Brook Street: Fortune Hunter (11 page)

Only in London did he have a chance of success. Of never again spending his days hunched over that godforsaken clerk’s desk, scrawling entries in ledgers endless hour after endless hour. Of never hearing those hushed yet deliberately loud whispers again. Of not scrounging through his father’s desk drawers with his sister for halfpennies to pay the butcher. Of one day having a home for longer than it took for a landlord to realize the rents would not be forthcoming. Of never having to listen to his mother screech at the landlord then offer herself in payment. Of not waking to find to his father sprawled facedown on the parlor floor, the stench of gin pouring off him, his clothes soaked through from the rain. Of never feeling so powerless again.

The shopkeeper brought the pin to his lips and breathed on it, a long puff of breath. Then he studied the stone. “Holds a fog much too long. It’s pretty and well cut, but it’s not a diamond.”

Julian’s stomach dropped like an iron weight, plummeting to his feet. He swore his heart stopped for a moment. “It was a gift,” he lied, desperately striving for casual and using the same excuse for his ignorance that he’d used with the other two shopkeepers. “I do hope the bearer was not duped. What would you give me for it?”

The man shrugged. “Nothing close to one-fifty. The gold has some value. Could give you a bit for that alone.”

A bit was not good enough. He needed all of it. The full sum. And he needed it now. Not tomorrow or next week, but this afternoon.

He had managed to put off White’s last night but tonight, he and Oscar were to attend a ball. Everyone would be there, including Radcliffe and Wright. He could not walk into the ballroom while those men still held his vowels. Radcliffe had not directly threatened him, but Julian had received his message loud and clear—pay now or bear the consequences.

He pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. If he hurried, he could try another pawn shop, maybe one near Cheapside or Fleet Street, and still reach Oscar’s for dinner by six.

But there was absolutely no use in trying another shop. Those who ran such businesses made their livelihood on knowing how to detect genuine goods. He should have known today’s effort would prove futile. A desperate attempt by a desperate man.

“Beautiful watch,” the shopkeeper said. “Would you be interested in selling or pawning it instead of the pin?”

Oscar rang for a servant. Within seconds, the study door opened.

“Yes, Mr. Woodhaven?”

“Please inform the kitchen to hold dinner for a bit.”

A tip of the head, and the footman left the room, closing the door behind him.

The request had likely been unnecessary. His kitchen knew there were to be two for dinner. As Julian had been his guest for three weeks now, it would not take any assumptions on the kitchen’s part to pinpoint the identity of Oscar’s dinner companion. Cooper, his butler, would be aware that Julian had not yet returned home. No doubt the intelligence had already made its way to the kitchen, giving Oscar’s cook advance notice of the delay.

Still, it would have been rude of Oscar to not send word himself to the kitchen.

Oscar flopped back down on the couch. There was no reason for concern. Julian had said he had a few errands to see to that afternoon, and he had not gone alone. He had taken one of the curricles along with a boy to look after the team. Even if one of the horses had thrown a shoe, Julian would not have to manage the situation on his own.

The skies were clear—Oscar had already checked out the window—so rain was not behind Julian’s delay. More than likely, the man’s errands were simply taking longer than he had anticipated.

Oscar had had his own errands to see to that afternoon. White’s and then a visit with Radcliffe, whom he had tracked down at Anderson’s town house. White’s had gone exceedingly well. As he had anticipated, there had been no hints of resistance to Julian applying for membership. The call on Radcliffe had not gone as well, but he could deem it a success. As he had anticipated, Radcliffe still held doubts about Julian, but Oscar had told him in no uncertain terms that his doubts were entirely without merit.

“You do realize he barely has two shillings to rub together?”

Radcliffe had asked the question as though he was imparting a grand piece of news. He would have thought Radcliffe held more stock in his intelligence level, but obviously not if Radcliffe had believed him so dim as to have lived with Julian for three weeks and not known Julian was not fabulously wealthy.

Oscar might only be one-and-twenty and still a bit fresh from the country, but he was not a blind fool. He could recognize for himself when someone was befriending him solely for his fortune. Just because Julian barely had two shillings to rub together did not imply the man had ulterior motives for being with him. And the fact that Julian danced at balls…

With a shake of his head, he reached for his tumbler on the side table and took a sip of brandy.

Radcliffe was just annoyed, that was all. Oscar certainly did not consider himself much of a prize, but it had been no coincidence Radcliffe’s dislike of Julian had begun the evening Oscar had refused to dally with him.

The man hadn’t liked being refused.

Well, how terrible for him.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Oscar sat upright. The door knob turned.

Finally.

Setting his glass down, he got to his feet. “You’re back.”

“Yes, that does seem to be the case,” Julian said, shutting the door behind him.

“Have a seat, and I’ll let the kitchen know dinner can now be served.”

