Chapter Twenty-Three
TWO DAYS LATER , when a footman arrived at Grosvenor Street with a note forewarning them of Sir Ambrose’s imminent visit, the sated lovers were knee-deep in playing cards. Or rather, Kit was cheating at three-card brag, and Lando was attempting to spot his deception. He’d declared—rightly– that Kit’s loose left sleeve was somehow involved, but, to Kit’s delight, Lando was failing to fathom it. Notwithstanding, sprawled in the armchair next to Kit’s bed, with a wooden tray balanced on Kit’s lap serving as a makeshift card table, his lover appeared to be thoroughly enjoying his failed attempts to get to the bottom of it.
“He’s arriving at four.” Lando perused the missive as if it might contain clues to the sender’s intent. “To pay you a visit. Not me.”
A fluttery sensation pooled low in Kit’s belly. They exchanged a look, the cards forgotten. Lando’s hand slipped into Kit’s. “Do you feel well enough?”
On the physician’s orders, Kit had remained confined to bed for several more days. Lando, his faithful nursemaid, had ensured he followed the order to the letter, forbidding Kit all activities unless they involved him and were strictly horizontal.
“I shall have to be, shan’t I?” He fingered the purplish bruise above his right eye. The bandage had been removed the day before, but the wound was far from healed. “I can hardly receive him here in my nightgown.”
Truth be told, Kit was feeling much improved. His headaches had receded, his vision returned to normal, and his appetite stronger. His libido was ravenous. Indeed, he could have ventured from his sick chamber earlier, but if Lando wanted to coddle him a little while longer, then who was Kit to complain?
“Meet him in the library,” Lando instructed. “The light is dimmer there. You shall appear less pale.”
Jasper appeared to help him bathe and dress. In his previously weakened state, the practicalities of those activities had taken up all of Kit’s strength, leaving him far too exhausted for awkward exchanges. And though his heart held but a very small amount of affection for the surly ex-soldier—a sentiment reciprocated, he was sure—it sat there alongside a deep well of gratitude, which he could no longer ignore. Even though spitting out the words pained him. Especially when Kit was marooned in the middle of the bedchamber wearing nothing but his underclothes, with the ex-soldier holding his breeches to ransom in his great paw.
Clearing his throat, Kit addressed the man’s solid back as he bent over the washstand, preparing for Kit’s shave. “I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to you, Jasper, for rescuing me from a rather threatening situation.”
“Beg your pardon, sir.” Noisily, Jasper tipped water, no doubt only tepid, into the ceramic wash basin. “Missed that.” He tapped his ear, turning to face Kit. “Deaf in this one. Musket blast six inches from it back in 1814.”
Kit gave him a long hard stare. Whenever Lando reminded Jasper that it was time for Kit to drink some vile medicinal concoction on his physician’s advice, the man’s hearing was perfectly intact. Jasper’s single eye roamed over Kit’s exposed legs.
“I said,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “You have my sincere gratitude for rescuing me from an…an awkward encounter.”
Jasper made a sound suspiciously like a snort. “I’ve heard a good thrashing called a few things in my soldiering days, but never an…”
“All right, all right. Good grief, man. Just…thank you. You saved my life, and I’m eternally grateful and forever in your debt, et cetera, et cetera.”
Jasper returned his attention to the washstand. “Didn’t do it for you. Did it for him.”
“Yes, well. I rather presumed that to be the case.” Kit exhaled through his nose, and his fingers twitched, almost as if he wanted to wrestle something. He would very much like to be wearing his breeches. “His lordship is terribly grateful too.”
“He’s a good man. One of the best. Like his father before him.”
“So I understand.” Still on the weak side, Kit sank into the chair by the washstand. “You are…um…obviously content to be in his employ at Rossingley.” He leaned forward as Jasper roughly folded a towel around his neck. “It’s a fine part of the world. There are certainly much worse places to live.”
“There be that,” agreed Jasper. He proffered two soap bars. “Would sir like the jasmine or orange?”
Ye gods, they were having a normal conversation. “Orange. Thank you.” Now was not the time for jasmine; his meeting with Gartside required his full concentration. “Do you miss Rossingley?”
