Read A Private Gentleman Online
Authors: Heidi Cullinan
world, just with Rodger Barrows’s presence in it. Wes was intrigued, even half
hoping Vallant had wanted him badly enough to extend this invitation. Add to
this, of course, that Wes desperately
did
want to see Vallant again—especially for sex. The fact that Barrows was giving him virtually no choice was almost a
blessing. Odd, but a blessing all the same.
But did Vallant want him?
Wes sat up and braced his elbows on his knees. What
did
Vallant want?
Had he asked for this?
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“Well?” Barrows prompted. “What’s it to be?”
Wes didn’t move for a long second, letting the last of his doubts be strangled.
When they were gone, he stared straight ahead and nodded.
“Wonderful!” Barrows exclaimed. “How about we get started?”
Wes sat straight up. “N-now?”
“Now, my lord. We’ll hire a closed hack, and I’ll whisk you away. We’ll set
you up with a nice hot bath and brush up your clothes for you as you soak.
Dinner too, if you like. And when you’re ready, you can hand over your ten-
pound note, head upstairs, and fuck Michael good and proper.”
Wes sank back into the sofa again, too stunned to sit upright any longer.
Why not now, indeed?
Barrows rose. “Would you like to ring for the cab, or should I?”
Michael was wrapped in a blanket and huddled in his bed with a book when
Rodger appeared in his doorway.
“Oi, Princess,” he called out, startling Michael. “Put down your book. You
have a customer.”
Michael sat up, blinking even though he had his spectacles on. “What?
Now
?” He glanced out the window, but no, the sun was still up. His guess was it was just around six.
“He’s in the bath and having tea. Yours is waiting downstairs. When you’re
done, head to the blue room.”
Michael pushed his glasses higher up on his nose. His limbs felt heavy, and
his head threatened to spin off his shoulders. “A private room? But—Rodger, I
still can’t—”
“You’ve an hour at best, love. Make yourself pretty.”
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Rodger started back down the stairs. Michael threw off his blanket and
followed.
“Rodger! Are you insane? Or is this your sick idea of a joke?”
Rodger kept walking. “Not a joke.”
Michael grabbed Rodger’s shoulder and made him turn around. “Stop it.
Whatever you’re up to, stop it. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I did.” Rodger’s face was a mask. “You have a customer in the blue room in
an hour.”
“Do I get a name? A list of his preferences? A hint?”
Rodger’s eyes danced with devilry. “Flowers. I think he likes flowers.”
Michael’s knees threatened to give way. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” Rodger swatted Michael’s backside. “One hour. Look pretty.”
Rodger left. When Michael could move, he headed to the first floor to what
they had all come to think of as the ready room.
He went through his ablutions in a daze. Several of the girls were there,
likely sent by Rodger, and they dressed him, and he let them, moving like a doll,
his mind rolling helplessly in fog.
Albert. Albert was here.
“Paint?” Clary asked as she cinched his silk banyan and Marie applied the
iron to his hair.
Michael tried to shake his head, then shouted as his ear was singed. “No.”
He rubbed at the tender flesh. “No paint. And no more curls. I’ll finish myself.”
“Rodger said we was to help you,” Clary insisted.
“I say I can help myself,” Michael snapped, and he shooed them out.
They left, and he locked the door. After taking a moment to steady himself
and still the last of his panic, Michael took a deep breath, exhaled and got to
work.
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He brushed his hair, removing the exaggerated curl and making sure his hair
was as smooth and soft as possible, inviting touch. He applied no paint, but he
did dust his cheeks with powder and darkened his brows just enough to
highlight the contrast. He lingered over the oils, torn between floral scents and
rosewood, which he favored. He went with rosewood in the end, telling himself
it was still a plant, in a way.
When he was prepared, he put his spectacles back on, stood in front of the
long mirror and regarded himself.
Sometimes he wished he knew what he looked like without the spectacles.
Heaven knew he looked like an accountant with them, even naked. Then he
looked like the
devil’s
accountant, which wasn’t alluring. Just strange.
His glasses were thick, ridiculously thick, because without them he was
practically blind. He could make out things just in front of him, and technically
he could read without aid, but only if he held the book four inches from his face.
To go back and forth from his glasses to without often made his head hurt so
badly it sent him to the icehouse, which was why, normally, he simply let the
world beyond the tips of his fingers remain fuzzy and vague, navigating by
broad shapes and an intricate study of hue and color. But in the past month he’d
become accustomed to wearing his spectacles more often than not. To go without
them for any length of time would promise quite a headache later. Obviously he
would remove them before Albert arrived, but he would keep them on until he
heard his footfalls in the hall.
Thinking of Albert made his butterflies begin again, so he drew his mind
back to studying himself.
Outside of the glasses, it wasn’t bad, he decided. He inspected the banyan
the girls had given him. It had gold stitching and floral embroidery on the
shoulder, and it looked quite good on him. It was one of the girls’ gowns,
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technically, but he was fairly sure Albert would like it. His hair was limper than
he’d like, but if he plumped it with powder, it wouldn’t feel the way he wanted it
to.
He remembered how often Albert had threaded his fingers into it.
Undoing the tie to the gown, Michael let it fall open slightly, revealing more
of his chest. He pulled the fabric back farther—a dusky nipple appeared, and the
plane of his abdomen. Soft, but firm. Very good. He tested revealing part of his
pelvis as well, but he cinched it back up immediately. No. That would be too
much. Albert was the sort who would want just a bit of a tease but plenty of
promise.
Albert. I am about to make love to Albert again.