One pace from the armchair, Julian stopped short. “Oh, I hope I have not delayed dinner.”

“It’s half past six, Julian.” The man knew dinner was to be served at six. Of course he had delayed the meal. “But no reason to worry, though it will take the kitchen a few minutes to have everything ready. Might as well have a brandy while we wait.”

“My apologies.” Worry tugged Julian’s brow. “I thought I had made it back in time.”

How could he not have realized…

A glance to Julian’s waistcoat provided the answer.

“Julian, a watch rather loses its purpose if left at home.” But hadn’t the gold chain been dangling from Julian’s waistcoat when he had walked into the breakfast room? Oscar could have sworn so, but perhaps he was so accustomed to seeing it there he had assumed without actually noticing it. If the man was fully dressed, that gold chain dangled from his waistcoat. Though…

Yes, Julian had definitely worn the watch that day. Oscar could distinctly recall him pulling it from his waistcoat pocket, the sun streaming through the window behind him catching the diamonds on the face. It had been right before he’d informed Oscar that he had needed to see to a few errands.

Dread tapped Oscar on the shoulder.

“Where’s your watch?” The question left his lips before it formed in his head.

Julian reached for the brandy decanter on the side table and poured himself a glass.

“Did you lose it? Did a pickpocket steal it? I knew I should have selected a better chain for it.” The jeweler had suggested a thicker, sturdier chain but Oscar had shied away from anything too bulky. Would have clashed with the elegant timepiece.

Glass clinked as Julian put the stopper back in the decanter. He shook his head.

Oscar studied Julian’s profile. The tension from last night was back, tightening the lines of his mouth. “Do you know what happened to it?”

Julian took a swallow of brandy. A long swallow, draining half the contents of the glass.

Dread shoved at Oscar’s shoulder. An ugly feeling began to invade his gut, bringing with it a horrid sense of foreboding.

Somehow he knew it wasn’t a simple case of Julian having had merely misplaced the watch, though he couldn’t say exactly how he knew. Perhaps it was in Julian’s quick glance, there and then gone, before the man brought his gaze back to Oscar, as if forcing himself to meet Oscar’s eyes.

“I pawned it.”

His jaw dropped. His mind blanked. Had he heard Julian correctly? “W-what? Why?”

“For money,” Julian said with a shrug, careless and nonchalant, with a distinct hint of defensive sarcasm. “Why else does one pawn a good?”

“But why?”

“A gentleman is expected to repay his vowels.”

He had pawned the watch to cover gambling debts? “If you were in need, you should have come to me.”

For that, he received a roll of Julian’s eyes. “I’m not about to ask you to cover my vowels.”

“I would have paid them without question.” He wasn’t even aware Julian had been writing vowels. Julian sure as hell hadn’t when he gambled with Oscar. In fact, he had kept his bets low, folding more often than not and denying Oscar most every opportunity to lose to him. “Who do you owe?”

“‘
Did
owe.’ I settled the debts on my way home.”

“But
who
did you owe?”

Julian took another long swallow of brandy then set the empty tumbler on the table, the clink of glass against wood reverberating in the study. “Radcliffe and Wright.”

The two names repeated in Oscar’s head, over and over.

Wright, whom Julian had quickly befriended. Wright, whose younger sister Julian danced with at every ball and rout. A younger sister with fifty thousand pounds. Every woman Oscar had seen Julian partner flashed before his mind’s eye. Not one married lady in the bunch, not even the ones who did not honor their wedding vows.

And Radcliffe, whose distaste for Julian had begun the night Oscar had refused him, the same night Radcliffe had correctly guessed Julian was more than Oscar’s guest. Radcliffe, whose skill at cards rivaled the best gamblers in London.

His heartbeat pounded against his ears, deafeningly loud.

“How much did you owe Radcliffe?”

“What does it matter?”

“How much?” The words were all but a growl.

A sneer pulled Julian’s upper lip. “One hundred and twenty pounds.”

“More than Wright?”

A pause then Julian nodded, a single terse bob of the head.

Oscar closed his eyes as the realization slammed into him.

His true friend hadn’t been Julian all along. It had been Radcliffe.

He had indeed been a blind fool.

“You’ve been hunting for a wife.” It was a statement, not a question. He looked to Julian. “You came to London to find a rich wife, not because you missed the city or because you missed your cousin.”

The line of Julian’s shoulders tightened. His gaze dropped to the black leather shoes Oscar had purchased for him.

The man might as well have shouted his guilt.

But that wasn’t what hurt.

A part of him could understand—not accept, but at least understand—why Julian would have come to London to find a wife. Julian was a handsome man of limited means who was related to a marquis. The straightest path to wealth would lead him to a wife. A marriage based solely on one’s bank account was damn common in the
ton.
Preference and sentiment need not figure into the bargain. That Julian would choose to take such a path oddly enough did not surprise him. And it certainly wasn’t what sliced like a jagged knife into his chest, twisting and shoving deep.

