Chapter 6

Brody opened the door to the Ugly Grouse and led the way inside. The place was fairly crowded with working-class men intent on spending some time with their mates before going home to their families. Games of dice were being played at some tables. A small group had gathered for darts while others stood about chatting.

Brody surveyed the space. When he spotted a table for two in the far corner of the room, he suggested to Mr. Michaels they take it.

The young man, who’d been glancing around wide-eyed as though he’d never been in a place like this before, gave a quick nod. Stepping in front of him, Brody cleared a path to the table and gestured toward one of the chairs. He wasn’t sure why he waited for Mr. Michaels to sit before claiming his own seat, and chose not to wonder about it further.

There were more important things to consider right now, like getting some drinks.

He raised his hand to catch the barmaid’s attention. It took a while for her to arrive at their table, during which Brody asked Mr. Michaels if he’d also care for some food.

“No thank you,” he replied. “I can’t stay long.”

“Got to get back to that wife you mentioned?” Brody asked, his voice deliberately teasing.

Mr. Michaels smiled and for a second, Brody could have sworn the entire tavern lit up with the brightness of ten thousand stars.

“I only said that so Mary would leave me alone.”

Brody slowly nodded. He felt both stunned and muddled, as though someone had clubbed him over the head. A quick shake helped him banish the odd response he’d just had. And then the barmaid arrived, offering further distraction.

“Is pale ale all right with you?” Brody asked Mr. Michaels. When he gave a quick nod Brody ordered a couple of mugs.

“Anything else?” asked the barmaid, a buxom brunette with a saucy gleam in her eyes.

“No. That’ll be all.”

“Let me know if you change your mind, aye?” She added a wink before sauntering off with what looked like a very deliberate sway to her hips.

Brody glanced at Mr. Michaels, whose cheeks had turned pink. “I’m starting to get the sense that forward women unnerve you.”

“Not at all.” Mr. Michaels crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, appearing to affect a nonchalant pose without managing it very well. “It never ceases to surprise me when they behave in that way. After all, girls are brought up to protect their virtue.”

“Some are, but not all. Unfortunately many are forced to supplement their income through the art of seduction. Or to make their entire living that way.”

“It’s a shame.”

“I’m not sure they’d all agree with you there. Take Mary and that barmaid for instance. I believe they like the experience as much as the men they engage.”

“Really?”

Mr. Michaels did not look convinced, which made Brody realize the young man was probably rather innocent with regards to the way of the world. A notion that instilled a sense of responsibility toward him.

Turning in his chair, he leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. He met Mr. Michaels’s gaze. Those eyes, a deep hazel, were so incredibly soulful. They could easily muddle men’s minds if they belonged to a woman.

“Women can enjoy bed sport too,” Brody said, in case the lad wasn’t aware. “Take Mary for instance. She wouldn’t be begging for you to tup her if she didn’t expect to find pleasure as well.”

“I…um…”

The blush was back. Brighter than before despite the dim light in their corner. It was adorable, Brody mused, only to tamp down that inappropriate thought as soon as it formed.

He frowned. Perhaps if he spoke about bedding women he’d stop responding to Mr. Michaels in ways that were getting increasingly worrisome. “Most men gain their experience from loose women like her.”

“They’re not worried they’ll get the pox?” Mr. Michaels whispered, so low Brody barely heard him.

The barmaid returned with their order, setting two tankards on the table. Brody picked his up as soon as she was gone and waited for Mr. Michaels to do the same. “To new acquaintances.”

Mr. Michaels echoed his words and took a sip, his eyes widening with surprise as the ale slid down his throat.

“You’ve never had ale before?” Brody asked, once again puzzled by the younger man’s inexperience with things he himself had been introduced to by the age of fifteen.

“Of course I have,” Mr. Michaels said, his voice breaking enough to reveal a higher pitched sound for a second. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, he did so in the lower tone Brody had grown accustomed to. “I’m used to a different flavor, that’s all. I actually prefer this. It’s really good.”

“Glad to hear it.” Satisfaction settled somewhere deep within Brody’s chest. It felt like his heart was expanding with warmth and… Best return to the previous subject of conversation. “About your concern, any man with an ounce of brain will make sure to use a French letter.”

“I see.”

Noting Mr. Michaels’ puzzled expression, Brody had to ask, “You do know what a French letter is?”

“Of course.”

Brody frowned. It didn’t sound like the lad had a clue, which could prove dangerous for him if he decided to seek out the wrong sort of woman.

“It’s a sheath made from pig skin.” When Mr. Michaels stared at him as though with incomprehension, Brody decided to add, “Men can put them on their rods to protect themselves and the women they bed, both from unwanted pregnancy and from disease. Apothecaries carry them.”

Clearly, this was news to Mr. Michaels. The poor lad looked like he might be in need of smelling salts soon. Which was also rather odd. It was common behavior for men to engage in casual discourse with each other. He did so himself all the time. At Eton and Oxford, the lads had not held back with regard to crass language or subjects relating to sexual experience. Not once had any of them appeared shocked.

