Mending Him (12 page)

“Apparently, your cousin owes them money. He found a way to pay them off, and he wants me to stay silent about his methods.”

“What is he doing to pay them back?”

“I suppose I ought to stay silent about his debts,” Charles said slowly. “Did I promise him that too?”

“Oh no. Charles, tell me. I understand that Samuel knows.” He only turned a little pink. “He seems to know about you and me. Does he have some other threat he can hold over you?”

“It’s more what I have over him.” Charles shook his head. “Never mind him. I’m sorry you came in when you did.”

“I heard you shouting. And you were, uh…” The edge of Robbie’s mouth twitched, then turned down. “It had to do with me, somehow. Really, you’re hardly in any position to defend me or to threaten him.”

“Yes, I know.” Charles no longer felt tired. He grabbed his crutches and levered himself up and off the sofa.

“Are you going to tell me the details, or should I go ask Samuel?”

“Robbit, you can be annoying. All right, take a close look around this room. It’s less cluttered than it used to be, thanks to Samuel.”

Robbie looked at Charles, not at the occasional tables or the piano or the mantel or any of the other spots where Samuel had helped himself to objet d’art.

“That sack he held,” Robbie said. “That bag had some of Aunt Lenore’s treasures in it. He plans to sell those objects to pay off bills? But where can he sell them? Who in the neighborhood would buy them?”

“Your foul cousin is a mystery to me.”

“That nonsense about you being my knight. What does that mean?”

Charles didn’t answer. After a few moments, Robbie groaned. “Oh, dash it all. You are supposed to take the blame, aren’t you? Why? Why would you allow Samuel to get away with this? We must go tell Uncle Phillip.”

Charles clamped a hand on Robbie’s arm. “No. Stop. He’ll remain silent for now. We should too. We shouldn’t be rash, my friend.”

Chapter Thirteen

Robbie felt trapped in a strange whirl. For a few minutes after Samuel’s confrontation, shame made him want to run away and never show his face at the Hall again. And then he thought of Samuel’s threats to Charles, and anger replaced the shame like hot water following a showerbath of cold. He could not stay still. He could not allow Samuel to ruin Charles’s life and his own. He could not imagine his uncle’s face when the truth was revealed, whether the truth was about his son’s thievery or his nephew’s perversity. Robbie would spare his uncle those discoveries, so he didn’t speak, and that evening, he was miserably weighed down with doubts about his own silence.

Aunt Lenore, of all people, came to his rescue, or at least his temporary rescue, from dark thoughts. The next morning, she came into the library bustling and fretful as she had been for weeks. The nearer the date of the party loomed, the more bustling and active she became—and also the more efficient and happy.

“You are able to go upstairs, Charles, or so Stewart says. If that’s true, we will settle you in a real bedroom, not large, but it’s pleasantly situated overlooking the garden. It’s the room next to Robbie’s. We shall have so many guests presently, I’m only glad we can find some space for you, our more permanent guest.”

“Perfect,” he said.

Robbie’s heart beat faster, and he realized he would lock his doors at night and perhaps hide the key from himself as well. He eyed the wide staircases rising from the ground floor. Charles would do better using the servant’s stairwell, which was far more narrow. If he took a tumble there, it would be easier for Stewart to catch him.

“Is there anything we might help you with, Cousin Lenore?” Charles asked. “Above and beyond Robbie’s duties as head decorator.”

She beamed at him. She seemed to have forgotten all about Charles’s dreadful arrival at their home. And she only occasionally made veiled remarks about the stress of caring for family dependents in his presence. Her behavior to Charles moved between extreme solicitude, and those sighing remarks—with ignoring his existence her usual mode. This was much the way she’d always behaved with Robbie, although she frequently approached him with quavering requests for his help.

Once upon a time, Robbie would have begged her pardon for being an extra burden but now he only smiled when she made remarks about the extra mouths to feed. Charles, once he’d offered up his blunt apology for his drunken arrival, never apologized again. He’d made peace with Lenore and even did small tasks for her now and again.

Now Aunt Lenore was in another rarer mood, gracious and friendly. Not for the first time, Robbie considered that if his aunt spent more time busy with interesting activity, perhaps she’d be happier.

“You did fine work writing out invitations, Charles. I cannot think of a single thing you can do, since you are not as yet truly hearty. But, Robbie, if you have the time, I wish you would go to Durham. You may take the carriage, since you would have to transfer on trains and that might prove difficult for you.”

He was about to protest that he did not mind trains or transfers, when she babbled on, “But you must drive, so I suppose the two-seater would do better than the fusty old traveling coach.”

“And why am I to make this journey?” he asked when she stopped to draw breath.

