[Measure of Devotion 02.0] Measure of Strength Read online

  Measure of Strength

  Caethes Faron

  About Measure of Strength

  Publicly, Jason Wadsworth is a young steel magnate. Privately, he is slowly unraveling. Gripped by depression, he is haunted by the memory of Kale, the slave he sold and the man who still holds his heart. Jason clings to his only source of comfort: the belief that he sent Kale away to a better life.

  As grim as Jason's life is, Kale has fared worse. Each day is a brutal struggle. All that keeps him going are memories of a happier time.

  When a chance meeting thrusts the two back together, they must try to find the strength to forgive, not only each other, but themselves. They have one chance to right the wrongs of the past, but it requires the strength to seek redemption in each other's arms. A strength both men may be too spent to summon.

  Measure of Strength is the sequel to Measure of Devotion and contains adult language and sexual content.

  Get sneak peeks and stay up to date on new releases by signing up for the author’s newsletter at:

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  Other books in the Measure of Devotion series:

  Measure of Devotion

  Measure of Peace

  Chapter One

  “Get me another one, Terry.” Jason lifted his empty glass toward the bartender. Whiskey number six hadn’t done it. Maybe number seven would take away the pain.

  “I think that’s enough, Mr. Wadsworth.”

  Dammit, he was going to have to get up. The table in the back corner of Flannigan’s was a long walk from the bar, and it would take some effort to make it in such a way as to convince Terry to give him number seven. Luckily, there weren’t many patrons, so there were fewer obstacles in his way.

  The nice thing about the corner table was that it had a handy wall to grab onto for support. Jason needed it. He lurched to his feet, steadied himself a moment, and then staggered to the bar as fast as he could in the glow of the gas lamps without the swaying floor rising up to meet his nose.

  “Terry, I asked for another one.” The salty smell of peanuts wafted to his nose, and he grabbed a few to munch on while he waited for his drink.

  The bartender’s face, wrinkled and tough like old leather, swam into Jason’s view. “And I said no, Mr. Wadsworth.”

  “Come on, isn’t my money good here?”

  “Of course, but I think you’ve had enough for today. Why don’t you go on home? I can have a cabbie pull a carriage around, and you can come back tomorrow.”

  Home. Hah. What did he know? An empty house wasn’t home. That table in the corner felt more like home than the fancy townhouse ever had.

  “I’ll pay double. I’m a very wealthy man, Terry, one of the wealthiest in Perdana, in all of Arine. I’ll buy this whole damn bar!” Jason swung his arm to make his point. The force of the swing was enough to unbalance Jason, and he landed on a barstool with a thwack. “Don’t you want my money?”

  “I’m wealthy enough.” Terry wiped down the bar, clearly not understanding the seriousness of whiskey number seven.

  “So tell me, what’s the point of being wealthy if I can’t drink as much as I like?”

  “You may drink as much as you want at home, Mr. Wadsworth, but if you’re going to drink here, you’ll abide by my rules, and I say you’ve had enough.” Another patron seated himself at the bar, and Terry moved to serve him.

  Jason seized Terry’s arm as it passed. Terry looked at him, and Jason sobered up as much as he could as he looked into the old bartender’s eyes, needing Terry to understand. “Please, I need to stay here. Just a little longer. I need to remember.”

  The lines around Terry’s eyes softened, and he patted Jason’s hand where it rested on his arm. “I know. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, but I won’t be serving you any more tonight.”

  Oh well, they both knew whiskey number seven wouldn’t have done it anyway. Jason snatched a handful of nuts and made his way back to the table. The wood was familiar under his hands. If he closed his eyes, he could see Kale sitting across from him. The sandy blond hair, the pale green eyes, so intense, the only eyes that had ever penetrated Jason. Memory flooded him. Kale had looked good that night, even better than usual. They had laughed, and for a moment, Jason had been able to pretend that Kale wasn’t his slave.

