Brook Street: Thief (4 page)

Chapter Four

The door swung open. Cavin resisted the urge to pull the wrinkled paper sack containing Benjamin’s waistcoat behind him, and left it hanging casually by his side. “Is Lord Benjamin Parker at home?”

“His lordship is presently occupied. Would you like to leave your card?” The servant—either a butler or a footman, though Cavin could not determine the exact group the man fell into—looked Cavin up and down, his doubt as to Cavin’s ability to produce a calling card written all over his face.

Cavin kept his chin up and the polite expression in place. “Unfortunately I parted with my last card just this morning. Must wait for the stationer to print up a new batch. However, Lord Benjamin left me with his card.” He pulled one of Benjamin’s cards from his own waistcoat pocket and flashed it to the servant, showing his proof that he was indeed acquainted with the man’s master. “Could you please let him know that Mr. Cavin Fox needs to speak with him?”

The servant merely stared at him.

“It is a matter of utmost importance.”

At least the servant was well enough trained not to roll his eyes at Cavin. “Please wait here.” With that, the man shut the front door, leaving Cavin standing on the stone step.

His hands curled into nervous fists, the crinkle of the paper sack echoing around him. What if Benjamin didn’t wish to see him? He knew it was bold to show up unannounced on the man’s doorstep. Surely Benjamin would wonder how Cavin had tracked him down. Benjamin had gone all the way to Clements to be with another man for the first time. That had to mean he had wanted whatever happened last night to remain far from his home.

Should he have written a note for the servant to give to Benjamin, something so he would know that Cavin had an honest reason for being there? But his handwriting left much to be desired, and that was putting it lightly. He hadn’t had tutors looking over his shoulder, quick to correct every mistake. He’d only had a boy a few years older than himself to teach him letters and numbers. Living at Hale’s, he just needed to be able to read well enough to make out street and shop signs, and to gamble. If he wrote much more than his name, Benjamin would assume a child and not a man had written the note.

If it came down to it, and Benjamin refused to see him, he would wait a few hours on one of the benches in the lush, grassy square he had passed on his walk into Mayfair then return when the house was abed. But he would much rather not prowl around Benjamin’s home. Even though he’d be merely righting a mistake and Benjamin wouldn’t be the wiser, it would still feel…wrong.

The seconds drew out, longer and longer, seeming to hang in the cool evening air. Turning, he glanced up and down Brook Street. There was a quiet respectability to the neat rows of town houses, some brown brick like Benjamin’s, others red brick and a few covered in white stucco. All with five rows of windows stretching up to the moonlit sky. Windows which were doing their duty and holding panes of glass. If he had been dropped off and not told his whereabouts, he would have immediately known he stood in Mayfair.

It took more than mere wealth to acquire an address here. One needed an old family name or a title coupled with impeccable social standing. None of which Cavin possessed, and all of which Benjamin obviously did.

Passing a hand over the back of his neck, Cavin sighed. He’d received no comfort at learning he had guessed correctly when the older gentleman he had inquired with outside a tailor’s shop on St. James Street provided Benjamin’s address. Why couldn’t he have been wrong? Why couldn’t Benjamin simply be a respectable gentleman living in respectable bachelor apartments?

Simply?

Cavin let out a huff of self-disgust. Any sort of gentleman would be too far above him.

At the faint sound of approaching footsteps, Cavin turned back to the door. The brass knob turned and the door opened again.

“His lordship will see you in the study.”

Relief washed over him. Cavin tipped his head as he stepped inside. The entrance hall wasn’t a huge cavernous space, but it did not need size to announce its owner’s wealth. A polished gray marble floor, paneled walls covered in crisp white paint, and a spindle-legged mahogany console table just inside the door. He doubted dust would ever dare to accumulate in Benjamin’s home.

“If you will follow me,” the servant said, after closing the door.

As Cavin followed the man up a flight of stairs, he detected the lingering aroma of cooked beef and something else that smelled thick and rich. No wonder Benjamin was occupied. It was early evening, the time most individuals sat down for supper. Benjamin must think him an ill-bred lout for calling at such an hour.

Holding back the urge to shake his head at himself, he entered the first room to the left of the stairs.

