Gabriel's Torment (Regency Club Venus 2) Read online

  Vic tensed. “Whatcha mean—”

  “I am taking you home with me,” the duke reminded.

  “If’n you take me away from ’ere, someone else’ll move into me room while I’m gone,” Vic protested, still feebly struggling to be set down.

  Gabriel’s top lip curled upward. “And they are more than welcome to any part of this rat-infested hovel.”

  “’Ere, that’s me ’ome yer talkin’ about!”

  Gabriel ignored Vic’s protests as he stepped outside the building into the equally smelly street. “If anyone comes too close, press the mechanism on the handle of the cane and use the sword to keep them at bay.”

  Vic gasped. “Use the—”

  “Yes,” Gabriel bit out through gritted teeth, well aware of the presence of the four men who had accosted him earlier as they slouched in the doorway across the muddy street.

  “Where ya takin’ ’im?” the leader, the first to know the sting of Gabriel’s sword earlier, demanded to know as he straightened.

  Gabriel forced back his angry words and instead replied calmly and truthfully. “Somewhere I shall ensure he is safe, warm, and well fed.”

  The man’s gaze moved to the boy in Gabriel’s arms. “Ya awright wiv that, Vic?”

  Gabriel glanced down at the boy as he raised his own brows in the same question.

  Vic moistened dry lips before answering the other man. “’Oo wouldn’t be awright with ’aving me own Prince Charming ta carry me abowt wiv a promise of being warm and me belly filled wiv ’ot food?” he scorned. “Not me, Jimmy!”

  “Ya make sure it ain’t somethin’ else ’as gets filled,” the man warned, his gaze returning to Vic only after he had given Gabriel a warning glance. “Ya send word ta me if’n ’e tries any funny stuff.”

  “What the hell… I will have you know I am the Duke of—Umph!” Gabriel’s indignation turned to a startled grunt as a very sharp elbow was jabbed into his stomach.

  “Keep yer gob shut about ’oo ya are,” Vic hissed before turning back to the group of four men. “I’ll run ’im through wiv ’is own sword if’n he touches me wrong,” the louts were jauntily assured.

  Gabriel’s lips tightened into a thin line, but another warning glance from Vic advised him against saying anything further.

  It wasn’t easy, but he kept his silence until they were out of St Giles.

  He had breathed through his mouth rather than his nose until he was well out of the slum and the foul-smelling air. He now drew in a much-needed breath before speaking. “Home,” he stated with satisfaction.

  “It ain’t my ’ome,” Vic muttered resentfully.

  “For the moment, it is going to be,” Gabriel stated with satisfaction. “How long had you lived in St Giles?”

  “I’ve lived there for six monfs, and other places like it, since me ma and me came to London looking for work after me grandad died.”

  “And how long is that?”

  “’Ow the ’ell should I know?”

  “How long do you think you have lived in London?”

  “Feels like a fousand years, but it’s probably closer to a dozen.”

  “How old were you when you moved here?”

  Vic’s brow cleared. “I see now what you’s trying to do, but I ain’t fallin’ for it.” He sniffed. “All I’ll tell ya is me muvver ’ad work as a maid when we first moved to London, but when they found out she was ’iding me, they threw her out o’ the ’ouse. She ’ad so many jobs after that, scullery maid, sewing, takin’ in laundry, I lost track o’ time. I do know we only moved to St Giles six monfs back, when Ma got too sick to do full-time work.”

  Which meant that Vic had been the only one bringing money in for them to survive for that same amount of time. “Once we reach Blackborne House, you will take a bath—”

  “I need summat ta eat first!”

  Remembering the boy had almost fainted minutes ago, Gabriel nodded. “You will have a little something to eat, and then we shall dine together properly after your bath and when you are dressed in the clean clothes I shall have provided for you.” He gave the boy an assessing glance. “Even if the clothes are borrowed from one of the footmen, they will no doubt be far too big for you—”

  “Are ya casting ’spersions upon me person?” Vic gave an offended sniff.