  A thud startled Jason, and he opened his eyes to see a glass of water. Kale was gone, and the pain stabbed his gut. Kale would never be there again. Jason had sold him to save him from the monster Jason was.

  “Thank you.” Jason looked up at Terry as he reached for the water. The cool liquid helped, probably more than a whiskey would have.

  “You’re welcome, lad.” Terry paused, and Jason could see he wanted to say something else. Jason gave him a nod of encouragement, and Terry eased into the opposite chair. “You know you’re welcome here any time, but why do you keep torturing yourself?”

  Jason smirked and gave a bitter little laugh. “Torture? This isn’t torture.” Jason took another gulp of water and kept his eyes lowered. “I’m a monster, Terry. I kill everything I touch. You shouldn’t be worried about me. It’s you you should be worried for.”

  Terry laughed, and the sound grated on Jason’s nerves. “Oh, you’d never hurt a living soul, Mr. Wadsworth.”

  “But I did, Terry. I hurt the people closest to me.”

  “I know the story, lad. It’s time you be moving on from it. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

  “Yes, I can.” Jason looked up and met Terry’s eyes, daring the man to question him.

  Terry grunted and left. Jason returned to his water, finishing it. Staying here was better than going home. Here, he could at least have a little comfort from the nice memory this table held. At home there were no warm memories. It was just an empty house. Renee wasn’t there—thank the gods for that. At least she had been able to escape him before he could do too much damage. He wasn’t drinking for Renee.

  Jason closed his eyes again and sat back, wanting to drown himself in the memory no matter how much it hurt. In his mind’s eye he saw Kale sitting in the bar with him, dressed in a formal dinner suit. He looked good in it. Soon that memory morphed into another: taking off Kale’s clothes, kissing him, making love to him. Jason opened his eyes with a start and clenched the empty glass in front of him so hard he thought it might break. He wished it would.

  They weren’t making love; Kale was a slave, and Jason had coerced him into bed. He was a rapist. A monster. Everyone he loved ended up hurt. He lowered his head to the table in despair and banged his fist against the wood, craving a physical pain to match his emotional one. When he closed his eyes, he conjured up the only picture that gave him any kind of peace: Kale looking back at him at the dealer’s, just after he had been sold. It was the last picture Jason had of him, and there was sadness and a hope in Kale’s eyes that was imprinted on Jason’s soul. Jason shared Kale’s hope for a better future. The sadness would be wiped out when he was sold to an owner who wouldn’t brutalize him as Jason had. Kale had a chance at a future, and that was all the comfort Jason allowed himself.

  Opening his eyes, Jason reached for a drink, only to remember that he didn’t have one. He looked to the bar, gauging whether or not Terry might be persuaded to give him just one more, but his eyes stopped at the doorway.

  “Damn.” Even in the dim gas lighting, Jason knew that tall, thin frame could only belong to one man: Martin Grimlock.

  Chapter Two

  Martin knew he had been spotted. As always, it was a question of whether or not Jason was going to make him go to him. The dirty tables and even dirtier patrons were familiar, thoug
h he wished they weren’t. Jason owned the biggest steel business in the country. Why, when there were dozens of perfectly respectable places in Perdana for Jason to drink, was it always this one?

  Martin saw the muscles clench as Jason set his jaw and looked away. It was going to be one of those nights. Martin picked his way to the corner table, practically prancing in his effort not to touch or be touched by anyone or anything that was crawling in such a place.

  “Come along, sir. It’s time to go.”

  “No, I want to stay. Terry says I can.” Jason looked around Martin to Terry, and Martin followed his gaze. Terry rolled his eyes and gave him a hopeless shrug.

  “I cut him off a little while ago, Mr. Grimlock.”

  “Thank you.” Martin rested his hand on Jason’s shoulder, hoping the firmness of the action would persuade Jason to be agreeable. Instead, Jason shrugged it off and glared up at him, eyes narrowed.

