Master of Pleasure (16 page)

Lord Brayton tilted his dark head, his blue eyes intently observing her. “That newspaper could make it worse. Who knows where it’s been.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Oh, come now. It can’t be any worse than what is already on his hands.”

“Oh, yes, it can. Someone rolled it up and abandoned it for a reason. Get rid of it.”

Leona cringed and frantically shoved the newspaper back in between the railing.

He smirked, pushed away from the door and wagged his fingers at Jacob. “Come inside. What you need is soap and water.”

Jacob jogged past, holding out both hands, as he went up toward him. “Your stairs are very dirty, Lord Brayton. Very dirty. Look at what they did! I’m a mess!”

Brayton’s mouth quirked. “Don’t blame the stairs for your folly, Mister Jacob. They may take offense.” Grabbing Jacob by the head, he carefully turned him and guided him inside. “Whatever you do, don’t touch anything. All right? Or your poor mother will have to clean it.”

Haha. Leona puffed out a breath and followed them in. Closing the door behind them with a foot, she swiped her hands against her skirts. She could feel the grime on her hands. She hated London. Everything was so dirty. At least in the country, one always knew where to step. “I’ll have to wash my hands, too. Then you can show me around and I’ll get to work.”

Still guiding Jacob by the head, Malcolm glanced back at her from over a massive shoulder. “There is water and soap in the kitchen.”

Oh, thank the heavens. There was a kitchen. She was worried she’d be forced to cook everything by the fire of a chimney like she did back at Mrs. Henderson’s. Not that a stove would improve her cooking.

Leona hurried after them, glancing about the narrow space of scuffed wooden floors and tarnished brass sconces that threatened to tip the half-melted wax stubs of unlit candles. Strips of cheap, beige and blue, flower-patterned wallpaper bubbled in certain places of the walls where the glue refused to stick.

She was not taking five pounds a week from this man. He couldn’t afford it.

When they entered a small, but well equipped kitchen, she paused.

A young gentleman in a ratted, powdered wig slept with his cheek mashed against the wooden table and his boots wrapped around the legs of the chair he was propped in. One arm was wearing an evening coat and the other had been pulled out of it, leaving the coat to hang off his broad back. A half-empty bottle of wine touched his fingers as if he had fallen asleep in between guzzles and removing his coat.

“Do assure me that isn’t one of the servants I’ll be working with,” Leona half-whispered. “It’s three in the afternoon. Is he a drunk?”

“No. He merely stayed out late.” Lord Brayton sighed. “Surprisingly, Mr. Holbrook comes from good stock. His older brother is Viscount Banfield. The two had a fight back in February and the poor boy has been like this ever since. He is overly sensitive about everything and in my opinion, too young to be living on his own.”

Releasing Jacob, Lord Brayton muttered something and walked up the table. Using his large boot, he hit the chair twice. “
Holbrook
. For pity’s sake, wake up. Miss Webster and her son are here. You were supposed to be helping me find more of those lithographs. Fine help you’ve been. For all I know you’ve been stashing them into your back pocket.”

The gentleman startled awake. He slowly, slowly lifted his head, pushing the wig back with a bare hand to expose messy brown hair. Dark eyes met Jacob’s. With a slow lopsided grin, Holbrook managed to sloppily shove his arm into the sleeve of his coat and bring it back over his shoulders. He leaned far forward in his seat and stuck out his bare hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you and your mother. A pleasure to meet you, Jacob. It’ll be good to have another man in the house. Show me that grip. Go on. Make it worth my while.”

Jacob grabbed that hand, adhering excrement to it.

They all paused.

Holbrook peeled away his hand and glanced at it, his smile fading. “How fitting. My life just got shittier.”

Leona choked on a laugh and then cringed knowing it was terrible for her son to think foul language was funny.

“
Holbrook
,” Lord Brayton bit out in exasperation. “There is a lady
and
child present. Or didn’t you damn well notice?”

