Brook Street: Fortune Hunter (12 page)

It wasn’t as if he was asking for a lot. All he wanted was someone to like him. He had done his best to follow every rule at his aunt’s and uncle’s. To be gracious and thankful and keep a smile on his face even when they forgot his birthday. He had excelled at his studies, not complained once when his aunt made disparaging comments about his merchant father, and let his cousins place the blame squarely on him whenever one of their pranks went awry.

He had thought London would be different from Yorkshire. London was a huge city. While he did not possess the sort of figure other men lusted after, he knew he was a nice fellow. He had that at least. Surely in all of London there was someone who could see him before his fortune. Someone who would want him for him.

How wrong he had been.

If anything, Town was worse. At least his relatives hadn’t bothered to hide their contempt of him. At least they never gave him cause to hope.

He took another long swallow of brandy.

Why didn’t anyone want him around? What was so wrong with him?

He swiped at his eyes, smearing warm tears across his cheek.

There was a light knock. Oscar whipped his head around toward the door.

Hell. The dinner tray.

The knob turned.

He darted through the nearest door and shut it behind him. Pressing his ear to the door, he held his breath and listened. Faint footsteps and the clink of porcelain. Definitely a servant delivering the requested dinner in his bedchamber.

He pushed from the door and glanced about.

He let out a huff of self-disgust. He’d been reduced to bloody hiding from one of his servants in the washroom.

One couldn’t get much more pathetic than that.

He scrubbed his hands over his face then paused, fingers splayed over his eyes.

No. He wasn’t pathetic. In fact, he made a right fine friend. If Julian Parker didn’t value him for him, then the hell with the man. And to hell with anyone else who only saw him as a fat fold of pound notes.

Determination rose within, above the hurt and the pain and the all-encompassing loneliness.

A person could only take so much, and he’d had enough.

Enough of feeling sorry for himself. Enough of wallowing in pity. And most of all, enough of allowing himself to be used. Of throwing money at his aunt and uncle to pacify them. Of deliberately losing at cards so he wouldn’t have to sit at a table alone. Of accepting lovers who never intended to be faithful to him. And enough of having a house guest who only saw him as a means to an end.

He went to the washstand and splashed cool water on to his face. After patting dry with a towel, he studied his reflection in the mirror above the washstand. His eyes were still a bit red, but at least it was an improvement. Lifting his chin, he opened the washroom door.

One of the maids kneeled before the hearth, iron poker in hand, prodding the fire to life. His writing desk had been turned into a makeshift dinner table, complete with a white linen tablecloth and a candlestick beside the plate covered with a silver dome.

Back to dinner for one again, but he refused to allow it to deter him.

He waited until the maid rested the iron poker against the marble surround. “Ann, please let Cooper know I need to speak with him. And alert the stables that the carriage will be needed.”

* * *

A knock sounded on his bedchamber door. Sprawled in an armchair, Julian lifted his head, his heart leaping into his throat.

“Mr. Parker?”

He shook his head at himself. Why had he thought it was Oscar at his door? “You may come in,” he called.

A maid entered the room followed by three footmen, each carrying a trunk. With a little flick of her wrist, she motioned to the rug before the dressing room door. The footmen set the trunks down in the indicated space and left the room. “The carriage will be around shortly to take you to Mivart’s, Mr. Parker.”

Julian nodded, as if the information was expected, as if his insides weren’t twisted in a brutal knot.

“Would you care for a supper tray?” the maid asked, all politeness, like she wasn’t the bearer of what amounted to an eviction notice.

“No, thank you.” He had absolutely no appetite. None at all.

The maid bobbed a short curtsey, opened the three trunks then set to work, carefully and efficiently folding each garment in the dressing room and packing it neatly into the trunks that certainly weren’t his. Had to be Oscar’s. Not a single nick marred the wood, the brass fittings gleaming under the candlelight, the trunks screaming of wealth in that perfectly subdued inflection that only came with a great fortune.

What had he expected? For Oscar to allow him to remain as his guest? And of course Oscar would have noticed that the pocket watch was missing.

He had stood there and watched the truth hit Oscar. Watched his features blank, the sort of blank one hid behind. All the kindness, the cheer, the naiveté gone. Oscar had seen him for the man he was. Seen through the charming veneer to the selfish greedy bastard inside.

Julian had never loathed himself so much in all his life.

