Brook Street: Thief (6 page)

Benjamin did his best to hide his disappointment as he pushed up, tucked his prick into his trousers and did up the buttons. If he had known Cavin needed to leave immediately after they indulged, he would have kept his mouth to himself and his trousers buttoned. Sucking Cavin’s cock while the man sucked his had been a memorable and very pleasurable experience, but Benjamin would have gladly traded it for the opportunity to simply sit and talk with Cavin. He hadn’t been mistaken last night. That sense of comfortable ease, of rapport, had definitely been there. “I can have my carriage brought round to take you home.”

Cavin shook his head and snatched his coat from the floor. “I’m quite adept at hailing a hackney.”

There went another attempt to try to gain Cavin’s address. “Do you need fare?”

Chin tipped down, Cavin went still, hands poised over the fabric buttons of his black coat. The same coat from last night, and the only piece of clothing on his body that didn’t appear as if it had been worn many, many times over. “No,” he murmured, short and curt, the line of his shoulders tense with unease.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…” Well, yes, he had meant to imply the man hadn’t the funds for the fare, else he wouldn’t have asked the question. “It doesn’t matter to me if you need fare or not. I just want you to reach home safely.”

Cavin nodded. A tug on the bottom of his coat to straighten it, and he finally met Benjamin’s gaze once again.

Benjamin hated the awkwardness that had sprung up between them, but he had no idea how to fix it. He knew one thing for certain, though. For reasons known only to himself, Cavin had not been completely honest with him. All was not well in Cavin’s world, wherever he came from.

He held Cavin’s gaze. “If you ever have need of anything. Anything at all. You know where to find me.” He did not want Cavin to leave, but the man was adamant. If he pushed much harder, he’d end up pushing Cavin away forever. At least this way, he held a chance of seeing him again.

Cavin grabbed the black silk from the chair and turned back to Benjamin, a melancholy smile on his lips. “My apologies again for borrowing your waistcoat.”

Benjamin returned that melancholy smile. “I’m glad you did.”

Chapter Five

Cavin padded down the dark corridor on silent, bare feet. Not in the drawing room, not in the dining room, not in the study or morning room. Must be in the bedchamber. It was the only place left to look in the house, unless the owners had stored it in the garret or taken it with them with the intention of hanging it in their country house.

His fingertips found the brass knob and he opened the door at the end of the corridor.
Please, let it be in here.
Hale did not deal well with disappointment. It wouldn’t matter if Hale had picked the wrong house, or if the owners had taken the painting with them, or if Sam and Jim, the other boy he’d brought with them, found a hoard of gold hidden in the silver cabinet. If Cavin returned without the painting, Hale would have his head.

Leaving the door half-open, he entered the room. The silvery light of the full moon cut through the breaks in the drapes, illuminating the shadowed forms of a four-poster bed, a dresser, a writing desk and a pair of armchairs. He scanned the walls covered in pale paper, skipping over a trio of small rectangles—likely portraits of family members or watercolors of some sort, an oval mirror flanked by sconces, and stopped on a square frame above the mantel.

His pulse sped up as he crossed the bedchamber. Intricate carvings on the gilded frame that appeared to be three feet by three feet, just the right size per the description Hale had given him. He ran a finger over a spot on the canvas, felt the faint ridges of the brush strokes in the paint. Definitely done in oils. He could make out a dark shape dominating the canvas, but just to be certain, he tugged the curtain of a nearby window, letting in a bit more moonlight.

He let out a sigh of relief. That could only be a black horse painted on the canvas.

Why Hale had developed a fondness for the painting, Cavin had no idea. The man wanted it, so it was Cavin’s job to get it for him. He adjusted the strap slung across his chest, centering the bag against the small of his back. Then he reached out, but stopped, fingertips inches from the gilded frame.

