“He’s left Vane,” Silas said. “I think.”
“Bollocks,” Jon said. “You wouldn’t get him out of there with a winkle pin. You didn’t resign, did you, Foxy?”
David had no idea what had happened. Had he been sacked? Lord Richard’s words were already lost in the fog of panic and humiliation.
If he hadn’t been sacked, it was just a matter of time. He’d damned well earned it, and the thought of how angry Lord Richard must be now, of what he’d ruined, was freezing out everything else.
“I can’t go back,” he whispered.
“Why not?” Will demanded. “What the hell did you do?”
“Or, what the hell did his lordship do,” Silas said. “He’s hurt, I reckon.”
Jon took David’s face in his hand and tilted it up. It wasn’t wrong; they’d fucked in the past, since Will and Jon liked a third and needed someone to keep their secret, and Jon was a good man, but David pulled his head away. He didn’t want to be touched by anyone. “David? Did he hurt you?”
“It was my fault,” David jerked out. “I shouldn’t have…It was my fault.”
“I don’t much like the sound of this.” Jon’s voice was hard.
“Nor do I,” Silas growled. “Why don’t I go back and ask his lordship what the fuck he’s been playing at?”
“Hold your horses,” Will snapped. “Oi, Foxy, make some sense. What happened? And you’re going to have to tell us, one, because if you’ve fucked things up, we’re all neck-deep in turds, and two, because Silas is about to march on Albemarle Street and accuse his lordship of outraging your virtue, such as it is. Which I’d pay good money to see, but not if he’s barking up the wrong tree. Now.” His voice gentled. “Did the fucker do anything you didn’t want, sweetheart? Did he hurt you?”
He’d done everything David didn’t want, and there was a painful bruise coming on his back where he’d hit the dressing table, so it took a few seconds for Will’s meaning to sink in. As it did, David sat up sharply. “No! He did not. Don’t say that.”
Glances were exchanged over his head. “Are you sure about that?” Jon asked. “Just because he’s a gentleman—”
“He didn’t touch me.” David stared at the floor. “It was me. I—Christ—I tried to kiss him. My fault. He said no. He said— And he pushed me away, and I…fell.”
David felt Jon’s hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Foxy. You stupid sod. Playing rantipole with a lord, what the hell were you thinking?”
“I thought we could. But I’m his valet. I’m his inferior.” The word came out with such force that he startled himself. “He wouldn’t listen.”
Will snorted. “Well, no. What did you expect?”
“Aye, but Silas is fucking a gentleman, and he couldn’t get more inferior if he tried. How’s that go?” Jon’s voice slid into a Ludgate rasp. “Beg your pardon, Mr. Frey, but might I trouble you for a buggering, sir?”
Silas glowered. “Up your arse, Shakespeare.”
“The point is,” Will said, “you made your try, and he didn’t want it, and he’s turned you off. So now what?”
“I don’t know.” A mug was shoved into his hands. David gulped tea, closing his eyes.
“You can get another position, right?”
He could, of course, but the idea was sickening. To dress another gentleman, to be reduced to simply valeting—because he wouldn’t make the same damn fool mistake twice; he wouldn’t put his soul into the job ever again—to see Lord Richard under other hands…
“He’ll give you a reference, won’t he?” Jon said. “I mean, he won’t give you trouble finding another gentleman, right?”
David’s eyes snapped open. “He wouldn’t do that. I’m sure he wouldn’t.”
There was a knock on the door, and a footman poked his head in. “ ’Scuse me, gents, but Mr. Shakespeare’s needed upstairs.”
Jon straightened. “On my way.”
“I’d better go too,” Will added. “I’ll get you a room made up, Foxy, but if Lord Richard’s in a temper with you…”
“I’ll be gone tomorrow,” David said. “Thank you.”
They left. Silas squatted on his haunches looking into David’s face. “Well, this is a muddle. You got anywhere to go?” David shook his head. “What about money?”
“Plenty.”
“That’s all right, then. I’ll pack your trunk and get your stuff here tomorrow, and we’ll put our heads together if you’ve not decided what to do for yourself.” He grimaced at whatever he saw in David’s face. “You hauled me off the gallows, mate, I can pack you a bag. And, Foxy? You’ve made a bloody awful mess of this, no question. But you’d as much right as any man to give it a go.” He clapped David on the arm. “Best off not bothering, mind. Bloody gentry, they’re not worth spit.”