. The Devil’s Whore was one of the most feared pirate ships on the seven seas. The captain was nicknamed Lucifer. The captain, who always wore black and had eyes that were said to pierce the soul of his many victims.
I felt a thrill of fear, which, because I’m an idiot who had no sense of self-preservation and clearly somewhat disturbed, sent another pleasurable throb into my cock.
“Yes,” I said, belatedly. I swallowed the arousal down and cleared my throat. “Are you Lucifer? Was I kidnapped by the most feared pirate on the seas since Bloody Tate?”
He smiled wickedly, smug and self-satisfied. “Indeed.”
“That’s fantastic,” I said. I tried to sit up straighter, tried to get closer to him somehow.
“Fantastic?” He frowned, his eyebrows drew together. “In what way?”
He spoke well, with the hint of a London accent.
“It’s sexy as Hell,” I said. “Are you kidding me? I’ve literally imagined this as I lay in bed alone and stroked myself off. I mean, I’d never seen you but I imagined you were handsome… I had no idea how handsome you’d be.”
He didn’t respond. His eyebrows were drawn closely together. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Folded his arms. Then tipped his head to the side.
“You are not what I imagined either, it’s safe to say.”
I hoped that meant I was more handsome than he thought I’d be. Probably he just hadn’t expected me to be so crude and sexually magnetic.
Kidnapped by the Gentleman Page 2