Cavin glanced over his shoulder. Benjamin probably had a bedchamber like this one. The man probably slept in a four-poster bed with a mattress that looked as soft and inviting as the one behind him. Just the sort of bed he could have been sharing with Benjamin at that moment, if his life was anything other than what it was.

His arms dropped like leaden weights to his sides.

“If you ever have need of anything. Anything at all. You know where to find me.”

Benjamin’s voice echoed in his head, full of concern and worry and steeped in implicit trust.

Even though he would never see Benjamin again, just the thought of looking into his kind, hazel eyes, knowing he had left the man’s house, turned down his offer—twice—to spend the night with him, only to steal from another mere hours later…

He couldn’t.

Damnation,
he couldn’t do it. If he could so easily take that painting, walk out of this house with a clear conscience and hand the painting over to Hale, then he might as well go straight over to Brook Street and pinch Benjamin’s house clean. Take the books in his study, the little clock on the mantel, the clothes from the man’s closet. It would be the same, wouldn’t it? What did it matter that Benjamin and likely the owners of this house had more money than they could spend. He’d still be taking something that did not belong to him, and it wasn’t as if he needed the damn painting to put food in his belly.

He turned on his heel and left the room. The house was quiet as a grave as he went down a flight of stairs to the study.

Pushing open the half-closed door, he found the dark shapes of Sam and Jim where he’d left them, their well-trained hands swiping anything that could hold value and was small enough to fit in their bags.

“We need to leave. Now.” Even though he spoke in a whisper, his voice sounded unnaturally loud, echoing in his ears.

The boys didn’t question. Hands fell away from a bookshelf and a desk.

“Drop ’em.” Cavin pointed to the bags each boy carried.

Metal and porcelain clinked as the boys did as bid.

Even in the darkness, Cavin could see the question on Sam’s face. Yet the boy waited until they had slipped from the kitchen window and closed it behind them before opening his mouth.

“Why—”

“Not now, Sam.” Cavin motioned to the garden wall. “Back the way we came.”

Once they’d traveled a couple of streets, he pulled the boys to a stop along the back of a building, crouching down into the space between two bushes.

“What’s wrong, Cavin?” Sam asked, stooping down beside him. “Why’d we need to leave?”

Cavin took the bag off his shoulder and pulled out his shoes. His heart slammed frantically against his ribs. Shock over his own actions coursed through him. He couldn’t believe he had done it. He’d actually walked away from the painting. The ramifications gathered over his head like an approaching storm, yet a portion of his mind spun quickly. Hale wasn’t with them. The man had no way to prove or disprove anything Cavin would tell him. “I heard footsteps in the garret. The house wasn’t empty.”

“But why did we need to leave the bags?”

“Don’t know if a servant saw us leave the house, but it’s possible. Could have been watching from a window.” Cavin shoved his feet into his shoes. Years ago, he’d learned to take them off before entering a house. He could move about quieter without them, though he made the boys keep theirs on as he never allowed them to stray beyond the first floor of a house during a sneak. “I doubt anyone could have gotten a good look at us, but if you were caught carrying them, you’d be done for.”

“Not for long,” Jim said, full of confidence. “Hale’d take care of it.”

“He might not be able to on this side of the Thames.” Their protection was assured in and around St. Giles, but near Vauxhall? Cavin highly doubted Hale’s influence reached that far.

“Hale’ll be mad when we return with nothing.” Fear had crept into Sam’s voice, replacing the confusion.

“Better that than being dragged to a prison hulk. Don’t worry. I’ll explain it to Hale. I never found the painting, so it’s likely not at the house. The owners probably took it with them to the country.” The last thing he wanted was for Hale to push him to return tomorrow, servants in the house be damned. Hale knew he could move quiet enough to slip a ring from a sleeping man’s hand. Cavin leaned forward and glanced around the bushes. Satisfied by the empty street, he stood. “Let’s go. Keep to the shadows and keep your eyes open for a hackney.”

