Discreet Young Gentleman Read Online Free PDF Page A

it the Quarterly."
    Rob's smile was bright and false. "Think of the fun you'll have describing this venture."

    "I liked you better when you were quiet," Dean stood up with such force his chair fell over. "Finish your coffee," he said, righting it with a scowl. "It's time to go."
    "Fine." The prostitute rose to follow his host to the entry hall.
    Dean paused at the door. "Erich packed us each a bag. Yours is the one on the right."
    Rob stared, then slowly reached out a hand and picked up the wrong bag.
    "Idiot," Dean hissed, snatching it from him.
    Rob flinched, and claimed the other valise. "Sorry, my lord. It's early yet."
    "Go on out to the carriage. I have to lock up."
    Dean finished his task and approached the carriage. A large and bulky closed coach, it, like the parlor, did not show to advantage in the chill light of morning. The Carwick coat of arms had once
    been displayed on the doors, but had been so badly faded and peeling when he'd inherited that he'd covered them over with a coat of plain black paint. Just as well.
    Dean was not one who enjoyed calling attention to himself. He frowned to notice his companion of necessity talking to the coachman.
    "See here, Erich. Horse." Rob patted the neck of one of the pair, a pretty bay mare.
    "One horse, two horses. See?"
    Erich stared at him, unsmiling and wary. "Ein Pferd. Zwei Pferde."
    Dean dropped his valise in on the ground. "Stop that. It doesn't do any good." "But my lord, if he's going to live here in England—" "Just get in the coach."
    Rob shrugged and complied, but concern darkened his finely-cut features. He waited until Dean was settled on the leather seat across from him before speaking.
    "Don't you think it's a mite selfish, my lord? It might be convenient to have a servant who doesn't understand your conversations, but I imagine it must be blasted hard on him to try to function in a world where he can't communicate."
    "He does all right," Dean muttered. "And if you must know, I'm not deliberately keeping him ignorant. Erich has a problem, that's all. He simply cannot learn English."
    Rob frowned. "He can't learn it? What do you mean? Is he dim-witted?"
    "He's not dim-witted—it's just...it's just..." Dean blew out a breath. He didn't owe this man any explanations, but it didn't seem fair to Erich not to defend him. "It's just the way he is. He's missing something, do you see? Like—like my Uncle Silas's housekeeper Holly, who can't tell red from green. There's no sense getting angry with her if she matches the wrong napkins to the tablecloth, she just can't see the difference."
    A light flickered behind Rob's eyes. "That's something you have sympathy for?
    The inability to learn something?"
    Dean looked out the window. "He works cheap. But don't try to teach Erich any more English. In the end, it will just upset him."
    Rob nodded. "It's a good thing you speak some German."

    "I don't. I've been picking it up from a book, and what Erich teaches me."
    "Then it was even more admirable of you to take him on." It was softly said, and the tone was like a warm hand stroking along Dean's spine.
    He shook himself. "Don't be stupid. There's nothing to admire about me."
    Rob regarded him silently for a long moment. "I disagree. Most employers are less tolerant than you." "Oh. You have tried other work, then?"
    The prostitute looked out the coach window at the bright August day, but his eyes didn't seem to focus on the rolling green hills, flecked bright red here and there with wild poppies and dotted with sheep. "Let's just say I have few skills to fall back on."
    "What do you mean? Can't you read?"
    "I can read."
    "What, then?"
    Rob's hands clenched in his lap. "You've said it yourself: I'm stupid."
    Dean blinked. "You don't seem to be."
    "Oh? Ask my teachers. They got tired of trying to beat sense into me, and tossed me out of school when I was twelve."
    Dean shook his head. "Even so—at what point do you wake up one morning and think: I know, I'll sell myself to