Deep down, even though he’d tried to convince himself otherwise, he had known his time with Oscar would end like this. Well, maybe not exactly like this, but no way could it have ended with a smile and good wishes from Oscar. The very things that had drawn him to Oscar—the man’s generous heart, his trusting soul and loyal self—would ultimately lead them to this point, and Julian had made his choice by the silence he’d kept. There was no future with Oscar. Julian needed to marry. He couldn’t gain a fortune by being with Oscar.

In any case, the money was gone. He couldn’t get the watch back tonight or tomorrow or even a week from now. Fully focused on paying off those damn vowels, he had stopped by both Radcliffe’s and Wright’s on his way home.

No, not home. It was Oscar’s home. It had never been his, nor could it ever be his.

The knot of emptiness swelled within, threatening to overwhelm him. Passing a hand across the back of his neck, he tried in vain to push it down.

An hour later found him still sprawled in an armchair, but in a different room and the trunks strewn about were closed tight. The footman who had delivered the trunks to his suite had offered to unpack for him. Julian had waved the offer aside, eager to be left alone. The maid at Oscar’s had gone about her duties, packing his new possessions as if nothing was awry. The footman who delivered those packed trunks, though, had cast him sidelong glances, each one a fresh jab. A fresh reminder that he had been relegated from treasured friend and lover to the same level as Oscar’s dreaded relatives.

A fresh reminder that it had all been his own doing.

Julian glanced over his partner’s perfectly coifed blond head and navigated them around another couple, the rhythm of his steps undisturbed.

“Lavender becomes you, my dear.”

Miss Katherine Wright pulled her attention off the other guests at the ball and gave him a smile, one that said she was well aware the lavender silk gown suited her icy cool beauty. “Mother’s hosting a dinner Tuesday evening. More of an intimate family gathering than a dinner party. Uncle Allen is coming down from the country,” she said, referring to her uncle, the Earl of Shelburne. “Mother will send you the invitation tomorrow.”

He tipped his head. “I look forward to its arrival.”

As he continued to guide her about the other couples, he passed his gaze over the crowd mingling about the ball.

He really needed to stop looking. Nothing could come from it, even if he did spot a distinct auburn head. A week had passed since he’d last seen Oscar. He had heard Oscar had left Town, traveled to one of his properties to tend to business. In a way, Oscar’s absence had been beneficial. No one had questioned Julian’s move to Mivart’s Hotel, not even Oscar’s aunt and uncle whom he’d encountered in the lobby the other day. No one appeared to suspect that Oscar had shoved him out of his home.

Kind, friendly Oscar Woodhaven. The man had steel in his spine. A part of Julian could not help but admire him. He’d had seen a glimpse of that steel the night Oscar had left him at the Hunts’ ball, but that evening in the study it had been on full display. No amount of charm or apologies would get him back in Oscar’s good graces now.

When the music came to an end, he slowed them to a stop. He bowed, brushing his lips across the back of her gloved hand, and then led her back to where he had found her chatting with a group of acquaintances. After the required short, polite conversation and necessary subtle flattery, he gave her another bow and took his leave of her.

The quintet in the corner began to play again. Rather than seek out another lady for a dance or set off to the card room, he grabbed a glass from a servant’s tray and took up a spot near a trio of elderly ladies, but not so near as to be pulled into their conversation.

For more years than he cared to count, he had dreamed of marrying a wealthy lady and finally gaining the acceptance in Society he had craved for so long. Judging by the steady stream of invitations that now came addressed to him, the welcome he received whenever he walked into a ball, the ladies eager to dance with him, and the complete lack of whispered gossip behind his back, he’d gained that acceptance. Of course, there were still a few who hadn’t warmed to him, like Radcliffe for example, but even those few did not go so far as to give him a cut direct. He was now secure in most everyone’s good opinion…except the one person whose opinion mattered most.

The invitation he would receive tomorrow for a Wright family dinner would put him a critical step closer toward achieving his goal. The betting book at White’s even held a wager on his engagement. He’d seen it himself as Mark Wright had taken up where Oscar had left off, bringing Julian to White’s as his guest. Another promising sign. A week or two more of generous compliments, of asking Miss Katherine to dance before he engaged any other lady, of making her the focus of his attention, and she would not hesitate to accept his proposal.

Yet oddly he felt not a trace of anticipation or joy over the prospect. He should though. He should be damn ecstatic success was finally within his grasp.

Miss Katherine Wright was wealthy, well connected and vain. He had only known her for less than a month with their meetings largely confined to social functions, but Julian could offer a very good guess as to why she had been on the marriage mart for three years. It had nothing to do with her suitors’ fortunes or lack thereof, or the quality of their titles. She had simply not deemed any man handsome enough to call her own.

