Read A Private Gentleman Online
Authors: Heidi Cullinan
second-guess himself. He waited as Vallant read, watching his face to see if he
laughed. But Vallant didn’t, only cast him an unreadable glance when he
finished.
“This argument again. Darling—I
am
some whore you fucked and nothing
else.” He lowered the note to his lap. His tone turned gentle, soothing. “I’m
flattered, truly, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve already impeded the ledgers as it is—
I’ve been out of service for over a month.” He grimaced. “I think I just need
Rodger to hold me down a few times. Desensitize me. Or perhaps I should drink.
Something to— Oh, heavens. You’re scribbling again.”
Wes’s stomach had turned over at “need Rodger to hold me down a few
times”, and he’d shut his ears to the rest as he fumbled for his notepad. By the
time Vallant had realized Wes was writing, he’d finished, and he handed the
note to him. Vallant read it, frowned at Wes, and read it again.
“Eight hundred pounds? What is that supposed to mean?”
Wes took a few breaths. “I’ll g-give it to y-you.”
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He enjoyed watching Vallant’s eyes widen. “
You
are the one heading to
Bedlam. Why would you do such a thing?”
Deciding not to risk speaking, Wes wrote quickly.
For the pleasure of your company for one month. Your company and nothing more,
unless you wish it.
Vallant stared at the paper for several seconds. Then he drew it slowly to his
chest. He said nothing, only looked at Wes.
Wes raised an eyebrow at him.
Vallant’s laugh, bursting out of him soft and quiet, was a balm to Wes’s soul.
As was Vallant’s self-conscious hand through his silken hair. “I can’t accept it,
my lord. You flatter me beyond anything I’ve ever known, but—”
“Al-Albert,” Wes interrupted. He took a breath as Vallant paused, surprised.
“Y-you c-can ac-c-cept. S-s-ay y-yes.”
Vallant studied him a moment. “If I were to accept this—which I’m not
saying I am—I would insist on some better compensation on your part. Given
that I might never be able to give you more than witty rejoinders to your notes, I
want to give something to you. I just have to think of what.”
He bit his lip in an unconscious gesture, and Wes found it endearing beyond
words. He warmed in a way that felt like arousal and yet wasn’t at all—an
internal arousal, if there were such a thing.
You don’t have to give me anything. You
have no idea what a gift simply being with you every day will be.
Before he could find the way to stammer some of this, however, Vallant was
shaking his head and speaking again. “But what shall we
do
if we aren’t fucking?
Go to the opera?” He paused and looked almost wistful. “Going to the opera and
actually watching, not sucking someone off in the back of a darkened booth. That
would be something.”
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Wes had been recoiling inwardly at the thought of the crush at the door, but
at the mention of a booth, of being alone with Vallant, his panic quieted. Perhaps
the opera would not be so bad.
“But what else? Dancing?”
Wes shook his head vigorously. “I d-d-do not d-d-dance.”
“Hmm. That leaves out the Dove Street balls. I can’t imagine your dislike of
crowds would make an exception for a gaming hell, and in any event, I don’t like
them either.” Vallant paused, then looked at Wes helplessly. “I’ve no notion
what we would do to occupy our time, if we aren’t having sex. What do
you
do
all day?”
Wes smiled a wry smile. “P-Plants.”
He almost laughed at how crestfallen Vallant looked. “
All
day?”
Still smiling, Wes went back to his notepad. He scratched a quick reply and
handed it over. He watched Vallant’s face as he read, pleased when a bit of
interest lit and his eyes lifted to Wes, appearing impressed.
“You work at the Regent’s Park gardens?” He turned suspicious. “
Work,
my
lord?”
Wes rolled his eyes and took the notepad back again.
“Royal Botanical Society?” Vallant read when he was finished. “Ah. You
study or manage or some such, I presume. That makes more sense.” He lowered
the notebook. “Well, I suppose if you wish to pay eight hundred pounds to show
me plants all day, I can hardly object. At least it will be warm.”
Wes could just picture pretty Vallant sitting on a wooden bench in the
stovehouse. It was a lovely image, but yes, the man would be horribly bored.
“W-We can g-go to m-my c-c-club, if you l-like.” Vallant leveled a look at him,
and then Wes couldn’t help it. He had to laugh. “Or n-not.”
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“What on earth would we do at a club?” Vallant demanded. “I don’t know
how to play billiards.”
Wes shrugged. “Eat. W-Watch p-p-people. L-Listen.” He tipped a sideways
smile. “Or t-t-talk.”
All at once, Vallant’s eyes sparkled. “That’s it! That’s how I’ll repay you. I
shall help you with your stammer.”
Wes sighed and went back to the notepad. This reply wasn’t worth trying
out loud.
I appreciate the thought, but there is no point. I have seen every specialist here and
on the continent.
He thought about mentioning the opium but decided against it.
At best, when I am very relaxed, I don’t do too badly, but my stammer is part of me. You
might as well try to remove my nose.
Vallant read the note. He looked as if he wanted to challenge Wes’s
declaration, but he stopped and nodded. “Very well.” He studied Wes’s face
before leaning forward, tracing a long finger down his cheek. “I will still want to
fuck you, you know. And I might try, despite my inconvenient problem.” His
finger slipped down to Wes’s neck and his chest, heading toward his left nipple.
Wes caught his hand, though he didn’t pull it away. “I h-have n-no objection
t-to th-that.”
They regarded one another, desire filling the space between them. Wes held
still, letting Vallant make the decision.
Vallant drew back. “Best not to push the matter today, I suppose.”
Wes’s hand fell to his lap. “Wh-When shall I c-come for y-you tom-m-
morrow?”
Vallant was all breezy business again. “It is your shilling, my lord. You tell
me when I am to be ready, and I shall be.”
