Instead of baring his soul, Hugo held her, hoping to God that what he gave her would continue to be enough for her.
Chapter 31
Hugo hated Roman Night.
This—he decided as he watched an overweight, pasty, septuagenarian marquess chase three giggling whores who were (barely) dressed as the Three Fates around the Roman ruins in the ballroom—was the last time he would attend one.
“That’s the fifth time you’ve looked at your watch in the last ten minutes, sir.”
He turned at the sound of Daniel’s voice and snorted. “If you don’t want to end up servicing one of our drunken, randy clients I advise you to stay in the foyer, my good lad.”
“I’d take your suggestion, but I drew the short straw tonight.”
“Ah, Micky and Jonathan tricked you into working the ballroom, did they?”
Daniel laughed. “So, am I still to come to your house next week, sir?”
Hugo’s face heated at the memory of what he was paying the younger man to do. What the hell was happening to him? He’d picked up a conscience somewhere—probably from prolonged association with Martha—and it was spreading like a bloody disease.
“Yes. And you’d better practice calling me Hugo before then.”
“Of course, si—er, Hugo.”
“You’ve memorized the information I gave you?” Hugo asked.
“I have … brother.” Daniel grinned.
Hugo snorted. “Hugo will be more than sufficient, Daniel.” He was about to reach for his watch when he recalled that he’d just done so.
“Quite a bacchanal,” Daniel observed, standing beside Hugo in a parade rest position that gave away his past in the army.
“You’ve never wanted to join in?” Hugo asked. “You’d make a hell of a lot more money than running errands and delivering messages.”
Daniel’s gaze flickered across the room and settled on a naked woman lying spread eagle on a settee. An exceedingly drunken man was rogering her while at least seven other men looked on and shouted suggestions and encouragement.
Daniel turned back to Hugo. “I don’t think so, sir. I was raised Catholic.”
Hugo threw back his head and laughed. “Well, I don’t think—”
A hand landed on his shoulder. “Hugo?”
Hugo turned to find Andrew, his second in command, dressed in a toga that had seen better days. His eyes looked a bit … wild.
“What’s wrong?” Hugo asked, immediately serious.
“Er, there’s a gentleman with Maisie in the Aegean Room.”
“Lord Amherst?”
Andrew shook his head slowly. “No.”
Hugo ground his teeth. That bloody Maisie. “Well, who, then—it had better not be Blackheathe or Percival?”
“I don’t want to say, sir. But, er, he wants to see you.”
Hugo felt the hairs on the back of his neck lift.
Fuck. He could only think of one person who would have such an effect on the normally calm Andrew.
“Stay here and keep an eye on these fools,” he ordered, and then cut his way through the revelers toward the exit.
The Aegean Room was one of the more expensive suites on the male side of the brothel. Four men dressed in clothing that was neither flash nor expensive stood outside the room and Hugo recognized one of them.
“Bloody. Damn. Hell,” he muttered.
And then he pasted on a smile and approached the man. “Gibson, isn’t it?” he asked, even though he knew good and well that was his name.
Gibson—one of the most expressionless people Hugo had ever met—nodded. “Buckingham, right?”
Hugo laughed at the bland dig. “Yes. He, er, wants to see me?”
“You wait here until the woman comes out.”
“Just one in there?”
Gibson nodded and then continued to appear bored as drunken aristocrats and naked whores romped past them. Anyone looking his face would never believe Gibson was observing a full-blown orgy with some of England’s most powerful and wealthy citizens.
But then, given the man he served, everyone here was as significant as a speck of fly shit.
Hugo’s mind raced; how did one go about denying a man who was second or third in line for the throne of England—Hugo could never remember which—anything he asked for?
He was still pondering that question a quarter of an hour later when the door to the Aegean Room opened and Maisie stepped out. She was wiping her puffy, reddened lower lip with one delicate finger, her expression as vapid as ever. She gave Hugo a half-smile. “He said he wants to talk to you.”
Hugo stared at her so hard he should’ve been able to see into her brain; did she know who it was that she’d just gamahuched?
Gibson took Maisie’s arm and led her away from the door.
His royal highness was buttoning up his trousers when Hugo entered the room. He greeted Hugo with a smile that was remarkably genuine considering their disparate social stations. “Hugo, old man!”
Hugo gave a full court bow, something he did with exquisite grace.
“No need to stand on ceremony with me,” the duke said, his bulbous blue eyes glinting with pleasure at either Hugo’s person or his gesture of obeisance, Hugo wasn’t sure which.
The other man had taken a beating in the newspapers lately, so a little respect probably went a long way to soothing his battered nerves and pride.
“Come, sit.”
Hugo viewed the fact that the duke gestured to the chair next to his, rather than the floor between his spread thighs, as a positive sign.
“Thank you, your royal highness.”
“How have you been, Hugo?”
“I have been well.”
The duke nodded briskly, “Capital, capital. Quite a nice gel that—what was her name?”
“Maisie, sir.”
“Hmm, yes.” His magnificent mustache moved from side to side, his fingers drumming on the arm of the chair. Even though Hugo had been inside this man’s body countless times he still had no idea what went on in his head.
“I’m leaving for the Continent soon,” the duke suddenly barked. “Probably saw that in the demmed papers.” He muttered that last part more to himself, and then his vague blue gaze sharpened and pinned Hugo to his chair. “I shan’t be coming home for … well, not for some time.” His slack features suddenly became firm and stern. Kingly,