They spotted a cab a street from the pleasure gardens and were able to take it most of the way home, saving them what should have been a long walk, if the night had gone as Hale had planned. As Cavin had expected, Hale wasn’t pleased to see them arrive empty-handed. Sam and Jim wisely scattered the moment they walked through the door. Cavin got a fist to the jaw, but it could have been worse.

As he crawled into his narrow bed in his tiny little room, random shouts and curses from his neighbors drifting in through his window, he couldn’t help but wish he was in Benjamin’s bed. The man’s arms draped across his back, holding him close, the steady beat of his heart lulling Cavin to sleep.

With a shake of his head, he closed his eyes. Instead of wishing for something that could never be, he turned his mind to figuring out what he would do tomorrow and the next day and the day after. He’d get far more than an aching jaw if he returned empty-handed again.

* * *

Benjamin scanned the room once again, careful to check every table, along the walls, and by the cashier’s cage.

Damn.

He had known the probability of finding Cavin at Clements had been slim. Surely the man didn’t visit the hell every night. Still, the possibility he might be there, no matter how small, had pulled Benjamin to Silver Street. Now he had no one to blame but himself for the disappointment that draped over his shoulders.

Maybe Cavin had already come and gone, taken another man to that shabby hotel. Jealousy and hurt began to fill his throat. With effort, he tamped it down. Cavin knew where to find him. If all Cavin wanted was a tumble, he could get it from him. Hell, if the man was in need of anything, no matter how great or insignificant, he could get it from Benjamin. He’d made that clear enough to him.

And if Cavin didn’t wish to see him again, the least he could do was send Benjamin a note. Something, anything to quell the worry that had been building in his gut over the man’s absence.

Five days had passed since Cavin had walked out his front door. On the remote chance Cavin showed up on his doorstep again, Benjamin had deliberately stayed home more often than not, eschewing his club and his friends in favor of his own empty house. Even informed his servants that if he was out to immediately send word to him if the man called.

But nothing.

He took up a place at a nearby roulette table. Might as well stay for a bit. If Cavin made an appearance later that night, he sure as hell didn’t want to risk missing him.

As he pulled a few coins from his pocket, his elbow bumped the arm of the man beside him. “My apologies,” he murmured, glancing to his right.

Handsome, tall and strong, the man arched a brow as his gaze traced Benjamin’s body, interest sparking in his brown eyes.

Benjamin turned his attention back to the table, dismissing the man as politely as possible. He knew exactly who he wanted, and it wasn’t the man next to him.

Maybe he was being a fool, trying to cling to someone who didn’t want him in return. Maybe he was being impatient—it
had
only been five days. But he couldn’t ignore the feeling lodged in his chest. That feeling that pushed him to decline an invitation for a dinner party at his sister’s and instead go to Silver Street tonight. That feeling that whispered if Cavin would but give them a chance, a real chance to get to know each another and not just highly pleasurable time spent on his study floor, then it could lead to so much more.

And so he remained at that table until the hell closed its doors for the night, determined to do everything in his power to not let that chance slip away from him.

Chapter Six

Cavin rapped on the ceiling. The hackney slowed to a stop at the corner of Bond Street and Brook. He exited the carriage and handed a few coins to the driver. “Come along, Sam,” he called over his shoulder.

The shadows from the building behind them stretched across the street, blanketing sleek black town carriages, prime horseflesh and ordinary hackneys as others busily went about their day. Twilight would soon be upon them, and the last thing he wanted to do was call during supper again.

The boy hopped down to the street and glanced around. “He lives on Bond Street?”

Cavin waited until the driver snapped the reins. The horse slipped into a trot, the carriage pulling away from them. “No. A little ways up on Brook Street.”

“Then why did ye have the driver stop here?”

“Because it’s better this way.” He wasn’t about to have the driver drop them off at Benjamin’s doorstep. It just wouldn’t feel…right.

“But, Cavin—”

“Don’t, Sam.” Cavin took a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes on the exhale. “Please don’t, Sam,” he repeated, this time without the harsh snap.

