A Fashionable Indulgence (Society of Gentlemen #1) (12 page)

Julius moved his lips away, over the skin, kissing carefully along Harry’s jawline and up to his ear. “Dear one,” he murmured, his breath tickling. “Permit me to help.”

“Oh God, Julius. Please just—please want me.”

“I couldn’t want you more,” Julius said softly, and claimed Harry’s mouth again.

The door opened, but neither of them looked round. Too busy, and they were safe up here—

“What the hell is this?” a deep voice barked, in a tone of such furious command that Harry jumped and Julius recoiled from him like a startled cat, losing his balance and landing on his arse.

“Christ alive!” Julius scowled at Richard, who stood glaring down at him. “If that’s your idea of a jest—”

“What the devil are you playing at?” Richard’s voice was thick with anger, and Harry’s stomach plunged.

“Cousin—” he began weakly, but Julius overrode him.

“What the devil does it look like we’re doing? And why does it concern you?”

“My cousin’s happiness is my concern,” Richard snarled. “And I had thought better of you, Julius.”

Julius picked himself off the floor. “Your cousin is a grown man who can order his own affairs, and you are not the arbiter of his affections.”

“My cousin is a vulnerable girl.” Richard’s teeth were set. “She has no father or brother, her grandfather is not a caring man, and by God I will not stand and see her abused. We spoke of this, damn it!”

“What?” said Julius blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“Did he not tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Julius’s voice rang with tension. They stared at each other for a second more. Then they both turned to look at Harry.

“I, uh.” Harry, huddled wretchedly in the chair, couldn’t find his voice. The blood was burning in his cheeks under his cousin’s level stare.

“Well,” Richard said. “It seems the experiment has failed. One cannot make a gentleman. I will leave Harry to explain himself, Julius, but to avoid any doubt, you must know that he became privately engaged to my cousin Verona some two weeks ago, and a ball to celebrate their engagement is in the planning even now. And
you
should know, Harry, that I will not tolerate your abuse of Verona’s trust. She has given you her heart as well as her hand, and she is entitled to respect. Perhaps you cannot return her sentiments, but you will not make her life a misery under any roof of mine. You will leave the premises within the half hour or I shall have you removed, and you will not return to these rooms.”

He walked out, long strides, and the door slammed behind him.

“He cannot be correct.” Julius stared at him. “He is under a misapprehension, yes?…No. I see. Of course he is not.”

“It’s not like that.” Harry’s lips felt thick and clumsy. Julius’s face was freezing into glacial disdain and Harry felt as tongue-tied and dumb as ever he had in his life. “She doesn’t—I don’t—”

“You are engaged to marry your cousin. With whom you have been so happily associating. Who is, it seems, under the impression that it is a love match.”

“It isn’t!” Harry protested. “She doesn’t like me!”

“Oh, the unsympathetic wife.” Julius’s voice was savage. “How numerous they are, and how strange that they so often find themselves wed to men who want to dip their wicks elsewhere. Are you so starved for sentiment that you had to have my heart as well as hers? Could you not have spared me that…that exposure?” There was red burning on his cheekbones. Solitary Julius who had allowed Harry to see his private, unhappy self…

He’s never going to forgive me. Never.

“Listen,” Harry said miserably. “Please.”

“I do not tolerate entanglements,” Julius said with icy precision. “I will not be your second best, your relief for a cockstand, or your mistress. I told you that our association would end when you engaged yourself to marry. How
dare
you disregard my words.”

“You said when the engagement was announced—” Harry blurted, and could have bitten off his tongue.

“Ah, a legal quibble. It needed only that. Of course, since the engagement was
private,
you have behaved with the most gentlemanly delicacy. I beg your pardon and thank you for your consideration. Leave.”

Harry forced himself up from the chair. His eyes were burning and he didn’t think he could speak. Julius stood rigid, mouth set tight, and Harry had to skirt awkwardly round him, too close. He had a feeling that if he so much as brushed Julius’s coat, the man would strike him.

He made his way with awkward steps to the door, looked back. Julius had not moved.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t intend to hurt you. I didn’t want to lose you yet.”

“Get out.” Julius didn’t turn.

