Chapter 8 #2
Aubrey covered his head with his hand, swallowing an enthusiastic oath as his eyes watered and his head pounded. Well, that was a great start.
“All right?” Alfie asked him, and with more patience than Aubrey might have expected in the circumstances.
He nodded and let out a breath.
“Listen,” Alfie said quietly, taking hold of Aubrey sleeve. “This is serious now. You’re a big fellow and you take up a lot of space. For heaven’s sake, you’ve got to be aware of what your extremities are doing. All of them. Knock something over now, and we’re in it up to our necks.”
Aubrey nodded, though he found it difficult to concentrate on the lad’s words. There was something about the situation, about the way his serious grey eyes looked up at Aubrey, his hand upon Aubrey’s sleeve… He had the oddest sense of déjà vu, but—
“Come on, then,” Alfie said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Whatever maggot had crawled into Aubrey’s brain and made him feel so odd, he pushed it to one side. He’d mull it over later once this ridiculous escapade was over. Alfie was right, this needed his undivided attention, and he could not afford to be preoccupied.
Though Alfie had never been in the house before and had only the memory of the map Aubrey had drawn to guide him, he seemed to move unerringly and with such speed and certainty that Aubrey struggled to keep up with him.
It was like the young devil was part cat, for he seemed entirely at ease in the dark.
Aubrey, who was certain he was about to knock into something or trip over a rug, was far slower, moving deliberately and with such caution that Alfie kept having to stop and wait for him.
He didn’t doubt they would be having another conversation about his suitability to break into Jefferson’s house once they were finished here.
Somehow, they made it up the servants’ staircase without incident and found themselves in the great hall.
As Aubrey had predicted, a footman sat dozing by the front door, a flickering candle on the table beside him.
Aubrey glanced at Alfie, who gestured that they would cross the short distance between them and the staircase where they would remain out of sight behind a large statue which had been ornamented with a display of potted palms, before slipping behind the door which led to the servants’ stairs to the upper floors.
Aubrey nodded, waiting until Alfie gave the word.
As one, they tiptoed across the hall, ducking out of sight and waiting. Aubrey caught Alfie’s eye, and they grinned at each other, silently acknowledging that this might be madness, but there was an element of fun to it.
Aubrey’s heart thundered, a sudden rush of exhilaration surging through him.
Ridiculous as it was, he was enjoying himself.
There was something about the escapade that gave him a sense of purpose that had seemed entirely absent from his life recently.
Though the young man beside him had caused a good deal of annoyance and frustration, there was camaraderie between them of the kind he’d not experienced since he was a lad messing about with Hawk and Nat, the three of them close as brothers.
His amusement faded, however, as he heard voices and glanced towards the study to see the glow of candlelight spilling underneath the door. Hawk was still up, as was at least one other.
“Now,” Alfie whispered, reminding him once more that this was no time for dithering as the lad hurried across to the servants’ stairs, silently opened the door and slipped through.
Aubrey followed, relieved when they were once more out of sight. They hurried up, with Aubrey trying his hardest to be light-footed, though—judging by the tsking sound Alfie made—failing.
At the landing, Alfie turned the handle and opened it a crack, peering out.
“It’s clear,” he whispered.
Aubrey nodded and followed him out onto a galleried landing. To get to his room, they had to go along the corridor, past the top of the main stairs, and then along and right towards the east wing of the house.
They moved stealthily, heading for the staircase, when Aubrey heard a familiar voice and footsteps crossing the marble floor of the entrance hall below.
“Thank you, Howard, that will be all. I’ve kept you up long enough. Away and find your bed, man.”
“I will, sir, but I shall just look in upon Mr Aubrey’s valet and see if he has any notion where he has got to. I know you will sleep easier knowing where he is.”
“That’s good of you, Howard,” Hawk replied, his voice growing louder as he reached the stairs.
Aubrey froze, suddenly remembering just what a peculiar sight he presented and just how awkward it would be to explain his appearance and his companion to the Duke of Hawkney.
Alfie turned to glare at him, jerking his head wildly before grabbing hold of Aubrey's hand and tugging him into the nearest room.
