A good thing this man let Jack lead, d**k so hard he struggled to walk straight. Pity they had only one place to go—the nondescript side-of-the-road guest house for those on the way to many routes along the East-West Road—as no way would Jack take the man back home.
The mental image of his bedroom—damp on one wall, clothes tossed on furniture, a wonky set of drawers squeezed into one corner, so if he pushed the door open too hard, the wood bounced back to hit his face—made him shake his head. No, he didn’t want to take Brinley back home. At least, the lack of refinement at the East-to-West Road Hotel, locally known as The Poacher, wasn’t his fault; Brinley couldn’t judge him. And looking at the man, the way he dressed, he was sure to be the sort to gauge everything.
No doubt this Brinley