Julian had not truly cared for him. He had merely
convinced
Oscar he cared for him. His friendship had been a guise, a means to an end.

Nothing more.

Pulling his attention from his shoes, Julian met his gaze, eyes filled with the remorse of one who could no longer hide his guilt. “Oscar, I-I—”

He held up a hand to stay him. He did not want to hear Julian’s excuses. Not now. He’d listened to enough of them. Accepted enough of them.

Not anymore.

Lifting his chin, he pushed back the pain tearing at his chest, refusing to allow Julian even a glimpse of it. “I understand. You needn’t explain. And I understand why you sold the watch.”

“But I didn’t sell it. I merely pawned it.”

Oscar gaped at him. “Merely?” How the hell did that make any difference?

“It’s not gone forever. I can get it back.”

“How do you plan to do that, Julian? You’ve already settled your vowels.” There was no way Oscar would give him the money to get the watch back now. Not after what Julian had done.

“I should have money enough by the summer.”

The summer? It took less than a second for the connection to click in Oscar’s head. That bloody bastard. How dare Julian use him to gain a wife then use his wife’s money to retrieve Oscar’s gift? “Will you inform Miss Katherine when you ask for her hand that you need her money to pay off a loan on a gift from your lover?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Oscar,” Julian scoffed, the contrition gone. “Of course not.”

Well, yes, he could admit to himself it had been a rather ridiculous question. Still, he hadn’t been able to resist voicing it. “Did you ever plan to tell me you were hunting for a wife? Or did you intend an announcement in the
Times
to be sufficient?”

With a shake of his head, Julian stepped toward the windows. “You don’t understand.”

“Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking.” Julian had planned to marry all along. He had never intended their relationship to last beyond the Season. Or perhaps he had. Perhaps he’d assumed Oscar wouldn’t bat an eye at having a married man for a lover. If so, he’d assumed wrong. “Was I a consideration? When you pawned the watch, did you even think about me?”

Foolish of him to ask. What did it matter anyway? The outcome spoke for itself. Yet he had to know. How easily had Julian given him up? Had he struggled over his decision, or had there been no need for a decision at all?

Dragging a hand through his hair, Julian turned back to face him, his jaw tight with obvious frustration. “I didn’t have a choice, Oscar. All I have are my good looks and connection to Benjamin to recommend me. I couldn’t risk gaining a reputation as a man who doesn’t honor his vowels.”

“You have you, Julian. Yourself.”

Julian let out a huff of disgust. “You are beyond naïve if you believe that matters one whit to anyone.”

“It mattered to me.”

Julian flinched. Shock, disbelief, despair flashed across his handsome face. He opened his mouth but before he could utter another word, before he could attempt another hollow excuse, Oscar turned on his heel, left the study.

He shut the door behind him, gave himself a moment to catch his breath, then lifted his chin and proceeded down the corridor to the footman stationed near the top of the stairs.

“Please inform the kitchen I will take dinner in my bedchamber,” he said to the footman. “The carriage will not be needed tonight.” The hell with the ball. Julian had received his own invitation and could walk if he still intended to attend.

Without a glance to the study door to see if Julian had emerged, Oscar went upstairs.

Hell, he had been so damn blind, and it wasn’t as if there had been no hints of the truth. Yet he’d ignored those little questions that had nudged at the back of his mind. Had readily accepted Julian’s vague answers—
“I haven’t yet decided.”
Had turned a deaf ear to Radcliffe’s concerns. Had even gone so far as to defend Julian. Christ, he had sought out Radcliffe that afternoon, stood there and argued with him. He’d been willing to cut his friendship with Radcliffe if the man made one more disparaging comment against Julian.

Goddamn it!

He flung his bedchamber door shut, the sound cracking through his room.

To think he had truly believed Julian cared for him.

Bloody idiot.

The only thing Julian cared about was money. Just like all the rest.

Julian had used him. Used him for his connections, his invitations, his tailor, his body. And Oscar had allowed it. Hell, he had more than allowed it. He’d encouraged it. Had opened his home to Julian, damn well begged to pay his bills, and been his staunchest supporter.

Knowing he’d been an active participant in his own heartbreak?

That jagged knife sliced anew into his chest. He pressed his palms to his eyes, focused on deep, even breaths. He would not shed a tear for Julian Parker. Not one. That man did not deserve it.

He let out a long breath, his gut aching from the effort to will away the pathetic hitches and stutters. Then he dragged his hands down his face and tugged at the buttons of his coat. What was so wrong with him? Why couldn’t anyone want him for him? He threw the coat to the floor and grabbed the decanter of brandy from a side table. Pulled off the stopper and brought the decanter to his lips for a long swallow.