  It took every effort of will for Gabriel to stop himself from laughing, and even then he had to clamp his lips together to stop the laughter from bubbling up and out. Partly out of relief at having found and rescued the boy, and partly because no doubt Vic had once heard a gentleman or lady make such a remark. Unfortunately, it sounded slightly incongruous coming from the ragamuffin in his arms.

  “Not at all,” Gabriel finally answered smoothly. “I will send out tomorrow for new clothes that fit you. Once you are clean and have eaten, the doctor shall attend you— What on earth…?” he gasped as Vic dropped the lantern and sword, smashing the former on the cobbled road, before he began to struggle in earnest for Gabriel to release him. “Settle down, boy,” he growled. “Or you’ll end up over my knee having your arse spanked.”

  “Ya ain’t laying a finger on me—”

  “That’s because it will be my whole bloody hand!” Gabriel assured grimly, his arms remaining tight about Vic despite the sharp elbows jabbing into his ribs and the filthy boots kicking at his thighs. “You shall receive a single spank for each of those kicks that make contact with my thighs,” he warned harshly.

  Vic stilled, his face red with temper. “Ya addle-pated, corny-faced, bacon-brained, bird-witted pimple on a duck’s arse— Whatcha laughing at?” The boy stilled to demand defensively at the sound of Gabriel’s laughter.

  Gabriel had simply been unable to hold back his humor a moment longer after hearing that last intended insult. A pimple on a duck’s arse was a new one to him and might even be of Vic’s own invention. “You are an original, young Vic,” he complimented warmly, his gaze assessing. “You might even be a handsome chap too once we’ve washed all the grime off you.”

  The boy snorted. “Ya ain’t washin’ nuffin’ o’ mine!”

  “Well, not personally, no…”

  “Ya can put me down now,” the boy instructed, scowling fiercely. “I can walk the rest o’ the way.”

  Gabriel narrowed his gaze on those determinedly set features. “You try to run, and I will add another ten spanks to the five I have already decided you have earned.”

  “Anover ten?” Vic bristled with indignation once his booted feet were planted firmly on the cobbled road. “I ain’t lettin’ ya spank me once, let alone addin’ anover ten to a five I din’t do nuffin’ to earn neither!”

  Gabriel straightened his jacket, the pungent smell arising from it enforcing the need to dispose of every item of his clothing and his mud-encrusted boots once they reached Blackborne House. “I believe you kicked me and then called me several names just now, including a pimple on a duck’s arse?”

  Vic glared. “’Cos ya deserved it an’ more.”

  Gabriel held back indulging in any more laughter at this young man’s expense. Vic looked far from receptive to the indignity of being laughed at again. “I deserve to be called insulting names because I was concerned about you and chose to enter St Giles in search of you and am now carrying you off to safety, warmth, and food?”

  Vic’s face flushed a guilty red. “Ya were very ’igh-’anded in yer decision makin’.”

  “Very well.” Gabriel straightened. “Would you rather come home with me, young Victory, where you can bathe for what is probably the first time in years, and then be fed and sleep in a warm bed tonight? Or shall I leave you to return to the cold and empty room I found you in, where there is no food, heat, or other amenities, which you previously called home?”

  He grimaced. “When ya puts it like that…”

  “Indeed.” Gabriel took a firm grip of the youth’s arm before bending to pick up his sword stick. He pushed the pieces of the broken lantern aside; it was beyond repair o
r use. “What is your full name, young Victory?”

  “Jones,” he provided. “Victory Jones.”

  Gabriel nodded. “We will talk again once we have reached Blackborne House, Master Jones, and you have eaten something to sustain you until dinner and we are both clean and more comfortably attired.” He fully intended to take advantage of the time needed for Vic to bathe to sink himself into the warm, scented water of his own bath. After which he would commence scrubbing himself from top to bottom. Through no fault of his own, Vic might have lice and generously passed them on to Gabriel. Even the thought of it was enough to make him shudder.

  If his butler was surprised or dismayed to see his employer enter the house carrying a street urchin, then Ellis did not reveal those feelings by so much as a twitch of an eyebrow. It was a different matter regarding the fastidious wrinkling of his haughty nose at the smell they brought in with them.

