Chapter Eighteen
“GADZOOKS.” LANDO FLOPPED into the carriage seat. “I feel like a hollowed-out rag doll.”
Kit couldn’t have put it better himself. As he collapsed into the seat opposite, they eyed each other for a few moments.
Sighing heavily, Lando shook his head. “Possibly worth it though. Did you see the look Cobham gave to Sir Richard at the end? I do believe we’ve fooled them.”
“I bloody hope so. I don’t think I have the stomach to go through that again. If his man had asked me one more question about the tidal patterns across the Atlantic and how they affected the currents at the estuary, I might have had to slip outside and bash my head against the nearest brick wall.”
Lando chuckled. “You coped admirably.”
“Only because you had my back.”
Lando had been magnificent, in Kit’s opinion. A heady mix of cleverness, confidence, and cunning. If Kit had the strength, he’d haul the earl across the carriage onto his lap and ravish him, gawkers lining the streets of London be damned. Watching him now, as immaculate as ever and with only a flush to his cheeks hinting at the gruelling last few hours, that word love raised its meddlesome head again, whispering its madness in his ear.
“Seeing as we are now playing a waiting game, I’m taking the liberty of going away for two nights,” announced Lando, making Kit’s tortured heart sink. “I’m afraid I’m leaving at first light. I must journey down to Eton to visit my boys.”
“I shall miss you,” Kit answered. And blushed. The man was travelling forty miles south, not flying to the moon.
Lando tilted his head to one side. An amused quirk played at his lips. “I shall miss you too, Mr Angel. It seems we have only now become properly acquainted. But Eton is a simple journey from London—it can be done in half a day. I would be foolish not to take advantage whilst I am here.”
“Of course,” agreed Kit, pulling himself together. “And if we’re not mistaken, then Gartside will make his move any day now, especially since you’ve stipulated a deadline. Perhaps he will be more likely to do so without you around.”
“Quite. And if he doesn’t, then I shall regrettably inform the other parties of my acceptance of the American’s astonishingly high offer, and no one shall hear any more about it.”
Kit nodded. The gentlemen would curse at the earl’s volte-face and at the time wasted but then go on their way, none the wiser the whole thing had been a ruse. Alas, Gartside would not be venged, and Kit’s acquaintance with the earl would cease. Both of those outcomes had become equally undesirable over the last few days.
Kit’s disappointment must have still played across his face because Lando leaned forward to clasp his hand.
“But on my return, I would very much like us to…carry things forward. If you want that too, Kit. My…my bed has been far too large for far too long.”
As a flame of hope kindled, Kit caressed Lando’s dry, smooth palm before bringing it to his lips. “Then I am already counting down the hours.”
For the remainder of the short journey, Lando’s hand rested in his, and Kit comforted himself with the thought that the earl’s absence would at least render him opportunity to return to his lodgings. Whereupon he would be able to collect his residual belongings without any questions being asked as to his whereabouts. He squeezed Lando’s hand, picturing their reunion on Lando’s return.
“How should a senior customs officer alone in a strange city amuse himself whilst his host is away?” he teased.
“I’m very glad you asked.” Lando gave him a lopsided smile. “Pritchard informs me that Gartside can be found most afternoons riding his ugly mount through Regent’s Park. The north side is his usual hunting ground, where he can be sure to be seen. I’d like you to take the grey mare from my stables and contrive to bump into him. Drop hints that he’s my preferred choice—that I’m worried Cobham’s health is too poor to last the duration, and that I believe Sir Richard too cautious. Perhaps arrange another hand of cards for a few days’ time, just the two of you.”
If he never cast eyes on Gartside again, it would be a day too soon. Nonetheless, Lando’s idea held merit. If stroking the man’s ego and enduring another round of drinks and cards was what it took, then Kit would comply. Somewhat revived, Kit sat forward and ran his hands along the inner edge of Lando’s thighs, wishing the interior of the carriage wasn’t quite so visible from the busy street outside and that the journey was longer. “Bedding you would be much more preferable.”
“So, I imagine, would the pox,” answered Lando, drily. “But needs must.”
*
KIT WONDERED IF Gartside filled his stables according to size. His mount, a bulky, unappealing beast, was by far the biggest trotting along Regent’s north avenue. In that regard, it was not dissimilar to its owner. Whereas the elegant eleventh earl rode as if his horse was an extension of his streamlined self, Gartside rode as if he he’d quarrelled with his an hour earlier. Never had Kit seen a mount less enthused at being ridden by his master. Admittedly, his own equine skills were modest, but the grey mare was placid and, like everything Rossingley, effortlessly stylish.
Gartside rode alone, so it proved no difficulty for Kit to arrange to be in his eyeline at a fork in the track.
“Ah, Angel,” he barked. “How the devil. I was just thinking about you.” Gartside cast a sharp glance over Kit’s shoulder. “Rossingley not choosing to partake of the air?”
“His lordship is travelling to Eton,” explained Kit, hoping he sounded as if earls travelling to Eton was part of his normal daily parlance. “To visit his sons. He’s away for two nights.”
Gartside nodded, his fleshy chin wobbling. “Always surprised me a tulip like that ever begat sons. Ride with me.”
Several replies to Gartside’s snide insinuation and imperious order were ready on Kit’s tongue, but he obediently swallowed them all and fell in alongside.