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Wes reached out and touched the underside of Vallant’s chin. “Albert. I d-do
n-not d-do this as a l-lord.”
“First you want to escape your stammer, and now your title as well. Is that
the attraction, Albert? Am I your escape?” Vallant met his gaze, but he appeared
vulnerable and uneasy. “Why
are
you doing this?”
Wes paused, his fingers lingering on Vallant’s jaw. “Because I r-r-remember
how it f-feels.”
Vallant went still. “How what feels?”
Wes’s fingers stroked Vallant’s cheek. “W-Worrying about B-B-Bedlam.”
Vallant softened in comprehension. “Oh. For the stammer. But that’s
ridiculous. You aren’t mad. Not in the slightest. Any fool can see it.”
Wes shook his head. “Y-You are n-not m-mad either.”
Vallant looked haunted. “How can you know?” he whispered.
Wes smiled. “Any f-fool can see it.”
Vallant’s hands rose toward Wes’s face, though they stopped at his
shoulders, suddenly uncertain. Gone was the whore. Vallant already seemed
young, but now he looked much younger. So soft. So sweet.
So beautiful.
So vulnerable. Remember that.
Wes leaned forward, closing the distance between their mouths, but only to
apply the briefest, gentlest of kisses to Vallant’s parted lips. He faltered when
Vallant’s breath exhaled against his cheek, and he indulged in one last brush of
flesh in acknowledgment, and then he drew back, collected himself and rose.
“El-leven.” He fastened his trousers. “I w-will c-come by at el-leven.”
Reclaiming his cravat and coat, he paused and turned back to Vallant. “W-Will
that do?”
Blinking, Vallant nodded. “Y-Yes. That will be fine.”
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Wes nodded back. “Until t-tomorrow,” he said, and left the room.
In the hall he paused, leaning against the wall and shutting his eyes. Fear
and excitement swelled within him over what he had done, over what he had
promised.
Eight hundred pounds.
If Father finds out, I won’t know what to tell him I used it
for.
One month. What shall I do with him for an entire month, indeed?
Dear God in heaven, but I hope we do make love again.
Don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him…
Don’t let him hurt you.
The voices swam within Wes’s head for a full half minute. Standing, he drew
a deep breath and shoved them firmly down as he left, ready to find Barrows
and submit his promissory note, his father’s potential questions be damned.
“So let me get this straight.” Rodger poured a liberal amount of brandy into
the two tumblers on his desk before reaching for his pipe and packet of tobacco,
methodically packing the leaf as he spoke. “You couldn’t let him fuck you. You
told him the reason why—mostly, leaving out the fact that your rapist was his
own dear da. He offered you eight hundred pounds to give him ‘the pleasure of
your company’ for one month. He gave no stipulations for this. Not whether or
not you’re having sex, how often you’re meeting,
where
you’re meeting, or
whether or not anyone else gets to lay hand or cock on you. You accept this and
tell him to stop by on the morrow, would you, love? To which he says, ‘Sure,
ducks.’ Except with an incredible stammer. Then he fastens his trousers, writes
me up a note for a princely sum with a bloody seal and all on it, doffs his hat and
takes off. That it, love, or did I miss something?”
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Michael took one of the tumblers and cradled the glass to his chest, drawing
the banyan closer to him as he stared down into the amber liquid. “That’s
essentially the tale, yes.”
Rodger lit the end of his pipe, puffed a few times and pulled it from his
mouth, shaking his head. “Bloody hell.”
Michael grimaced into the glass, then downed a significant portion of it. “I
made us some money, at least.”
“But you still can’t fuck?”
Reluctantly, Michael shook his head. Rodger swore and put his pipe back
between his lips. A sudden agitation seized Michael.
“I think it might work eventually.” He tangled his finger in a loose thread at
the edge of the banyan. After tightening the string into a neat curl, he let it go.
“Part of the problem, I think, is that for some reason I seem to want to lose
myself in him, and that’s not good business. But…well, he’s so…” Michael
stopped and stared at his lap, smiling faintly. “It’s hard to explain. Gentle, but
not gentle.” He stayed quiet another moment, still lost in memory. When he
realized what he was doing, he cleared his throat and placed his hands in his lap.
“In any event, I think we’re heading in the right direction. At least he’s paying.”
Rodger watched Michael as he smoked his pipe. He puffed thoughtfully for
a long minute, during which time Michael drained the entirety of his brandy. His
throat burned, and his head was starting to spin. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel
any less agitated after this glass than after any of the others he’d had. He reached
for the brandy bottle to give himself another dose.
He paused, though, hand resting on the neck of the bottle when he caught
Rodger looking at him oddly. “What?”
Rodger puffed once more before pulling out the pipe. “Michael, are you in
love with Lord George?”
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Michael toppled the brandy bottle and nearly fell out of his chair. “What?
No, I’m not in love with him. Sweet Christ! I’ve met him twice.”
Rodger righted the bottle. “Sometimes that’s all it takes. Sometimes just a
look can do it.”
“Please.” Michael curled his lip in derision. “I’m not a romantic fool. I don’t
even
believe
in love.”
Rodger snorted a laugh. “Yeah, and them’s the worst kind that falls in it.
Walking around in it like a lost chicken without a clue.”
“I am not a lost chicken.” Michael poured himself more brandy and threw it
back. His eyes burned, and his voice was rough with the sting of alcohol as he
slammed the glass back onto Rodger’s desk. “I am
not
in love with Albert. Stop being an idiot. And give me your damned pipe.”
Rodger passed the pipe over to Michael, who sucked on it with a vengeance.
And gagged.
Rodger laughed out loud. “You’re a fine mess, you are. I think you do love
him. I think you took one look at p-p-precious Lord George in his greenhouse,
saw his soft smile, and you fell in love.”