Page 8 of Molly Boys
Dropping his cane to the floor with a clatter, he dumped his heavy coat on the floor unceremoniously, followed by his jacket and boots, before tipping himself face first onto the bed and passing out cold.
* * *
“Get up,” a sharp voice demanded, accompanied by a violent shake of his body.
Loud footfalls thundered purposefully, punctuated a moment later by the sound of his drapes being thrown open.
Everett groaned as the room was flooded with cold, harsh daylight.
“Everett!” The familiar voice cracked like a whip and for a second Everett simply pressed his face further into the soft pillow, hoping to suffocate himself so he wouldn’t have to deal with the glowering disapproval he could feel burning into his exposed back. “Get up! Or perhaps you’d prefer it if I had Henry douse you with a bucketful of water?”
With a deep groan, Everett slid his hands under his chest and pushed up slightly, lifting his face from the pillow and blinking rapidly as his blurry eyes began to focus.
“Good morning to you too, Hugh,” he greeted his brother with a low, hoarse rasp which seemed to have taken up a permanent residence in his throat. “Always a pleasure when you stop by. What brings you to London?”
“You’re a disgrace,” his brother hissed disapprovingly.
“So you’ve said many a time.” Everett rolled over with great effort, flopping onto his back and staring up at the heavy canopy of his bed. “And yet, you always manage to seem shocked at my behaviour.”
Everett’s gaze slid across to where his brother, arms crossed, stood in front of the window silhouetted by the bright light. Everett winced, not at the stiff-backed disapproval radiating from his brother in hostile waves, but from the sharp, stabbing pain in his head as he moved.
As sorely tempted as he was to bury himself back in his pillow and ignore Hugh, he knew his brother wasn’t going to leave until he’d subjected Everett to whatever he’d come to say… or worse, demand.
With a sigh, Ev gingerly pushed himself up and dragged his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the half-empty whiskey decanter he’d left there the day before.
“For god’s sake, Everett,” Hugh snapped. “Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
“Not for this conversation,” Ev croaked as he lifted the neck of the heavy crystal bottle to his mouth.
Hugh lunged forward. Grasping the bottle, he snatched it from Ev’s lax grip and hurled it across the room in temper. It exploded as it hit the wall, sending shards of heavy crystal skittering across the floor like chunks of ice, the whiskey itself dripping down the silk wallpaper like dirty tears.
Ev eyed the mess calmly before turning his gaze to his brother, noting his heaving chest and flashing eyes.
“Goodness, where are my manners,” Ev said mildly. “Did you want some?”
Hugh’s hands balled into fists as the colour in his cheeks darkened. Ev was pretty sure his head was about to follow the trajectory of the whiskey decanter when his bedroom door opened and his valet appeared. He eyed Hugh’s furious gaze first, then the mess spilling down the wall before finally settling on Everett’s dry expression.
“Is there a problem, my lords?” he asked politely.
“Draw my imbecile brother a bath,” Hugh said, his words tightly controlled as he struggled to contain his temper. “Then have the cook prepare a late breakfast.” He turned his furious glare on his brother. “I’ll be waiting for you in the front parlour. Get washed and dressed, you stink like a whore.”
He stalked across the room, slamming the door behind him so violently it almost splintered.
Everett’s valet turned back to him as he took in Ev’s sleep-rumpled clothes, his mouth twitching slowly. “Did you have a good evening at the theatre, my lord?”
Ev snorted loudly. Henry was well aware that his current state of disarray was not due to his visit to the theatre. Francis had handpicked Henry himself to be Ev’s valet. It was just another example of his dear friend’s insistence upon protecting him.
Francis seemed to have an unfailing talent for finding others of their sexual persuasion and installing them in key positions within their households. Although he’d never seen with his own eyes, Everett was certain Haywood, Francis’ butler at the Islington property, also shared their interest in the company of gentlemen as did Henry.
Francis didn’t just pay his staff very well, he gave them the safety to indulge their own needs and in return, the depth of their loyalty to him was beyond question. Francis may have been many things, but a fool was not one of them.
He’d gifted Henry to him the day Everett had moved into Bedford Square and Ev was beyond grateful. He found the man to be quietly efficient, extremely loyal, and sufficiently well-humoured enough to put up with Ev’s mood swings.
“Would you like me to bring you some more whiskey, my lord?” Henry asked, once again eyeing the mess dripping down the wall.
“No, you’d better fill the bath.” Ev sighed deeply as he flopped back onto the bed, once again staring up at the canopy morosely. “With any luck, I might drown in it.”
* * *