Kiss From A Rogue

Chapter 2-2

Whether it was the hangover remedy, bath and clean clothes, or the buttered scone washed down with tea that he ate while dressing, he was starting to feel human again. Recovered enough, in fact, to feel a smidgeon of curiosity about Ben’s proposition.

He made his way downstairs to the library. All was quiet within. He debated whether to knock, but Ben had told him to come down as soon as he was ready. He opened the door and stepped in.

Behind the massive oak desk, Ben was seated in his big leather chair, account ledgers spread across the desk, with his wife sideways on his lap. Jo had a pencil in one hand and was moving balls on the abacus, or at least attempting to do so, with her other hand. Her progress was impeded by Ben’s nuzzling of her ear.

Tony stood motionless, frozen. He should leave them their privacy but found himself unable to look away. His breathing hitched and an unfamiliar emotion crept over him.

Envy.

Not specifically for his brother’s wife, attractive though she was, but for their relationship. Happiness and contentment seemed to ooze from their every pore. His brother was at peace, because of the laughing woman on Ben’s lap.

Could Tony ever find a similar joy and peace for himself? Or was that also reserved solely for the eldest son, along with the title and family wealth?

“Pull up a chair.”

Tony looked up with a guilty start at his brother’s command.

“I’ll leave you two to your chat.” Lady Sinclair struggled to get up, her cheeks flooded with color. She had faced down menacing merchants and towering servants in her role as “Mister Quincy,” but was still embarrassed to be caught sitting on her husband’s lap. Charming. Or perhaps she just couldn’t bear to look at him after the liberty he’d taken with her the other day. He wouldn’t blame her.

Ben’s arms tightened around her waist. “You don’t have to leave just yet,” he murmured.

“Yes, no need to leave on my account,” Tony felt compelled to add as he sat down. He must have a death wish. Judging by the narrowed expression on his brother’s face, Ben would gladly help make that wish come true.

Lady Sinclair peeled Ben’s arm from her waist and slid her feet to the floor, adjusting her gown as she straightened. “Will you be staying in for dinner tonight?”

Tony wasn’t aware he was grinning until Ben scowled at him. “Yes, Jo, um, Lady Sinclair. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Until tonight.” With a last blush, she swept from the room.

“Now then.” Ben pushed aside the abacus and account books.

Tony sat up. In the space of a blink, the jolly newlywed had disappeared and was replaced by the Earl of Sinclair, head of the family, former cavalry captain who’d led men into battle for five gory years.

“How’s your head?”

“Much better. Thompson’s cure is quite effective.”

“Yes, I know.” Ben picked up a pencil, then set it down again. “As I said earlier, Mama is concerned by your recent behavior. As am I. I know it can’t have been easy, holding things together while I was… away.”

Five years of away. Five years of uncertainty, when the younger son had to put a good face on the disaster their family had become, the scandal fodder after Papa’s suicide, the empty coffers after paying Papa’s gambling debt. Five years of delaying his schooling, not knowing when he’d return to complete the remaining year, or if they’d even have the funds for him to do so. Wondering if his brother would survive to come home and take up his title, or if the spare would become the heir.

Now Ben was back, recovered from his injuries, married, getting on with his life.

Mama was out of mourning, being courted by both a viscount and a marquess, getting on with her life.

And Tony… He hadn’t a clue what to do with his life.

Ben was still speaking. Tony reluctantly brought his thoughts back to his surroundings. “…job at the Home Office. Dunwood wants a clerk he can rely on, and I told him you’d be well suited. You’re not a green lad just out of Oxford. You have skills and experience that will stand both of you in good stead.” Ben leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. “The salary will make you independent of any allowance and enable you to leave Grandmama’s inheritance untouched. London is expensive, but I doubt you want to live full time at the house in Berkshire that Great-Aunt Mildred left you. With a salary, you could let bachelor quarters without worrying about the expense. Mama will still worry about you, of course, but you won’t have to be present for it.”

Work as a clerk for Lord Dunwood? Tony leaned back in his chair. A respectable position, an independent income, a regular schedule.

Predictable. Subject to a supervisor’s whims.

Boring.