The ideal candidate to become his wife, and he would become a handsome ornament to hang on her slim arm and dangle before her acquaintances. The prettiest bauble of the Season. But that wasn’t what gave him pause. He had counted on his looks to help gain him a wife, so no use allowing his pride to bristle if a woman actually married him for his ability to make a handsome ornament. And it wouldn’t require much effort on his part to give her enough flatteries to keep her from frowning at him across the breakfast table once they were wed. If flattery was the only price he’d have to pay for tying himself to her, he’d willingly pay it.

The problem was that it wasn’t the only price he’d pay. Not by far.

In a swirl of lavender silk, Miss Katherine swept across the dance floor near Julian’s place along the perimeter, partnered by a young gentleman—Julian couldn’t recall his name. A minor baron’s son, if he remembered correctly. Just as when she had danced with him, her attention wasn’t on her partner but on the surrounding guests. Her spine straight, her chin tipped at the perfect angle to complement her delicate features, her light blue gaze cataloging who was speaking to whom and whose attention was on her.

A woman like Miss Katherine was too focused on herself to ever become attached to anyone. She would never truly care for him. Something that had not been a concern before. In fact, so insignificant as to not even enter his head. Sentiment meant nothing in comparison to the prospect of a fortune. Yet now that he really knew what he would give up by marrying her, now that he’d had a taste of it, experienced it…

What felt like an iron band tightened around his chest, yearning and pure need clogging his throat. He brought his glass to his lips, forced down a sip of champagne, hoping the effervescent spirits would ease the constriction.

It did nothing of the sort.

He missed basking in the warmth of Oscar’s smile. Missed going home with him. Missed waiting for the muffled knock on his bedchamber door. Missed how Oscar would slip inside his room, feet bare and shirttail loose, eyes alight with anticipation. He missed the way Oscar’s body fit perfectly against his. And most of all, he missed that sense of home that fell over him when Oscar’s arms wrapped around him.

He had thought pawning the pocket watch a necessary sacrifice to keep his goals within his grasp. Yet by handing Oscar’s gift over to the shopkeeper, he had effectively destroyed all hope of gaining what he truly wanted. What he truly needed. What his soul craved above all else.

A sense of calm fell over him. The sort of calm that came with complete clarity.

A fortune hadn’t made Oscar happy. Why had Julian continued to believe it could be the key to his own happiness?

“Julian, there you are.” Mark Wright strode up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Been looking for you. Montgomery and I are heading to the card room. Care to join us?”

“No, thank you. I’m on my way out.” He set his glass on the tray of a passing servant. He knew what he needed to do, and he needed to do it now.

* * *

Julian knocked on the door again, this time louder, harder, the sound echoing off the town homes behind him. No way in hell Benjamin would not hear it. The brief sense of calm he’d felt in the ballroom was long gone. The clarity was still there, though, driving him forward, pushing him to Benjamin’s tidy town house, all the windows dark, indicating the man had retired for the night.

He slammed his fist against the door.

Nothing.

Bleeding hell. Did Benjamin sleep like the dead?

He took a step back and studied those five rows of dark windows, looking for any sign that indicated which one belonged to Benjamin’s bedchamber. It was Benjamin’s home and he lived alone. If Julian chose the wrong window, it wasn’t like he would be disturbing anyone besides Benjamin, though the driver of the hackney waiting a few paces behind him on Brook Street would think him either foxed off his arse or fit for Bedlam if Julian started chucking stones at the windows.

Oh well. Let the driver believe what he may. Julian absolutely refused to wait until tomorrow to speak with Benjamin.

He’d try the third floor first. His target selected, he leaned down and, trying to angle his shoulders as to not block the moonlight, dragged a hand over the ground beside the stone step. Why couldn’t Benjamin leave the lamp beside his front door lit? His fingertips had just encountered what felt to be a few pebbles when the click of a lock turning cut through the night air.

He bolted upright.

The door opened, revealing the shadowed form of Benjamin, his white shirt bright against the darkness behind him. “Julian? Do you know how late it is?”

No, he didn’t know the time. That’s why he was there, for Christ’s sake. “I need to speak with you. Can I come inside?”

Benjamin passed a hand through his hair. “All right,” he said, stepping back and opening the door fully.

Julian waited until his cousin lit a candle before closing the front door. “My apologies for waking you, but it’s urgent. I need two hundred pounds. Can you lend it to me?”