Hale had actually approached Sam last night. Asked the boy if he’d be keen to earn a couple of pounds. At least Hale had asked. That was something Cavin should be grateful for. Still, that the notion had even entered the man’s head…

With effort, Cavin pushed the surge of impotent frustration aside. Palming Sam’s slim shoulder, a shoulder that nearly reached his own, he guided the boy around the corner and onto Brook Street. When he’d last walked up this street, he promised himself he would never return.

Odd, how never had turned into a week later.

He shouldn’t be upset or angry with himself, though. He should be grateful the option even existed. And grateful that Sam had told him about the incident before the boy had been fool enough to take Hale up on the offer.

But there shouldn’t have been an incident. He should have taken Sam from Hale’s long ago, shielded him from turning out like himself. Sam was smart and quick. Traits that made him an excellent thief, but he could be so much more if just given the opportunity. And that opportunity did not involve dropping to his knees in the front parlor of Hale’s house.

It had taken a bit of doing to convince Sam to come with him to Mayfair, to leave his old life behind, but eventually the boy had agreed. Why exactly, Cavin couldn’t say. Sam had simply stopped questioning, stopped protesting, and shrugged his agreement. The trick would be keeping him in whatever position could be found for him, but Cavin would worry about that later. First, he needed to find Sam an honest position.

Once they crossed Avery Row, he pulled Sam against the side of a white stucco town house and passed a critical eye over the boy. The plain brown trousers and coat he’d had the foresight to purchase a couple of days ago for him weren’t the height of fashion but the clothes fit properly and, most importantly, were clean. “Smooth your hair.”

The request earned him a scowl, but Sam did as bid, passing a hand over the top of his head.

Didn’t do a bit of good. The unruly mop of dark waves was too short to pull back into a queue and too long to lie neatly against his head. At least it wasn’t a knotted mess, and at least Sam had washed up that morning. With new clothes and without the layer of dirt and grime, the boy was somewhat presentable, even if his hair refused to cooperate. “When we get there, just nod and smile politely. Let me do the talking. If he asks you a direct question, please speak in proper English and address him as ‘my lord’.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “He’s a lord?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t have a title of his own. He’s Lord Benjamin. It’s the correct way to address a younger son of a peer. His father, however, is either a duke or a marquis, so
please
be on your best behavior.”

Sam’s eyes widened even further. “Where’d ye meet him, Cavin?”

“Out and about,” Cavin replied, deliberately being vague. Sam wasn’t dim. He knew Cavin occasionally went to Clements and why. Their visit to Benjamin’s would only last a handful of minutes. Still, he didn’t want Sam to think Benjamin was just like all the others—another nabob with too much money in his pockets and without the brains to recognize when he was being bilked.

“Out and about?”

“Yes. Now come along. We’re almost there. And remember, smile politely, don’t stray from my side, don’t touch anything, and don’t contradict anything I say. Understood?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Fox.” Sam rolled his eyes. At Cavin’s stern glare, he let out a sigh. “Yes, I understand,” he said, without the scathing sarcasm. “I’ll do my best not to embarrass you.”

“That’s not…” Cavin shook his head. “Sam, it’s not about me. It’s about you. It’s important that you make a good impression. Lord Benjamin is a good man, but to someone of his standing, appearances are everything. He won’t risk a recommendation if he believes it will reflect poorly on him.”

Sam nodded, his gaze somber and determined and much older than his thirteen years. A bit of the tension that had been stringing Cavin’s nerves taut since they departed St. Giles left his gut.

He glanced to the sky. Amber rays inched down the horizon, fading to midnight-blue. He didn’t own a pocket watch, but it had to be close to six in the evening. “Let’s go. We’re almost there.”

They stopped at the third door beyond Avery Row.

Head tilting back, Sam’s gaze roamed the tidy, brown brick town house. “Bleedin’ hell,” he murmured, his face going pale.

