Read A Private Gentleman Online
Authors: Heidi Cullinan
anything at all. A few people glanced worriedly at him, but he didn’t mind.
What did they know? They were all liquid color anyway, nothing but stalks of
feathers with eyes, swaying in the breeze. He didn’t need Miss Brannigan’s brass
or her tricks. He had his little pills. He would be fine.
His thoughts were blurry, however, and he had to wrench them back to his
purpose. Orchid. He wanted to see Mrs. Gordon’s orchid. “There’s something
odd about it,” his source had told him. “Something strange. She paid dear for it,
that much is known.” A new, blooming orchid. It would be lovely, far more
lovely than any of the women in this ballroom.
Perhaps even more beautiful than the man who had shunned him to flirt
with a fat, balding man whose tongue never failed him, not even in his cups.
The additional opium had shaken out the dark corners in Wes’s mind, and
his disobedient tongue sat soft and tingling in his mouth.
I would like to show you
my tongue, pretty young man
.
I would like to thrust it between the cheeks of your round
little bottom and into the heat of your hot passage.
Wes let the image possess him for a moment, arresting him on his path to the
door. He glanced back into the room, catching sight of the man, and he waited.
His breath caught when the blond head turned his way—then continued turning,
as if Wes weren’t even there.
Shunned not once but
twice.
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A Private Gentleman
Wes let the opium swallow his disappointment as he squared his shoulders
and continued to the hall, taking himself deeper into the house. The flower. He’d
come for the flower, and once he found it, once he saw it, he would forget all
about the indomitable Miss Brannigan and the delightfully delectable blond-
haired man.
He hoped.
As the crush of bodies in the northwest corner pushed Sir Joshua closer and
the drunken baronet pressed an eager erection into his backside, Michael Vallant
repressed a shudder. This was all Rodger’s fault.
And damn if the bastard wasn’t leaving the room, abandoning him to the
grubby hands of the baronet. Without his spectacles, the world was as always a
thick blur of color and movement, but Michael watched the tall, familiar tailoring
and dark hair disappearing into the crush, and his panic rose. Rodger was
playing an odd game, weaving unsteadily—playing the drunk? But why?—and
heading for the door to the main hallway. What the devil was he about?
Punishing Michael for being a fool and not staying home as he’d been ordered?
Rodger was a vindictive bastard, but never like this.
Not with Michael.
Sir Joshua’s hand gripped Michael’s backside firmly as he thrust into
Michael’s hip again. “I’m going to take you upstairs, boy,” he slurred, “and fuck
your backside raw. And you’ll love it, you whore.”
“Be quiet.” Michael glanced around in a panic to make certain no one
overheard him. “You’ll get us both arrested, you drunken sot. And I’m not going
anywhere with you.”
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He winced as Sir Joshua’s grip on his backside tightened. “You’ll go, nancy-
boy. You’ll go, and you’ll beg for my cock. I have your fucking coin, and I’m
going to buy every hole you have.”
Michael didn’t answer this, unwilling to antagonize the fool into shouting.
Instead he held still, swallowing his revulsion and biding his time as the baronet
continued to molest him. When the crush that had allowed Sir Joshua to press
him into the darkened corner parted enough that he dared an escape, Michael
pushed away.
He darted and wove between clusters of party guests, across the dance floor
and down the hall toward the drawing room where other gentlemen were
playing cards. He scanned for Rodger but saw only unfamiliar blurs. However,
he did see a familiar raven-haired beauty in royal blue coming out of one of the
retiring rooms.
“Darling!” he breathed, rushing toward her. He grabbed her arm, drew her
back inside and shut the door.
“Michael Vallant!” she scolded him, her carefully cultivated voice slipping
back into a rough Cockney. “You can’t come in here, luv! This here’s for ladies!”
“Then you shouldn’t be in here either.” After verifying they were alone,
Michael let his forehead fall against the center of her chest. “God help me, Clary,
but Sir Joshua is groping me in the bloody ballroom.”