“How are you finding London?” Gartside queried. “A little more cut and thrust than the provinces, I daresay? A few more pleasurable diversions?”
An image of Lando, head bowed around his cock, flashed through Kit’s head. “Very much so. Though I am enjoying myself, I confess to looking forward to wrapping this business up and returning to Manchester. I have several commitments there and had to leave at a very inconvenient time.”
“Yes?” Gartside inclined his head, and Kit pushed on.
“No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid,” he replied with a hollow laugh. Ye gods, how easily he found stepping into the role since he’d decided to trust in Lando. “I have several other parties clamouring for my attention—land is being bought up left, right, and centre. One can scarcely keep pace with it all.”
“Is that so,” Gartside said carefully.
“I’ve had to take on another secretary to help manage the rush.” Kit made a show of glancing around as if ensuring they were alone, then dropped his voice. “Between you and me, if one has the readies, I wouldn’t be investing it anywhere else this year. What with all the newfangled machinery coming in, men such as the earl are set to make a very pretty penny.”
“Hmm.”
They trotted in silence for a few moments, Gartside deep in thought and Kit endeavouring to appear suitably grave.
“And you’re the gatekeeper to all these business deals, yes?” Gartside asked.
“Well.” Kit feigned modesty. “I don’t work entirely alone, of course. I answer to the Foreign Secretary first and foremost, but with Manchester being so far from London, it wouldn’t be wrong of me to admit to having some degree of autonomy. Parliament is so dreadfully busy, you understand, and one does have a significant amount of first-hand knowledge of the workings of the goods importing business. Like my father before me, I have lived and breathed imports and exports my whole life.” He gave a tinkly laugh, making himself cringe. “One might say it runs in my blood.”
“How the dickens do you whittle down which chap to sell to?”
Kit pretended to contemplate. “As long as the gentlemen interested in investing are of sound finances and background, Sir Ambrose—and a man such as yourself would be an excellent case in point—then I’m very much left to my own devices. Someone such as yourself—” He gave a simpering smile, detesting himself for trying to be so ingratiating with such an odious man. “—would have no trouble persuading me you were the right person for the job.”
“Naturally,” said Gartside briskly. “I am a baronet. Of impeccable standing.”
A true gentleman would never need to remind another of that fact, Kit thought.
“Of the highest,” he agreed, feeling nauseous. “As are Sir Richard and Lord Cobham. Although…” He broke off, pressing his lips together as if he’d said too much.
“Although what?” Gartside’s tone was sharp.
“Although…” Kit attempted to appear discomfited. “I take my position of being in the earl’s confidence very seriously, Sir Ambrose. Thus, one does not wish to speak out of turn or on behalf of another.”
“There’s no one to overhear. Say it, man. I insist.”
Wincing, Kit directed the grey mare closer to Gartside’s and dropped his voice. “I only wish to say, in order to further your own interest in the matter that…” He hesitated again.
“Yes?” Gartside huffed with impatience.
“I have made the reasonable observation that Lord Cobham is in poor health. And whilst he has shown excellent financial prudence in the past, I fear his health matters may, shall we say, override his ability to manage his affairs if they were to deteriorate further. And I am of the opinion the earl shares similar reservations.”
“Does he now?” Gartside nodded once more. “Rum fellow, Rossingley. Sharp as a tack but rather too fond of peach flowery waistcoats for my liking, if you get my drift.”
It was all Kit could do to prevent himself from bursting into laughter.
“Nonetheless, one would do well not to underestimate him,” Gartside added with relish. “Man owns half of bloody Mayfair as far as one can tell. And much of Wessex. Wasted on a dandy like that. Bloody good at holding onto his money.”
“He is,” agreed Kit, like the diplomat he was pretending to be. “One would do well to side with him.”
“Sir Richard is of the same opinion,” grumbled Gartside. “Though God knows why Rossingley is considering him. Man’s a coward and a dimwit. Can’t even bloody speak properly.”
“Mmm,” Kit concurred, hating himself. Of all the people they were hoodwinking, that Sir Richard was one of them bothered him the most. Quiet and affable, Kit rather enjoyed his company.
Pressing further, he added, “Of course, my role is only to advise. Ultimately, the decision will rest with the earl. But, if I could be so forthright, having been in his acquaintance for quite some months now, I do believe I have his ear. It wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility for me to find myself, if sufficiently incentivised, in the position of being able to…sway him.”
He finished with a long, hard look at Gartside, praying he hadn’t gone too far yet also hoping he’d gone far enough, given the man’s below-average intelligence. As it was, he could almost hear the cog wheels chugging.
They reached another fork in the road. Two dashing young fellows in a yellow phaeton were signalling for Gartside’s attention.
“Ah, there they are,” he said. “Beefy Allington and Poodle.”
Poodle. Daft buggers, these aristocrats never grew up. As Kit drew up his horse, Gartside threw him a distracted wave, already dismissing him for acquaintances with more merit. “My route takes me this way, Sir Ambrose,” Kit declared to his companion’s half-turned back. “So I’ll bid you farewell. I have a stack of papers to read through on my return to the earl’s residence.”
“You are still his guest?”
“I am, indeed. Until our meeting at the end of the week. Most afternoons, I am alone in the library while the earl conducts his business elsewhere.” Kit tipped his hat. “Good day to you.”