  Gabriel placed Vic on his worn-booted feet before removing his own cloak and gloves. “Dispose of these, please,” he said quietly as he handed the items to the butler. “I will show Master Jones up to the blue bedchamber myself.” Knowing of Vic’s skittishness and his penchant for name-calling when he was discomposed, Gabriel thought that would be the best plan for all concerned. “Send some bread and cheese upstairs for Master Jones, then have a bath and hot water brought up to both the blue bedchamber and my own. Collect and dispose of any clothing removed.”

  “’Ere, ya can’t go disposin’ of me clothes willy-nilly—”

  “I assure you, there will be nothing willy nor nilly about removing your clothing, first from the bedchamber and then from the house altogether,” Gabriel assured before turning to Ellis. “See that both Master Jones’s things and the clothes I have worn this evening are stored outside overnight and then burned first thing in the morning. Also…” He gave another glance at the narrow-eyed and pugnacious Vic. “Send for Lord Winter.” Vic could have no idea that Winter was the doctor whom Gabriel had mentioned earlier, which had almost caused Vic to bolt. But the boy’s lack of stature and bulk was of some concern. Indeed, the boy’s features were almost delicate and his neck and hands far too slender for his age.

  Ellis continued to hold Gabriel’s soiled cloak and gloves at arm’s length to prevent them from coming into contact with his own clothing. “It shall be done, Your Grace.”

  “Come with me, young Victory.” Gabriel crossed the entrance hall, only to pause at the bottom of the wide staircase as he waited for Vic to catch up. The boy was far too busy gazing about him in wide-eyed wonder to hurry himself.

  Gabriel had grown up in Blackborne House, although he had refused to visit it again after the falling-out with his father all those years ago. After the death of his father Gabriel had proceeded to have the whole of the inside of the house gutted before being redecorated and refurnished. He had no wish to be reminded in any way of the man who had cast out Gabriel’s pregnant sister to the cruelty of the world, never to be heard from again.

  Looking at the interior through Vic’s eyes Gabriel could see the elegance and opulence of their surroundings in the marble flooring, silk-covered walls, the ornately painted ceiling high above them, and the original statuary. It was also warm from the several fires in the downstairs rooms, one kept alight here in the entrance hall itself during the winter months.

  “Come with me, Vic,” he repeated huskily. “Food and then a bath first, and afterward, on our way to the dining room, I shall give you a guided tour of what is to be your home for the foreseeable future.”

  He became the focus of alarmed green eyes. “I ain’t stayin’ ’ere once I’ve ’ad a baff and summat ’ot to eat.”

  Gabriel winced at the boy’s strangling and mangling of the English language. “Perhaps tomorrow we might see about hiring someone to teach you the King’s English.”

  Vic looked even more affronted. “Ain’t nuffin’ wrong wiv the way I tawk.”

  “Exactly.” Gabriel refrained from making further comment as he led the way up the stairs to the bedchambers.

  Because, whether Vic liked it or not, he was now a guest in Gabriel’s home and would not be leaving again any time soon.

  Chapter Four

  “Might one ask what your intention was when you decided to bring this young person into your home?” Lord Benedict Winter demanded incredulously.

  The two gentlemen stood in the hallway outside the blue bedchamber, where a loud caterwauling could currently be heard behind the stout wooden door. It appeared to involve Vic loudly protesting the necessity for the presence of the footman whilst he was removing his clothing. The footman’s replies were much softer, but also firm as he explained the need to remove those clothes so they might be burned. Something Vic obviously still took exception to.

  Gabriel’s eyes narrowed to steely slits as he looked at the other man. “What are you implying?”

  Winter’s eyes widened. Dark, devil’s eyes, Gabriel had heard one of the ladies at Club Venus call them. Justifiably so. Not only did Winter stand a good four inches over six feet tall, his body athletically muscular, but he had a way of looking at a person with those dark eyes which demanded he be told the truth and nothing but the complete truth. Even Gabriel was not completely immune to the other man’s imposing and compelling nature.

  Winter shrugged broad shoulders, having arrived at Blackborne House a short time ago in answer to Gabriel’s summons. “Is the boy yours?”