  “Go away.” It would be easy for a lesser man to leave it at that, but Martin knew he needed to get Jason home. Just the thought of the scandal it would cause if anyone discovered Jason Wadsworth passed out at a bar sent a shudder through Martin.

  “I can’t do that. It’s my job to take care of you, if you’ll just let me.” Coaxing sometimes worked.

  “My wife hired you. I never wanted you here.”

  “Still, I’m here just the same. Now come on.” Martin gestured toward the door and was relieved to see Terry supporting him.

  “Why don’t you listen to Martin here, and let him help you home? I’m closing up. You’d have to be leaving soon, anyway.” Martin shot Terry a grateful look. If there was any way to get Jason out of there, it would take both of them.

  Jason looked at Terry as if weighing his words and seeing what his options were. Martin knew Jason liked Terry, and now that he’d been cut off for a little while, he might be sober enough to want to save face. Eventually Jason nodded, and Martin released the breath he’d been holding. Tonight, he had gotten a break.

  Jason stumbled to his feet, and Martin grabbed his arm and threw it over his shoulder.

  “Do you need any help?” Terry asked.

  “No, we’ll be all right. Thank you.” Martin could never bring himself to use Terry’s first name—it was too informal—yet the bartender had never given his family name. He led Jason out to the waiting carriage.

  “How long have you been my secretary, Martin?”

  “Over two and a half years, sir.”

  “And when, during all that time, have I ever made it seem like I want you to stop me when I’m drinking?”

  Martin helped Jason into the cab and followed him in. “Never, sir.”

  “Exactly.” Jason stared out the window while the driver clucked to the horses, and the carriage pulled away. After a moment of silence, Jason turned to him. “It’s been three years, Martin.” Jason’s face crumbled, and Martin felt the familiar tug on his heartstrings as he watched his boss, a titan of industry, transform into the forlorn man before him. “Three years since I proposed to her and lost everything.”

  Martin didn’t fully understand Jason. These drunken statements were all he had. Sober, Jason never confided in Martin. These little slip-ups were the only glimpses he had. There was a deep pain in Jason, and Martin often wondered if talking about it might do him some good. He wished Jason would talk to someone, even if it wasn’t him.

  Back at the house, Martin helped Jason up to his room on the third floor. For the thousandth time, he thought how much more convenient it would be if Jason would keep one of the rooms on a lower floor, but his employer inhabited the third floor precisely because it was the furthest.

  Once inside Jason’s room, Martin began stripping off Jason’s clothes. As usual, Jason fought.

  “I’m quite the competent businessman, I’ll have you know. I don’t need a damn sitter.” Jason pushed Martin away and landed on the bed. It was tempting to leave him there, but his clothes smelled of cigarettes and cheap alcohol and needed cleaning. Burning would be more appropriate, but Jason wouldn’t approve of such wastefulness. Martin didn’t want Jason waking up in the morning with the smell as a reminder of where he’d been and what he’d done. Starting the day fresh would make life easier for all concerned.

  Jason seemed to realize this as well, because this time he didn’t bat Martin away when he came to undress him. “I don’t need you.” Jason protested with words instead of actions this time. “If there was a way to keep my wife’s family happy and not have you around, I’d fire you.” The words hurt, but Martin had heard them before. To be honest, he understood Jason’s stance. If their positions were switched, he’d resent him too. It couldn’t be a good feeling, knowing your wife’s family didn’t trust you on your own. Still, after all this time, he had hoped Jason would realize that Martin worked for him, not the Arlingtons.

  It never took long to get Jason into bed once he had given up the physical fight and taken to spewing fire instead. His passionate resentment of Martin always tired him out, and Jason was snoring by the time Martin had gathered up his clothes and left.

  The house was quiet as Martin descended the stairs. His room was on the second floor, but he would go to the basement first to drop off the clothes in the laundry. Sophie would see to them in the morning. He glanced at her room and saw that her light was off. No sense waking her if he didn’t have to.