The girls had laid out a small tea for him, but Michael couldn’t stomach it.
He spent his remaining twenty minutes trying not to touch his hair and make it
more oily.
When it was time, he went to the blue room. He lit candles and warmed the
oil he’d chosen before trying out several arrangements of pillows on the bed. He
rearranged the chairs and sofa too, then moved them back to their original places
again.
He paced the floor for some time, and his hand ended up in his hair quite
often despite his best efforts.
He was so distracted that when he heard the footsteps in the hall, he wasn’t
even on the bed yet, and he had to throw himself onto the pillows, arranging
himself hastily, only to realize as the door opened that he still wore his
spectacles.
Leave them on and get a proper look at him,
the devil’s accountant whispered.
Michael ignored him, whipped off the glasses and leaned forward to stow them
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beneath the bed, rising up just in time to see the blurry shape of his lordship as
he came into the room and shut the door.
The sight of Albert made Michael’s heart beat faster. Deprived of his glasses,
Michael strained to take the man in: the great height of him, the contrast of his
coat and cravat, the color and shape of his hair still damp at the edges from his
bath. His short boots peeked out beneath crisp trousers. From this far away,
Michael could not see his face, but even with the lord’s proper posture, his body
movements belied his nervousness.
Belatedly, Michael realized he was not posed evocatively on the pile of
pillows he’d spent fifteen minutes arranging, choosing instead to greet his lover
dangled over the edge of the bed, banyan rucked up oddly around him and one
foot lifted into the air for balance.
Damn.
He rolled to his side and tugged at the edge of the banyan as best he could as
he carefully assumed a casually seductive pose. Fortune favored him at last, for
his left nipple exposed itself all on its own, as well as a generous portion of his
abdomen. Though he still couldn’t see Albert’s face, he saw his patron’s body
posture quicken.
Michael smiled.
“My lord. We meet again.”
Across the room, Lord George Albert cleared his throat. Michael heard the
careful intake of breath that meant he was getting ready to speak. “G-g-good
day, Mr. V-Vallant.”
Michael’s pulse hammered so hard he felt it in the base of his throat. “Call
me Michael.”
Another breath. A pause. “C-c-call m-me Alb-b-b-b—” Albert gave up and
sighed.
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He was very nervous, if that much preparation still led to that much of a
stammer. Michael longed to put him more at ease. Of course, it would be nice if
someone would return the favor.
“Albert.” He let his fingers slide into his hair and reached out his other hand
to beckon to Albert. “Come here and sit on the bed.”
I want to see you.
But Albert seated himself in one of the chairs by the fire—well outside of
Michael’s sight range. Michael swore at himself silently. If he hadn’t worn his
glasses so much lately, he could have seen at least a little. Now he couldn’t even
read Albert’s face. While reading the faces and body movements of people was
usually a handy skill for maneuvering them into the place you wanted them,
with Albert it was essential for simple communication. So here they were, blind
and mute together.
The depths of potential disaster expanded endlessly around them.
“Wh-why am I h-here?” Albert said at last.
Michael combed his tone for clues. Caution, nerves still, and a great deal of
reserve. He tried to relax him with humor. “I thought that was obvious.”
The pause was lengthy. It took Albert three breaths before he was able to
speak, and his first two attempts were nothing but sputters of consonants.
Michael gave in and softened. “Relax, darling. Relax. Deep breaths. There’s
no reason to be nervous.”
Albert barked out a rueful laugh.
Michael echoed his smile. “Very well, perhaps there is a little reason.” He
stroked the sheet, mimicking the touch he would have given Albert, could he
have reached him. “Take your time.”
Albert’s sigh made Michael shiver. Two more breaths, and then: “D-did you
ask f-for m-me?”
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Michael couldn’t help a frown. “Ask?” He watched Albert’s shape tense and
spoke quickly. “Darling, no—don’t, please. I’m sorry, it’s my fault I don’t
understand. Did I ask what for you?”
Albert held very still. Michael could read nothing, damn it all to hell.
“D-did y-you ask him t-t-to br-bring m-me h-here?”
“Bring you?” Michael’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “Do you
mean—Rodger
brought
you here? Against your will?”
The pause nearly killed Michael. “N-not p-p-p”—a sigh—“p-precisely.”
How could Rodger not precisely bring him? Either he did, or he didn’t.
Michael started to ask this, then stopped. “Oh—he did bring you, but not
precisely against your will?”
A soft laugh. Very soft. “Y-yes.”
“But partially.”
While Albert paused, Michael shifted nervously in his chair. “H-he p-p-
promised t-to b-blackmail m-me if I d-did not.”
Michael clamped a hand over his mouth in horror and sat up. “He didn’t.”
“He d-did.”
Michael felt ill. “I’m so sorry. Please—if you want to leave, I promise I’ll
make him—”
With what was clearly great effort, Albert overrode him, his voice coming
out in a sharp breath. “I s-s-said only p-p-p—” This time his sigh was so
frustrated it was almost a growl. “Only p-partially.”
I’ll kill him. I swear, this time I really will kill Rodger.
Michael ran his hands down his face. “I
am
sorry. I had no idea. I never would have asked for this. Not like this.”
The shape of Albert leaned forward. “But d-did you ask? F-for m-me?”
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Heat rose in Michael, the sensation suspiciously like a blush, which was
almost as horrifying as the thought of Rodger blackmailing Albert into having
sex with him. He tried to give a coy smile, but he wasn’t sure it worked. “Does it
matter, darling?”
“Yes.”
The short, clear word, delivered with no pause, cut straight into Michael. He