Chapter One

Content notes can be found here

One afternoon, after an advanced lesson in swallowing gin before the taste hit your mouth, Mr Edward Valance - who had once been styled ‘The Honourable’ - was woken by something cold pressing into the skin beneath his jaw. 

He ran a dry tongue over the drier inside of his teeth and opened his eyes to see the blank, handsome face of Mr Richard Thornton looming above him. He blinked, and blinked again, waiting for the gin fumes to recede and this visitor to go back to whatever hell of drunkenness from which he’d been summoned. Yet blink as he might, Mr Thornton remained, the picture refused to make sense. Then it came to Edward’s notice that the pressure on his throat was the barrel of a gun. 

He shifted on the bed as much as the position would permit and said, “If this is your idea of a sweet nothing, Dickie, I hope to God that’s not loaded.”

In reply, Dickie slammed the butt of the pistol into Edward’s jaw. This may have done Edward the service of making his mouth a fraction less parched, as the thing moistening it was his own blood, he wasn’t going to give Thornton the credit of it. 

“I don’t owe you money, do I?”
“Serafina,” said Dickie.

If that was slang, it was not familiar. 

“Come again?”
“Serafina Tooting. Miss Serafina Tooting.”

Unfortunate name. 

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Edward said, and probed the cut on the inside of his cheek. “Must be someone else you were meaning to threaten. Now, if you don’t mind, old man-”
“Wednesday last,” said Dickie, speaking in that bitten off manner he had when you’d really got under his skin. “At the Lady N--’s.”

Lady N--, society matchmaker who liked to pair pretty girls with the terminally ineligible. Stevens had talked him in to making up the numbers, and loaned him a decent suit to do it in. 

“Really, Dickie -” The gun pressed deeper into his neck. Edward swallowed. “Pretty-ish blonde thing?”
That earned him another crack with the pistol butt.
“Ow,” he said, and rubbed his jaw. “Half an hour’s flirtation, old boy. I didn’t mean anything by it. Accept my humblest. You know I…” and he then stopped himself before he said anything true, and therefore foolish.
“Miss Tooting,” said Dickie, with emphasis, “is a brunette.”

Edward was fairly certain there had not been a brunette. 

“Don’t recall a brunette.” 
Dickie’s face did not change one whit. He did not move the gun.
A thought occurred. “Unless you mean the red head. You don’t mean the red-head, do you?”
“There may be a slight, auburn tinge to Miss Tooting’s hair.”
“Oh. Oh. Well, in that case, I offer my heartfelt congratulations. Something of a diamond, eh? But then you always did have excellent taste in such things.”
Dickie’s jade green eyes seemed to cloud a little. 
“Engaging chit, too.” 

Dickie’s hands slammed down, pushing Edward into the bed as Dickie leaned over him, his lips a contemptuous line. A stray curl of his black hair fell into Edward’s eyes, and the metal of the gun cut into Edward’s chest.

Edward permitted himself a small, bloodied smile.

“Do not think - ” Dickie began to say.
But Edward relaxed back into the pressure of it. “I was only making conversation, dear heart. Attending to an attractive girl. You can’t complain about that.”

That familiar flush was building behind Dickie’s milk-white skin, and half-awake, hungover as he might be, Edward had always known how to handle Dickie when he got like that.

“It’s only manners, isn’t it? You were always so keen on me teaching me my manners. And she did seem terribly forlorn.”
“Allow me to make one thing clear, Valance” his breath was hot against Edward’s lips, his hands balls of pain that ground in to Edward’s shoulders. The hammer of the pistol hurt especially. “You are not fit to fasten her slippers. You are not to think of her. If you dare to even -”
“Oh, Dickie, Dickie,” Edward crooned, “How was I to know she was out of bounds when my Dickie wasn’t there to command me?”
“You…” It was always a good sign when he got speechless, meant that he was ready to start talking with his fists, and well, when he did that…
Edward pouted, mock contrite. “If I’ve offended the wench, then send her my most fulsome, and tell her I’ve been horsewhipped soundly.” And moving as much as he could with his shoulders pinned, he wrapped one hand round the back of Dickie’s thigh, and traced a slow caress upwards, bringing his fingers between Dickie’s legs, not far from the tell-tall swelling in his britches. “We can always settle the difference between ourselves.”