“If you will wait here.” The servant shut the door with a smart click.

Cavin glanced about to the bookshelves that stretched from plush rug-covered floor to ceiling, the massive walnut desk dominating one end of the room, the leather wingback chairs, and the lit fire in the hearth surrounded by a mantel of the same gleaming mahogany as the bookshelves. The only other times he had been in a room this grand had been by moonlight. The house quiet about him as he walked on silent footsteps making quick work of anything that looked to hold value.

He set the paper sack on one of the chairs but didn’t dare make himself so comfortable as to sit down. Tilting his head slightly to one side, he dragged a fingertip over the spines of the leather-bound books on one of the shelves.
Milton William Blake, Don Juan, Alexander Pope The Dunciad.
None of the titles were familiar to him. Were these books Benjamin enjoyed reading or were they merely for appearance’s sake?

There was a soft click of a knob.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Cavin spun around.

Clad in a bottle-green coat and brown trousers, Benjamin entered the room. “Cavin,” he said, extending a hand, a smile on his lips and his hazel eyes full of welcome. “It is good to see you again.”

A bit of nervous tension left Cavin’s spine but not all of it. “And you, as well.” He shook Benjamin’s hand that just last night had stroked his prick.

“I hope all is well. My footman indicated your visit was of utmost importance. I will admit, you have piqued my curiosity.”

“I am well, thank you. I called to right a mistake. I accidentally snatched your waistcoat. The dark and all,” he added by way of explanation. “I brought yours in the hopes of an exchange.” He indicated the sack on the chair cushion behind him.

“A mistake?” Benjamin asked, taken aback. “Though I wasn’t paying much attention when I pulled on my clothes. My mind was on other matters. I missed you this morning.”

The words hung between them. Cavin could only blink. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.

A hint of a blush rose up from Benjamin’s stark white cravat, pinking his cheeks. “My apologies. I probably shouldn’t say such a thing. Bad form and all considering…” That blush deepened. Benjamin waved a hand, as if struggling to fill the void, then obviously reining himself in, pulled his shoulders back and tugged on the edge of his coat. “If you claim I have yours then it must be true.”

“Your calling cards were in the pocket.”

“Even more proof. I’ll have someone fetch the garment. Won’t take but…” Benjamin trailed off, his gaze lingering on Cavin’s mouth. “It’s good to see you again,” he repeated, his attention drifting back to Cavin’s eyes.

Cavin couldn’t help but smile. “It’s good to see you again, too.”

“Do you have a moment? I presently have company. A dinner party. But my guests will be leaving soon. Could you wait for a bit, until after they leave? I can have a supper tray sent in while you wait.”

“No, that’s not necessary.” As if determined to brand him a liar, his stomach chose that moment to rumble. “Truly. I had a large breakfast. I’m not yet of a mind for supper.”

Cavin waited for Benjamin to point out that breakfast would have been many hours ago, but the man’s good breeding showed itself. Benjamin’s brow merely furrowed a bit.

“I won’t be long,” Benjamin said. “Port was served shortly before you called. Perhaps half of an hour?”

“No need to push your guests out the door on my account. I can amuse myself with a book. You have plenty to choose from. And yes, I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.” A smile spread across Benjamin’s mouth. “I should get back to the dining room. I’ll bring your waistcoat when I return.” With a tip of his head, he turned on his heel and left the room.

At a loss for what to do with himself, Cavin moved the paper sack to the floor and sat in the chair.

Why the hell had he said yes?

Because I couldn’t say no to Benjamin.

And technically, he did have a moment, and if need be, he could hire a hackney to take him back to St. Giles or as close to St. Giles as a driver would agree to go. He just needed to be home around one to pick up a few boys so he could reach Vauxhall between two and three. So he could slip into a house that would likely resemble Benjamin’s and take something that did not belong to him.

Cavin’s shoulders slumped.

“Ah hell,” he muttered, his eyelids suddenly heavy from lack of sleep. The hour nap he had taken before leaving for the long walk to Mayfair had not at all compensated for not getting a wink of sleep last night.

