Broken Wing (3 page)

The boy glanced her way warily.

“Leave us now, Madame,” Sarah commanded. “We would speak in private. My brother is hungry. See that a meal is prepared for him.”

Sputtering in indignation at being ordered from her own library, the old bawd complied, certain there was money to be made here, despite his high and mighty lordship’s threats.

“Now then, Jamie,” Sarah said, “tell us about Gabriel. Is he another boy who lives here, a friend of yours?”

“Gabriel’s not a boy he’s a man.
He’s
my big brother. He takes care of me and teaches me things.”

Ross crouched down so that he and Jamie were eye to eye, and clasped him by the shoulder. “How does he take care of you, James? What does he teach you? Has he ever hurt you?”

The boy snorted in disgust and jerked from Ross’s grasp, angry now. “Gabriel wouldn’t hurt me. He’s my friend! He doesn’t let anyone hurt me. When the German tried he … never mind.”

Sarah stepped in, giving Ross a warning look. “You’re very lucky, Jamie, to have such a good friend.”

“I know.” Jamie said, his bottom lip quivering.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently.

“Nothing,” he blurted. “Just sometimes I get in trouble. They hurt him instead of me when I make a mistake or make someone angry. He says that’s all right because he’s bigger than me and he doesn’t mind and I shouldn’t worry ‘cause it’s not my fault … but I think … mostly it is
my fault.” His voice was only a whisper now, the ticking clock a counterpoint. “He never cries, though. He says I shouldn’t, either.”

“Oh, Jamie!” Sarah gathered him into a hug, her heart breaking. “It’s all right to cry. Sometimes it’s good for you.”

Ross, distinctly uncomfortable, cleared his throat and rose stiffly to his feet, grateful and content to let Sarah steer the way through these unfamiliar and dangerous shoals.

A maid poked her head into the room. “Is the boy to have his dinner, then?”

“No!” Ross barked. “We shall be leaving the premises immediately.”

“I’m not going without Gabriel. You can’t make me.”

Ross gritted his teeth and refrained from telling him that, indeed, he could. He was sick of this place, desperate to remove the boy as quickly as possible and take him back to the good clean air of Cornwall. “You’re a good lad, Jamie, and it’s to your credit that you hold by your friends, but Gabriel has his life here, and yours is with us now,” he said patiently.

“He says that, too. But I
won’t
go. Not without him.”

Mr. Smythe interrupted with a knock. “Your pardon, my lord, but a meal’s been laid in the parlor for the young master. I should be pleased to accompany him, if you wish.”

Jamie looked eagerly toward the door, his stomach
growling. “I’m hungry,” he informed them.

“Yes I can hear. You won’t run away, James?”

“No, ‘course not! You’re here to take me home. Gabriel said to go with you so I will … if he comes too.”

“I see … Well then … Mr. Smythe will accompany you while your sister and I discuss your … friend. You will be perfectly safe with him.”

Ross eyed Sarah ruefully as Jamie left the room. “Gabriel says, Gabriel thinks, Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel. It’s a bit of a tangle. I don’t want to upset the boy, but good Lord! We can hardly bring home a fully grown male prostitute, no matter how good a friend he’s been.”

“Why can’t we?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why can’t we? You’ve seen Jamie, Ross. He’s still innocent, untouched. It’s miraculous! When I think of what might have happened—” A sob tore from her throat, and Ross awkwardly patted her back and passed her a handkerchief. She blinked and smiled, dabbing her eyes. “Sorry, that’s not at all like me, but I confess to feeling somewhat overwrought. Ross, this man, Gabriel, prostitute or not, was here for Jamie when we couldn’t be. He’s guarded him and protected him, at no small cost to himself. It’s due to him alone Jamie has been allowed to remain a child; that he’s been spared the horrors we most feared.”

“Your point is well taken, Sarah.” Ross patted her hand. “Of course I’m grateful, and he will be
handsomely rewarded. Well enough that he can choose to live as he pleases.”