“Have you been gambling?” Benjamin asked, as he set the candle on the small table in the entrance hall. It appeared he had indeed rolled out of bed to see to the door. Bare feet peeked from the hems of wrinkled trousers, his light brown hair disheveled from more than running a hand through it.

“Yes, I’ve been gambling, but that’s not why I’m asking. Well, actually that is the source of the need, but I’ve already paid off the vowels. So can you lend me the money?”

Turning to face him, Benjamin crossed his arms over his chest. “I can. Whether I will is another matter.”

Hell. Benjamin was going to prove difficult. But what had Julian expected? For the man to hand over the sum with nary a question? Still, he had to shove down the urge to scream in frustration. “Please, Benjamin. I hate to ask, but you’re the only person I can turn to.”

“If you’d tell me why you need it, I’ll consider it.”

“I need to get my pocket watch back. I pawned it to get the money to pay off the vowels and now I need to retrieve it.”

“And you needed to call on me at midnight? Any pawn shop in Town will be closed by now. You couldn’t wait until morning to make this request?”

“No, I couldn’t wait.” He wasn’t about to admit he had been too focused on getting back Oscar’s gift to realize the shop would by now be closed. In any case, even if it had occurred to him, he wouldn’t be able to get a wink of sleep tonight until he was secure in the knowledge he could get the watch back.

Benjamin’s brow furrowed. “Why not? Was the loan due today?”

“No.” He had two months, the term deliberately chosen to provide sufficient time to say
I do
before the loan was up. “The watch was a gift and I should not have pawned it,” he admitted.

“So why did you?”

Julian let out a short grunt. “I told you. I needed money to pay off my vowels. It was the only thing of value that I had. I didn’t think I had a choice.” How wrong he had been. He’d had a choice. He could have pushed aside his pride, been honest with Oscar, asked him for the money. He could have realized what he was searching for was already his and not felt compelled to even write those damn vowels.

Benjamin arched a brow. “That watch is important to you.”

Julian threw up his hands. “Yes. Very much so. I need to get it back.
Now.
” Every moment that passed held the possibility the pawnbroker would give in to greed and sell it to another. Julian had only taken a one hundred and sixty-five pound loan on it, enough to pay the vowels and put a few pounds in his pocket. After the man had taken a good look at the watch, he had offered to lend more, but the interest on a several hundred pound loan had held Julian back. As it was, it would cost him two hundred to get the watch back. A thirty-five pound profit was a tidy sum, yet the watch was worth far more, significantly more than anything Julian had spotted in the man’s shop. Possibly enough for the pawnbroker to take the risk and sell it with the hope Julian would never return to retrieve it.

“Well, you aren’t going to get it back now. Shops tend to close well before midnight.”

When had Benjamin turned into such an arse? “I know that. I intend to be at the shop’s door the minute it opens tomorrow.”

“You do realize, I must ask—who gave you the watch? You didn’t have it when you first arrived in Town. You asked me for the time at the end of our dinner. Was it a gift from one of your prospects? Afraid she won’t say yes if she realizes you parted with it?” Benjamin asked, with more than an undercurrent of sarcasm.

Definitely should not have confided in Benjamin. His cousin had not been pleased with his plans. “No, it wasn’t from a woman,” he bit out through clenched teeth. With a shake of his head, he turned his back to Benjamin. “It was from a friend.” The best friend he had ever had.

“Who?” Curiosity filled the single word.

Julian scrubbed a hand over his face. “Oscar Woodhaven.”

“Hell and damnation.”

At the murmured curse, Julian turned back to his cousin.

Benjamin stared at him with what could only be classified as horrified accusation. “How long have you known that you prefer men?”

Dread slammed into Julian. It was already clear that Benjamin didn’t much care for him anymore. Would the man now spread the word about Town that Julian was a sod? Would those rumors tinge Oscar, as well?

Oh God no.

His stomach plummeted to the floor.

“How long, Julian?”

He opened his mouth but no words would come out. He needed to deny it. Needed to assure Benjamin he’d guessed incorrectly. If something happened to Oscar because of him…

“Did you know before you came back to London? Did you?” Benjamin snarled, stepping toward him, coming so close Julian could feel the force of his anger radiating from him.

Julian’s chin tipped down but he managed to catch himself and turn the nod into a shake of his head.

“For Christ’s sake, Julian, you needn’t looked so scared. I don’t care that you prefer men and I sure as hell would not say a word to anyone about it. I am, however, absolutely appalled you would deliberately hunt for a wife when you knew you preferred men. How can you be so cruel?”