Reeves!”
“It is well after midnight, my lord. ‘Good morning’ would be more appropriate.”
“It is almost three, to be exact. So good morning, ’tis.”
Reeves handed the coat to a waiting footman and absently watched the man leave. As soon as the hallway was clear, Reeves turned back to Christian. “Will you retire at once, my lord? Or do you require some nourishment to assist you in recovering from your debauchery?”
Christian grinned. “I am not a bit hungry and I am far from sleepy. I believe I shall have a glass of port.”
“You have a constitution of iron, my lord,” the butler said in a dry voice.
“Thank you.” He turned on his heel and entered the library. “Any word from Willie?”
“Yes, my lord. There is a note on your desk.”
“Excellent.” Christian crossed to the desk. He picked up the missive and ripped it open.
Reeves followed closely, watching in respectful silence while Christian read.
“Good!” Christian tossed the note on a side table. He caught Reeves’s expression.
“I am sorry, my lord. I am just a bit astonished Master William can pen a letter.”
“I taught him. Quite a useful fellow is Willie.”
“I am certain, my lord.”
“He arrives tomorrow and with something ofnote.” Christian nodded thoughtfully. “Our suspicions seem to have borne fruit.”
Reeves walked to the fireplace where a fire was already laid out. He removed the tinderbox from the mantel, and within moments, flames licked the new wood, a faint heat permeating the room.
As soon as the flue had been properly adjusted, the butler crossed to the sideboard and poured a measure of port into a glass, then brought it to Christian.
Christian gratefully took the glass, sank into a chair by the fireplace, and took a long drink. The amber liquid burned pleasantly. “This is excellent stock. Almost as good as a shipment I once stole from an Italian count outside Bath.”
“Please, my lord. Do not mention those times.”
Christian flashed a grin. “I shall try not to.”
“Thank you, my lord. Just where is this port that you, ah, procured ?”
“I drank it.”
Reeves looked offended. “By yourself?”
Christian considered this. “Well, yes. Most of it.”
Reeves sighed. “There are times when you are very much like your father.”
Christian’s good humor fled. “I will thank you not to mention him. At least not until I’ve had time to put a bottle or two of this behind me.”
The butler bowed and wisely made no further comment. Christian’s jaw ached and he realized he was clenching his teeth. His father, the late Earl of Rochester, had never acknowledged eitherChristian or his twin brother. Oh, he’d sent the requisite stipend to cover expenses, but that was all.
Worse, when Mother had been falsely imprisoned, Christian and his brother had written their father begging him to intervene; there had been no answer. Eventually, when they had been reduced to rags, their tutor had sold the two boys to a press gang. Tristan had assisted his younger twin brother in escaping, but had not been so fortunate himself. Tristan had ended up consigned to sea. Eventually, after enduring beatings and worse, he’d come to love his new life at sea, though not for many painful years.
Christian, meanwhile, had been left truly alone. Only ten and frightened beyond reason, he had slowly made his way to London. It had taken weeks and he’d nearly starved to death in the process, until he’d learned the trick to taking what he needed. But when he arrived at the prison, he discovered his mother had died only days before, a victim to a horrid fever caused by her squalid living conditions. Alone, living in the streets, Christian had been forced to fight every day in an effort to merely survive to the next.
Odd as it was, even in those desperate hours, every night he’d dreamed of Father arriving in time to save him, to save his brother, and especially to save Mother. Morning after morning, he’d
“It is well after midnight, my lord. ‘Good morning’ would be more appropriate.”
“It is almost three, to be exact. So good morning, ’tis.”
Reeves handed the coat to a waiting footman and absently watched the man leave. As soon as the hallway was clear, Reeves turned back to Christian. “Will you retire at once, my lord? Or do you require some nourishment to assist you in recovering from your debauchery?”
Christian grinned. “I am not a bit hungry and I am far from sleepy. I believe I shall have a glass of port.”
“You have a constitution of iron, my lord,” the butler said in a dry voice.
“Thank you.” He turned on his heel and entered the library. “Any word from Willie?”
“Yes, my lord. There is a note on your desk.”
“Excellent.” Christian crossed to the desk. He picked up the missive and ripped it open.
Reeves followed closely, watching in respectful silence while Christian read.
“Good!” Christian tossed the note on a side table. He caught Reeves’s expression.
“I am sorry, my lord. I am just a bit astonished Master William can pen a letter.”
“I taught him. Quite a useful fellow is Willie.”
“I am certain, my lord.”
“He arrives tomorrow and with something ofnote.” Christian nodded thoughtfully. “Our suspicions seem to have borne fruit.”
Reeves walked to the fireplace where a fire was already laid out. He removed the tinderbox from the mantel, and within moments, flames licked the new wood, a faint heat permeating the room.
As soon as the flue had been properly adjusted, the butler crossed to the sideboard and poured a measure of port into a glass, then brought it to Christian.
Christian gratefully took the glass, sank into a chair by the fireplace, and took a long drink. The amber liquid burned pleasantly. “This is excellent stock. Almost as good as a shipment I once stole from an Italian count outside Bath.”
“Please, my lord. Do not mention those times.”
Christian flashed a grin. “I shall try not to.”
“Thank you, my lord. Just where is this port that you, ah, procured ?”
“I drank it.”
Reeves looked offended. “By yourself?”
Christian considered this. “Well, yes. Most of it.”
Reeves sighed. “There are times when you are very much like your father.”
Christian’s good humor fled. “I will thank you not to mention him. At least not until I’ve had time to put a bottle or two of this behind me.”
The butler bowed and wisely made no further comment. Christian’s jaw ached and he realized he was clenching his teeth. His father, the late Earl of Rochester, had never acknowledged eitherChristian or his twin brother. Oh, he’d sent the requisite stipend to cover expenses, but that was all.
Worse, when Mother had been falsely imprisoned, Christian and his brother had written their father begging him to intervene; there had been no answer. Eventually, when they had been reduced to rags, their tutor had sold the two boys to a press gang. Tristan had assisted his younger twin brother in escaping, but had not been so fortunate himself. Tristan had ended up consigned to sea. Eventually, after enduring beatings and worse, he’d come to love his new life at sea, though not for many painful years.
Christian, meanwhile, had been left truly alone. Only ten and frightened beyond reason, he had slowly made his way to London. It had taken weeks and he’d nearly starved to death in the process, until he’d learned the trick to taking what he needed. But when he arrived at the prison, he discovered his mother had died only days before, a victim to a horrid fever caused by her squalid living conditions. Alone, living in the streets, Christian had been forced to fight every day in an effort to merely survive to the next.
Odd as it was, even in those desperate hours, every night he’d dreamed of Father arriving in time to save him, to save his brother, and especially to save Mother. Morning after morning, he’d
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