“So? Will you meet with him?”

Tony sighed. He really didn’t have much of a choice. “Yes.”

Ben stood, clapped his hands together once. “Splendid. He’s expecting you tomorrow at ten. You can discuss specifics, come to an amicable agreement.” Ben glanced at the door, then back at Tony.

“Go to her, you randy, besotted fool.”

With a grin, Ben slapped him on his good shoulder and strode from the room.

Tony slumped in his chair. Ben’s joy permeated the place, inescapable. He had to get out of the house. Go beat his former best friend to a pulp.

He suddenly remembered what was happening on Thursday, and leaped out of his chair.

Less than an hour later, Tony stepped out of a hansom cab, took a deep whiff of salty air tinged with day-old fish, and coughed. He threaded his way through the doxies and costermongers on the docks, to the slip where Nick’s brig was moored.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he shouted when Nick waved at him from the railing on the aft quarterdeck.

“Do? Old chum, I did nothing to you. Come aboard.” Nick gestured for Tony to walk up the gangboard.

“You must think me daft. I have no intention of setting foot on that blighted dinghy ever again.”

Nick threw his head back, let out a far too hearty laugh, and swaggered down the gangboard. “Keep loading, you scurvy dogs,” he shouted up to the deck.

“Aye, Cap’n,” came the chorus of replies. His crew continued to swarm over the deck and dock, loading casks and crates.

Tony eyed the stack of provisions. “Still leaving on the evening tide?”

“Sure I can’t persuade you to join me?” Nick threw his arm around Tony’s shoulder, leading him to a nearby coffeehouse. “Jonesy has another brew he’d like you to try, certain to cure your green gills.”

“The last cure nearly killed me.” Tony shrugged off the arm, which was putting pressure on his injured shoulder.

“Don’t be sore. Oh, that’s it, you are sore.” Nick gave another hearty laugh.

“It’s your fault.” Tony pointed at his damaged shoulder. “I would never have done this if you hadn’t gotten me foxed.”

“What could I do? You were admiring the tattoo on Jonesy’s arm. Seemed only right to let you get one of your own.”

What could possibly have been on the first mate’s arm that prompted him to get one like it? Nothing. Nick was still teasing him. Nick had pulled more than his share of pranks. Years ago, they’d met in the headmaster’s outer office because of Nick’s penchant for pranks. This was just one more. Only this time, there would be no scrubbing off the whitewash.

Tony drew breath to argue but was cut off by Nick’s shout of “Alistair!” and enthusiastic wave.

Standing head and shoulders above the unwashed crowd, their friend changed direction and headed toward them in front of the coffeehouse. “Thought the plan was to see you off at the dock,” said Alistair, Viscount Moncreiffe, as he drew abreast of them.

“Tony needed coffee.”

“Still hungover? Didn’t think you’d had all that much to drink.”

Tony opened the coffeehouse door and stepped through first. “Nick wants to flirt with the serving wench one last time before he goes to sea.”

“Good lord, man, it’s only a two-week voyage.” Alistair pushed his coattails aside as he took a seat at their favorite table. Nick and Tony followed suit.

“Two weeks! An entire fortnight during which I shall have to abstain from sweet curves, long hair, gentle voices, and soft skin.” Nick trailed a finger down the hand of the serving wench who came to take their order. She giggled and blushed, and left with their request for coffee and biscuits.

“Perhaps you should hire a better-looking crew,” Tony suggested.

“I don’t know that’s necessary.” Alistair appeared to give the matter grave consideration. “Jonesy wears his hair in a long queue, and your bos’n’s voice has been soft ever since his throat was crushed in a fight. Where was that, Barbados?”

Nick chuckled. “Le Havre, actually.”

They reminisced about some of Nick’s past adventures, then switched to the trip he was about to depart on, a counterclockwise sail around the coast of England, until their order arrived.

The serving wench flirted outrageously with Nick after she set down the plate of biscuits and gave him his cup, staring at his long black hair tied back in a queue, mesmerized by his gold hoop earring and dark blue eyes.

