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“This is your first cigar, isn’t it?”
“No, of course not,” Cameron said. Then, “Well, yes, it is.”
Newland erupted in laughter. “I couldn’t stand it the first time either. You’ll get used to it. You’ll have to, if you’re to hobnob with the theatre crowd.”
What do you mean, ‘the theatre crowd?’” Cameron asked.
“The theatre won’t run itself, you know. I expect my productions to be successful, but good reviews and ticket sales aren’t enough to keep it going. We depend on our patrons.”
“I see.” Cameron nodded. “After all, you hired me to make Lybrook happy.”
“Yes, in part. I also hired you because you have talent.”
“What exactly are my responsibilities as far as the theatre crowd goes?”
“Your responsibilities are to write excellent unforgettable music for our productions, Price.”
“And…?”
“That’s it. Although I will expect you to attend the soirees that I give for our patrons. I imagine many of them will want to make your acquaintance.”
“And are many of them women?”
“Some,” Newland said. Then, “Ah, I see what you’re asking.” He chuckled. “No, you won’t be expected to barter your sexual favors for the good of the theatre. Although, when you meet some of the ladies who support us, you may not have a problem with it.”
Cameron smiled. “I hope I didn’t offend you, Newland.”
“Not at all. My first patron, Lady Denbigh, never asked anything like that of me. Believe it or not, her intentions were purely altruistic.” He laughed. “Just as well, since she was in her early sixties at the time, and I was nineteen. Too much even for a randy lad like myself to consider.”
Cameron chuckled. “I see.”
“Not that I’ve been a saint, mind you, but in all honesty I haven’t made it a habit to—shall we say—service rich ladies to get donations for my theatre.” Newland let out a chortle. “I usually service them for different reasons entirely.”
The two men continued laughing together. The port was smooth, and the cigar began to taste much better by the time Cameron was finished. If this was the high life, he was ready for it.
* * * *
“Pardon me, sir, but Mr. Larson is here to see you.”
“Christ.” Dorrance Adams extricated his cock from the whore he was fucking and turned toward his servant’s voice. “Could this have possibly waited a few minutes? And did you consider knocking?” He buried his erection in his trousers and grunted.
“I beg pardon, sir. I knocked but you didn’t answer. And you told me to always fetch you straightaway for anything Mr. Larson deemed important. And he says this is important. Quite important.”
“Fine, fine.” He shooed the woman away. “I’ll be down in a moment.” He straightened his trousers, his cock still hard and unsated. He willed it down. Or tried to, anyway.
Within minutes he met Larson, a constable who’d been on his payroll for decades, in his sitting room.
“What in God’s name is it, Larson?”
“I’m sorry, Adams, but I knew this would interest you.”
Adams sat and motioned for Larson to as well. “Get on with it, then.”
“I got word from one of my informants that a man was looking for work in Bath all day yesterday. He left his calling card in numerous places.” Larson handed a card to Adams.
“Why on earth would I—” Adams jerked forward, his eyes wide. Cameron Price. Then he shook his head, regaining his composure. “It’s a common enough surname. This is of no consequence.”
“That was my first thought as well, but the young man fits the description of the bastard and his father. Dark hair, silver-grey eyes.”