“I just discovered they have sent up the wrong bolts of cloth for the dining room you planned. You ordered the loveliest buttery chiffon, and she’s sent something bright mustard and stiff as a board. I sent that back, you can be sure. But now we must find something to replace it and can’t wait for a trip to London. I have the name of a reliable gentleman with a warehouse in Durham. You shall go there as fast as you might and find a suitable replacement. You know best what will be a good substitute. It will be nearly a three-hour drive, so you’d best go along as fast as you can so you might make it back here before dark.” She eyed the paper she clutched in her hand, a tattered list Robbie had made. “And while you are there, you might check with the man who is to recover the chairs as well. I hope he might come early. Do plead with him.”

Robbie pulled out his notebook and jotted down her instructions. He’d been about to protest that the wrong fabric might do if it was washed, softened and put out in the sun to bleach the color, but suddenly had an idea that a trip away from the hall might be just the distraction he needed. He would take the quiet drive as an opportunity to think of how to cope with Samuel and, of course, Charles. But a moment later, that plan went out the window.

“I shall go with him,” Charles declared. “And stop him from making a cake of himself in Durham.”

She laughed. “Our Robbie never gets into trouble. I hope you don’t mind if you go without a coachman or groom. I can’t think of what Forrester is doing instead.” Her forehead wrinkled.

Robbie supplied, “He is to help the footmen and Mr. Lester wax and polish the floors.”

“Yes, that’s it. Of course he must hitch up the horses and so on, but really. No time for more. So much left to do!”

Charles answered, “Robbie and I will manage your errand. That is one less thing for you to worry over.”

She wore a broad smile and waved a hand at Charles. “I am grateful, of course, but I do think you are glad to go. A treat for you both. Now I must go find Mrs. Jackson to discuss dinner. We must eat even these days before the ball.”

A yap came from the hall.

Aunt Lenore’s smile vanished. “Gemma must keep her dog outside. That animal doesn’t belong in the house.” She fled the room, calling to her daughter.

Robbie made a show of tucking away his notebook. He had trouble looking over at Charles. “I don’t know why you volunteered to go on the carriage ride. It will be uncomfortable.”

“I think you can guess,” Charles said.

Robbie could, and his breath clogged his throat.

Charles touched his shoulder. “We’ll grab another moment of freedom, Robbit. When was the last time you were allowed to do whatever you wish?”

He couldn’t help smiling and parroted the words back. “I think you can guess.”

Charles had more experience driving, and his upper body had grown strong during his time at the hall. He pushed his crutches into the area behind the driver’s bench and hoisted himself up to the bench, slow and painful, but without help. “At least this one has a leather cushioned seat.” He flashed an entirely wicked and suggestive smile at Robbie.

Robbie clambered up next to him and stowed his cane with the crutches. For the duration of the drive, they’d be ordinary men with no defective body parts.

Forrester let go of the near horse’s harness and tipped Charles a salute before ambling back into the stable.

“What I’d truly enjoy is a journey on the continent with you,” Charles said as he directed the horses down the long drive. “Although I think train and ship would be preferable to any of Phillip’s carriages.”

“Yes, and when you win a great sum at the Durham Racecourse, we’ll be able to afford your plan.”

Charles sighed. “Except, after listening to Samuel, I promised myself never to gamble again. I suppose we shall have to take our journey via shank’s mare with crutches as accessories. What do you think?”

“I think you’re better. Even when you complain, you sounded lighthearted.”

“You mean no more quagmire of self-pity?”

Robbie laughed. “You never drowned in it.”

“And it’s easy to set aside altogether when I have such delightful companionship.”

Robbie wanted to scoff and say something about flattery and honeyed words, but he liked the outrageous nonsense coming from Charles. So he only grinned and leaned back on the seat.

The day was breezy and overcast, yet though the sun didn’t appear, neither did the rain. The grass seemed brighter than usual and the air sweeter, and Robbie silently repeated the word “freedom” to himself to explain it.

When he glanced at Charles, though, he knew the real reason.

“It’s not really three hours to Durham. Aunt Lenore doesn’t approve of any sort of speed,” he said.

“Yes, I know. Although, as rough as these horrible country roads are, the woman is right to eschew speeding over them.”

“I have more than a guinea. I have brought my wallet. When we arrive, I shall treat you to lunch.”

“And I shall be pathetically grateful. Much as I enjoy the food at the hall, it’ll be a genuine treat to eat elsewhere, even if our meal is a workingman’s lunch of fried fish. My only question is shall we stop for a dalliance before or after we enter the city?”

Robbie tried to speak but only managed a gargling sound.

“Dalliance is a euphemism,” Charles said. “I’m thinking it could include anything from a kiss to full act of buggery—as described by the law passed during the reign of Henry the Eighth.”