Cavin knew exactly how Sam felt.

After passing a hand over his own hair and tugging on his black coat to straighten it, Cavin rapped on the door. Thank heaven the bruise from Hale’s knuckles had fully faded, for he certainly did not want to field any questions from Benjamin about it.

The same servant from a week ago answered his knock.

“Is Lord Benjamin at home?” he asked, prepared to produce Benjamin’s calling card again. The one he hadn’t been able to resist slipping from the small pocket before he’d returned the waistcoat. The corners were tattered and creased, the elegant type slightly faded from the number of times he’d run his fingertip over it, but in the event the servant did not remember him, it would still do its duty in proving his acquaintance with Benjamin.

“Yes, his lordship is at home.” Moving aside, the man opened the door fully.

With a hand on Sam’s shoulder, he ushered the boy into the entrance hall.

“Cavin Fox!”

Looking up, he followed the sound of Benjamin’s voice to the landing at the top of the stairs. Benjamin was casually dressed in his shirtsleeves, cream waistcoat and brown trousers—a man at his ease in his own home. Fortunately he didn’t appear like he was hosting any guests at the moment.

“What an unexpected surprise. Come on up to the study.” A broad smile on his face, Benjamin motioned to Cavin.

He went up the stairs, one hand still on Sam’s shoulder and the other at his side, not daring to leave fingerprint smudges on the mahogany banister that had been so recently polished he could still detect the faint scents of lemons and wax.

Benjamin closed the study door behind him. “It is good to see you,” he said, extending a hand to Cavin.

“It is good to see you, as well.” He shook Benjamin’s hand. “Allow me to introduce my brother, Sam. Sam, this is Lord Benjamin.”

Benjamin started, as if just realizing Cavin had not arrived alone, and then looked to Sam. Cavin’s grip tightened on Sam’s shoulder, bracing for Benjamin to make some comment about how he and Sam looked nothing alike. Dark hair versus blond, gray eyes versus blue, golden skin versus pale. Their similar heights didn’t count for much—Sam was lean and lanky like a colt, indicating he had inches more to grow and stones’ worth of muscle yet to acquire. But siblings did not always resemble each other. For all Benjamin knew, Cavin could take after their mother and Sam their father. Benjamin could also assume that Sam was a bastard. It mattered not to Cavin, as long as Benjamin believed he and Sam were somehow related.

After what felt like forever, Benjamin finally broke his silence. “It is good to make your acquaintance, Sam.”

True to his word, Sam held his tongue and merely gave Benjamin a half bow.

Benjamin shifted his attention back to Cavin, the concern clear in his hazel eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Cavin gathered his courage. The worse Benjamin could say was no, right? And the fact the request was not for him, but for Sam, made it easier to voice. “I find myself in need of your assistance. Do you know of anyone looking to take on a servant? Sam needs a position. He does not have much experience, but he’s a quick learner and will do whatever is asked of him.”

Silence hung in the air as Benjamin’s gaze searched Cavin’s face. A furrow marred his brow as he shifted his attention back to Sam and then to Cavin once again.

Cavin was a second from snatching back the request and ushering Sam out of the house with a hasty apology, when Benjamin spoke.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do know of someone looking to take on a servant. Myself.”

Cavin gaped at him. “You need another servant?”

“A man can never have enough help about the house,” Benjamin said with a shrug.

“All I’m asking for is a recommendation or a nudge in a useful direction. You needn’t take him on yourself.”
Ah hell.
If he felt like he was imposing when he knocked on the door, it was nothing compared to now.

“Understood. But you’re in luck today.”

“But, Ben, that is not…” He slanted a glance to Sam and met curious gray eyes. “Wait here,” he said to Sam. Grabbing Benjamin’s wrist, he led the man behind the walnut desk on the far side of the room. His back to Sam, he pulled Benjamin to a stop in front of him and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “Ben, I did not intend—” he looked down to his hand still wrapped around Benjamin’s crisp white shirt cuff, “—my apologies.” Snapping his arm to his side, he released the man.