“Jamie wants us to bring him home, Ross. What harm can it do? If he’s looked after him these past five years, he’s hardly going to harm him now.”

“Think, Sarah! This isn’t a boy we’re talking about. He’s a fully grown man. I can assure you he’ll not be an innocent. For heaven’s sake, my dear, the madam has all but said he’s a catamite and a whore!”

“He is Jamie’s friend and rescuer,” she insisted stubbornly. “The least we can do is meet him.”

“Very well,” Ross grunted, “but I promise you it will do no good. The bawd will not wish to release him, and even if she will, he’s not likely to want to come with us.”

“Perhaps so, Ross, but then it will be this Gabriel who refuses, rather than you, and that will be easier for Jamie to accept.”

Madame Etienne sailed regally into the library several minutes later. Reestablishing herself behind her desk, she favored Ross with a sour look. “Well, monsieur, I trust you have made yourself at home? The only thing you’ve not made claim to is one of my ladies. Perhaps one of my gentlemen would be more to your taste. Your young heir, he
is
your heir, is he not? His friend, Gabriel, might suit … for either of you,” she smirked, “or both.
Non? C’est bien.”

“Madame, if you know what is wise, you will close your foul mouth and never speak of my brother
again, except to make arrangements for his immediate departure. You will also set a price on this man Gabriel, and bring him to us now.”

“I will be happy to let you have Gabriel, for a price. You may have him for the evening. He is highly skilled and very versatile, I assure you. He is much sought after by our clients, male or female, no matter their tastes.”

Ross replied coolly, each word clearly enunciated, “Madame Etienne, my patience wears thin. How much to release this man from whatever obligation he has to you?”

“I am not prepared to release him, monsieur. He brings a great deal of money to this establishment.”

“If that is so, Madame, then any obligations must be long since settled,” Ross replied silkily.

“Au contraire
, monsieur.” Her smile was vicious; her voice sweet. “How do you think he protected your precious heir? Every time someone wished to whip or pet the child, Gabriel paid the house for him to be left alone. He should be glad to see the brat gone. Now he’ll become rich.”

Ross rose to his feet. “I warned you not to speak of my brother again. This has become a matter for the
gendarmes.”

“No, no, monsieur, surely not! I apologize. I will guard my tongue and you will reflect on the embarrassment your heir would suffer should his circumstances be made public. I am certain we can
come to a satisfactory arrangement. Ten thousand pounds, monsieur, and you may have him.”

“You’re joking, woman!”

“I assure you, Lord Huntington, I am not. An evening’s pleasure does not come cheaply here. Why it’s hardly more than Gabriel has spent over the past few years keeping your precious little brother pure and untouched.”

“Very well,” he said tightly, “but he is not to know. I can’t imagine he’d appreciate being haggled over, bought, and sold, like a bloody piece of meat.”

“Oh, he’s used to it, I assure you, monsieur. Yet, I fear, we shall both be disappointed. He will certainly refuse. Henri! Go and find Monsieur Gabriel. Tell him
les Anglais sont ici
, and wish to meet him.”

Gabriel was confused and resentful; surprised Jamie’s family would ask to see him. He would not have expected them to know anything about him, or to care, if they did. He supposed Jamie must have said something. He supposed they were curious, this English lord and his lady. He had hoped to be spared any leave-taking. He resented being paraded like some zoo animal for their titillation and edification, but he was curious, as well, to see what kind of people came across the ocean to claim a little boy, what sort of people lost one in the first place.

He was expecting clients this evening and was already well begun on the brandy, the alcohol thickening him, distancing him, making it all just a little more bearable. It never inhibited his performance. If anything, it enhanced it, gracing him with a charming insouciance of demeanor he was well-known and well-paid for. It was better to work tonight, anything to fill
the void widening at an alarming rate inside him. He hated them, without seeing them, for taking the boy away. He hated them for what he feared most, that they would make him see Jamie one last time, and he would betray the boy and what little pride he had left by begging his indifferent Creator to make them leave the child behind.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself, then pushed open the door and stepped into the room. The bitch regarded him with gleeful eyes. She expected entertainment. My lord, tall and elegant in the severe way characteristic of certain military men, was rising, his eyes showing his alarm, a polite smile of welcome pasted on his face. Gabriel favored him with a feral grin.