Clarissa stroked his hair. “Is he out of money?”
“It’s control he’s lost. He’s off my list, and he’s angry about it. Had I known
he’d be here, I wouldn’t have come.”
“We shouldn’t have come at all.” Clarissa lifted Michael’s head with both
hands. “We should have listened to Rodger and stayed at Dove Street. He’s
likely to tan us both when he finds out.”
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A Private Gentleman
Michael pursed his lips and pulled away, tugging at his coat. “He’s already
here.”
Clarissa’s eyes grew wide. “He isn’t!” She frowned toward the ballroom. “He
can’t be here. I didn’t see him.”
“I did. Just now.”
“Huh.” Clarissa shoved her sleeves up higher on her arms and leaned back
against the wall. “What did he say when he found you? And where is he now?
Off dealing with Sir Joshua?”
“I don’t know.” Michael’s jaw was tight with irritation. “Either he didn’t see
me, or he left me with Sir Joshua as a punishment.”
Clarissa’s eyes narrowed. “That ain’t like Rodger at all. Mikey, you’re blind
as a bat. Are you sure it was him you saw? How the devil’d you see Rodger from
that far away?”
“It was Rodger, I swear to you. I know the cut of his coat and the spread of
his shoulders and the way he moves. He was playing fumbling gentry, from the
look of him.”
“Hmm.” Clarissa folded her arms over her chest, but she looked thoughtful,
not angry. “Well, perhaps he’s on an assignment of his own. In any event, we
must find him.” She paused a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was
soft. “I heard Daventry’s lad is out there too.”
Michael hated the way even the name made him shiver, both now and when
he’d heard the whispers on the dance floor. Which was ridiculous. He tried to
brush it off with a laugh. “It’s the second son, not Vaughn, according to the
gossips. Harmless. A poor stammering simpleton.” Yet even with the dismissal,
the idea of encountering any of Daventry’s spawn made Michael’s blood run
cold.
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“I got a peep at him. Heard him too. Good Lord, but he can barely talk, he
stammers so badly.” She shook her head. “I don’t know I could do a man like
that. What if he went sixes and sevens on me when he was givin’ me the tickle?”
Michael didn’t want to talk about Daventry or his son. Though his fear
shifted focus as another thought occurred to him. “Do you suppose Rodger
would do anything to him?”
“Oh no.” Clarissa paused. “Well—likely no. Depends on whether or not Rog
was drinking.” She bit her lip. “We’d best find him in case and kiss his arse,
though I do long to give him a good chivey for not rescuing you.”
Oh, Michael intended to do more than scold Rodger for this farce. But
Clarissa was right. “I suppose we must find him and move on to the next.”
Now Clarissa looked doubtful. “You want
more
of this? I thought to go home
and poke into the Dove Street ball. Might as well make a few pennies in the
booth. Rodger was right on more counts than one. I haven’t found a thing here.
Everyone’s too desperate for other things to care for a tup.”
Michael waved his hand in irritation. “This is the only party we’ll come into
cold. The others will be better.” He grinned and put his hands under her breasts
to plump them playfully. “Edgar Almton is said to be at the party I plan to take
us to next. Isn’t he one of your favorites?”
Clarissa’s eyes lit up before narrowing along with her dangerous smile.
“Him and his deep pockets and great big cock—yes, he’s my very favorite.”
Michael sighed. “So I’ve heard, both about the pockets and the cock. Oh, if
only he wanted to play with a pretty boy instead of a pretty girl.”
Clarissa laughed throatily. “Go on, you greedy thing. You’ve got cocks
enough, all of them worshipping your pretty bum. Let a girl have some
leavings.”
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A Private Gentleman
Michael kissed her cheek and took her arm. “Come. Let’s find Rodger, call a
carriage and leave this dreary old place.”
