Read A Private Gentleman Online
Authors: Heidi Cullinan
now hopelessly lost and nearly asked if he could lie down in one of the
bedrooms Albert had shown him and rest his dizzy head.
As if he had been working hard to avoid it, Albert took him to a set of double
doors behind which could be heard a great deal of commotion and noise. It took
him several attempts before he could begin to speak, and when he did, his voice
was full of disdain.
“H-H-Here is the c-c-common room. M-Most m-m-members c-c-congregate
within.”
Michael tried not to laugh. “I take it not you, however?”
He snorted in derision. “D-D-Didn’t care for the sch-sch-sch-schoolyard
when I was there. D-D-Don’t now either.”
Now Michael could not stop a smile. “I thought it seemed like school as well.
I mean—the whole club.” His smile faded. “I had hoped it would be a kind of
learned society. All the great minds are allegedly members here.”
This seemed to make Albert thoughtful. “That m-m-might happen on oc-c-c-
ccasion. But m-m-mostly it is p-p-peers p-p-posturing.” He nodded at the doors.
“W-Would you like a tour?”
“How can I resist, after such a billing?” After a subversive glance around the
hall to be sure they were alone, he brushed his fingers against Albert’s hand.
“Thank you for showing me, Albert.”
This earned Michael a smile, and he suspected had they been alone would
have netted him a brush of a kiss as well.
The room was bigger than any of the others, and in truth it better fit the
image of a gentlemen’s club Michael had harbored. Men were gathered in pods
at billiard tables, around the fireplace, at tables and in clusters of chairs, but there was an element of display here that had been absent from the private chambers.
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Only those at the billiard tables had stripped to shirtsleeves, but even they were
not truly relaxed. Everyone was aware of everyone else or was boldly ignoring
them. With a single sweeping glance Michael was able to spot the bully, the pack
of buffoons and several braggarts—some deserved with no ability to temper ego,
some hiding fear of lack of worth in boasting. A second glance revealed the
clusters of men who dealt with the noise of the others by leaning close to one
another, ignoring them as much as possible. There were several groups of
friends, probably grouped by discipline and social standing and sometimes
simply by money. Of course there were the poor wallflowers, hovering at the
fringes of sympathetic groups but never joining, or out-and-out stationed alone,
alternating between trying not to look as if they noticed the others and trying not
to let their depression get the best of them.
Yes. Precisely like the schoolyard.
Albert led them to a table by the window, near the door but far enough away
from the loudest of the noise to give a weak reprieve. He indicated for Michael to
sit, not seating himself until his guest was settled. Even then it was clear he
wouldn’t be able to fully relax in the room. Michael felt guilty, knowing he was
the cause—clearly Albert generally favored one of the smaller salons. Before he
could work out an apology, a handsome young servant came up to them, smiling
brightly in greeting.
“Welcome, Lord George. Would you like your usual this afternoon?” When
Albert nodded, the servant turned to Michael. “And for your guest?”
Michael froze, having no idea what exactly was happening. Was the man
taking drinks? Food orders? Bringing the newspaper? He dared a panicked
glance at Albert.
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Albert’s eyebrow quirked before a flash of understanding, but both
expressions had barely registered on his face before he wiped it clean and
addressed the servant again. “The s-s-same. But with a p-p-p-plate of scones.”
“Very good, my lord.” The servant gave a bow as befit his station and
Albert’s before weaving his way through the room toward a door at the back.
A loud shout across the room made Albert wince. He tried to wipe his face
clean and sit easily back in his chair, but the extraordinary care his host took in
appearing relaxed gave him away.
“We don’t need to stay here,” Michael said. “I’ve seen the common room. We
can go elsewhere if you’d rather.”
This only seemed to embarrass Albert. “N-N-No. I’ll be f-f-f-fine.” He forced
a little more ease, slouched in his seat and threaded his fingers across his chest.
“H-H-How did you sleep last n-n-night?”
This was a question Albert asked every day of him, without fail. Michael
smiled. “Well. I nodded off in Rodger’s office around three, and at nine I went up
and finished the last few hours in my own bed.” He rubbed his cheek ruefully. “I
wish I dared try beginning there.”
“P-P-P-Progress takes t-t-time.” The way Albert phrased it had Michael
thinking he was repeating it from somewhere else, speaking to himself as much
as Michael.
A sharp crack from the billiard table startled them both, but the chorus of
male shouts of delighted surprise that followed made Albert jerk again, and
much harder. He paled and shut his eyes, swearing through his stammer under
his breath.
Michael checked his reach for Albert a hairsbreadth from his wrist. He rested
his hand on the armchair beside Albert and let his thumb brush briefly, lovingly
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over the back of his lover’s hand instead. “Albert,” he whispered. “Albert, there
is no need to stay here and torture yourself.”
For a moment Michael thought he would argue, but then Albert nodded.
Grimly. Rising shakily, he gestured for Michael to precede him to the door.
“What of your order?” Michael said, glancing back to where the servant had
disappeared. “Should we let someone know where we are going?”
Albert stopped and blinked. He looked completely surprised at the thought.
Recovering, he shrugged. “They’ll f-f-find us,” he said with confidence.
And here, Michael realized, was a true gentleman. A man born of a marquess
and not a whore. A man who left a room with every confidence that his order
would follow him wherever he went within his club. Michael couldn’t decide if
he was amused, irritated or envious.
Likely it was a bit of all three.