With a fingertip, Jasper tested the sharpness of the blade and gave a satisfied nod. On a silent prayer, Kit shut his eyes tight. “Can’t wait to get back. London folk aren’t to my liking.”
“You include me in their number, I’ll wager.” Kit grinned. “I daresay you’re looking forward to leaving me and this valeting behind, too, getting back to your old job.”
As Jasper scraped the blade with more care than he ever had before across Kit’s sensitive, bruised flesh, he let out a mirthless laugh. “Leaving you behind? Fat chance of that. Not if his lordship’s got anything to do with it.”
“My home is here in London,” answered Kit, puzzled. “You’ve seen it. You’ve seen how straitened my circumstances are. Thus, you understand as well as I that I do not have the luxury of swanning about the countryside as the guest of an earl. No.” He shook his head, earning a glare from Jasper. “I shall find another set of suitable lodgings when all this Gartside business is over and seek gainful employ.”
Jasper scoffed, dipping the blade into soapy water. “Lodgings? You won’t be going back to living in them again. In your shoes, I’d get out of London.”
He had a point. “Maybe I’ll go to Kent,” Kit argued sulkily. “l know the area well. I’ll be sure to find suitable employ after this has died down. His lordship will surely give me references of good standing.”
Patting his chin with a soft towel, Jasper shook his head. “There’s a fair few miles between Kent and Rossingley. My lord won’t allow it.”
“He is not my lord.” Indeed, Lando had said so himself. Kit jerked his head to glare at Jasper. “I am at liberty to go where I like.”
Jasper jerked him back towards the light again, his strong fingers clamped around Kit’s chin. “You’ll be coming with us,” he growled in a tone brooking no disagreement. “For good. He’ll kidnap you if he has to. Mark my words.”
*
“WHAT THE BLAZES has happened to you?”
Gartside strode into the library as if he owned it. Kit grimaced. So much for poor lighting. They exchanged polite nods, Kit’s cracked ribs protesting at a hearty clap on the shoulder. With his legs still a little shaky, he gratefully fell back into a chair.
“Took a tumble from that grey mare,” he explained, his eyes darting to Jasper in attendance by the door. Staring straight ahead, the footman was a model of subservience. “Damned creature was spooked by a passing stage.”
Gartside harrumphed, taking up a stance by the window. Though his seated position put Kit at a disadvantage, it was preferable to swooning at the odious man’s feet. A sheen coated Gartside’s brow, and he dabbed at it with a white handkerchief. Kit smiled to himself; he wasn’t the only one beset by nerves.
“I’d wager a man in your position doesn’t have the leisure or blunt to properly understand quality horseflesh. Wouldn’t mind riding that prime bit of blood myself.” With his hands clasped behind his back, Gartside examined Kit down his nose before turning back to the window.
“No, sir,” Kit agreed. The man really was utterly loathsome. “A deep regret, but a consequence of one’s station in life, which one must bear with stoicism.”
“Quite.”
There was a pregnant pause, during which Kit had the distinct impression Gartside, staring out into the park, was building himself up. Unless he had a particular fascination for linden trees.
“Rossingley has returned from his trip, I assume?”
“He has,” Kit confirmed. “In good spirits. If you wish for further information from him regarding his proposition, perhaps I could send Jasper here to enquire as to his whereabouts?”
Indisposed to visitors, Lando was taking a leisurely scented bath, which Kit planned on interrupting as soon as Gartside left. “He is keen to have this business wrapped up so he may return to the country.”
“His presence won’t be necessary,” said Gartside in a clipped tone. “I’m sure you are perfectly capable of furnishing me with what I need.”
Another delicate pause followed, during which Gartside’s fists flexed. Kit exchanged another glance with Jasper. Since his beating, he found the man’s presence reassuring.
“And may I enquire as to what might that be, Sir Ambrose?”
Apparently satisfied with the foliage outside the window, Kit’s visitor turned his attention towards Kit. “Yes, you may.” He wiped a fat finger across his damp upper lip. “I understand you have the ear of Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary.”