Though Aubrey had done his best to make a faithful plan of the layout of the house, there had not been time enough to label every single room, and so he had only marked the ones of most importance.
He had failed to inform Alfie that the room into which he thrust them both was a comfortable sitting room, and the place Hawk usually claimed as his own when in residence.
There was no time now, either, as a few seconds after they had closed the door, it swung open again, with the pair of them trapped behind it.
Alfie plastered himself against the wall, and Aubrey flattened himself against Alfie, both praying that Hawkney was not planning on staying, for if he closed the door, they were sunk.
Aubrey’s heart thudded in his ears with such force he felt giddy and rather sick, and any amusement he might have found in the evening died a death.
His hands were pressed against the wall on either side of Alfie’s head, the lad’s hair tickling his chin.
The sound of their breathing seemed altogether too loud, and Aubrey tried to slow his breath, but his lungs protested, needing to inhale deeper as anxiety flooded him.
Please, please go away and go to bed, he prayed silently as Hawk moved about the room.
With luck, he’d just come in to fetch a book or something he’d left here, but as the seconds ticked by, all Aubrey could feel was the sting of humiliation as he imagined his cousin closing the door and finding the two of them huddled behind it. It was too appalling to contemplate.
“Damnation, where the devil is it?” Hawk muttered to himself, as Aubrey felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back.
A lifetime seemed to pass by, though it could only have been minutes, and Aubrey did not dare look down. He was certain Alfie would be glaring at him, furious at having put them in such a situation. For he did not doubt it would be his fault for not properly explaining the layout of the house.
“Your grace?”
Aubrey felt Alfie jump slightly as the butler reappeared and was somewhat mollified that he wasn’t the only one whose nerves were being shredded.
“Yes, Howard? Any update on our young vagabond?”
“It appears he intended to meet a friend at The Swan, a game of cards was mentioned.”
“Who the devil does he know here?” Hawkney asked sceptically.
“I could not say, sir. His man was rather cagey about divulging what he considered personal information.”
“Hmph. That young scapegrace is up to something, Howard. I know it, and he knows I know it,” Hawk replied, clearly frustrated.
“Cards, my eye. It’s a woman, I’ll wager.
If I find out he’s got himself in a scrape, no doubt with some unsuitable creature, there will be hell to pay.
I remember the last time I had to bail him out with that dashed opera dancer. Made a complete pillock of himself.”
“Indeed, your grace,” Howard replied, a thread of amusement in his voice.
Aubrey felt a flush of mingled fury and embarrassment at his cousin’s words and was hard pressed not to explode from behind the door and demand to know what the bloody hell he meant by saying such things.
As it was, he went rigid with indignation, which meant he was rivetingly aware of the moment Alfie began to laugh.
It was subtle at first, a gentle tremor that communicated itself to Aubrey, pressed as they were, chest to chest. Then Alfie’s breathing hitched, a tiny breath of sound, but one that seemed like a gunshot to Aubrey.
He angled his head down, which was not easily done in the limited space, and tried to glare at the lad.
Alfie glanced up at him, one hand covering his mouth.
Though the room was dark, there was a little moonlight that brightened the space from the windows to their left.
It cast a soft silver glow to Alfie’s face, changing it and making it prettier, more feminine.
No.
It was just… in this light. In the moonlight. Those long eyelashes. He could almost believe—the sensation was akin to being hit over the head with a heavy, blunt object.
Unable to process the information and certain he must be wrong, his body considered the slighter one forced so tightly against him and he became rivetingly aware of the soft press of small breasts, of skin that somehow did not smell musky and masculine, but subtly different in ways he could not articulate but felt to his very core.
Aubrey’s mind reeled as he reevaluated every word, every gesture, every interaction with Alfie…
and with Alice. He remembered then, slight gestures, echoes, the way she had looked up at him, her hand upon his arm, the way Alfie had repeated the movement and he had known then, known somewhere inside him yet had not been able to see it.
Oh, good God.
Alfie was Alice.
Alice was Alfie.
Aubrey was going to have a heart attack.
Alfie, or Alice, or whoever the hell she was, still completely oblivious to Aubrey’s position teetering on the edge of a nervous collapse, laughed harder.