Harry let himself out into the cooler air of the corridor, hearing the hubbub of voices downstairs. He shut the door behind him very carefully and quietly and, from inside the room, heard a crash, as though a glass had shattered against the wall.

The sequels to that terrible night at Quex’s were many, and united only in their awfulness.

Richard did not, as Harry had briefly feared, throw him out of his house. He read him a lecture, though, on the topic of loyalty, decency, and the obligations of a gentleman, which left Harry feeling like the most contemptible creature on earth.

“There are plenty of men who treat their wives with scorn or abuse their vows,” Richard said. “I will not see one of them married to my cousin. Verona is alone and vulnerable. You will give me your word that you will at least try to make a success of this marriage, or I will tell Gideon that you are not worthy of her hand, and let him deal with you accordingly.”

I was going to!
and
She doesn’t even like me!
jostled in Harry’s head, but he knew well enough they wouldn’t be heard. He mumbled his promise instead, head bowed in humiliation.

“As for Julius,” Richard went on, “you are the only man for whom he has allowed himself to care in a very long time and you have probably ensured he will not do so again.” His big, powerful hand tightened to a fist. “I should be tempted to mete out the punishment you deserve, except that I feel quite sure Julius will claim that right.”

That had been bad. It was bad at Quex’s too. Julius had disappeared, and Harry couldn’t summon the courage to ask where he was, let alone answer the men who asked him.

“Have you fallen out with Julius?” Ash asked him tentatively, after two days of Harry slinking around like a whipped dog.

“A little. Yes.”

Ash put a comforting arm around his shoulders. “These things happen. Come and have a drink.”

“I have to escort my cousin to Bedford House,” Harry said gloomily.

“Linen drapers? Good God.” Ash gave him a look. “That seems very domestic.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t have the strength to deny it, and why bother?

Ash squeezed his arm. “Family obligation is a hell of a thing. I’m damned lucky to be the youngest. Look, I’m visiting my snyder later. Vaillard on Cork Street. Good man but speaks French all the time for some damned reason.”

“He’s French.”

Ash waved a hand, dismissing that as an inadequate excuse. “You’d do me a service to talk to the fellow for me. Join me there at four, say, order yourself a new coat, cheer up. Things will sort themselves out, I should think. They usually do. Did I ever tell you about the fix I found myself in last autumn?”

That was cheering. Ash might not be the brightest spark of the
ton
, but he had, Harry thought, the kindest heart, and was unquestionably the most comforting to spend time with, if only because consequences didn’t exist in his world. He assumed that things would turn out well enough and, because he was a duke’s son, they did.

And he had a proud, reserved man’s heart in his keeping. And unlike Harry, he hadn’t thrown it away.

Escorting Verona was as painful as ever. She gave him the usual false smile and little jabs—“If I may just venture to mention, a gentleman should
try
not to look preoccupied when attending to a lady. Rank does have
some
obligations.” He wanted to shout at her, to demand why she had agreed to this blasted marriage when surely she must have inherited her father’s wealth, and how in the name of God Richard could have gained the impression that her affections were engaged. In Harry’s view, she couldn’t be any more repellent if she wanted him to call it off.

It wasn’t bloody fair. He
had
to marry. He was being forced to marry a woman who didn’t give a damn for him while half the
ton
seemed to indulge in illicit liaisons. He had only been out for a few weeks but already he could have named a dozen wives known to be conducting
affaires,
and three times as many men. Why did it matter to Richard, or anyone, if Harry was among them, or if he indulged himself before the engagement was even public? Would Verona care, as long as he treated her courteously? She could take her pleasures elsewhere with Harry’s goodwill, as long as he was allowed to do the same.

Or perhaps she was one of those people who simply didn’t like to fuck at all, and he’d be tied to her, lovelessly, forever, and have to go through life like a eunuch.

If he hadn’t made such a damned mess of it all, Julius might have understood. Harry might have made him understand that this was an arrangement of the most basic financial sort, that there were no feelings to be wounded, and no entanglement beyond a legal document.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have understood, because he was rich. He’d never been hungry; he had no idea what it meant to be desperate and alone; he could afford the luxury of a high moral tone. Harry couldn’t. He
had
to marry, and was it really such an insult that he hadn’t been ready to drop Julius like a hot coal on Gideon’s command?

