“Was anything amiss?” Sheffield prompted the moment Maxim joined the couple in the hallway near the front door of the club. The other man and his “husband” had already retrieved their hats and cloaks in readiness for their departure to the docks.
Maxim drew in a deep and calming breath before answering honestly. “Nothing I cannot deal with.”
He had no intention of confiding in Sheffield, when the couple were about to board a ship bound for Italy and their honeymoon, that the club was now without a head chef.
Besides which, Sheffield and Toby had confided in him that the much younger man had once suffered at the hands of a man as disgusting in his intentions toward him as Chef Pierre was to the young servers here. To tell them of this current situation would surely bring back those awful memories for Toby.
“You really should go now,” Maxim instead encouraged brightly. “I would hate for you to miss the boat taking you to Italy.” He gave Toby a warm smile, having liked that young man from the moment he first met him. Not in a sexual way, but out of respect and appreciation for the happiness he’d brought to Sheffield’s life.
On the face of it, Toby was a fair-haired cherub, but on deeper acquaintance, he proved to be very intelligent and well-read. Toby was also an accomplished artist and poet. It was no surprise, then, that he and Sheffield suited each other so well, when their intellect and interests were as closely attuned as their deep love was for each other.
“Every day of the rest of our lives will be a honeymoon as long as we are together,” Sheffield predicted huskily.
“Spoken like the true romantic this young man has made of you,” Maxim teased.
“You should try it some time,” his friend, previously one of the coldest and most cynical men in society, now placed a possessive arm about the shoulders of his much younger “husband.” “We will see you in a month or so. Perhaps,” came his parting comment after Henry, the burly man who guarded the front door of the club, had duly opened the door for the couple to depart.
Maxim wondered if, in future, they should also have someone guarding the back door so that tonight’s events could never be repeated. He would discuss the matter with the other three owners once Sheffield had returned from his honeymoon. It was a fact that the head chef would not have been able to molest young men in the storeroom if a guard had been present at the back of the club.
Maxim waited only long enough to be sure Sheffield and Toby had departed in their carriage before nodding to Henry to close the door. Maxim then spent several minutes explaining the situation to the other man and instructing him to turn his attention to guarding the storeroom door, and their prisoner, once the club had closed for the night.
Only then did Maxim return to the kitchen, where he had instructed Christopher to wait for him.
The other members of staff all seemed to have rallied round that young man in Maxim’s absence, offering what sounded like differing words of advice regarding the series of increasingly noticeable welts now adorning Christopher’s boyishly handsome face.
The assistant chef seemed to have the best idea when he slapped a piece of raw meat over those stripes on Christopher’s cheeks and placed a glass of the brandy used for cooking into one of his hands.
“Drink up,” he encouraged, standing over Christopher while he took a sip of the rough alcohol. Christopher gave a noticeable shudder before handing the glass back to him. “I’ll cook that beef for ya once it’s done its job on ya face.” He threw the remaining brandy to the back of his own throat and swallowed it down without the least sign of discomfort.
The welts on Christopher’s face really were dreadful to behold, and Maxim had to suppress a shiver as he imagined what might have happened to him if Maxim hadn’t intervened in time. Christopher might have been beaten to death with the larger man’s belt.
Luckily, Maxim had been able to prevent that from occurring, and from the part of the conversation he’d overheard, he at least knew Christopher hadn’t been physically abused tonight before Maxim effected a rescue.
How could all the club’s owners, Sheffield, Wulferston, and Stonyhurst, as well as himself, have been so blind, and for so long, to the blaggard chef’s duplicity?
Because Maxim was sure that none of those other gentlemen were any more aware of the chef’s disgusting behavior than he had been. The man would have been made to leave their employ immediately if any of them had so much as guessed at his sexual bullying of the young men who worked here.
Dear God, that bastard had been employed at the club for almost three years now. How many other young men had he blackmailed or forced into sexual submission during that time?
The authorities should be called, of course. Statements taken, past victims found, and the bastard brought before a judge to face his crimes.
Except…
If they involved the authorities in this matter, attention would then be brought to the Apollo Club and a possible explanation asked for as to what sort of gentleman’s club it was.
