A Private Gentleman (19 page)
Read A Private Gentleman Online
Authors: Heidi Cullinan
the soap twice into the water, his breath coming out in short pants as he leaned
over to fish it out.
He shouldn’t be this unsettled, not after two pills. But what should he
expect? He took them daily now, and in heavy doses, so that he could spend the
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day with Michael without dissolving into a trembling idiot. The cost, as the
doctor had warned, was that now when he needed it, the drug would fail him.
Still shaking, Wes climbed out of the tub and back to his bedroom. He took
two more of the pills, despite the physician’s warning never to take more than
two at once. Certainly it wouldn’t kill him this one time.
To be safe, however, he wrapped himself in a blanket and sat by the stove as
he waited for the drug to take hold of him. Waited for the raw panic in his breast
to melt away. Waited for the edges of the world to soften. Waited for the sleepy
smile of opium to crawl up the sides of his face.
It did. He laughed out loud, tossed the blanket aside and strode boldly
naked back to his bathroom where, new brandy in hand, he warmed his bath
again. And then he settled back into the tub, letting his thoughts wander. As
tendrils of steam wafted over him, so did his thoughts drift inside his mind,
rising and mingling and dissipating as quickly as they came into being, colored
by the opium swimming through his blood.
Most of his thoughts were of Michael Vallant.
Vallant sitting primly on the coach seat, trying not to let on how much he
enjoyed the velvet cushions. Vallant listening with genuine interest as Wes
explained in his hesitant speech about the flora and fauna of London. Vallant’s
blush as he confessed his nearsightedness, his awkwardness as he wore his
spectacles.
His naked yearning as he said, “Kiss me.”
Wes shut his eyes and let his thoughts drift back further. To Vallant in his
silk gown, looking up at Wes with hungry eyes. Vallant’s wicked smile as he slid
down Wes’s chest to take his cock in his mouth.
Vallant’s long, lovely throat exposed as he tipped back his head and opened
his body for Wes’s pleasure.
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For a fleeting moment a voice of conscience scolded Wes, telling him he
should focus on Vallant’s plight, not his carnal allure. He had done so well all
week to try to make the other man feel at ease, but two words and the taste of
that sweet mouth had undone him entirely.
Legs and the potential new orchid were forgotten, his father’s party
dismissed to the furthest reaches of his mind. With his cheek pressed hard
against the metal rim of the tub and his voice echoing in sharp, breathy cries
against the tile, Wes shut his eyes and stroked himself to completion as he
imagined himself emptying not into the tepid waters of a bath but into the hot,
eager channel of Michael Vallant.
Michael woke from a nightmare with a scream that went on and on and on
until Rodger was found and brought up to the attic. Even then it took him fifteen
minutes and several swallows of brandy to calm Michael down, turning the
screams into wretched sobs as his dark dreams played over and over again in his
mind.
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Chapter Eight
Daventry House was aglow the following night when Wes arrived. He was
on foot, as he lived only a few blocks away, and he was early, because he did
better at highly populated functions if he was able to stake out a place in the
drawing room first and watch people arrive. Even so, the house was already afire
with light, inside and out. He could hear the gaslights’ quiet pops and hisses as
he stepped into the main hall. It was an eerie sound, but he rather liked it. It felt modern and oddly safe.
“Good evening, my lord,” the butler greeted Wes as he took his hat and coat.
“Your father is in the ballroom with your aunt, overseeing the finishing touches
of the decorations. Lord Vaughn is not at home but is expected within the hour.”
Wes inclined his head in thanks for the information, then geared his mouth
up for a question. “L-L-Lord Alten?”
The butler’s eyebrows rose briefly, but he replied, “In the schoolroom, my
lord.”
Inclining his head again, Wes headed up the stairs.
Wes braced himself for accusing looks and tender pleadings from his
nephew over the promised outings to the gardens which had not come to pass. It
would be very easy to tell the truth and blame his brother, but that wouldn’t help
father and son’s already greatly strained relationship. He decided best would be
to blame the Society, saying they had refused to allow a minor onto the premises,
even supervised.
A Private Gentleman
It would of course make Wes appear the weakling, incapable of convincing
his peers of a small, simple favor. The thought made his shoulders heavy and
sent his hand to his pocket to press against the extra pills he had brought with
him. He resisted the urge, reminding himself that at least in this way he could
serve his family, however inglorious the deed.
However, when he stepped into the small library-turned-schoolroom, he
found his preparations were not necessary.
Edwin sat bent over a table, and he did not look up when Wes entered, not
until the tutor rapped the boy on the back of the head to acknowledge his visitor.
When Edwin’s hollow eyes looked up and saw Wes, some brightness went back
into them, and he rose and threw his arms around his uncle.
“Oh, Uncle George!”
“Master Edwin,” the tutor chided, “you must not behave in such a wild
manner.”
Edwin stiffened and tried to pull back, but Wes stayed him with a hand on
his shoulder. He leveled his gaze at the tutor.
“Th-Th-Thank you. Th-Th-That will b-be all.”
Even full of stammer, it seemed, he held enough gravitas to be obeyed. The
tutor stiffened angrily, but he also inclined his head and left the room. Once the
door shut, Edwin’s posture relaxed somewhat. Wes led the boy to the sofa and
sat beside him.
For some time they simply sat in silence. Eventually Edwin’s shoulders
slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said almost in a whisper.
Wes frowned. “Y-You ha-have nothing to be s-s-sorry for.” He clenched his
hands once before forcing them open again. “Edw-win, I kn-know they t-t-ell
you to k-k-keep a st-stiff upper l-l-lip, but I m-m-must know if y-your t-t-t-utor is hur-hur-hurting you.”