Milady had also risen. He regarded her knowingly. Unfashionably tall, unfashionably dressed, a somewhat mannish creature with an air of health and vitality, she’d forgone corset and powder, and her chestnut hair tumbled loose in riotous curls. A cast to her smile, and a set to her eyes, suggested intelligence, and hinted at kindness and good humor. With amber-colored cat’s eyes and a light dusting of freckles, she was an exceedingly handsome woman. It caused a small flare of genuine interest, but she stared at him like all women did, and many men. Mercifully, there was no sign of the boy.

Ignoring Ross’s proffered hand, he moved to stand against the far wall. Striking a negligent pose, pale face impassive, his exotic kohl-lidded eyes flicked over each of them in turn, looking with bitter calculation
and unconcealed contempt as he arranged the bountiful folds of lace at his wrists.

Riveted, Sarah studied him carefully. This was the man Jamie thought of as family, who’d sheltered him at considerable cost, and for reasons of his own, these past five years. It was difficult to imagine this hard-eyed glittering, stranger showing kindness to anyone, let alone a child, and impossible to imagine that they might take him home.

Her eyes traveled his length. Broad-shouldered, he was tall and lean, and despite his languid posture and elegant clothing, there was something infinitely hard and cold, almost wolfish about him. He wore a black silk coat, edged in a peacock motif of blue and gold. His legs were encased in tight-fitting trousers and soft leather boots. Blushing, Sarah lifted her gaze and flitted to his waistcoat. Its gold brocade and silk buttons matched the etching on his coat. Lace spilled from his cuffs, framing long, beautiful hands, and skillful-looking fingers a musician might envy.

He wore no stock and his linen shirt was open, exposing the elegant line of his collarbone, and the strong column of his neck and throat. Coffee-colored hair fell past his shoulders. Tangled with strands of cinnamon and caramel, it framed high-sculpted cheekbones and a full sullen mouth. His eyes were dark chocolate, bruised, alive with intelligence, and framed by full, sweeping lashes. A proud straight nose and a firm jaw, rescued him from a too feminine beauty. The overall
affect was one of sensuality and danger. He was breathtaking.

Heart pounding, short of breath, her reaction stunned her. Tearing her eyes away, she focused on slowing her breathing, trying to master herself. Pressing her feet firmly into the floor, welcoming its solid bulk beneath her, she turned toward Ross, forcing her way back into the room, back into the conversation. To her astonishment, no appreciable length of time had passed. She ventured a quick glance back. He watched her with eyes that saw everything, eyes that knew too much. The look he gave her was cold, contemptuous, and just a little triumphant. Ah, well. It had been extremely rude to stare, though in truth she’d been incapable of doing anything else. Clearly, caught with her hand in the pastries, she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and flashed him a rueful grin, missing the pulse of surprise in his eyes as she returned to the business at hand.

Gabriel tore his attention away from the girl, slightly disconcerted. The witch was cackling about something, and introduction of sorts he supposed. They were all staring at him now, waiting for some kind of response. “Well,” he drawled, “I’m here. What
is it you want with me? My time is valuable, monsieur, madame. Get to the point, please.” He spoke with the barest hint of an accent and his voice, deep, cool, and slightly exotic, was as seductive as the rest of him.

Ross, his inbred habit of courtesy seriously tested by the fellow’s pointed lack of civility, refused to be rushed. “Yes, of course. I do beg your pardon. I am Lord Huntington, and this is Lady Munroe. James is my brother.”

“Yes, yes, of course, and you have come to take him home,
non?
Very good. We have all heard the story. It has been the
on-dit
here for days. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve pressing matters to attend to.”