Maxim studied the young man standing in front of him more closely. He hadn’t noticed before, but Christopher’s skin was no longer as golden as it had once been.
Although his pallor could be explained as delayed shock from the beating and fear he had suffered earlier.
Except Christopher’s face was not only pale, it was thinner than when he first came to work at the club three weeks ago. There were also dark shadows beneath those beautiful blue eyes.
His clothes, the black trousers, white shirt, and black waistcoat provided by the club so that all the servers wore the same tailored clothing, also seemed to fit him more loosely than when he was first measured for them.
Even as Maxim studied him, Christopher appeared to sway slightly on his feet. “Sit down again,” Maxim instructed harshly at the same time as he guided Christopher onto the chair. “Perhaps I should call for a doctor—”
“No!” Christopher protested agitatedly.
He would have attempted to stand again too, but Maxim’s hand on his shoulder prevented him from doing so. “You are unwell,” Maxim insisted gently.
Tears were swimming in the youth’s long-lashed blue eyes when he looked up. “My injuries are not serious enough to… I cannot… I cannot afford to pay for the services of a doctor,” he finally admitted huskily.
“You received your injuries here, so I shall pay—”
“No,” Christopher insisted even more vehemently. “I do not need a doctor.” He shrugged off Maxim’s hand and again rose to his feet. “I was simply upset for a short time, but now I’m over it and well enough to return to my job of serving drinks.”
Maxim frowned at Christopher’s continued insistence. The younger man was obviously shaken still at the near escape he’d had sexually, and those welts on his face must hurt like hell. So why…
It would be because of that lack of funds Christopher had already admitted to, Maxim realized self-disgustedly.
Not everyone came from the same extreme wealth Maxim did. Christopher would not be working at all, let alone as a server in a club such as the Apollo, if he were not in dire need of the money he earned. No doubt to pay for his food and lodging. Even if he lived with his parents, they would still expect money from him every week to help pay their rent and for the food he consumed when he was at home. Although Christopher’s loss of weight said he had not been the recipient of too much of that lately.
Christopher had become something of an enigma to Maxim these past few weeks. He was well-spoken, despite his efforts to hide it. His manners were gentlemanly, and yet his stubbornness now indicated he needed to be able to draw his full wages at the end of each week.
His personal appearance was also at odds with that educated voice he couldn’t quite disguise. His unruly golden hair, beautiful as it was, was seriously in need of a trim. Also his clothing, when he changed into his own attire to leave at the end of the night, was somewhat threadbare. His boots were also scuffed, and the heels worn down.
“Your wage for the week will be paid in full whether you are able to work or not,” Maxim assured softly.
Those blue eyes instantly narrowed with suspicion. “Why?”
Maxim scowled. “Possibly because it is the least I can do after you were attacked on premises I partly own, and by a man who was also in my employ.” He gave a disgusted shake of his head. “I still cannot fathom how this can have been going on for so long and none of us were any the wiser.”
“The chef is wily and usually only pounces when Henry is elsewhere and there’s no one else about with the authority to stop him,” Christopher stated flatly. “Also, the person in charge and host of the club changes every night. Tonight, it is you, but you’ve been away for the past week. Tomorrow, it might be the Dukes of Sheffield or Wulferston or the Earl of Stonyhurst who take up the role of host. This inconsistency allows predators like Chef Pierre to do as they wish.”
Maxim found it interesting that Christopher was aware he’d been missing from the club for the past week. Perhaps he might even have missed seeing Maxim, as Maxim had missed seeing him?
No, that could only be wishful thinking on Maxim’s part. The other man, young and pretty as he was, could find nothing attractive in someone as hard and cynical as the six-and-thirty-year-old Maxim had become over the years.
He made himself more comfortable leaning against the desk. “Those are good reasons to consider hiring a full-time manager for the club.” Now that Sheffield had pledged himself to Toby, he doubted the other man would want to continue attending the club for even two evenings a week. “Perhaps you are suggesting yourself for the role?” he continued half teasingly.
“No, of course I’m not.” Christopher looked horrified that Maxim might think he would be so forward. “You asked, and I’m merely trying to explain a reason why something like tonight might have gone unnoticed.”
Maxim winced. “And for that, I am heartily ashamed. Even more so that none of these other young men felt able to come forward and tell any of us they were being bullied into…into providing sexual favors for that filthy piece of humanity.” It still disgusted him that those other young men had been treated in such a vile manner. “Had he managed to get you alone like that before tonight?” The thought of that man laying so much as a podgy finger upon Christopher in a sexual manner made him feel nauseated.
“No.” Christopher’s answer instantly put Maxim’s mind to rest on that subject. “And I believe Billy would have come forward eventually. If not tonight, then another.”
He smiled indulgently. “Billy is the lively boy with the red hair?”
“That would be Billy, yes,” Christopher confirmed sharply, the smile having also faded from the pout of his lips. “And he is nineteen, the same as me. Hardly a boy.”
What the hell had Maxim said now to— Was it possible Christopher was jealous of Maxim’s warmth toward Billy?
Dear God, one only had to look at the red hair and the fire sparkling in those deep green eyes to know Billy wasn’t a young man who suffered fools gladly.
