Thief of Hearts

Chapter 1-3

Jeremy delivered the pastries safely and pulled closed the doors to the drawing room to head back to the kitchens, but the butler grabbed him by the arm again.

“Come with me, Naylor.”

The butler, Mr. Fisher, was a stickler in every sense of the word. Hard, unrelenting, and eyes everywhere. He had seemingly taken Jeremy in dislike and was now towing him in the direction of the dining room fast enough to make him stumble.

“Wait here. The gentlemen are about to repair to the drawing room with the ladies, and I need you to be on hand should anything be required. He parked him by the door where three other footmen stood waiting in anticipation should any of the guests require anything.

“But…sir…?” Jeremy blurted. He was so tired and hungry he felt sick.

Fisher glared at him.

“I’m due to…”

Fisher cut him off with a wave of the hand. “You’ll have to wait,” he snapped and stomped off down the corridor, twitching at ornaments and cushions as he went to make sure everything was up to standard. It seemed he knew exactly where every ornament in the house should be. Jeremy knew that some of the maids took delight in moving things slightly just to watch him put them back. He watched him go and resisted the urge to lean back against the wall. His feet were in agony. Soft satin slippers for footmen so they could move silently were all well and good, but he’d stood on a discarded chop bone in the kitchen earlier and his left foot throbbed steadily.

All four of them stood waiting in complete silence. Not daring to speak to each other or lean against the wall. Jeremy closed his eyes for a moment and jerked awake at a noise from inside the room.

Tim Wilks stood at the other side of the door, and he nodded to Jeremy as the sounds from inside the room changed. Chairs moved, voices were louder. They waited, listening, nodding to each other as the voices approached the door, arms poised by the doorknobs, then together moved to open the doors in one smooth movement. The timing was perfect. Sir Granville exited with some crony on his arm, closely followed by the rest of the party. The man with the grey green eyes was at the back. Jeremy looked determinedly forward as he passed, but couldn’t resist a tiny glance, just a flick of his eyes, but it coincided with the man looking at him. Jeremy blushed again, his skin prickled from head to toe, and his mouth went dry.

The footmen followed the gentlemen to the drawing room, silent and upright. Ready and waiting should anything be required. Once inside the room they arranged themselves around the perimeter and waited to be summoned. Jeremy stared into the distance, not watching anyone but trying to remain alert to any request.

After yet another hour of standing unmoving, Jeremy was exhausted. He could feel sweat prickle over his skin. It felt uncommonly warm given it was February. He surreptitiously scratched beneath his wig for what felt like the umpteenth time as his whole head now itched abominably. Fortunately, there was enough noise in the room to cover his stomach as it rumbled. It was hours since he had eaten anything other than bits of stolen pastry, and come to think of it, it was a long time since he’d had anything to drink. He watched the occupants of the room sip tea and brandy and nibble delicious looking sweetmeats and longed to be laid on his bed with his shoes off, a cup of tea, and one of those pastries. Someone laughed and made him jump. It made his head swim. He blinked a few times to clear his vision which had gone blurry. The way the guests were chatting, flirting, and laughing meant the evening could go on for hours. He wondered if Fisher might send some of the others up to relieve them and felt faintly panicked at the thought that he might not.

The prickle of sweat was getting worse. It was running down his back now, and his temples. He wondered if it was politer to wipe it away or ignore it. His head was itching so badly he wanted to tear the damned wig off and pull at his hair. It was, however, becoming increasingly hard to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach and the thought that he might cast his accounts at any moment made him sweat even more. He swallowed. Vomiting in the drawing room would most likely get him turned off without a reference. What would he tell his brother if that happened? His legs set up with a fine tremor which really made him worry. He was going to have to escape. He was trying desperately to work out how best to slip out unnoticed, when the man with the grey green eyes stood and, bowing to his companion, walked in his direction. All he could do was look at those eyes. Oh, those eyes. He came and stood before him and spoke, but Jeremy had no idea what he said. His ears appeared to have set up the most appalling buzzing.

“Beg pardon?” he whispered, shaking his head and blinking.

The man frowned and spoke again, this time touching his arm lightly.

Jeremy smiled but it drooped as he felt himself waver. The man opened the door and ushered him out gently. It was much cooler in the hallway and he could actually breathe, so he pulled in a deep breath.

“My dear boy, are you unwell?” the man said. His words were quietly spoken but in a deep, faintly husky voice.

Jeremy smiled again and tried to nod but stopped because it made his head swim. The man continued to speak to him and guided him away from the drawing room, but Jeremy knew if he was found to be missing he would be in hot water.

“Have to go back,” he managed to say, and tried to turn, but the man put an arm around his waist and held him upright when his legs buckled. Jeremy looked up into those grey green eyes. He really was the most handsome man that he had ever seen in his life. Those were his last thoughts as everything faded to black.