“There’s no need to apologize, Cavin.”

He shook his head. Benjamin was so kind, such a good man, it made Cavin’s chest ache. “You don’t need to take Sam on, Ben. I appreciate your generosity more than I can express, but it’s not necessary. I did not come here intending to impose to that degree. Hell, I never intended to make use of your offer to lend assistance, but I need to find a position for Sam, something far from home but not so far that I couldn’t check in on him occasionally. You’re the only person I could think of to go to. I know how this end of Town functions. No one will take anyone on without a referral from an acquaintance or a letter of recommendation, and he doesn’t have one. Not because he’s lazy or inept, but because he has no experience. Never worked for another before. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you could write him a letter or put a good word in for him, I would be immensely grateful.”

Benjamin reached out, gave Cavin’s upper arm a squeeze. “You aren’t imposing, Cavin, so please get the notion out of your head. I don’t keep a valet and I could use a boy to look after my boots and to assist Mrs. Gilroy. She worked as a housekeeper and cook for the previous owners and wanted to stay on when I purchased the house, but she’s getting on in years. I have a maid and a footman who come during the day, but she could use some help in the mornings and evenings.”

“But, Ben…”

“Just say yes, Cavin.” Benjamin paused. “Unless there’s a reason you don’t want him to work in my home.”

At the hurt beginning to make its way across Benjamin’s handsome face, Cavin rushed to correct him. “No, no. I couldn’t hope for a better employer for him.”

Dropping his chin, Cavin pinched the bridge of his nose. He would bet every shilling he had—which wasn’t much and it was all in his pocket, but that wasn’t the point—that Benjamin would have never sought out a new servant if Cavin had not shown up on his doorstep with Sam in tow.

Damnation,
he did not want to take advantage of the man, but he could do far worse than to place Sam with him. He had known Benjamin for only a week, yet he knew in his bones the boy would be safe with him. Wouldn’t be overworked or whipped or treated poorly. Sam would have an honest job in a respectable part of Town. It was the very opportunity he wanted for the boy. The sort of opportunity he would have given his right arm for at Sam’s age. The sort of opportunity he would still give anything for. To finally be free of St. Giles, free of the squalor and the crowded narrow alleys and the foul stench of desperation and despair that pervaded every inch of the rookery.

“Cavin?” Benjamin asked.

He would just need to have a word with Sam. If the boy nicked even so much as a halfpenny from Benjamin, Cavin would whip his hide himself.

Letting out a sigh, he met Benjamin’s gaze. “Thank you, Ben. Sam would be happy to accept the position.”

Benjamin smiled. “Wonderful. Since none of my staff currently reside at the house, there’s plenty of room for him to have his own accommodations in the garret. He can start tonight or wait until tomorrow or later if you’d prefer.”

“Tonight would be perfect.” Then he wouldn’t need to worry about renting a room for Sam at an inn. Where he would go tonight…he did not know, but he couldn’t return to Hale’s. Word would reach Hale’s ears that he and Sam had departed together, and Hale would get suspicious if Cavin returned alone. Boys came and went from the house, but he had a feeling Hale wouldn’t be pleased if he found out Cavin encouraged Sam to leave. As it was, he’d been giving Hale money of his own to cover the fact he hadn’t been working for the past week. The lightness of his pocket indicated he couldn’t keep that up much longer.

“Excellent.” Benjamin clasped his hands together. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch Mrs. Gilroy and inform her of the good news.”

The moment Ben left the room, Cavin went to Sam to give him the details of his new position. He had no doubt Sam had overheard most of the conversation, but he wanted no confusion.

“You must promise me, Sam, to be on your best behavior. Do exactly as asked, be good and thankful, do not stray from Mayfair, and don’t think about pinching even a speck of lint from this house. Do you understand?”