They weaved through the maze again. More men were in the hall this time,
and several nodded to Albert, though most of them did so stiffly. Michael began
to study the odd reaction, unable to place it. They were aloof but attempting not
to look so. This wasn’t any playground maneuver. This was a complicated mix of
respect, revulsion and…fear? It didn’t make any sense.
At the end of a hall, Albert stopped at another set of double doors, though
this one promised to open into silence, or something at least distinctly more
hushed than the common room. He paused before opening them, his hand on the
knob. He turned his head back to glance at Michael, looking grim.
“M-My ap-p-pologies,” he said.
Now it was Michael’s turn to be baffled. “What for?”
A parade of emotions crossed his face in the seconds he struggled with
speech. After four false starts, he gritted his teeth, shut his eyes and exhaled an
angry breath. “F-F-For n-n-n-not being n-n-n-normal.”
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Even butchered, the words went straight to Michael’s soul. God in heaven,
he wished he could grip Albert’s face and push him against the door in a
ferocious kiss. He smiled instead. “But, darling. Normal is so very
tedious.
”
His pulse fluttered like a trapped butterfly at Albert’s answering smile. Oh,
but for a shadowed alcove and a downstairs distraction.
“You l-l-like b-b-books,” Albert said, clearly hoping for confirmation.
The butterfly flapped its wings with more sensual languor now. “No, Albert.
I
adore
books.”
Albert nodded as if this pleased him very much. “Th-Then you should l-l-
like this.” He opened the doors with quiet flourish. Stepping aside, he revealed
the step-down entrance to a large, long room whose walls were filled floor to
ceiling with books. “Th-This is the Athen-n-n-naeum’s library.”
Michael could not move. Not until that butterfly inside him flapped hard
enough to propel him forward, taking him inside, down the stairs, onto the thick
carpet that hushed his steps. His steps into the library. The Athenaeum’s library.
“Oh my,” he whispered, his voice shaking. And then he did not speak at all,
only walked in a daze along the shelves, hand shaking, blood pounding, soul
soaring.
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Chapter Ten
Watching Michael lose himself in the Athenaeum’s library, Wes decided, was
a pleasure second only to making love to him.
It amused him, in a delighted way, to see how completely his guest forgot
him as he wandered about the room, remembering him only when he found a
particularly amazing volume and had to share his amazement. Michael didn’t
register the servant’s entrance into the room with their refreshments either, and
several attempts to point out his tea was going cold went unheard as well. Wes
gave up and enjoyed his lover’s enjoyment.
The only mar on the moment was the fact he was still shaking, which meant
that more than the raucousness of the common room was upsetting him, that as
Miss Barrington had warned him, he was beginning to feel the effect of
withdrawal from the opiates. He had not cut them out entirely, but he had
reduced his dosage significantly, and it was beginning to affect him. In an
attempt to deflect temptation, he had only brought the usual dose for late
afternoon, which he wasn’t due to take for another two hours.
“When yearning for the drug seizes you, remind yourself why you are trying
to turn away from it.” This had been Miss Barrington’s advice, and it was, he
would admit, sound. In fact, the very reason he wanted to break opium’s hold on
him had shed his jacket and was enthusiastically mounting a ladder to
investigate a higher shelf. Wes had already been wary of his increasing
dependence on the drug, of how his options seemed to be paranoid bouts of the
shakes or complete stupefaction. Having Rodger, Michael’s self-declared
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guardian, see this fine line and doubt his ability to walk it, had been what
propelled him to try and manage himself better. But it was Michael, the joy of
him, the desire to be with him not just here but everywhere—that was what
drove him.
To his shame, he found that when the drug gripped him like this, not even
Michael was enough deterrent, for the opium had found its own voice, and it
whispered to him now.
Where do you think this is going, this affair? Your sponsored month is nearly up.
What do you propose to do, set him up in a house and visit him as a normal man would
his mistress? You would both be hanged.
Wes’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair. He’d sponsor another month.
The opium kept whispering to him.
You think he will still want you? What
could he possibly see in you? You saw his eyes in the common room. He loved it as much
as you detest it. He loves opera too—you think you can stomach such a crush without
me? What of Covent Garden? He mentioned it once as a joke, but there was longing in
his eyes. He is already restless of the type of entertainment you can stand. Now you want
to make yourself more vulnerable? Fool!
Within a half an hour of their entrance to the library, Wes broke and took the
dose early. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it did take the barest of edges off his
nerves and allowed him to force a smile when Michael eventually returned to sit
beside him, breathless.
“Albert, it’s simply the most amazing library I’ve ever seen.” His cheeks
were flushed with color, and his eyes danced with light. “They have everything.
Everything in the world, and more, somehow, I swear. And some of them
signed.
Dickens.
Three signed volumes by
Dickens.
”
“H-H-He is a m-m-member,” Wes said, then added, “P-P-Perhaps w-w-we
shall b-b-bump into him.”
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Michael’s hands flew to his mouth, and his eyes widened. “Oh—
oh.
I—
Albert, I wouldn’t know what to say. I’m sure I’d look like a complete
simpleton.” But he looked absolutely giddy at the prospect of meeting the
author. It made Wes want to pen a note to the man at once and invite him to
dinner.
Why would a celebrated author accept the invitation of the Marquess of
Daventry’s damaged son? New waves of anxiety passed over Wes, and he began
to shake again. Michael noticed.
“Darl—Albert,” he amended hastily, biting off the endearment as he glanced
at the library’s few other occupants. “Are you unwell?” He dared a discreet
stroke of Wes’s knee. “Perhaps you should take some of your medicine.”