On the surface of things, the Apollo was like any other gentleman’s club. A place for men to meet exclusively, to drink and dine, often as a way of spending several hours away from the demands of their wives and families. It was a sad fact that many men of their persuasion preferred, if they could, to marry and have children, rather than have their sexuality speculated upon and gossiped about by remaining a bachelor.
Maxim, as well as his three friends, was disinclined to dupe some poor woman into a marriage which, while it might serve the purpose of hiding Maxim’s sexual inclinations, would also remain unconsummated. The latter due to a complete lack of sexual interest in women by Maxim or any of his friends.
He gave a shudder at the memory of having once tested the theory, as to whether he could make love to a woman. He hadn’t been able to get his cock to so much as twitch with interest.
No, for him, sexually, there was only men, and he had accepted that fact long ago. Luckily, he had no close family, no mother, father, or siblings, who might have attempted to force a wife upon him, if only so that he might continue the Armitage name.
He had a couple of cousins who were doing that more than ably, one of them already having six children. Six! Good God, the man should either find himself a different hobby or a way to prevent so many children occurring.
Maxim would need to confer with the two other owners of the club still in England regarding the best way to deal with Chef Pierre.
He snorted a hard laugh, guessing that the other man’s real name was probably something like Arthur or Jack, because it most certainly was not the pretentious Pierre.
“Feeling any better?” Maxim prompted with concern once Christopher had removed the raw meat from his face and handed it back to the assistant chef. A man who, by process of elimination, had now become the head chef.
Christopher felt the tears well up in his eyes at the gentleness of the duke’s tone. “It does not hurt as much as it did,” he assured softly as he rose to his feet. “I am well enough to continue working, at least.”
The duke looked horrified. “Absolutely not. You shall recover for a few minutes longer in the club’s office, and then I shall drive you home.”
Christopher tried to hide his alarm at this suggestion, but was uncertain as to whether or not he had succeeded. The duke certainly didn’t look any less grim. “I am more than capable of resuming my work for the evening.”
“No.”
“But—”
“I said no,” Lancaster stated in a stern voice that brooked no further argument. “We will sit for a few minutes in the office here to allow you to recover, and then either I shall accompany you, or you may travel home alone in my carriage.”
Christopher looked away. “Why bother with any of that when you are about to end my employment here?”
“I— What? Come with me.” The duke, obviously aware of their listening audience, took a firm hold of Christopher’s arm before picking up a lit candle with the other hand to light their way. He then guided Christopher up a flight of stairs to the first floor, where several private bedrooms and the office were situated. “Now, then,” he continued, once Christopher was seated in front of the mahogany desk and the duke leaning back against it. “Why would I even think of ending your employment here when I now know that you, along with several other young gentlemen, are the ones who have been seriously wronged?”
Christopher was having a little difficulty catching his breath. Not because of the beating he’d received earlier, but because of the duke’s proximity. As he leaned his hip against the desk, Lancaster was now so close to him that Christopher could smell the freshness of his cologne: lemon and sandalwood. He was also completely aware of the heat emanating from the duke’s lithe and muscular body, despite being aged in his mid-thirties.
Christopher’s smile was bleak. “I am well aware of how this ends, Your Grace. I have now become an embarrassment to you and the other three gentlemen who own this club. Therefore, the easiest way of dealing with the situation is to remove that embarrassment.”
The older man’s brows rose. “Not the cause?”
He gave a weary sigh. “That has not been my experience to date, no.”
The duke looked at him searchingly. “How many other places of employment did you have before this one?”
“Just the two, Your Grace.” He grimaced. “As secretary and then footman. After accepting employment as secretary to an elderly member of parliament, I was then asked to…perform certain duties with his wife which I found unacceptable.” His cheeks burned with remembered humiliation.
“I am guessing, as you do not find it offensive to work at the Apollo Club, your own sexual leanings are not toward women.”
“No,” Christopher confirmed before continuing. “My second employment, as footman, was terminated after the male lover of my new employer decided I was too pretty to remain in his lordship’s household.”
“Well, he’s not wrong.”
Christopher felt his cheeks warm even more at the compliment. “Those two experiences were enough for me to realize that, whatever is amiss, an employer is never to blame and it is always the fault of the employee. Your Grace,” he added belatedly.
