Kit sighed. “Oh, Clara.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” she gritted out. “You’re wondering why I did such a stupid thing?”
Kit eyed her for a moment. “Why did you?” he asked gently. “And why didn’t you just come to me if you need money?”
Still holding the poultice, she shook her head minutely, her expression tight and angry. “Why should he get away without contributing anything to the cost of raising the son he forced upon me?” she demanded. “It’s only right he pay something towards Peter’s upkeep!”
“How much did you ask for?”
Her jaw tightened. “Five hundred pounds.”
Kit considered that. On the one hand, it was not an unreasonable sum to request from a man of Bartlett’s standing, who would one day inherit his father’s sizeable wealth. On the other hand, Bartlett was known to be a wastrel who gambled away every penny he was given, and whose father kept him on a very tight leash. If he had a tenth of that sum to hand, Kit would be astonished.
“And what did he say?” Kit asked.
Clara returned her gaze to the ceiling. A muscle in her jaw worked. “He was furious. He told me he’d not give me a penny and if I didn’t promise to stay quiet, he’d make me sorry.”
Kit nodded. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you agreed?”
Clara shook her head minutely. “I told him if he hadn’t paid me by the end of the month, I would be going to see his father.”
“And since then, you’ve been followed in the street at least once—and now attacked in the park?”
Clara was silent. She stared miserably at the ceiling.
“You don’t need his money, Clara,” Kit said gently. “Peter is my godson, and if I’ve not made it clear to you already, then know this: I regard him as my personal responsibility. I may not have Sir Algernon Bartlett’s wealth, but I’m comfortably off and will make provision for Peter’s future. You have no need to worry about him.”
“Kit,” she said, her voice breaking, “You don’t understand—I wanted the money so I could—so I could—” She gave a sob and covered her mouth with her free hand.
“So you could what?”
“So I could leave London,” she whispered.
Kit stared at her, unsure what to say. His heart twisted at the thought of her and Peter leaving. It just being him, alone in this big house.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t want to go, but it’s Peter’s chest. I took him to a doctor two months ago. He says I have to get him out of London. There’s no choice.” She pressed her lips together for a moment before she went on. “His cough’s getting worse. It plagues him at night. I can’t—” She broke off, shaking her head helplessly.
“It’s all right,” Kit said. “I just wish you’d come to me, Clara. Don’t you know I’d do anything to help you? Did you think I’d cut you off because of this? Leave you without an income? When you and Peter have lived with me these last five years?” He could hear the hurt in his own voice, and Clara heard it too. She fumbled blindly for his hand with her own, taking his fingers and squeezing them.
“You’re too good to me,” she whispered. “I don’t deserve you, Kit.”
He patted her hand. “Yes,” he said. “You do. And the sooner you realise it, the better.”
For a few moments, they sat quietly, then Clara whispered, “There’s something else.”
“And what is that?”
She swallowed. “I’m not sure I can get Bartlett to leave me alone now.”
Kit was silent, waiting for the explanation that was surely coming. Another tear made its slow way down her temple and into her hair. “He’s a monster, Kit,” she whispered. “If he goes after Peter, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Perhaps if you withdraw the threat to speak to his father?” Kit prompted gently.
That was when she began to sob in earnest.
“What’s wrong?” Kit asked anxiously. “Clara?”
After a minute, when her sobs had subsided and Kit was nearly beside himself with worry, she said in a wobbly voice, “I—I already tried. I went to see him again, to call my threats off, and he just laughed at me—so nastily, Kit—he saw how frightened I was, and I could see he liked it. And now I don’t know what to do!”
“You should have told me before,” he chided gently, before adding more firmly, “Bartlett may be a nobleman but I am not without resources.”
“I know,” she sobbed, turning her head to him. “But why should you be put to trouble over my idiocy? It’s unfair on you.”
“Friends put themselves to trouble for each other,” he said reassuringly. “And I am very capable of dealing with a bully like Bartlett.”
“How?” she asked.
Kit gave it some thought. After a moment he said, “A public confrontation, I think. Something that exposes his behaviour to his peers. We will aim to shine a light on that cockroach and see if we can send him scurrying back under his rock.”
“Kit,” she whispered. “Don’t put yourself at risk for me.”
“I won’t,” Kit said with more confidence than he truly felt. “In fact, I intend to seek assistance from someone Bartlett would not dare to cross.”
12
Henry
“I’ll tell my doormen to let you in. Come any time after nine o’clock.”
After Henry took his leave of Christopher, the man’s final words continued to echo in his mind.
Did Christopher actually want to see Henry tonight? He’d seemed surprised when Henry had agreed. Maybe even disappointed, as though he’d only wanted to offend him, not to have him comply.
It was a thought that troubled Henry as he turned in the direction of home and began walking.
“If you are making amends, it has to cost you something.”
Christopher had plainly been angry and resentful about the events of the past—and Henry could hardly blame him.
As he strode back towards Curzon Street, his mind teemed with an undisciplined mix of thoughts. His memories of Christopher as he had been all those years ago. How he had appeared today. Henry’s fears as to how matters might unfold at Redford’s that night.
“You, on your knees for me. Sucking me off in front of everyone.”
Henry bit the inside of his cheek as he remembered those words, only easing up when he tasted blood.
“In the back room, where anyone can see.”
Henry’s heart thudded so hard at that thought, he felt it might burst out of his chest.
Could he really do that? Get down on his knees in Christopher’s club, in front of whoever might be there, and suck a man’s cock?
Christopher’s cock.
Well, he had to, didn’t he? He simply had to. He had begged Christopher to allow him to make amends after all.
And hadn’t Henry once asked the same of Christopher? Their first encounters, all those years ago, had taken place in the heady atmosphere of the Golden Lily, several of them in front of other patrons.