“I could have said worse.” Holbrook rose to his full height and upon seeing Leona, swung toward her and let out a whistle. “Now I know why you hired her, Brayton. Hell, she can scrub my floors any time. Have her start in my room.”

Lord Brayton shoved Holbrook by the head. “Leave off. You’re too young to even know what women are for.”

Holbrook smirked. “Unlike you, I’m not interested in wasting my youth. You also seem to forget that this here is my house. Not yours.”

“Yes. A house you haven’t paid rent for since I moved into it,” Brayton countered.

Holbrook winced. “Don’t remind me. The latest sales of my books are dismal. Absolutely dismal. For some damn reason people only ever want to read Jane Austen. And she’s been dead for thirteen years. How is that fair? She doesn’t need the money. I do.” Striding over to a large water basin set atop a wooden side-table, he grabbed the soap and started grudgingly scrubbing his hands.

Leona was about to pick up Jacob but to her surprise, Lord Brayton leaned down and hoisted Jacob by the waist, carrying him over to the basin like a wet dog. “Move over. The boy needs it more than you do.”

Holbrook sidled away, making room. “Have at it. And here. Take the soap.”

Positioning Jacob’s lifted body before the basin, Brayton leaned in from behind Jacob, took the soap and carefully nudged the top of Jacob’s head with his shaven chin. “Do you know how to wash your hands? Or do you need me to help you do it?”

Jacob glanced up. “I’m six. I don’t need help. I wash my hands every day.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Brayton kicked out a foot toward Holbrook. “You see. At six, he knows more about hygiene than you do.” With one hand, Brayton rolled up each sleeve for Jacob to keep him from getting wet. “Try not to get water everywhere, all right? We don’t want to drown everyone.”

Jacob giggled. “You’re being incredibly silly. This isn’t even enough water to drown Jesus.”

Brayton paused. “Jesus?”

“My bear. I didn’t bring him. Mama said our things will follow later today.”

Brayton rumbled out a laugh. “Right. Keep scrubbing.”

“I am.” Jacob scrubbed and splashed while sitting up on Brayton’s knee.

Watching them interact, Leona’s throat tightened. It was like they had always been father and son and she was merely realizing she was looking at her own husband for the first time. The sort of husband she had always wanted. One who was generous, strong and kind. One she could tuck her head against during a good cry and depend on for anything when life turned into a mess.

As he had already proven.

It was tragic that Jacob had already spent six years of his little life without a father or much of a family at all. She had been too busy earning a living and too proud to admit Jacob needed anything more than her. But he was getting old enough to notice that something was, in fact, missing. It wasn’t the first time he had asked her why she wasn’t married or why he couldn’t have brothers or sisters. Pride aside, she didn’t want Jacob to grow up without a father. Not given she herself had been forced to grow up without one.

Her own aunt had nagged and nagged about the evils of men, about the evils of Ryder and how none of them cared, when the woman herself had given into the very evil she preached against by tucking away letters and money that might have saved Leona from being so bitter.

And this is where it stopped.

Brayton glanced back at her. “There is plenty of room for you, Miss Webster. You said you needed to wash your hands. Do join us.”

She smiled and walked over to the basin.

Bumping Holbrook over with his shoulder to allow for more space at the counter, Brayton re-positioned Jacob and met her gaze.

The man was so darling. How was it he wasn’t already married with three children? What was wrong with him? Something had to be wrong with him. After all, a million women would have honed in on him by now. Wouldn’t they? “Thank you for tending to him.”

He inclined his head. “’Tis an honor.”

Maybe there were a million stupid women. It was possible. Squeezing in beside him and her son, she smiled and was about to dip her hands into the water but noticed it looked a bit muddy. Or rather…a lot muddy.

Ew. She wrinkled her nose. “We need a fresh basin. In fact, I suggest we go outside to do this.”

Holbrook leaned in. “There is nothing wrong with this here water, Miss Webster. What are you? A princess? You’ll be fine. Dip and go, I say. Dip and go. The soap takes it all off. No matter what the hell it is.”