They stepped into the hall—and into the path of a red-faced, bleary-eyed Sir
Joshua.
“There you are, lad,” the baronet roared, his eyes full of lust as he reached
for Michael.
Clarissa shoved him away. “Go on. Dodge him and meet me ’round back. I’ll
go find Rodger.
Go.
”
Michael gave her a brief look of gratitude as she threw herself into Sir
Joshua’s arms, and then he did run, right down the hall, which was filling with
people as Clarissa, back in her lady form, began to squeal and protest loudly at
her assault. Michael moved through the bleary figures, unsure of where he was
going, hoping to God he didn’t end up down a dead end.
As he rounded the corner, though, he saw a familiar figure heading up the
stairs. “Rodger, you devil,” he whispered, and hurried up the stairs after him.
Finding the orchid was more difficult than Wes anticipated.
He had spent the better part of a half hour hunting for it, a search which
would have been easier without so much opium. Getting into Mrs. Gordon’s
conservatory would have been as simple as shy, stuttering Lord George, but with
the opium his words slurred, his feet faltered and he kept wanting to giggle,
making him appear either drunk or alarmingly unstable. He decided to sit on a
stool in the hallway and flush some of the drug out with more punch, but even
this act was apparently not done with enough innocence, for none other than the
hostess herself was brought to him by a worried-looking footman.
“Are you well, my lord?” she asked carefully.
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Heavens, no. I’m high as a kite.
Wes smiled, trying not to let it appear too dopey. “Just taking a small r-rest, Mrs. G-G-Gordon. Though I was h-hoping I
might take a p-p-peek at your cons-servatory.”
She looked at him with surprise at such a lengthy speech and with barely a
stutter. Wes wanted to snort.
Surprised to see I’m not quite as stupid as you thought?
Ha!
Oh, but he loved opium sometimes. He bit his cheeks to keep back the giggle
that threatened.
Her smile was still hesitant, though more confused than worried. “But of
course.” She gestured down the hall. “Just through there.”
“Would you c-care to escort me yourself?” His heart pounded as he spoke
the words, but the opium carried him onward, and he winked. “F-For the
Society.”
Ah, there—there it was, bright hope and eagerness lighting her entire face.
Hurrah for opium!
“For the Society. Yes, my lord. But of course.” Blushing and beaming, she stood back as he rose, offering her arm carefully, as if to an invalid.
Unfortunately, Wes was obliged to take it, overcome by the drug as he was.
She chatted absently as they stepped out the back door, over the flagstones
and up to the glass door of the greenhouse, but Wes ignored her, too busy taking
foggy inventory of the conservatory itself. Oh, yes, it was a beauty, and he
envied every pane of glass and piece of piping. It was one of the larger
stovehouses he had seen, twenty by thirty feet, likely thirteen feet high at the
apex, and though it couldn’t be but a few years old, it had the smell of a seasoned
garden shed. Moss, mold, dirt, peat, all of it heated by stoves and damped by a
series of copper pipes set to mist at regular intervals—oh, yes. This was a proper
conservatory.
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A Private Gentleman
And her plants! Most were tropical, though she had a few fruit trees as well.
She had several ferns draped from above, the usual maidenhair and sword, but
there were a few he’d thought only the Society had access to: Marsilea and
Pyrrosia, and another which he thought might be the Asplenium he’d been
struggling with. She had more varieties of begonia than Wes had thought a
private collector could have, several cyclamen, a bromeliad—and of course, an
entire shelf of orchids, two of them in bloom. Cattleya, laelia—even a
paphiopedilum. But not the orchid he had come to find.
“My husband’s ships travel regularly to Brazil,” Mrs. Gordon confessed,
smiling as she reached out to stroke the petals of an angel’s trumpet. “He sends
along a botanist and has him treat the specimens with great care.”
So that was her secret. Wes wondered how he might bribe his own botanist
without losing the prizes.
“It is a l-l-lovely col-l-lection,” he said.