  On the way back to his room, Martin made his usual rounds, making sure the lights were all off and everything was in its proper place. Martin always worried the newfangled electric lights would burn the house down while everyone slept. In the parlor, he spotted the decanter of scotch. He could use a drink, but Jason drank enough for the both of them, and he’d need a clear head tomorrow. Better to just go to bed.

  Two and a half years Martin had worked for Jason Wadsworth, ever since Jason’s father-in-law had died. Jason and his wife had agreed after less than six months of marriage that it was easier to stay married if they were separated. Two and a half years, and Jason was still as much a mystery as he had been on that first day. The urge to help him was just as strong. There was so much more to Jason than the drunk Martin had escorted home. If only Jason would let him in, confide in him. He longed for Jason’s trust. Maybe tomorrow would be the day he gained it.

  Chapter Three

  Jason tried to concentrate on his papers, but the pounding in his head drowned out his thoughts. Sometimes, he thought the pounding headache the next morning was part of why he drank so much. The pain was the least of what he deserved for what he’d done in his life.

  He reached for the coffee Sophie had left on his desk for him. Thank the gods she hadn’t left food. Just the thought of breakfast made him want to retch. The smell of her strong coffee, on the other hand, made him feel better even before the bitter taste had a chance to distract him from the throb.

  Just when he thought he had beat back his headache enough to focus on this report on operations at an iron mine—a recent investment—a loud knocking on the door brought the pain right back to the forefront.

  “Come in.” Jason swore Martin did that on purpose. He knew the older man looked down on him for drinking and no doubt delighted in making his morning-after headaches worse.

  “Good morning, sir.” Martin stopped in front of his desk and waited for Jason to wave him into a seat.

  “Yes, it is a good morning, Martin.” Jason waited as Martin settled in his seat and retrieved his calendar. When he was ready, he met Jason’s eyes, and there was a moment where Jason wondered if the secretary would mention anything about the previous night.

  “I have quite a few calendar items to go over with you, if you’d like to start there,” Martin said. Good man. His sense of propriety was one thing Jason could always count on.

  “Actually, I want to talk to you about this report from the Macino Mining Company. It looks as though their iron production is over twenty-five percent above what they anticipated. Seems they hit a deposit they weren’t expecting.”
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  “That’s excellent news.” Martin grinned as he made a note.

  “Yes, it is. I want to move ahead with the plans to install another blast furnace at the north mill. This will give us the supply we need to increase production out of the new south mill, and perhaps Renee’s family will stop second guessing every decision I make.” When he had announced plans to build a mill near the shipyards on the southern coast, Renee’s family had thrown a fit. They saw him throwing away their little girl’s money. Jason was in it for the long haul, though, and he knew being able to supply the shipyards without expensive freight charges would pay off. He had just needed enough low-cost iron to produce the volume necessary to make it profitable.

  “And we’re going to be getting the iron for what? Ten percent below market value?” Martin lifted his pen.

  “No, my investment contract says I get it for fifteen percent below for the next three years.”

  “Let’s see…with the new supply driving the cost down,” Martin scribbled some figures in his planner, “we should come in with a nice profit this year, even with the outlay you’ve made.”

  “I want you to outline this in a memo and disperse it to the interested parties. Make sure Renee’s mother knows that her daughter won’t be a pauper next year after all.”

  “You shouldn’t let Mrs. Arlington bother you. She doesn’t have any idea what she’s talking about. I’ve never doubted you. Everything you’ve done since you inherited has increased production and profit.”

  “I don’t care whether you doubted me or not. You’re my secretary. What I do care about is not getting surprise visits from my hysterical mother-in-law.” Jason knew he was being unfair to Martin—the man was just trying to help—but he couldn’t let himself get close to his secretary. The only reason his life worked at all was because he kept his personal and professional selves distinctly separate. Which was why they never spoke of the nights when Martin had to help him into bed.