Page 69 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
Chapter 33
Sebastian ran through the streets of London, leaving his carriage at Westment Manor. He was overcome with panic, his mind racing, different solutions offering themselves only to be thrown out moments later. He needed to get away, to disappear into the night, just as he had done before. He had shown his hand too early, and as a result, all his hard work was ruined.
He ran until he reached the poorer areas of London, cursing his gentleman’s clothes for their lack of movement. How much easier it was sometimes, he realized, to be a boy of the streets. Being a gentleman had both freed and ensnared him at the same time.
He slowed as the streets became fuller, horses trotting over cobbled streets but fewer—if any—carriages or coaches. Black-faced children darted in and out of doorways, desperation in their eyes and thievery on their fingertips. Men hollered and shouted, throwing packages and tools to one another as they worked, washerwomen on their knees, scrubbing steps or doorways, or whatever work was required of them today.
Sebastian yanked off his cravat and let it drop, then shrugged off his cloak and thrust it into the hand of a passing beggar. If he had any hope of fitting in and not being noticed, he needed to sluice away any hint of nobility. It had never really been his for the taking anyway. Sinclair had been right; he was nothing more than a street rat who got lucky.
He felt sick to his stomach, both wanting and not wanting to return to his roots. He wanted to be a gentleman again, but only by legitimate means, and it didn’t matter regardless. He could never show his face in those circles again, not while Edward Sinclair lived.
He spotted the tavern on the corner of the street, its windows large and glowing orange with candlelight. It called to him, welcoming him, and he knew it would be the perfect place to hide for a day or two, just long enough for him to work out what to do next.
He stepped inside. It was early evening now, and the place was busy with men done with their working day, pints of ale in hand. Someone played a broken piano in the corner, and the air was thick with smoke and laughter. He slipped in unnoticed and went straight to the tavern keeper.
“Good evening. I was wondering if you have a room available for the evening?” He cursed himself as soon as he spoke, remembering the nuanced words and perfect elocution the Duke of Ravenswood had painstakingly taught him.
The tavern keeper looked him up and down. “What’s a nice gent like you doing in this part of town then?” he asked.
Sebastian threw him a sly smile. He knew well enough how to survive in any walk of life. He ruffled his hair with his hands and pulled open the top button of his linen shirt. Affecting the accent he’d had as a child, he said, “Looks can be deceiving.”
The tavern keeper raised his eyebrows, but his smirk told Sebastian he had made the right move. “Been playing those rich folk, have you?” he asked as he pulled up the hatch in the bar and motioned for Sebastian to come through. “It’s two shillings a night—extra if you want feeding—and payment is expected up front.”
He paused in front of a doorway and held out his hand. Sebastian was confused for a moment but then said, “Oh!” He dug in his pocket and procured some coins, depositing them in the tavern keeper’s hand. The man grinned and pushed the door until it swung open.
“Up the stairs and to your left. If you be needing anything, my wife is just down the hall. All you need to do is shout. Excellent cook she is, too, my Martha.”
“Thank you,” Sebastian said, then darted up the stairs as quickly as he could. The sooner he was out of sight, the better he would feel.
The room was small and sparse, but it would do. Sebastian lay back on the bed. The rough straw—too old and in need of replacing—poked through the threadbare fabric, and the bed was hard and uncomfortable. Sebastian sighed. It was not the luxury he had become used to in recent years, but it would do. At least he was safe and could regroup.
“Oh, Arabella,” he muttered, his mind first going to her. Despite everything, she was the first thing he thought of, not what had happened with Sinclair or the pickle he had got himself into.
She had looked distraught when he pushed past her and entirely broken when he had said he couldn’t be with her. He’d meant it at the time when he was filled with a rage that could not be soothed, but now he wished he could take those words back. He wished he could see the light in her eyes one more time.
With a groan, he rolled onto his side. His plan had gone awry, but that didn’t mean he would give up. He had never been a quitter. He would find a way to destroy Sinclair; that was certain. He only hoped it didn’t destroy his beautiful, beloved Arabella in the process.
“Think, Sebastian. Think.” He chewed his bottom lip.
This wasn’t the first time he had escaped danger, though it felt now like he was going in the opposite direction. He thought back to his time with the crime syndicate, The Gentlemen. He had been a coarse, rough young man, willing to do whatever it took to survive. He’d risen quickly through the gang’s ranks, becoming a respected member despite his refusal to be violent. He’d made a name for himself, just as he had done in theton.
He let a smile play across his lips as he remembered the chase the Bow Street Runners gave when they caught him with his hand in a woman’s purse. He’d laughed as he’d run and wished he had half that energy now. But they must have known who he was, for they followed him back to The Gentlemen’s camp where their leader, Bobby, hid from the world. He’d been a wanted criminal for many years.
“Oh, Bobby,” Sebastian muttered. “You were a brute, but you didn’t deserve to be hanged.”
The guilt of Bobby’s death had always been in the back of Sebastian’s mind, though he often reminded himself it was not his fault. He may have inadvertently led the constable to him, but Bobby himself had committed the crimes he was accused of. He’d been a violent, ruthless leader, but Sebastian understood how desperation and the streets turned a man into that.
The others in the syndicate didn’t see it that way, though, blaming Sebastian for the death of their boss. Sebastian had to escape again, this time from the men and women he had once considered friends. He’d disappeared from London, thinking to find a new life in a different city—perhaps Birmingham, where he’d heard that industry was booming.
On the road out of London, he first met the Duke of Ravenswood. The old man’s carriage was broken, the wheel on the floor, and the horse kicked impatiently. He’d considered robbing him. After all, the nobleman had only one servant with him, and he was preoccupied with doing what he could to repair the carriage. He was certain to have something worth selling that would allow Sebastian to eat for a time.
But as he sat there and watched, Sebastian had realized that he wasn’t truly like that. He had no desire to steal or be cruel, and the old man seemed in dire straits. Sebastian wasn’t yet desperate enough to be that person. That was how Sebastian came to help him, and together, he and the servant repaired the carriage well enough for them to return to Ravenswood.
In return for his kindness, the duke had offered Sebastian safe travel with him, plus a little food and some gentle conversation. To Sebastian’s surprise, the pair had become quick friends despite how very different they were. The old man—Hector—was lonely, having never had a family of his own, and he offered Sebastian a place to stay and employment at his home.
They grew exceptionally close in the five years they were together, and Sebastian became as much a son to Hector as he had claimed he was. Indeed, he had told Hector everything about himself—the good and the bad—as the pair talked late into the night over brandy and cigars that Sebastian initially found too strong.
The duke had repaid his honesty with his own truths, and he’d told Sebastian everything he knew about The Society and what Sinclair had done. Sinclair was wrong when he said Sebastian had conned the duke out of his money and his title. Sebastian missed the old man dearly, and he was filled with gratitude for everything he had done for him.