That was it. He was merely tired. Nothing more. Perfectly logical reason for his conscience to choose that moment to rear its head after lying quiet for so many years, and a perfectly valid excuse for not being able to say no to the prospect of spending more time with Benjamin.

There was a light knock on the door. Cavin shot to his feet.

A maid stepped inside the room bearing a tray. The silver cover on the plate rattled just the faintest bit as she set the tray on the table between the chairs. “If you have need of anything else, Mr. Fox, simply ring.”

Apparently Lord Benjamin Parker did not heed the word
no.

He waited for the maid to leave before sitting again. His gaze was drawn to the tray with its full glass of wine beside the plate. A part of him refused to take anything more from Benjamin. The man had given more than enough of himself last night. But…

The aromas of cooked beef and freshly baked bread along with that thick, rich scent seeped from under the silver cover, yanking at his empty stomach.

It would be rude of him to leave the tray untouched, wouldn’t it? If he was putting on the airs of a gentleman then the last thing he wanted was to appear rude, he reasoned as he reached for the silver cover.

* * *

Through sheer force of will, Benjamin kept from glancing to the tall clock in the corner of the dining room. He truly enjoyed having his friends over for dinner, but for the first time since moving into the town house, he was anxious for them to leave.

He still could not believe Cavin had shown up at his front door. It was as if the man knew Benjamin had been planning another visit to Clements. Not that he had a pressing desire to gamble, but the hell was the only place he knew Cavin frequented.

Tonight, though, he wouldn’t need to hire a hackney to take him to Silver Street, for Cavin was in his study at that moment, waiting for him.

All day, at least once per hour and frequently more than that, his thoughts had drifted back to last night. To Cavin. To their time together in that shabby hotel room. Being with Cavin had certainly been far beyond amazing. No question about it. But beneath the overwhelming sensations had been that feeling one gets when one meets someone who becomes a close friend. That instant sense of comfort and ease, except somehow stronger. A feeling he was more than impatient to verify.

“Parker? What do you say to Gentleman Jackson’s tomorrow afternoon?” The tone of Linus Radcliffe’s voice indicated it wasn’t the first time he had asked the question.

Benjamin focused his attention on his friend. “Perhaps, though I might have an appointment to see to tomorrow afternoon.” He did not want to commit to anything, not until he’d spoken to Cavin. “But don’t hold back on my account. If my afternoon is free, I’ll stop by and join you all.”

Radcliffe shrugged. “Jackson’s it is then,” he declared to the table.

“Come prepared to accept defeat,” Anderson said, his gaze pinned on Radcliffe from his place across from him.

“You’re an arse, Anderson,” Radcliffe shot back.

“An arse who will trounce you.”

Radcliffe’s eyes narrowed. “We shall see about that.”

“It’s not so bad, Radcliffe, being trounced and all. Everyone at the table can best me,” Woodhaven said, with a cheerful, helpful smile.

“The sentiment is appreciated, Woodhaven, but not necessary as Anderson will be gaining an intimate knowledge of Gentleman Jackson’s floor tomorrow afternoon.” Radcliffe pushed from the table. “Thank you for the meal, Parker. We should be on our way. Anderson needs to rest up for tomorrow.”

With a shake of his head, Anderson got to his feet then began to make his way to the door of the dining room. “Rest up? Is that the best you can do?” he asked Radcliffe as the man fell into step beside him.

“No. I was merely being polite.”

Anderson shoved at Radcliffe’s shoulder. “Whelp.”

Radcliffe’s chuckle lingered in the air as the men left the room. Benjamin would say one thing for those two—they never failed to liven an evening. His remaining five guests followed Radcliffe’s and Anderson’s lead, extending their thanks and pushing from the table. They were to have been nine in total, but Norton had declined on his and Bennett’s behalf. Benjamin had the impression Bennett didn’t much care for the group, though Norton had offered a valid excuse for his regrets—he needed to assist Bennett with preparations for the opening of the man’s hotel.

Come to think of it, Norton had been spending more than a fair amount of time with Bennett since Bennett had returned from New York.

If Benjamin’s suspicions about Norton were correct, then did it follow that Bennett preferred men, as well?

Interesting.

Benjamin made a mental note to pay closer attention the next time he saw them together.