The duke scowled his displeasure at the formality. “My name is Maxim,” he invited huskily.
Christopher was well aware of the other man’s full name being Maxim Richard George Armitage. Just as he was also aware that a lowly server in a club that was partly owned by that illustrious gentleman did not call a duke by his first name.
He shook his head. “I could never be so forward as to call you anything but Your Grace.”
“Even when I’ve given you permission to do so?”
“Even then.”
“I call you Christopher, not Mr. Brooks,” the duke reasoned.
“That’s because I am employed to work at your club and, as such, you may call me whatever you wish.” Christopher was puzzled as to what was currently happening.
His own infatuation with such a handsome and elegant gentleman was perfectly understandable. But seeing what might be that same interest toward him in the warmth of the duke’s manner was beyond comprehension.
And if it appears too good to be true, then it probably is, Christopher mocked, reminding himself of another of life’s lessons he’d recently learned. Too late, in that particular case.
He rose slowly to his feet. “I really am feeling well enough to continue working. But if you would rather I did not show my bruised face in the club again this evening, I could always help the assistant chef in the kitchen instead. He’s obviously now short-handed.”
The duke appeared perplexed. No doubt he was baffled as to why Christopher was so determined to return to his work when he had told him he didn’t have to do so and had also offered to drive Christopher home in his ducal carriage.
There were two things wrong with that statement.
Firstly, Christopher had every need to return to his job: he wouldn’t receive a full week’s wages if he didn’t. That money was all that stood between him and starvation.
Secondly, Christopher no longer had a home to be driven back to. Not even that awful room in the run-down house close to St. Giles.
His few weeks of unemployment, previous to his finding work at the Apollo Club, had meant Christopher had fallen behind on paying his rent. As a consequence, the landlady had given him immediate notice to vacate the room so that she might let it to someone who was able to regularly pay the meager rent. Assuring her that he now had employment again and promising to pay her that week’s rent and the arrears as soon as he received his first wages had made no difference to her decision. She’d taken what money he’d already received for the back payments on his rent and then thrown him out.
He had then learned how dangerous and uncomfortable it was to sleep the night within the shelter of a doorway or under whatever cover he could find in one of London’s many dark and dank alleyways.
It had been a constant battle between trying to repel the rats, the other people sleeping on the streets from stealing what little he had, and the more bloodthirsty cutthroats who wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly that if they thought you had a penny or two hidden about your person.
After three nights of trying to survive living that way, Christopher, still with no funds to pay for new lodgings, had wondered if it would not be easier for all concerned if he did not simply lie down and let either one of those cutthroats or the elements put an end to his miserable existence.
But that was the way of a defeatist or a coward, and Christopher refused to be either of those things.
Instead, he’d looked for somewhere within the Apollo Club where he might sleep temporarily. He knew no employees resided there, and the club was completely empty of members and staff by the early hours of the morning and during the day, after Henry had locked all the doors and returned to his home to sleep. The guard did not return until seven o’clock in the evenings, an hour before the club was due to reopen.
With stealth, and a determination to remove himself from being a target on the streets of London, Christopher had found a niche for himself behind some packing boxes in the unused attic at the very top of the building.
It was cold up there, and he dare not light a candle in case anyone saw and questioned it. Spiders and their webs also abounded. But Christopher had at least found some old mattresses and several ragged blankets to sleep upon and beneath at night. Food was a little more difficult for him to manage.
Even so, he had never, as he had assured the duke earlier after the chef had accused him of stealing, taken or eaten food from the club’s kitchen or storeroom. Instead, Christopher always crept out some time during the day and used the last of his pennies to buy a hot pie or cup of thick broth with which to sustain himself until the following day.
He might still be cold at night, and never quite had enough food in his belly, but he could at least sleep peacefully in the attic, knowing he was safe from being robbed, or worse.
Nevertheless, what he had done and was still doing by continuing to sleep here without permission was still wrong.
And despite what the duke said to the contrary regarding his continued employment here, Christopher doubted, once the other owners of the club were made aware of the situation, that he would have to worry about that subterfuge again.