And Maxim’s liking of the other young man certainly had nothing to do with him finding Billy attractive as a possible future sexual partner. The boy’s outspokenness and brash manner were clear indication he would be a handful for any man. Maxim preferred a quieter life than that, in both his home and in his bed.
Besides, Maxim’s thoughts—and the reason for all his cock stands of late!—belonged to Christopher.
“He was kind enough to step forward earlier and tell me where you were and why,” Maxim explained gently.
Christopher looked suitably abashed. “That was kind of him.” He attempted an awkward smile.
Maxim’s thoughts lingered for a few seconds longer on the possibility Christopher might return his attraction. After all, there was something to be said for a man of wisdom and experience…
Damn it, he was merely deluding himself by thinking that way. Christopher was more likely to be upset because he had feelings toward Billy.
Of course, that was it, Maxim acknowledged with bleak self-derision. Christopher wasn’t jealous because he thought Maxim liked Billy, but because Christopher himself was attracted to the other boy’s fire and cheek.
What had Sheffield said to him once in regard to what he had thought was his unrequited attraction to Toby? Ah yes, there’s no fool like an old fool.
But Sheffield, the “old fool” he had referred to, now intended to spend the rest of his life with the young man he’d fallen so deeply in love with forever at his side.
Good fortune such as that did not happen twice, Maxim chided himself sternly.
Besides which, he was wasting time on such thoughts when the welts on Christopher’s face were deepening to dark bruises.
Maxim straightened. “Come along with me, Christopher,” he instructed briskly as he walked to the door. “I shall see you safely returned to your lodgings for the night. You—” He broke off as a glance back revealed Christopher had not followed him. Indeed, he appeared to be having difficulty rising onto his feet at all, even though he was perched on the very edge of the chair.
As if he could find no relief from pain in any other position.
Maxim scowled as he walked back to Christopher’s side. “Where else did he strike you? I am sorry, I did not quite hear that,” he pressed when Christopher muttered something under his breath.
Tears once again swam in Christopher’s eyes when he looked up. “My back and shoulders. And the backs of my thighs and b-buttocks,” he added huskily when Maxim continued to stare at him. “Chef Pierre said that if my reason for not being able to sit down wasn’t from having his cock up my arse, then he’d give me another one even more painful.”
Maxim’s anger, slow to burn and even slower to be released, reached that point in a single second at the mere thought of the physical pain Christopher had suffered and was still suffering.
He closed his eyes, fighting to regain control of his temper before speaking to Christopher again.
It took long seconds and the drawing in of several deep and calming breaths before he felt able to do so. “Chef Pierre deserves to receive a taste of his own brutality.”
Christopher gasped. “From you?”
His nostrils flared. “It would be my greatest pleasure to beat him as he has beaten you, yes.”
He shook his head. “I could not possibly allow you to do such a thing on my behalf.”
“I was not aware I had asked your permission,” he chided softly.
Christopher’s chin rose. “I believe I have a say in the matter, as the beating would be administered partly on my behalf.”
“What if Henry were to deliver it?”
He thought of that suggestion for all of two seconds before nodding. “I believe that might be acceptable.”
Maxim smiled briefly before sobering again. “Are your injuries in need of an application of healing salve, do you think?” His hands shook slightly—and inappropriately!—at the possibility of being the one to stroke and caress that salve into Christopher’s bruised but no doubt soft and creamy flesh.
Christopher wondered if it were really possible he could hear a slightly wistful note in the duke’s voice at the possibility of applying a salve to his injuries. An idea he as quickly dismissed as being what he would have liked to hear from the duke rather than it being founded on truth. The duke had given him absolutely no reason to think he might wish to rub salve into Christopher’s bruised skin himself.
Christopher made another attempt to rise, but once again failed. No doubt because his bruised limbs seemed to have ceased working properly while he allowed himself to relax in the chair. They were certainly refusing to do as he asked of them now, which was to allow him to stand on his own two feet and walk out of here.
“You are seriously incapacitated,” Lancaster rasped. “Do you have anyone at home who can take care of you?”
Again, Christopher wondered if it was his imagination, or if the duke really did sound as if he would prefer the answer to that to be no. Considering Christopher didn’t have a home to go to, he couldn’t be expected to have anyone wishing to take care of him either. Those days of being coddled and loved by his mother and indulged by his father were long gone, along with all the other comforts he’d once taken so much for granted.
But how should he answer the duke’s question?
If he said yes, he had someone to take care of him, would the duke then again insist upon not only taking Christopher home in his carriage, but also accompanying Christopher inside so that he might explain the situation to whomever Christopher shared a home with?
A home and a person who did not exist.
If he said no, what would the duke do with him then?
“You seem to be taking an inordinate amount of time to decide if you reside with anyone or not,” the duke drawled.
A guilty blush warmed Christopher’s cheeks. “There is no one waiting for me at home,” he answered truthfully.
“You do not live with your parents?”
“No.”
“Siblings?”
“No.”
The duke’s expression had darkened further with each negative answer Christopher gave him. “You are completely alone in the world?”
At last a question to which he was able to give a positive answer! “I am.”