She stared him down dubiously. “Despite what you seem to think, Mr. Holbrook, there are some things not even soap can clean.”

Holbrook snorted. “Are we even talking about water anymore?”

Brayton set Jacob down with a breath, turned back and jabbed an elbow into Holbrook. “
Enough
. The water needs to be changed, and you damn well know it. Now go. Fetch her a fresh basin and take the child with you so he can wash his hands properly.”

Swiping his wet hands against his evening coat to dry them, Holbrook lowered his chin. “The pump is four streets away. Isn’t she the new hire and I the master?”

Brayton glared. “Be a gentleman for a breath, will you? Let her settle in before we put her to work. If you had more money, you might have more say. But you don’t, do you? Now go. Before I make you
drink
whatever you’re looking at.”

Holbrook muttered something, then turned, snatched two empty tin pails and trudged toward the door. “I’ll be back.
In two bloody hours
. The lines at the pump are outrageous. You would think the city would install more pumps. Parliament only ever thinks of itself.”

Jacob scrambled after him. “Can I get the water with you and wash my hands again at the pump? Mama and I do it all the time. I can carry buckets heavier than myself. Look.” He flexed each scrawny arm.

Holbrook choked on a laugh, shook his head and glanced back at Leona. “I like this boy. Can I borrow him? I don’t mind tending to something this adorable.”

Leona eyed Brayton. “Is he trustworthy? He won’t leave him there, will he?”

Brayton smirked. “No. He knows I’d kill him.”

She sighed. “Do you know how long you’ll be gone, Mr. Holbrook?”

A bucket went into the air. “Please. Call me Andrew. There are no formalities here. I’ve had enough of that growing up. I’m an independent man now.” Andrew lowered the bucket and lifted a brow. “As for how long I’ll be gone, that will depend on how many people need water. The last time I went, there were forty-two people in front of me. In Jacob’s defense, it’d be nice to have a bit of company, even if he can’t carry his own weight. I don’t mind looking after him. It would give you time to settle into tending to the house. Which it damn well needs. And I promise I won’t let your boy out of my sight. I plan to one day be a father, myself, and this here is what I call practice.”

Sensing it would be all right to trust him, she puffed out a breath. “Fine. I’ll expect you both in two hours.” She pointed. “Or I’ll come looking for you.”

“Oh, I’d like that.” Offering a wink, Andrew opened the door and called out, “Mr. Jacob, we are on a mission to find clean water. And if there are any attractive women waiting in line with us, make sure you tell them I’m a renowned novelist and worth a fortune.”

“
Yes, sir
!” Jacob hustled out the back door, adjusting his cap.

Andrew grinned down at him and then used his scuffed boot to slam the door behind them.

Silence now pulsed.

Leona glanced up at Lord Brayton. “A renowned novelist worth a fortune? Are you certain I can trust him?”

“Upon my honor. I’ve gotten to know that boy a bit too well. If he could learn to stay away from money-grabbing women, he’d actually be very respectable.” He averted his gaze and crossed the room to the table where Andrew had been sleeping. He nudged the half-empty bottle of wine. “I’m afraid you’ll be overworked. For which I apologize.”

She blinked. “Overworked? What do you mean?”

“I was forced to dismiss the last remaining servant we had. He was running a business out of the house that would not have been conducive to you or your son. It was best.”

Oh, no. “What sort of business was he conducting?”

He swiped his face. “Nothing overly nefarious, but it needed to be addressed. He acquired a ridiculously large collection of lithographs by Achille Devéria from a cousin who had gotten arrested and therefore started selling them at three shillings a piece, attracting men to the door at all hours. Holbrook kept coming to his defense, seeing it brought in extra money, but it was getting out of hand. These lithographs were being stashed everywhere. And I do mean everywhere.”

She squinted. “Achille Devéria? I don’t believe I know the name.”

“You’re better off.”