Page 6 of Once a Gentleman
He turned, a brandy in each hand, and passed the glass containing a more moderate portion to Hewlett. The study lay shadowed in the dimness of the afternoon, the easterly windows letting in very little light through the fog that hadn’t lifted all day. Hewlett’s face gleamed pale in the grayish light, like a shaft of moonlight breaking through mist.
What an unutterable ass he was, thinking such absurd nonsense. Good Lord. And now Hewlett was looking at his brandy as if he would much prefer a cup of tea.
“If that’s not to your taste, set it aside,” Andrew said, his tone harsher than he intended.
Hewlett flinched, just a tiny bit, but then he steadily met Andrew’s gaze with his own and took a sip. “It’s very good,” Hewlett said, with the slight rasp of a man unused to spirits. Did Hewlett have no vices at all? It seemed he neither fucked nor imbibed, and Andrew would be willing to wager that Hewlett wasn’t given to that particular amusement, either. He didn’t seem the gambling sort.
Andrew shrugged. “Please yourself.” He took a deep draught of his own, letting the familiar prickling heat of it soothe him all the way down. “You’ll work in here,” he said abruptly, unable to think of a polite way to turn the conversation. And caring very little, for that matter. “Those shelves beside the desk hold the ledgers, and the cabinet there my correspondence. You’ll find it in very little order, I’m afraid. I’ve attempted to keep my correspondence from the Naval Office separate, and I’ll see to that myself. You can set anything of that nature that you find aside for me.”
A brief, startled silence fell. “The Naval Office?”
“First Lieutenant Andrew Turner at your service, Mr. Hewlett.” Andrew didn’t even attempt to keep the note of vindication from his voice. His career, while not terribly distinguished, was honorable and entirely of his own making. Coming into a large and unexpected inheritance from his mother’s estranged elder brother two years before had meant little to Andrew’s career. During a time of war, only a coward would resign his commission for such a reason.
And in any case, boredom would have been as likely to kill him ashore as a stray cannonball might at sea.
“I had no idea.” Hewlett averted his face, and what Andrew could see of his cheek bore a deep flush. Clearly Hewlett had a certain portrait of Andrew ready-sketched in his mind, and the new lines Andrew had drawn for him spoiled its symmetry. “Are you on leave of some kind, or…?” Hewlett raised a curious eyebrow.
“My ship, theHoratio, is dry-docked for refit. It’s taken some time, as we lost the mainmast in a storm and the ship’s been commissioned for four years already, long enough for rot under the waterline. I expect we’ll be sailing again within three months, as we’ve been ashore already for two.” Andrew stopped abruptly, taking in Hewlett’s wide-eyed stare. No doubt Hewlett had already lost what little interest he’d politely professed. “My duties are minimal at present,” he finished, giving the statement the finality one might expect from the end of a topic of conversation.
“Do you find that—”
“In the meantime, I shall expect you to familiarize yourself with all details of my affairs, as they’ll be in your hands entirely when I sail,” Andrew interrupted.
“Of course,” Hewlett said after a short pause. “I will attend most carefully to your instructions and take copious notes.”
Andrew turned to the ledgers, hiding any trace of guilt at Hewlett’s subdued tone and cast-down expression. It was Hewlett who ought to feel at fault, not him. Although if Hewlett had any regrets about his behavior, they would be out of fear of being thrown out of the house before he’d even drawn his salary.
And in that vein. “This ledger contains the household expenses, including wages,” Andrew said, drawing one of the cloth-bound books out of the stack. “You will need to add a line item for your own salary, of course. I hope one hundred and twenty pounds per annum will be sufficient.”
He shot a glance over his shoulder, smothering his vicious satisfaction at the widening of Hewlett’s eyes and the involuntary parting of his lips—and then smothering a far less satisfying, though almost equally vicious, surge of lust. Good God, but Hewlett’s lips should be in a museum. Hewlett’s pink tongue flicked out to moisten them, and Andrew clenched his hands around the ledger, knuckles going white.
The ways he would use that mouth, the sounds Hewlett would make as he did…damn and blast it all. When he’d attempted to seduce Hewlett the day before, it had only been an impulse, a momentary fancy stemming from the feeling of the man’s slim body pressed to his during his fall, spurred on by his conviction that Hewlett was both pockets to let and receptive to the attentions of other men. Hewlett’s hands had absolutelylingeredon Andrew’s chest. That had not been his imagination.
But it mattered little. In fact, it mattered not at all. It had been amomentary fancy, and Andrew could find a mouth just as pretty in any of the dockside taverns. Hewlett’s contempt, his anger, his pride, were obstacles not worth the overcoming.
“I’ll show you my most recent investments,” Andrew said, keeping his tone even. Hewlett was his secretary, and nothing else. “And then, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with my tailor in half an hour, and I’ll leave you to examine them at your leisure. You need not keep to any set hours. Merely accomplish what needs to be done as you see fit.”
Hewlett bit his lip and nodded, Andrew forced a smile, and Hewlett quickly looked away. Just as well. Hewlett was his secretary. Nothing else.