“You’re brooding
again,
cousin,” Verona trilled. “What do you think of these ribbons?”

“The pale green, unquestionably,” Harry said. It was a bilious hue that would make her complexion hideously sallow. He felt it was the least he could do.

“What the devil is that?” Julius asked with icy viciousness.

Harry maintained his calm bearing only because he’d practiced, several times, in the mirror. “What?” he asked innocently.

“That…
abomination.
”

“It’s a coat.”

“It is not,” Julius said. “I don’t know what it is—a fevered fantasy, possibly, or the creation of a lunatic artist, but it is not what any sane man would call a
coat
.”

“I say.” Ash looked rather startled. “I like it.”

“You’re a saphead,” Julius told him. “Were you responsible for this travesty?”

Ash flushed bright red. Francis said, soft and warning, “I believe your quarrel is with Harry, dear Julius.”

It was, and it had been coming for a while. Harry squared his shoulders. “It was made to my specification. I think it’s rather good.”

“It is not good,” Julius said, through his teeth. “It is
puce.
”

It was puce. There was no denying that. It was well fitted by the French snyder Vaillard, well styled, with a most pleasing swing to the tails, and it was a deep tone that could not be explained away as brown, or red, or anything but puce. That was not a shade one saw often, but Harry had been entirely charmed by it when he had visited the shop with Ash, and nobody could deny it went well with his dark brown hair. It was striking. It was
unusual
.

“It’s horrible,” Dominic said. “Whether it deserves quite so much ire, though—”

“It deserves burning,” Julius snapped. “On its wearer’s back.”

Julius had been absent from the
ton
for a full week after that night in Quex’s. He had returned with no explanation, and had barely spoken to Harry since. He had ignored him in the clubs, not quite with the cut direct but certainly with sufficient disdain to make Harry the wretched object of unwelcome, amused attention, and when Harry had made his sole attempt to persuade him to a private talk, Julius had responded with a cold stare and turned on his heel.

During his absence, Harry had been able to persuade himself that maybe, possibly, he could explain. The full force of Julius’s dislike in person made it very clear that he could not. The worst of it were the little moments of amusement, when he’d start to say his name, or look round, and then he’d remember that they no longer shared jokes, and that Julius’s pale eyes no longer met his lit with laughter, but remained glacially uninterested, as though Harry didn’t exist. As though he were beneath his notice.

He’d bloody well noticed now.

The coat had given Harry something of a qualm, in truth. The Season was in full swing, the clubs and drinking houses full, and puce was not a shade one saw on many backs. He’d worn it out of defiance, as much as anything else, a little refusal to look like the gentleman that he was not. And if the cold-blooded bastard who’d treated him like dirt for a fortnight didn’t like it, that was his problem and not Harry’s.

He squared his shoulders. “I’m terribly sorry you don’t like it. I suppose you prefer a more
conventional
style.”

Julius’s nostrils flared dangerously. “Oh, quite. For example, the convention not to make the hapless spectator feel unwell.”

Dominic stifled a guffaw. He was only one of a ring of spectators they were attracting. Harry was aware that he was going to lose any verbal fencing match, but he was too angry to stop himself. How dare Julius presume to comment when he’d made it so damned clear he didn’t care?

“I can only suggest you don’t look at me then,” he told Julius. “Since the sight of me clearly bothers you.”

“
Bothers
is hardly the word. I would say…” Julius considered for a moment, then concluded, with mild satisfaction, “
Revolts.
”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. Dominic stopped laughing.

“Did you say
revolts
?” Harry repeated, feeling his cheeks burn. “I
revolt
you?”

“He said the coat—” Ash put in, a hapless effort at peacemaking.

“I think perhaps you should take this discussion elsewhere,” Dominic said, and if it had been Richard, Harry would probably have obeyed, but Richard was not here.

“I said
revolt.
” Julius’s eyes were glitteringly cold. “As we know from history, peasants do that.”

“That will do.” Dominic’s voice was the loudest of the chorus around them. “Good heavens.”

