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This is rated 16+ for violence and sexual references.
The Lion and the Hare
A Missing Scene from
The Character of Men,
or Shore Leave in London
—a Hearts of Oak Short Story—
This did not feel right, Ned St. Rose mused as he watched a very drunk Alan Garrett being escorted from the room by a rather smug Captain Worth. Something prodded at Ned’s innards and bespoke of something amiss, and he had the sharp gut urge to follow them. If he was onboard ship, he would have said they had run afoul of the wind. But he wasn’t onboard ship; he was in the meeting room of the White Hart. He did not know exactly why he felt the need to follow, after all he and Alan Garrett were not the best of friends—they had met just once and spent some hours together, playing a friendly hand of whist. Both of their captains had dispatched them ashore, and they had happened on one another waiting for dispatches. But that had been a year since. Ned scrunched up his nose and dutifully ignored the leers and perusals of other men. Alan was drunk of that Ned was assured, and obviously unaware of the situation he was putting himself into. Ned glanced around the room once more—Alan and Worth were gone, and Ned could see no sign of his captain Thomas Radcliffe either. Ned secured his course of action with one decided step forwards toward the door. As he stepped through it, he wavered only for a moment; he kept telling himself it was only his brotherly Christian duty that charged him to search Alan out. At the threshold, Ned still encountered the feeling of ill-will; it was ever present. Stuff it, he hissed to himself, he was going to do something about it.
Ned crept down the hallway towards the back rooms of the townhouse. He listened loosely at every doorway to ferret out if there was anyone inside. So far, nothing. As he reached the end of the hall, he heard the distinct bark of laughter and the titter of amusement from within. Ned reached out his hand and tried the door. Thankfully, it was unlocked. Ned breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, he pushed open the door, carefully situating himself in the shadows so he would not be immediately recognizable by those inside.
The door opened to a bright sitting room [parlour]. Ned felt his face grow hot and his hands grow restless at the scene before him. About eight or so men in red army regimentals were standing over a half-naked Alan Garrett. Alan appeared dazed, red hair splayed about hiding his face. He sprawled over a settee, trousers [breeches] pulled down so his bare arse was for all to see. Worth was bent over Alan, and he was undoing his breeches. The man cackled. Ned started forward. When he was just close enough to pull the older man off of Alan, Worth spun towards Ned.
“Oh, Kitten, have you come to join our fun?” Worth’s eyes were sparkling piercing orbs—Ned bristled at the undesired nickname.
“Not particularly. I have come for Mr. Garrett.”
Worth raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Oh, really, Kitten, come to spoil our fun. I think not.”
Ned let the annoyance of the nickname wash over him and stood his ground. He sucked in a breath before speaking. “I believe Mr. Garrett is coming with me now.”
Worth cackled again and reached to fondle Alan’s bare arse. Ned was growing concerned; Alan did not respond to the touch. Ned turned back to glare at Worth. The man cackled again. “If you want a turn, Kitten, you’ll have to wait for it.”
Ned has enough of this and seethed, very much wanting to call Worth out. Ned made to push passed Worth and make a grab for Alan, but Worth grasped his arm and held him firm. Ned twisted to glace at Worth. “You bastard,” Ned rasped his voice tight with anger.
“I won’t have you spoiling our fun just yet,” Worth asserted squeezing and twisting Ned’s arm. Ned jerked in the man’s stronger grasp; out of the corner of his eye, he watched as two other men started in on Alan. He tried to pull away from Worth and ended up wrenching around. Ned seized his chance when for a moment Worth looked away and attempted to claw the man’s face apart with his free hand. But, Worth caught his hand. Ned blinked unsteady on his feet.
“I knew you would be a fighter.” Worth was close now, breathing on Ned’s face. Ned fought the urge to choke on the assault of champagne and cigars. Worth’s mouth was almost over Ned’s now. “And, that is just how I like it.”
Worth called out to the other men in the room. “Lads, looks like we are going to have another bit of spot this evening; this one at least appears to be a bit more lively.”