And for one sweet, gin-addled moment Edward thought it might have worked, while the tense muscles of Dickie’s legs trembled, and the harsh lines of his face softened just a breath - in surrender, or gratification. 

 But then Mr R-for-Respectable Thornton was flinching away and across the room before Edward could even pull his hand back, and it wasn’t his sweet, angry Dickie any more. Instead - all severe coat and sneer of disgust - Thornton made a great show of loading his pistol, priming the powder, not once looking Edward’s way.

Time to grovel, then.
 
Edward pulled himself up on to his elbows. “Look,” he said, “I truly had no idea you were attached to her. She seemed lonely, so I payed her a few gallantries. No deeper meaning than that. I thought she could do with a friendly face. Just think of me as some poor clown amusing her while her beau was away.”
“I had intended to be there. To attend her. I was unavoidably detained,” said Thornton, taking it the way he took everything: as a criticism.
“Well,” said Edward, still trying for a note of comradely comfort, “I wasn’t.”
 “No,” said Thornton, and he was sneering as he said it, looking with scorn around the room that Peaches spent so much effort keeping comfortable, “Of course you weren’t. You’ve never served anything but your own depraved appetites.”
“You didn’t used to complain about those, Dickie.” 
In a moment, Thornton had him by the shirt front, was hauling him up. “You dare?”
Edward laughed, but kept his eyes on the pistol.
“No. No,” said Dickie, “Why am I even troubling myself?” He sounded as though he was speaking more to himself than Edward. “Miss Tooting is a young woman of sense and discretion. There’s no reason that she would…” His grip on Edward’s shirt front slackened a little, “That is to say she understands I -”
“Oh, she understands, does she?” said the old demon, before Edward could stop it. “That’s very fortunate. Because you’re such a one for your duties these days, aren’t you? She’s going to need that understanding.” Edward licked the dried blood off his lips and tried to get himself to shut his damned mouth. 

But, no, no, it was better to keep talking, to stay on the attack because otherwise he was going to start feeling sorry for old Dickie, and that would make him say something tender, and pitiful, and stupid, and where would he be then?

So, he said, “And you don’t need to worry, old thing. There are rakes and reprobates aplenty who understand things just as well as the nubile Miss Tooting.”

His shirt front was wrenched up again, and the knuckles of Dickie’s other hand were white about the handle of the gun.

He had forgotten about the gun.

He should probably stop now.