Harry ignored him, taking a furious step forward. “That’s damned insulting.” Rude to anyone who didn’t know his birth. Painful in the extreme because Julius did. “Take that back or—or face the consequences.”

“That is quite enough,” Dominic snapped. “Both of you, stop this.”

“What consequences do you have in mind?” Julius asked venomously. “I wasn’t aware you considered those.”

“I’ll tell you bloody what,” Harry said, spitting his anger, and felt a hand close on his arm. He attempted to shake it off, couldn’t, glanced down, and saw dark fingers over the puce material.

“Let me escort you, Mr. Vane,” said Shakespeare quietly. “We don’t have trouble here, sir. Lord Richard has given strict orders.”

Ash grabbed his other arm. “Come, Harry, you’re making a spectacle of yourself. Don’t worry, I’ve been thrown out of here twice. Damned particular, aren’t you, Shakespeare? Come
on.
”

“Did you hear what he said to me?” Harry demanded, as Ash pulled him out of the door. Shakespeare had released him, but stood behind in a foursquare way that made it clear Harry wasn’t coming back in. “He said—”

“I heard. Forget it. Let’s have a drink somewhere else.”

“Well, why the devil am
I
being thrown out?” Harry demanded. “
He’s
the one who ought to be—”

“Harry.”
Ash pulled him round so they were facing each other, still gripping his arm. St. James’s was too crowded for private speech, so he kept his voice low. “Listen. You’ll be allowed back, they just need to keep the peace now. You know damned well we can’t afford scandals at Quex’s. It’ll ruin all of us if the place gets a reputation and you were causing a scene in front of everyone. My God, man, it’s a gambling hell, not a molly house!”

Panic clutched Harry by the throat. “I didn’t say anything…revealing, did I?”

“It was the
way
you said it. Squabbling like a pair of queans, after drifting around with a Friday face for days and then staring at Julius like a kicked dog. If you can’t be discreet then take your blue devils somewhere you won’t get the rest of us hanged.”

“Well, you can talk!” Harry said, scarlet with humiliation. “If you made yourself any clearer with Francis, you might as well wear petticoats.”

Ash shoved him away. His handsome face was flushed, and angry, and hurt. “I don’t know what the devil’s wrong with you, but I suggest you go and sleep it off before you say anything else you’ll regret. Good night.”

He strode away, back in the direction of Quex’s, where Harry could not follow. Francis was there, of course. Probably having a drink with Julius, probably laughing at Harry’s absurdity.

He hesitated, unsure what to do. He didn’t want to go to another club, another place where gentlemen met.
Gentlemen.
It hadn’t taken long for that to wear thin, had it? Julius, flinging his birth in his face, watching him be thrown out as though Harry had been the one at fault, saying those vicious things, and nobody raising a brow—

Damn them all. He didn’t want to mix with bloody gentlemen.

He hesitated, then set off eastward on foot, boiling with anger and misery and shame.

It was nearly two miles to Ludgate. No great distance for a man who was used to walking everywhere, and the chill October air was something of a relief. The walk didn’t help much otherwise. As Harry’s first sharp anger ebbed, he found himself going over and over the argument in his head, losing his memory of the detail. What precisely he had said, what Julius had meant. How revealing it had been.
Pair of queans.
Ash’s words gave him a cold chill. Had he sounded like a spurned lover? Surely he hadn’t revealed anything—they’d just argued about a coat…

If they’d given themselves away, he was ruined. Richard wouldn’t protect him. He had everyone else to protect: himself, Ash and Francis, Dominic, the others. Julius.

God damn it, why had he done this? Where had it all gone so wrong?

He walked and fumed, ignoring the glances he received in his expensive coat. He probably shouldn’t do this, risked assault in the darkness, but he wanted, urgently, to go home.

It wasn’t Wednesday, was it? Harry wasn’t sure. The day of the week hardly mattered to a man without employment. But Silas went out every Wednesday night without fail, and not for political meetings, either. His assignations were the source of much speculation, but they were his private business and not to be remarked upon to his face. A previous assistant, the man before George, had dared to follow him once, and found himself kicked into the stinking Fleet ditch.

Harry hoped it wasn’t Wednesday. He needed Silas now.