She finally tore her gaze away to set a cup in front of Alistair. He brushed the light brown hair from his eyes and smiled his thanks at her. Three, two, one… there it was — the hitch in her breathing as she stared into his blue eyes and angelic face. The wench smiled back, ready to melt in a puddle at his feet. Or his lap. “Anything else you gents be wanting?”

Tony cleared his throat and pointed at the third cup, still on her tray.

“Oh, right, so sorry, sir.”

Tony gave her a wry grin. She blushed and gave a slight shrug. No, of course she couldn’t help herself. After facing the full force of Nick’s allure and Alistair’s unconscious charm, one right after the other, any woman would be flustered. Tony, with his brown hair, brown eyes, and smaller frame, seemed almost innocuous in comparison. Almost.

Nick dunked a biscuit in his cup, splashing coffee. “Are you still leaving tomorrow?”

Alistair nodded. “Traveling on foot, I’ll have just enough time to see a few sights and take a roundabout way to William Herschel’s.”

Tony stirred sugar into his coffee. “Tell me again why you finagled an invitation to visit him. What’s so special about his forty-foot telescope?”

Alistair spoke slowly. “It’s forty feet.”

“So you’re saying size really does matter?” Nick sat up and puffed out his chest.

Alistair took another bite of biscuit. “So, Nick’s sailing in a few hours, I’m leaving on a walking tour in the morning … what are you up to?”

“Has your brother called you out?”

“No.” Only two biscuits left. Tony grabbed one.

Alistair snatched the last biscuit from Nick’s fingers. “Then you lead a charmed life.”

“Ben doesn’t get angry. He finds solutions.” Tony told them about the offer with Lord Dunwood.

“A nice, steady position sounds just the thing. You’ll always know what to expect of tomorrow.” Nick brushed the crumbs from his cravat.

Tony snorted. “This, from the man who can’t wait for tomorrow and has to sail toward the horizon to bring it closer?” He turned to Alistair. “How would you like to know what you’re going to do every day? The same thing, day after day?”

Alistair gave a dramatic shudder.

“Exactly.”

“A living death, to be sure.” Nick drained his cup. “So, you’re going to take the job, right?”

Tony sighed. “Probably.” He could turn it down with a clear conscience if he had an alternate plan. Any plan.

“I do know what I’m going to be doing fourteen days from now,” Nick announced. “Getting reacquainted with the fair Esmeralda at the Duck and Drake Inn at Weymouth.”

“You’re still seeing her after, what, three years now?” Alistair’s brows rose. “I must meet this paragon of womanhood. I’ll see you in Weymouth in two weeks.”

“You can meet her, but her heart is already spoken for.” Nick held his hand over his chest.

Alistair snorted.

Soon after, they walked Nick back to his ship. Alistair left to finish packing for his journey, and Tony was left to contemplate the fact that he was about to accept a boring job instead of setting off on an adventure of his own.

* * *

“Elliott will be waiting out front to drive you to the City,” Ben said as Tony lingered over a cup of tea with two sugars at breakfast the next morning.

His appetite suddenly gone, Tony set the cup down. “Right, no sense me hiring a hansom cab when you have no need of the coach yourself.” He doubted Ben had set foot out of doors since the wedding, though he was certainly still getting his exercise.

Ben’s only reply was a waggle of the eyebrows. He reached for his wife’s hand, and the pair left the dining room and disappeared up the stairs.

“I do hope you and Lord Dunwood get along well,” Mama said, interrupting Tony’s thoughts.

“I’m sure we shall.” Tony tossed his napkin on the table. “I can get along with anyone.” He bussed his mother on the cheek and stepped out the front door.

Soon, Elliot set the horses in motion and eased the coach into traffic, joining the throngs of carts and hacks that filled the street. Tony leaned back against the velvet squabs and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the din of vendors hawking their wares.

Alistair was leaving for a walking tour of the countryside, was on the road south out of town even now.

Nick had set sail on last night’s tide, off on his own adventure, even if it was just a routine trip around the English coastline.

Tony was on his way to a job, in an office, in the crowded, noisy, dirty City.

He rapped on the roof. “Elliot!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Head south. We’re not going to the City. We’re going to catch up to Alistair.”