“Yes,” confirmed Kit, schooling his features into the solemn countenance of a man who did indeed spend his days advising Parliament how best to conduct a portion of its import and export affairs. “When he travels north.”
“And of Rossingley too.”
Kit nodded gravely. “I do not wish to appear immodest, but yes, these past few weeks his lordship has leaned quite heavily on my thoughts and experience.”
And on other parts of him too.
“Is that so.” Gartside’s lips pursed as he peered at Kit, much like one might a bug under a microscope. Kit resisted the twin urges to both avert his eyes from Gartside’s piggy scrutiny and to gabble. If his card-sharping days had taught him nothing else, it was that fast-flowing words were a ready sign of duplicity. Instead, he met the odious man’s regard with a level one of his own and tried not to fidget.
“You are fond of the finer things in life, I believe.” Gartside’s eyes flicked up and around the well-appointed library. “Good tailoring and horseflesh and so forth.”
Blushing on cue was beyond Kit’s acting repertoire, so he settled for lowering his gaze to the carpet. “I admit to those weaknesses, yes.”
Gartside inhaled in a noisy sniff. “Good. In which case, sir, I have a proposal for you.”
He spun around to face Jasper, who eyed him impassively. “You, man. Leave us.”
As if of his own choosing, Jasper strolled out, taking his time.
With another harrumph, Gartside returned his attention to Kit. “You have one minute to accept or decline. If you decline and word gets out of my offer, then I shall be left with no alternative than to suggest that it was you who made the offer to me . And I shall report you to your superiors. Do I make myself clear?”
Kit dug his nails into his palm as he fought a desire to punch the air. “Crystal, Sir Ambrose,” he answered in a steadier voice than he imagined possible.
“Humph.” Gartside gave a brisk nod. “Very well. Two hundred pounds will be delivered direct to your pocket by my manservant tomorrow evening if you can provide me with your word that I am to be selected as Rossingley’s business partner. Another fifty when the deed is done.”
Kit’s dull nagging headache vanished. Two hundred pounds ? A gentleman could run a small household on that for a year and not feel the pinch. That was a larger sum than he’d seen in his life. A thrilling fire coursed through his veins as he pictured what all of those pound notes would look like, heaped in a pile. Or thrown up in the air with abandon. Even his broken ribs were quiescent.
“What say you, sir?” added Gartside with a jerk of his wobbly chin.
Kit made himself count to ten, determined not to let his excitement, almost too big to be contained, overpower his intelligence. Two hundred pounds . This was it! Bar a small portion for his sister, the remainder he’d hand over to Lando so that Gartside’s ill-treated tenants might survive the winter. Vindication for his sister and every other poor chit the man had abused was so close he could almost taste it.
The sum Gartside offered was even bigger than they’d imagined. So pompous, so arrogant, yet the man was a fool of the highest order. Kit felt like punching him for being so stupid. To be on the safe side, he extended his count to thirty.
“I say…I say that you will make an excellent business associate for the eleventh Earl of Rossingley’s cotton ventures. Sir.” A smile of immense relief, itching to break out, spread across his face. Fortunately, misinterpreted by Gartside.
“Then we have a deal.” Darting forward, the baronet vigorously pumped Kit’s hand, forcing him to stand. Kit’s hiss of pain as an equally hearty backslap threatened to topple him went unnoticed by Gartside, too busy congratulating himself on his excellent deal. “I knew you’d see reason, Angel. Spotted you as a man of sound mind the minute I clapped eyes on you.”
“I’m…thank you. Flattered to be sure.” And then, as Kit felt obliged, he added, “Can I offer you some refreshment, a toast perhaps?” His eyes watered. Please decline . Every single one of his ribs had felt that backslap and his legs had suddenly liquefied, although that might have been secondary to the two hundred pounds bribe.
Lando had been right, this odious baronet’s character was the instrument of his own downfall. Gartside’s ruination was so close, Kit almost smelled it in the air.
“No, Angel. I shall be on my way,” Gartside answered curtly, his tone making no bones about the fact that socialising with Kit was far beneath a fellow of the upper orders such as himself. Thank God. “We shall reconvene on Rossingley’s appointed schedule. Whereupon I anticipate some excellent news.”