Thief of Hearts

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

David grabbed the lad as he crumpled. A swift look around revealed they were alone, so, with a minimum of jostling, he got him over his shoulder and heaved. His wig fell to the floor, but David managed to bend and snatch it up, almost losing his cargo as he did so, and marched off in the direction of his bed chamber. There was no point putting him near the dining room or drawing room where he might be found, and as there were no staff about, and the guests were all occupied, he strode out as quickly as he could.

The lad had been going whiter and whiter as the evening went on. Pale to begin with, by the end of the evening he was green. His striking violet eyes dulled as his fidgeting worsened. In the end, he’d gone over and asked him to be so good as to show him the direction to the stables, so he could check on his horse. Bit feeble, really, but the best he’d been able to come up with to try and get him out of the room before he passed out. He’d only just made it.

He lugged him up the staircase and got him out of the way before anyone noticed. He opened the door to his chamber, locked it behind him, staggered to the bed, and dropped his charge none too gently onto it. He stood, breathing heavily, and looked at the lad. He looked shocking. Pale, clammy, and if David was any judge, likely to vomit at any moment. He fished under the bed and came up with a pretty chamber pot and put it beside him. There was water in the wash basin, so he squeezed out a cloth and laid it over his forehead, then pulled the black shoes from his feet and loosened his neck cloth.

“Come on, Violet Eyes, wake up.” He sat and patted one cheek gently and got a murmur in response. He’d been right about the hair. Damp black curls were plastered to his head.

“That’s the ticket,” he said briskly and patted again.

He moaned louder this time and reached up to pull the cloth off his head and opened his eyes, blinked, went very still, and stared. “Who are you?” he whispered warily.

David couldn’t help the small smile which slipped out. “Well, apparently I’m the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.”

The lad groaned and put the cloth back over his eyes as his pale cheeks flushed. “Oh, God, did I actually say that? Please tell me I didn’t say it out loud.”

“You did.”

He pulled the cloth from his eyes and peeped out. “I am so sorry,” he whispered, completely mortified.

David watched him for a moment, then held out a hand. “David Lambert.”

The lad eyed it for a moment, as though it might be a trick, but eventually held out a slightly shaky, damp hand and took it. “Jeremy Naylor.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jeremy Naylor.”

Jeremy flushed. “Likewise,” he said, and struggled to sit up.

David helped him. “If you are going to cast up your accounts, be a dear and use the pot.” He pointed to the chamber pot. Jeremy grimaced and nodded. “Why don’t you freshen up whilst you are here. Have you eaten?”

Jeremy shook his head.

“Is that why you keeled over?”

“Probably.” He shuddered as he dragged himself off the soft bed and headed for the wash stand on wobbly legs. He splashed his face vigorously and ran his shaking hands through his dark hair, making it stick up at odd angles. It looked in need of a good wash.

David handed him a towel. Poor sod. Probably been on his feet since the crack of dawn.

“Do you have to go back?”

He nodded and finished wiping his hands and face. “I must.”

“Let me get you something to eat first.”

Jeremy’s eyes widened. “Sir, you can’t possibly do that.”

“I can do whatever I like,” David said completely deadpan. “You lay on the bed and get yourself together and I’ll find you something to eat. Do not move from this room.”