If anything, it had been considered normal male behavior, as long as it never took place in the presence of women. So it was strange to meet a young man of roughly eighteen or nineteen years of age who balked at such things. The only explanation was he didn’t have close male friends and wasn’t accustomed to such conversations.

Taking pity, Brody said, “I’m sorry if speaking of such things offends you. My only intention was to make sure you’re well informed.”

“Ah… Thank you. I’m…er…much obliged.”

Mr. Michaels reached for his ale and drank a fare measure while Brody tried to think of something else to discuss. Something more appropriate perhaps? “I’m curious. How did you become a compositor at Hudson Co.?”

Relief softened Mr. Michaels’s expression. He was clearly glad to have moved away from the previous subject. “I came to London a couple of years ago. After Papa died.”

“I’m sorry,” Brody murmured with genuine sympathy. “The death of a parent is hard. My own father died when I was roughly your age.”

“My regrets,” Mr. Michaels said. His hand moved toward Brody’s, only to halt mid motion. Snatching it back, he said, “My sister and I lost everything when it happened. The only solution was to find work, but our village had little to offer in that regard. So I decided to come to London where I believed there’d be more opportunities.”

“You didn’t inherit anything?”

“No.” Rather than elaborate, Mr. Michaels quickly said, “I’ve always been fond of books. They fascinate me. All the knowledge and information packed between those pages. The stories that can take you to faraway places or let you experience things you’d not be able to otherwise. Books are a gift to the world, Mr. Evans, and I wanted to have a part in creating them.”

The wonder with which he spoke was spellbinding. “You’ve certainly achieved that.”

Mr. Michaels nodded. “I started out at Hudson Co. as a delivery boy. When George, the previous compositor, left on account of better pay elsewhere, Mr. Hudson gave James, Matthew, and Oliver a chance to try out for the position before placing an advertisement in the paper. I asked if I could try as well, and instead of snubbing me, Mr. Hudson gave me the opportunity I needed to prove myself.”

“He strikes me as a really good man,” Brody said.

“He is. Gave me the job on the spot and hired a new boy to do the deliveries.”

“And your colleagues don’t mind that you got the job instead of them?”

Mr. Michael’s shrugged. “No. James and Matthew can’t sit still. They need to move, so working the press is perfect for them. As for Oliver, he’s happy avoiding the responsibility placed on my shoulders. And besides, none of their fingers are slim enough to place the sorts with the sort of precision I’m capable of.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Brody said, his gaze instinctively going to Mr. Michaels’s hand, which did appear rather petite. Another curiosity, considering his age. It was as though parts of him belonged to a young adolescent, not someone who’d reached the cusp of manhood. Could it be that he’d lied about his age?

That would explain why Mary’s advance might have scared him.

“How about you?” Mr. Michaels inquired.

Brody stared at him for a second. “What?”

“Why did you choose to become Mr. Hudson’s assistant editor?” Mr. Michaels studied him with blatant curiosity. “When I happened upon you that first time, you didn’t strike me as the sort of man who needs to work for a living. And if you do, I expect you’d need a higher salary than what Hudson Co. can provide.”

“Um…” Brody grabbed his tankard with both hands and considered coming up with some sort of excuse, only to decide the truth – or part of it, at least – might be better. “Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Michaels. Unfortunately, I’m not as well off as you might think. My fault, to some extent. A lapse in judgment I’m now trying to rectify.”

Auspiciously, he had received an offer on the townhouse that morning, which he’d since accepted. The down payment alone would allow him to pay off the five hundred pounds Finn owed Mr. Apcot.

“Do you know,” Mr. Michaels said with a mischievous smile. “You just got a lot more interesting. I’m intrigued.”

A sentiment Brody shared, though he chose not to say as much. But the truth was he got a feeling things weren’t quite as they seemed with Mr. Michaels either, and wondered what secrets the lad might be keeping.

“Another drink?” he asked once they’d both downed the last of their ale.

“Thank you, but I really must get home to my sister.” Mr. Michaels stood, so Brody did too. “I’m glad we did this though. It was…nice.”

Brody felt an indefinable pang of emotion behind his ribcage. It was the most curious sensation – a little too much like a yearning. It puzzled him as much as the fact that he’d taken note of the lad’s lovely eyes, his elegant fingers, and luscious lips…

Good God. Brody froze as panic swept through him. He could not be attracted to Mr. Michaels. It was impossible. He fancied women. He’d always fancied women. Their sensual curves were what aroused him. Not bristly jawlines and muscular chests.

Although one might argue that Mr. Michaels was quite clean shaven and didn’t look muscular in the least, he’d still have all the wrong bits.

“Yes,” Brody agreed, fearing he might sound strangled if he said more than one word at the moment. He added a smile for good measure while feeling a light sweat break out at the nape of his neck.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Mr. Michaels said as soon as they were outside on the pavement. “I’m headed in that direction. How about you?”

“The opposite,” Brody informed him while doing his best to dismiss Mr. Michaels’s pretty features. It was as though they were growing more apparent with each passing second. Perhaps because of the ale?

By the time he climbed into bed one hour later, he’d decided it had to be the drink. It was the only thing that made any sense.