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The boy slumped further and shook his head.
Wes ached. “P-Please. W-What is w-wrong?”
“What’s wrong is that he’s done nothing but throw temper tantrums and
behave like a spoilt child,” Lord Vaughn said from the door, his voice booming
out over the room. “His behavior is appalling, and I’ve told him so. He’s even
more of a disgrace to the family than you are, Wes.” Vaughn stopped in front of
the fireplace and glared down at his son. “Note well your uncle, boy. If you fancy
ending up as pathetic as he is, then by all means continue this behavior. And as
for you—” He shifted his glare to Wes. “You can leave my son alone and let the
men of the family bring him in hand without your nannying.”
Wes had begun to blush at the first insult to his honor, but by the third he
was positively fuming. Words filled his heart and spilled into his mouth, and he
lifted his chin to spew them at his brother. But though his lips were parted, his
whole soul ready, even now they tripped at the gate.
“P-P-P-P-P-P—”
Vaughn sneered. “God’s teeth, Wes.
Listen
to yourself. P-P-P-P-P-what?
What is it you want? Spit it out, please do. Make something of the thousands of
pounds father sunk into fixing you, all for nothing. But you won’t, will you?
Because you’re damaged and broken. Well, you won’t break my son. You’ve
already done more than enough. This isn’t going well. He’s only getting worse,
despite all Father has done. It’s because of you, I know it. Because he wants to
be
like you.” His face was red, his eyes dark and shiny with his rage. “I won’t have
him stammer like you. I won’t have my heir turn out like you. They coddled you,
and that’s what did it. It won’t happen again.
Not to my son.
” He aimed his finger at the door. “Go. Get out.”
Wes went.
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He rose to his feet, crossed the room and exited the door, all as if in a dream.
In the hall the tutor passed him, looking superior and smug. Wes kept on
walking, oddly numb, all the way to the stairs and back into the main salon.
Daventry House felt masculine and somber, full of hush and the whisper of
power and money. This sensation only increased as the guests arrived. Dukes
and earls and the Prime Minister himself were here, as well as their wives. Oh,
there were others, nobodies with power or money but not both, not enough.
They hovered as they were meant to along the peripheries of the walls, watching
the play of the others respectfully, whispering and admiring from afar. Waiting
to be summoned for their moment of utility.
Wes stood with them.
He took up a station near a window in the farthest part of the second
drawing room. It had the advantage of being both beside a window and a
doorway. The window was for illusion of escape only; the doorway was literal in
its promise of freedom, if only into a quieter part of the house. Only half the
guests were here, but already he was feeling the panic of the press of bodies, the
pressure of the din, the stench of too many exotic perfumes mingling with
scorched silk and sweat.
His pouch of pastilles lurked in his pocket, inviting him to swallow the lot of
them and escape into calm. He’d already taken several, and even a week ago, he
wouldn’t have hesitated to take more. But Miss Brannigan’s warning still rang in
his ears. He would not end up like that from his pastilles, would he?
Yet all he had to do was think of how delicious the feeling was of sliding
away, and he decided it didn’t matter, just so long as he was able to escape.
His hand slipped into his pocket, feeling the tin case where the pills lay.
“Are you hiding again, George?”
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Wes straightened and turned to his father, who was smiling but looked
weary, as he always seemed to do with Wes.
“N-no,” Wes lied, flushing at the stutter. “Just w-w-watching.”
Lord Daventry looked at Wes soberly. “I don’t ask much from you. I am
content to leave you to your plants most of the time. But tonight I have need of
you. Indeed, your country has need of you.” He nodded across the room at a sea
of men. “Come. I will introduce you now.”
The trip across the room was unbearable. Noise, so much noise, and so many
bodies. Only the threat of shame should his father see his panic kept him from
running or fainting or simply standing there and screaming. That and the
memory of his brother holding Wes up as the warning of what would become of
his son if he did not come about. Though thirty-seven years of trying had taught
him otherwise, he tried to come about himself as well. He could do this. It was as
they all told him, all in his head. There was nothing to fear here. He was fine. He
was safe and fine, and he would be fine—
But just to be sure, he reached for his pills, took three and popped them
quickly into his mouth. He chewed them, gagging on the bitter taste, but the trick
worked as it had before. Within seconds he felt the beginning of the drug
overtaking his system.
Almost without warning, he stood before a small, sour-faced man with
beady black eyes and a well-greased mustache.
“Daventry,” the man said coolly. “Such a charming home. Thank you for
your invitation.”
Wes’s father inclined his head. “I am glad you approve, Presley. We
discussed, earlier, my second son, the botanist? This is he. Lord George Albert.”
Presley’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “I see. But I’ve heard, my lord, that
he also has a stammer. Quite a nasty one. I’m not certain I want to trust the
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acquisition of something so important to me with someone not right in the
head.”
Daventry’s hand on Wes’s arm tightened, as did his smile. Wes stared into
Presley’s beady, suspicious eyes and tried to keep himself from casting up his
accounts. “My son is merely shy. When it comes to his plants, you can do no
better than he. Isn’t that so, George?”
Wes opened his mouth, but terror kept him from so much as making a
squeak. It was so loud, so hot, and Presley glared at him, almost sneering—
“We must greet more guests,” Daventry said quickly, his grip on Wes’s arm
nearly cutting off his circulation. “But when the women retire after dinner,
perhaps the two of you may discuss your…options.”
“Assuming your son can find his tongue by then, of course.” Presley smiled