Chapter Twenty-Seven
AS KIT WAS dragged, handcuffed, though the narrow, unlit corridors of White’s staff quarters, the lump of humiliation lodged in his throat threatened to choke him. Being arrested in front of the likes of Gartside and Sir Richard was bad enough, but being paraded in fetters in front of gawping staff—some of whom a few days earlier had waited on him at dinner as if he belonged at the club—was somehow even worse.
And then there was his dear Lando. He couldn’t even begin to think about him. Not yet. Trust me , he’d said, and those silvery, glittery eyes had searched Kit’s face as if it held all the answers to the universe and beyond. And Kit had trusted him. He still did, even now, though Lando had as good as denounced him in front of Clark. Who could blame him? Their Gartside scheme would have toppled if he hadn’t, and all their efforts would have been reduced to nought. Whatever he and his brother had concocted, had been too little, too late to change the course of the tides. Clark had caught up with him, as he always would, and that was that. Even his precious, clever Lando wasn’t infallible. Or above the law.
But how the devil had Clark tracked him down to White’s? Perhaps he’d staked out Grosvenor Street or sent a lackey in his place after someone had caught sight of the Rossingley crest when the carriage had pulled up outside the boarding house. Not that it mattered now.
Mr Christopher Angel of Sindell Street, London, I’m arresting you for heinous wrongdoings against multiple honest gentlemen of the town. For false representation of yourself. For misleading others. For gross larceny amounting to more than one shilling against Sir Ambrose Gartside, amongst others. Crimes punishable by certain death.
Such an exhausting, convoluted way to pronounce a man a common thief! Despite the invidiousness of his position, Kit almost smiled. Any sum amounting to more than one shilling was, indeed, punishable by death according to the letter of the law. But it was a damned fancy way of calling out a purse-snatcher and a card sharp. He wondered why Gartside had been singled out—the snuff box during their game of loo, probably. That alone was enough to get a man hanged. It was the last item he’d pilfered and one of the nicest he’d pinched in a while, that shiny bauble would have fetched a tidy penny. But it was nothing compared to a two-hundred-pound bribe. Imagine if Clark got a whiff of that? Kit would be hung several times over.
The bawdy chatter and cheery clatter of the front rooms receded the deeper he was marched into the depths of White’s. Soon, the rhythmic slap of two pairs of boots on cold stone floors was the only sound, and with it, Kit felt oddly calm. Perhaps the calmness came from knowing a probable death sentence lay ahead, and he was powerless to prevent it. Perhaps this emptiness of mind was common to all men with nothing but the gallows to contemplate, one’s body’s protective instinct. If so, then Kit was grateful. It saved him from picking over all he was set to lose. Because if he dared let a fraction of that out, a sheer, unstoppable torrent would follow.
Clark’s grip on his arm was unnecessarily tight, as were the shackles numbing his hands. The runner waltzed Kit towards the back of the establishment at such a fast lick that, twice, Kit stumbled and almost fell. Older and unfit, Clark’s mouth hung open. His breath sawed in and out in quick gasps, and the air in front of Kit’s face filled with the rancid stink of a rotten tooth. Unable to cover his nose, Kit focused his mind on Lando’s fragrant mouth instead. On their own silent waltz and how light and blissful his lover had felt in Kit’s arms. On his lips like ripe cherries, on the joy of his rare, sweet smile. On Kit’s short-lived, allotted portion of joy and what could have been.
With a draught of cooler and blessedly fresher air, they reached an unprepossessing rear entrance. Flinging it wide, Clark gave Kit a rough shove. “Off you go. God willing, you smash your head on the ground at the bottom and break your scummy, bastard, thieving neck.”
With no time to come up with a suitable riposte and only a second to acknowledge Clark’s dark hopes for him had every likelihood of coming to fruition, Kit flew, arse over tit, down a steep flight of stone steps, each one deliberately designed to smack against his hip, his ribs, and his blasted head. He reached the bottom, miraculously still in one piece, whereupon his momentum propelled him headfirst into a waiting carriage, bringing him to rest in a disagreeable heap of battered limbs on the floor, his wrists still locked uselessly behind his back and his legs dangling outside. Two strong hands under his armpits hauled them inside, and then, in the dim recesses of his mind, he heard the carriage door slam shut behind him. With a brisk jerk—doing Kit’s abused head and wrenched shoulders no favours whatsoever—they set off.
“Just kill me now,” he groaned to a pair of sturdy watchman’s boots inches from his face.
The answering low chuckle was his first indicator that all was not as it seemed. And a brutal strike from those boots, which he braced for, never came. Instead, Kit heard a rustle of clothing, followed by the unmistakeable clink of a bunch of keys.