“God almighty.” Robbie shook his head. He sat up and put his hands on his knees. “I think I vote before we go into the city so that I don’t have to listen to your obscene mouth any longer.”

“Mm. If I remember correctly, and I know I do, you’re the one who spoke with passion.” He laughed then, probably because Robbie’s hot face glowed red as coals.

They drove on, and then Charles announced that if Robbie really did have a few guineas, he had the perfect solution. A room.

Robbie had no notion it would be so simple. Two strangers passing through a city as large as Durham could simply go to an inn, request a room for the night and sign a register. Whether they stayed for a night or only a few hours was no one’s business. It wasn’t like a small town where everyone’s actions, even a stranger’s, were scrutinized and discussed.

The keeper, a slender man with impressive side-whiskers and a striped waistcoat under a dark frock coat, barely bothered to look into their faces. After asking if they were to visit the cathedral or the marketplace and not listening to either of their answers, he made some comical remarks about the fisticuffs they must have had to leave them both lame. Though, he showed no real interest about them, he was a friendly, garrulous sort.

He talked and talked as he led them up the thankfully short staircase to the room. He apologized he had no rooms on the ground floor. He assured them that his groom would be gentle with the horses. He pointed out the beauty of the staircase they ascended, that had been built during the reign of Elizabeth and hoped they appreciated the carved angels on the handrail. That topic shifted somehow to the price of coal, then to the negligent ladies next door who failed to keep their dog from digging and soiling his garden, to the delicious meal he could offer them for only a few coins more. He took a breath only after he pointed out about the fine appointments of the room and the view of the street, which remained noisy for hours after dark, but what did one expect.

At last he begged their pardon and rushed back down to the public rooms because he’d just recalled his lady needed him below to tap a new keg. They did good business here, but it should be quiet by nine, he promised them.

“He didn’t notice we had no bags,” Robbie said faintly. He walked to the window. “Such a big city. I’m not used to all the cobblestones and noise.” He wondered if he might explode with the nerves that shivered up and down his back.

The room was small, plain and tidy, with faded rose wallpaper. A lithograph of the goddess Patience weeping over an urn decorated the wall between the beds.

He’d rarely been in a room with so little personality and the nearly anonymous feel of it calmed his nerves—until he noticed the beds. Two beds. Both tall, narrow and neatly covered with matching white counterpanes.

Robbie stared at the beds for a moment, then turned his attention to the street again. If his uncle knew what they were doing… But he wouldn’t find out. He couldn’t.

“You look weary or sad. Are you, Robbie?”

“I’m tired of my own thoughts,” he admitted.

Charles collapsed on one bed with a groan and propped his crutches against the flocked wallpaper. He pulled his injured leg up. “Abandon thought and kiss me.” He squinted at Robbie, and his grin slipped a little. “Oh damn, you are still in a fearful state about this.”

Robbie waved a hand. “One is oversensitive. Your leg hurts, doesn’t it?”

Charles nodded. “And I have just the solution.”

He reached into his charcoal sack coat and pulled out the small white jar of ointment Robbie used to massage his limbs. Just the sight of that familiar jar in this strange room aroused Robbie.

Although, to be truthful, the squat jar often made his lascivious thoughts drift to images of Charles half-dressed.

“You brought that along.” Robbie laughed at the man’s audacity.

“Of course I did.” Charles unlaced and removed the black brogan boots—better made and cared for than the standard workman’s brogans. He removed his jacket and slung it onto a chair near the bed. The waistcoat. The braces. He unbuttoned his trousers, and Robbie watched the fascinating show.

“I’m in real pain,” Charles said. He lay on his back wearing only his drawers and vest.

Robbie removed his own jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He could do this, and the hunger to touch Charles’s skin roared to life as it always did. So many days he’d rubbed and thumbed the heated flesh, his heart beating so fast he was dizzy. He’d held himself back from leaning over and kissing the skin. All those times he’d been in a stupor of arousal as he felt the weight of Charles’s limbs in his hands, against his body.

He rubbed the ointment between his palms, warming it as always. The faintly medicinal scent of the ointment couldn’t cover the intriguing smell of Charles, sweat and man.

And then his hands smoothed along the uninjured leg. Up and over the strong muscles and up. And on the impossibly soft skin of Charles’s inner thigh that his touch had lingered over in the past. His own leg tingled as if Charles touched him in return.

Charles groaned and closed his eyes. “You have amazing fingers.”

Usually he wore a blanket across his body, in case a servant should enter the library/bedroom. Now only Charles’s fine linens covered his torso and the skimpy clothing hid nothing. Robbie watched the erection stretch and grow even as his own kneading touch turned into a caress.