Page 65 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I take out my pistol, and presumably one of your men shoots me dead. You’re tried as an accessory to the murder of a peer. Not an enviable position.” He didn’t even look at Georgie but heard a faint sound of protest come from that corner. So very faint that Lawrence felt certain Georgie was hurt, but it would ruin his act if he showed the least bit of human concern. “While we’re on the topic, if any single hair on Mr. Turner’s head is hurt at any point in the remainder of his life, I’ll see to it that you pay. I have nearly unlimited resources and absolutely no scruples whatsoever. At the moment,” he said casually, “I’d gladly cut off your balls and feed them to your henchmen. I’ll almost regret it if I don’t get a chance to. Give me Turner, though, and perhaps I’ll get distracted.”
When Brewster didn’t move immediately, Lawrence flashed him his fiercest, maddest grin and coolly punched another window. This was the value of pricey Italian leather gloves, no doubt. One could break an infinity of windows with no harm to oneself.
Barnabus, his dander up and his teeth bared, was standing beside Georgie, snarling as if he were ready to devour anyone who came near. Lawrence would remember to buy him some buns as a reward.
Brewster, his eyes briefly narrowing with speedy calculation, turned calmly to the man nearest to him. “Let’s go,” he said, as if he were suggesting a walk in the park. He didn’t spare a look for Lawrence or Georgie, or even for any of his men, who followed him single file out of the room as if nothing unusual had happened.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Lawrence fell to his knees by Georgie. “Are you all right?” He pushed the hair off Georgie’s face. There was a bruise forming over one of his eyes, and he looked achingly pale and tired, but he gave Lawrence a shaky smile.
“They only hit me a couple of times.”
Lawrence earnestly regretted not having cut off Brewster’s balls while he had had the chance.
“I thought I was seeing things,” Georgie murmured. “Are you really here? In London?” He reached out a hand and touched Lawrence’s jaw with cold, bare fingers. “With Barnabus? Where’s Simon?”
“Hush. He’s with Lady Standish and bloody Courtenay visiting the Tower. I suspected that you were going to do something”—he nearly said foolish, but then realized he was talking to a man who had risked life and limb for him—“heroic, so I thought I’d help.”
“You make a very good hero yourself.”
Lawrence snorted. “They only listened to me because they were afraid I’d be as deranged as my brother.”
Georgie’s eyes were shut, his head tipped back against the wall. If Lawrence kept blathering on, Georgie would likely nod off.
“Come on,” Lawrence said. “I have a hackney waiting. You need food and a bed.”
“You have a hackney waiting,” Georgie repeated, and laughed as if that were the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. “A hackney waiting while you scare the life out of Mattie Brewster.”
“You’re delirious.” Lawrence got an arm under Georgie’s knees. “Hold on to my neck.”
“Very dashing,” Georgie mumbled into Lawrence’s cravat as he was carried down two flights of stairs. “Feats of strength.”
Lawrence deposited Georgie into the hackney and gave the driver an address.
“You’re not getting in?” Georgie asked, his eyes half-closed.
“No.” He was barely holding himself together and had enough nervous energy running through his body to fuel a walk to Sussex and back. He didn’t think he could take being cooped up in a carriage. “Take care, Georgie,” he said, shutting the door.
Georgie woke in an unfamiliar bed, but it was too dark to figure out preciselywhoseunfamiliar bed. That wasn’t so unusual—his life, thus far, had been a series of beds, very few of them slept in for more than a month at a time. But he had no recollection of falling asleep in this bed or anywhere else. He ran his hands over a quilted coverlet and smooth linen sheets, felt the plumpness of a featherbed. Not an inn, then. He took a deep breath, and his nostrils filled with the scent of lavender and the sort of laundry soap that had to be special ordered.
His eyes adjusted to the dark, and he made out the faint pattern of stripes on the walls. He remembered having been with Oliver when he bought the paper. That put him in Jack and Oliver’s spare room, then.
He was unaccountably disappointed to realize this. He knew he couldn’t be wherever Lawrence was staying. Thattake care, Georgiehad been as definitive a good-bye as he’d ever heard. Lawrence was likely glad to wash his hands of a man who had been in business with the sort of scum he’d seen in the warehouse today, Georgie included.
It had never been meant to endure, this thing with Lawrence. Nothing Georgie ever had was meant to endure. Transient friendships, impermanent addresses, mutable identities, interchangeable lovers. How foolish he had been to lose sight of that.
He must have fallen back asleep, because when he next opened his eyes, there was bright light seeping in from around the edges of the curtains. Too tired to move, he shut his eyes again.
When he heard the squeak of door hinges, he cracked open his eyes.
“Not dead, then.” It was his sister.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was a dry croak.
“You ought to be glad I am. Jack and his gentleman were going to let you sleep forever and take turns spoon-feeding you your broth, or some such addlepated nonsense. I told them men have no place in a sick room, not that you’re sick.” Sarah flung open the window curtain, letting in a blinding stream of light. “And you’re daft if you think I’m going to hide away every time one of my brothers does something stupid. I grew up on the same streets as you and Jack, and I don’t need either of you treating me like a damsel in distress. What rot.” She leaned over the bed, tilting his head towards the bright light of the window. Her lip curled in dismay. “You look horrible. I’ll bring up Jack’s shaving kit. I’ve also got you a new waistcoat.”
Georgie nearly smiled. “That’s your proposed course of treatment? Shaving and haberdashery?”