  Well, that was a marginally more acceptable conclusion than the one the ruffians in St Giles had come to. “As I believe Victory to be possibly thirteen or fourteen years old, and I was not a promiscuous seventeen-year-old, the answer to that is a resounding no! His mother died yesterday and was buried in a pauper’s grave today.” A subject he had not as yet had opportunity to discuss with Vic.

  The other man scowled. “Gabriel, you cannot go around scooping up, even with the intention of saving, every motherless bastard you meet because your sister… I advise you not to do that.” Benedict had reached up and captured the fist Gabriel had been swinging toward his arrogant chin.

  The two men had attended school together, and Benedict, along with Bastian Forbes and Julius Soames, had been Gabriel’s closest friends throughout those years. They had remained so afterward. Hence Benedict was fully conversant with Gabriel’s past and his years of searching for information regarding the fate of his sister and her baby.

  Gabriel wrenched his hand from the other man’s grasp, his eyes narrowed in warning. “I advise you to attend to ascertaining Victory’s health and leave my motivation, or lack of it, for bringing him here to me,” he challenged pointedly.

  “I am only concerned—”

  Both men turned as the door to the bedchamber was thrown open with so much force, it hit the wall behind it, followed by a still fully clothed Vic charging out into the hallway. Only the cap had been removed, revealing curls that could possibly be a rich dark mahogany. It was difficult to tell when those curls were so dirty with grease.

  Gabriel easily reached out to grasp the boy’s shoulders and instantly received a hard kick in the shin. “That deliberate kick will earn you another five to add to your total of one and ten.”

  Green eyes glared at him accusingly. “How did I earn the other six to add to the original five?”

  Gabriel stilled, not just because Vic had been able to subtract five from eleven and provide the correct answer—not so unusual when Vic dealt with the counting of farthings and halfpennies every day—but because, for once, there had not been a single loss of an H or a “th” sound in the boy’s sentence.

  “You kicked me six times earlier,” Gabriel reminded. “And I warned you at the time there would be consequences for such uncivilized behavior,” he provided distractedly.

  Vic snorted. “Fink yourself lucky it weren’t yer balls I kicked!”

  Gabriel heard the footman’s shocked gasp as he sidled past them before hurrying down the stairs. His own gaze remained firmly fixed on Victory Jones. Adm
ittedly, Vic’s second statement contained a little of the cant the boy had used in St Giles, but it was still far from that broad, almost incomprehensible Cockney with which Vic had previously talked. Indeed, Gabriel believed he could hear a faintly Cornish burr beneath the words the boy had just spoken.

  Implying there might be more to young Victory Jones than Gabriel had previously suspected?

  “This is the boy you brought home with you and now wish me to examine?” Winter demanded even more incredulously.

  Vic turned to look at the tall man standing beside the duke. Tall, dark haired, with devil-dark eyes, the man had an aristocratic and haughty air about him that warned he did not suffer fools gladly.

  Well, Vic wasn’t fool enough to remain here in a household where they sent a footman to the blue bedchamber, along with the promised bread and cheese—which had been devoured while the bath and hot water was being brought in—only so the man could hang around in the room long enough for clothing to be removed and then taken away to be burned.

  “Summat wrong wiv that?” Vic challenged the dark-eyed man.

  The man’s smile was lacking in both warmth and humor. “I believe we are both aware there is something seriously amiss with His Grace’s statement,” he drawled knowingly.

  Vic struck a defiant pose, chin held high. “Such as?”

  Dark eyes swept pointedly from the worn boots on Vic’s feet, over the ragged clothing, to the matted dark curls.

  “What are you talking about, Winter?” the duke snapped his impatience with a conversation he was not a part of.

  One dark brow rose over mocking brown eyes. “Shall you enlighten him or will I?” he taunted Vic.

  Vic’s heart was beating so fast and so loudly, surely the two gentlemen must be able to hear it.

  But this man couldn’t know the truth. Could he…?

  Vic’s expression remained defiant. “’E’s talkin’ in riddles an’ is obviously as addle-pated as you are.”

  The man called Winter—and a doctor?—looked unperturbed by the insult. “I am, nevertheless, able to tell right from wrong—”