“I’ve been sorely tempted once or twice, son,” grunted a coarse voice. “I took a right kicking in the ballocks for you. But the master will have my guts for garters if I do.”
“Jas…Jasper?” Crabby, liverish, one-eyed Jasper ?
“He wouldn’t trust anyone else to come and rescue you, would he? Let’s get these off before you do yourself any more mischief.”
A searing pain flooded Kit’s hands as the shackles fell from his wrists. At his agonised hiss, Jasper chuckled again. Kit didn’t care; if he’d been able to wrench himself up, he’d have kissed him. The hard floor, his pains, his annoying saviour; none of it mattered. Somehow, he was free. And freedom meant only one thing—his dear Lando.
“He’s done this, hasn’t he? Lan— the earl.”
“Of course he has, you daft apeth. You think he’d have let the hangman have at you?”
Water leached from Kit’s eyes, copious streams of it, as if imprisoned for too long inside a heavy rain cloud. Making no effort to wipe them away, he surrendered to his tears, slumped even more untidily across the dusty carriage floor. A deep-throated half groan, half sob escaped him.
“Never have your dulcet tones and honeyed vowels sounded so bewitching. Keep seducing me, Jasper, so I know you’re real.”
Jasper snorted. “He’d have my head on a spike if I attempted that.” He gave Kit a shove with his foot. “You gonna get up or stay there all day?”
Kit groaned again. Rising to his feet seemed an insurmountable challenge.
He’d never lain on the floor of a carriage before. As the steady rhythm of hooves thundered under his ear and his body lurched to and fro in time, Kit decided it was to his liking. He might make it his permanent home. The noise was strangely soothing, or maybe the wash of relief sweeping through his shattered body was because his beloved, infuriating, beautiful eleventh earl had kept his promises and saved him from his most dreadful fate. Trust me .
Eventually, when his breathing returned to normal and he was confident he wouldn’t further humiliate himself by bursting into tears again, Kit allowed Jasper to help him up and into the carriage seat. A few more minutes elapsed before he felt able to speak, and when he did, it was not to profess eternal gratitude but to comment on the passing scenery. Which was…increasingly countrified.
“I’m not terribly familiar with this corner of Mayfair,” Kit said suspiciously. “And unless we’re travelling in circles, we should have arrived at Grosvenor Street by now.”
Wordlessly, Jasper handed him a well-worn leather hip flask, and in one ungentlemanly glug, Kit emptied it down his throat.
“You’re kidnapping me, aren’t you?” he asked.
“The earl is kidnapping you,” corrected Jasper. “By way of me. Don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning, lad.”
“So we’re bound for Rossingley.”
“We are,” Jasper confirmed. “Home.”
Wiping his mouth, Kit cursed. “It’s not my home. Why would I want to go to Rossingley?”
Jasper examined him as if it was the most stupid thing he’d ever heard. “I can always turn us around again and drop us off at Bow Street.”
“That…um…won’t be necessary,” Kit swiftly replied. “But the earl and I have not discussed what…I mean…I don’t live there.” They had not discussed anything, in fact, beyond the Gartside plan and their increasing fondness, nay, love for each other.
“Well, lad, I’ve got a feeling you do now.”
Kit couldn’t stay at Rossingley. Not for more than a short visit, at any rate, until his new set of injuries had healed. Men like them just…didn’t. No matter how discreet and loyal Lando’s household, word would get out eventually, and Kit had had enough of being arrested to last him a lifetime.
Unless…unless Lando expected to find him employment on the estate, given that Kit had had enough brushes with the law and promised to join the ranks of the honestly employed. But a position working for Lando? Kit would refuse immediately, on principle. He was many things, not all good, but he did have his pride, and he would not be paid by his wealthy lover to be his kept paramour .
A pothole tossed his sore backside up off the bench seat and back down again with a hard thump. He swore, unsure if it was directed at the pain, the man, or both. “Bloody Rossingley.”
“There’re worse homes,” said Jasper, not unreasonably. “You got yourself bested outside one of them.”
“Yes, there are. But that’s hardly the point.” Kit began ticking off on his fingers. “In the space of one evening, I have been arrested, humiliated, and handcuffed by a man who has been chasing me for as long as I can recall. Then, with certain death sitting on my shoulder, he lets me go, but only after kicking me down a brutal flight of stairs. And I land in your outstretched arms. To find I’m being kidnapped.” He shook his head. “So forgive me if I’m not in the finest of moods.”
Jasper’s placidity was infuriating. “Just following orders, lad. If the boss wants you at Rossingley, Rossingley is where you’ll be.”
“The bossy,” Kit corrected him childishly. “Not the boss.”
His companion cackled. “But you still want in his breeches anyways.” And with that startlingly accurate observation, Jasper’s lips sealed shut.