Laughter and ribald shouts of encouragement burned Ned’s ears. In a moment of desperation, he brought of his right knee and slammed it up towards Worth’s crotch. And, missed.
Suddenly Ned was flat on his back, dazed and winded, gulping in large mouthfuls of air. Worth leered over him and careened downwards—pinning Ned’s neck under his heavy forearm. Ned struggled to breathe—his throat burned as he gasped for air. He struggled fiercely despite his prone position as Worth smashed his lips and heated groin against Ned’s. “Oh my Kitten, I do love how you fight,” Worth muttered. Ned tried to scream but nothing came out.
Oh lord, Ned thought, he had the distinct image that he must look like one of those poor heroines of gothic fiction—a young woman fighting for her virtue, except there was much more at stake than that. He was not the only one in trouble.
In a flash, Ned had a thought. He commanded his whole body to go limp. He closed his eyes and attempted to calm his fervid breathing. He felt Worth chuckle against his neck and start to release his iron hold on Ned’s body. Ned could feel Worth panting over him and fought the urge to flinch at the man’s touch.
“I knew you would see it my way, Kitten.”
Worth grabbed Ned’s chin and forced Ned into a bruising kiss, Worth’s tongue seeking, no, demanding entrance. Ned endured the onslaught and let Worth continue his invasion. Ned subverted a grin as he managed to free one of his hands. Slowly he brought it up and with full force dug his nails into Worth’s face.
Worth let out a howl and pitched backward. Without letting Worth recover, Ned scrambled to his feet and launched his fist at Worth’s face. The man was thrust backwards, sprawling on the floor. The energy of the noise in the room evaporated, the other men bewildered that their fun suddenly was aborted.
Ned took advantage of the stunned silence and struggled to his feet. Shaky limbed and breathing painfully, Ned reached Alan Garrett. He still appeared to be in a stupor. “Alan? Alan?” The young man did not respond to any of Ned’s entreaties, so Ned managed to turn Alan over and put Alan’s clothing to rights.
As Ned was half-dragging, half-carrying Alan from the room, he heard Worth shouting behind him. “No! I don’t need any help! Stop him!”
Out of what seemed to Ned to be sheer, dumb luck, Ned made it out of the room and down the hall before Worth or his friend’s caught them. As Ned entered the main room of the house, he draped Alan half over himself and hopped no one would notice Alan was completely comatose. Carefully, Ned made his way towards the front hall of the establishment. They were almost to the door when suddenly Thomas was at his side, peering down at Ned concerned. “Ned?” Before Radcliffe could ask his question, a door behind them launched open and banged about on its hinges.
Ned stood stiffly, holding on to Alan, and did not turn around. Worth’s voice erupted into the din. “Stop him! I want that catamite brought up on charges.”
Hoping he would not drop Alan, Ned twisted towards Worth. The man was sporting a nice bruise on his face, bloody nose, and busted lip that was already starting to swell. Ned forced himself not to laugh and barked softly. “He’s the one who should be brought up on charges.”
Thomas Radcliffe eyed Ned quizzically.
Ned thought for a brief moment that Worth would come out and challenge him to a duel, but the man just seethed, nursing his busted nose and lip. Ned was particularly proud of that.
Ned found his attention diverted from his foe when Thomas sighed. “Go home, Ned. I’ll take care of this.” Ned forced out the breath he had been holding inside. Ned was glad to leave as he felt at that moment like a scolded child. As Thomas left his sight to deal with an enraged Worth, Ned sent a silent prayer out into the ether.
In the carriage home, a rather sharp bump jostled an unconscious Alan into Ned’s lap. Ned blinked and glanced down at the young man as he murmured fitfully in his sleep. His red hair had come loose from its tie, and his dark eyelashes splayed prettily across his pale, freckled skin. His high-cheekboned face glowed [bewitchingly] in the moonlight. Alan Garrett was beautiful.
Oh, lord, Ned St. Rose cursed, God help me.
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