“That is…unfortunate,” the older man rasped, pausing for several moments before speaking again. “Would you think it inappropriate if I suggested you came home with me, for tonight, at least?”
“Inappropriate?” he repeated doubtfully.
Lancaster smiled slightly. “Christopher, you must be aware from the type of gentleman’s club I own and run with my three best friends that my sexual inclinations are in tune with yours?”
Christopher’s heart leaped at the thought of there perhaps being more to this man’s invitation. A possibility he just as quickly dismissed as being fanciful. Or wishful thinking.
Christopher knew from the gossip amongst the other employees at the club that the Duke of Lancaster was not married, nor did he have a regular male lover, but preferred to spend the occasional evening or the whole night with different gentlemen who took his fancy. Christopher had not even observed that happening during the three weeks he’d worked at the Apollo.
And he had observed Maxim Armitage quite a bit. Not only was the duke handsome, but he also exuded an air of sexual experience Christopher found utterly disarming at the same time as he found himself consumed with thoughts of being the recipient of that experienced sensuality.
At the age of nineteen, Christopher was still a virgin, which was another reason he’d fought so vehemently against the chef’s demands. When Christopher relinquished his innocence, he wished it to be to someone worthy of that gift and not a disgusting pederast.
It was too much to hope that the Duke of Lancaster might be that worthy gentleman.
No, he must accept that the duke was merely being kind by inviting him into his home, nothing more. Even then, it was only because Christopher had received his injuries on premises the duke partly owned.
“I should not wish you to think that every man of middle age is nothing more than a predator,” the duke continued when Christopher made no reply. “Moreover, one who will attempt to seduce you at the earliest opportunity.”
Surely this gentleman could not be referring to himself as middle-aged? It was ridiculous even to think that way when the duke was so handsome and muscular. Lancaster was obviously in the prime of his life.
“I do not think of you as being middle-aged, Your Grace,” he said huskily.
“I assure you that at the age of six and thirty, I am, in all probability, halfway through my given years,” the duke drawled.
Christopher found the idea of that being the case slightly upsetting. A feeling which was probably best not dissected and dwelt upon.
“Also, I should not wish for you to feel any such…awkwardness at my offer to take you home with me for the night,” Lancaster added at Christopher’s silence. “It would be purely for your own comfort, and also so that I might be assured you are receiving the care you need.”
The explanation was made so decisively, Christopher was left in absolutely no doubt that Maxim Armitage, the Duke of Lancaster, did not return his sexual interest in the slightest.
It was disappointing to know, to a degree Christopher felt the sting of tears prick his eyes. But it was also to be expected. As far as Maxim was concerned, Christopher was merely another one of the young men who had walked in off the street one day looking for employment.
“That is kind of you, thank you.” Christopher accepted the offer, knowing he was incapable of returning to work or making his way up the stairs to his hiding place in the attic.
Instead, he leaned into the assistance of the duke’s arm as they made their way through the club, which was the quickest way to the front door where the duke’s carriage waited for them.
“There you are, Christopher!” a pleased voice greeted warmly. Christopher felt his arm being taken in the light grip of the man he recognized as club member Lord Geoffrey Adams. “I wondered where you were this evening— Good God, what has happened to your face?” The question was accompanied by an accusing glance in Maxim’s direction where he stood gloweringly at Christopher’s side.
An erroneous accusation Christopher could not allow to stand. “I…fell over and unfortunately bumped my face when I landed,” he excused. “The duke is very kindly allowing me to forgo working for the rest of the evening.”
“Indeed,” Lord Adams murmured skeptically, his eyes blue slits between narrowed lids as he studied the welts upon Christopher’s face. “In that case, perhaps you will allow me to drive you wherever you wish to go?”
The Duke of Lancaster stepped forward in a protective manner. “I am about to do exactly that.” The challenge in his voice was unmistakable.
As was the interest in their conversation from several of the other club members, some of them with brows raised as they took in Christopher’s bruised appearance. A few of those curious eyes were also gazing speculatively at Maxim Armitage.
An occurrence Christopher could not allow to continue. The Apollo Club was a place for like-minded gentlemen to meet and enjoy each other’s company, not one of the seedier clubs Christopher had heard about from Billy, where many unknown perversities took place. Unknown to Christopher, that was. Billy seemed to know about them, even if he did not wish to be one of the boys employed to provide those diversions to other men.
Besides, Christopher hated the thought of anyone thinking Maxim Armitage was in any way a violent man.
He leaned toward Lord Adams so that their conversation could not be overheard, and inadvertently caused the tightness of his clothing to chafe against the bruised skin upon his back and arms. “The truth is, His Grace saved me from the brutality of another man.”
Lord Adams’s frown eased somewhat. “In that case, I will not delay your departure a moment longer.”
Maxim Armitage’s nostrils flared. “I have not, nor will I ever, Adams, need your permission for any of my actions.”
The other man’s cheeks became flushed at the set-down. “I apologize if I gave the appearance of doing such a thing.”
The duke nodded abruptly. “If you will excuse us.” He didn’t wait for Adams’s response, but instead lightly clasped Christopher’s arm as the two of them continued toward the front door.