“Just in case she stands in need of a little understanding herself.”
Thornton whipped the pistol upward, until the barrel was pointing right down Edward’s throat. “I would advise you, sir, to hold your damned tongue.”
“Oh, but Dickie, my tongue was always the part of me you liked best.”
 “You are not to speak to her,” said Dickie, for yes, it was Dickie again, “Do you hear me, Valance? I forbid you to approach her.”
“Forbid me, Dickie?” Edward smiled, feeling the hollow circle of metal against his lips. “Why, I’m yours to command, of course. But why do you need to forbid me? If this paragon is promised to you, surely a single word in her pretty ear will earn me the cut direct?”
Dickie flinched. He tried not to, hid it as best he could, but the tell was always there, if you knew where to look for it. 
Edward let his tongue slide past his lips and licked the barrel of the gun. “I mean, she’s yours, isn’t she? Shouldn’t she be above the toils of rogues like me? If I make her laugh, why, it’s just a passing whim of her delicate, virtuous mind. And she’s got such a pretty laugh, hasn’t she?”
Dickie said nothing.
Edward went on, as though he hadn’t noticed the look on Dickie’s face. “But, lovely as it would be to inveigle myself in her affections, she’s clearly the model of probity, and how could such an ideal glance my way when you’ve declared yourself. Tell me, old man, when is the happy day? I understand you won’t want me at the service, but I’d like to send a gift.”
“Serafina,” said Dickie, and bless him, let the barrel of the gun slip again, let his voice lose some of that wonted certainty. “I mean to say, Miss Tooting… Miss Tooting and I are not formally affianced.”
“A clandestine arrangement? Dickie! I’d never have thought it of you. Surely there can be no objection to you background, or your prospects?” It was pretty low of him to attack a chap on his weak spot like that, but Edward had never accused himself of excess niceness in such things.
“Miss Tooting’s family are perfectly appraised of my situation.”
“You mean her mother knows you’re a jumped up little Cit?” said Edward, making his accent every inch the drawling young gentleman. “No wonder she don’t give her consent.”
It had the desired effect. The gun dropped further, and all the colour came rushing back to Dickie’s face. 
“Oh, of course, because that’s all that matters in your set, isn’t it? Not good sense, or discretion, or the ability to apply oneself? When I declare myself to Miss Tooting, I will have my income, and the respect by my peers, and be secure in the knowledge that every comfort and privilege that I can offer my wife has been earned. What is objectionable in that, Hon Teddy? Oh, no, wait. You’re not even that anymore.”
Edward shrugged.
“Yes, while I make my own name, you’re just sinking down to your natural level.” Dickie gave the room - Peaches’ room - another disparaging glance, “One had hoped adversity would teach you some responsibility, perhaps a little self-respect. God knows you need it. I mean, I tried to thrash some into you, but no. A woman like Miss Tooting would never soil herself by associating with you.” He shook his head, dropped the front of Edward’s shirt as though the whole situation disgusted him. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Always a pleasure to see you, too, Dickie.”

Thornton laughed, the laugh he’d always given when he thought that he’d won. He was already turning to leave.

“But if you want me to stay away from your dollymop, I’m afraid there’s a sliding scale of expenses.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Edward only smiled. 
“You’re asking me for money?”
“Well, as you’ve just pointed out, I could use some. Enterprising spirit. I thought you’d approve.”
“You have no shame.”
“Its absence has often been noted.”
Dickie turned back towards him with the full, pale glory of the righteous fury Edward remembered from their schoolboy days. “Let me make one thing clear, Valance. I came because I assumed we had some lingering affection for one another. That we might be able to speak civilly, like gentlemen.”
“So you started by threatening me while I slept?”
Again, the pistol butt slammed into Edward’s face, and it was blessed miracle that it didn’t misfire and end this whole sorry charade in bloodshed. Was the hammer cocked or not? 

He couldn’t remember. 

“Look, be reasonable, old man,” he said, when his head stopped spinning, “You want me to quit the field. I’m happy to do so – for a price.” 
“I am not paying you to do what any man with a shred of decency would do unasked.”
“But you’ve always told me I don’t have such a shred, Dickie Bird. You’ve told me so endlessly.”
“It’s pointless talking with you, isn’t it. I ought to -”
“Have me birched? Make me take my six and kiss your hand?” And there, with those words, the hot little rush of memory, of want, but Edward forced himself to keep talking, to keep smiling around the rejection, the bruises, the blood. “Yes, Dickie, I know the script. I wonder what your Miss Tooting would make of you doing that sort of thing. You ain’t Head Boy any more.”
“You’re right,” said Dickie, and cocked the hammer of the gun, pointing it square between Edward’s eyes. “I’m not.”

It was possible that Edward had miscalculated.

But then Thornton breathed out - a low, almost satisfied sound. “You know, I worried that seeing you would rekindle a little fondness, that it would show me a side of you I’d forgotten. Something that would remind me why I ever held you in any esteem. But you’ve never been more than an impudent little trull, have you?”

They were close, close enough to kiss, and Edward knew that if he weakened now, if he even let a shade of longing touch his face, then Dickie would see it and twist it, and wreck him with it. 

Again.

So he said, “If you were anyone else, dear heart, I’d call you out for that.”
“If you reach for your gage or some line about honour, I’ll blow your brains out.”
“No risk of that. Some things a fellow has to pawn.”
“Are you referring to your ‘Sweethearts’ or your honour?”
“Couldn’t it be both?” He wouldn’t expect Dickie to understand how that one stung worse than the pistol-whipping. Edward had long since sold his ‘Sweethearts’ - the beautiful guns that had seen him through a fiery youth. The last pair he’d owned couldn’t be counted upon to fire straight, but even they were gone now. “Always a call for such things secondhand, or how else would men like you be able to afford them?”
“Oh, is that the Westlehill wit, Valance? Laboured as ever.” He shook his head, “You know, I always wondered where you learnt all this nonsense. The world doesn’t need libertines or dashing blades nowadays.” He pushed the barrel a little harder into Edward’s forehead, “I mean, yes, it’s appealing enough when one’s young and too naive to know any better, but this is a civilised country, and I am an honest, respectable man. How far do you expect to go with those manners? I wouldn’t be surprised if you found yourself whoring for favours.” And he leaned close, added in a lower tone, “Again.”
“Tell me, Dickie, are we just here reprising old roles or are you going to pull the trigger and put a noose around that honest, respectable neck of yours?”
“You aren’t worth the bullet,” Thornton said, and put the gun away without firing it. “Your creditors will do that for me.”
“Pay them off,” he answered, reasonably, “and Miss Tooting will never hear from me again.”
“Or I could just... send them along to you. That would solve this for me, wouldn’t it?”
“Don’t,” said Edward, forgetting too many schoolboy lessons. 
Thornton looked up. His eyes were cold and had that little gleam of cruelty to them that had once caused something to twist in Edward’s chest, somewhere between fear and raw need. “Why on earth not? I think you deserve a little stint in Tangier. It might be the making of you.”
“Dickie... Thornton, I mean. Old man. Look. You can’t send the bailiffs here. These aren’t your usual moneylenders and... You’re a decent chap, I know you are. We were boys together.”
“School spirit, eh?”
“Exactly.”
“You forget. I’m not Head Boy anymore. And you?” The disgust slapped him, although Thornton did not.
“Thornton, please. Don’t make me beg, old man.” Then, almost embarrassed, “Or I can. If you’d rather play that way. Whatever you want…?” 
Their old code, falling on uncaring ears.
“Please,” he said. “You don’t know Sharp Rick, and this isn’t my room, it’s-”
“Your whore’s.” There was a finality to the words, a distaste.
“A friend’s,” said Edward.
Thornton said nothing.
“And they wouldn’t leave her out of it.”
Still nothing.
“She doesn’t deserve it. I can’t bring trouble like that on a friend.”
“How very admirable,” Thornton sneered. He had a good sneer, and Edward had always thought it suited him, even though right then all he wanted to do was smash it against a wall until it vanished. But that attitude had never helped him to manage Dickie Thornton. 
Instead, he said, “Well, I do try not to forget my breeding.”
Dickie’s sneer became a little more set.
“I mean, it’s funny how these things play out, isn’t it? Do you think it’s in the blood? Like horses?” He was firing blindly now, trying only to make Thornton angry enough that nothing would satisfy him but blood on his own fists, angry enough to forget everything else. “Or is it just the education that my sort get? I don’t mean school, of course, they let anyone in-” A slash from a riding crop across his chest sent him stumbling backwards. Edward breathed out through the pain and felt Dickie’s fist slam into his stomach.

Good. 

Barefoot, fuddled by the aftermath of gin, Edward fell backwards into a chair with the the bruising sound of splintered wood. He started to get up, but Dickie was on him now. With his usual caddishness, Thornton stamped on his hand and got in a few kicks. 

“Pathetic,” Dickie said, coming close to him, holding the tip of his whip against Edward’s shoulder, ready to strike. “In the blood, is it?” He aimed another kick, one that connected with Edward’s collar bone and sent a bolt of white pain along his arm. “Look at you, grovelling like whipped dog.”
Edward laughed, a gasping spasm of sound and tried to stand, stumbling as he was tripped, sent back down again. “Knew I could count on you, Dickie. Kiss me and we’ll call it quits.”

But Thornton just brought his crop down once more and stormed from the room.

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