by Merry Farmer
“I’m going out to look for them,” he told Lucy, who had lingered in the hall, watching him as though he would burst forth with the answers at any moment. “I’m not certain when I’ll be back.”
He strode forward, heading for the stairs that would take him up to his room, where he could pack a bag for a night in the hotel. But his thoughts were as far from The Savoy as could be. Foul play had to be involved. Toby and Emma wouldn’t just wander off. He couldn’t just stand by and let their disappearance stand, like the staff had done with Lily. He had to do whatever he could to find them.
He began with stopping in at the kitchen doors of all the neighboring houses to ask if anyone had seen the children run off the night before, or if they had seen anything suspicious at all. No one had. The search continued with him walking to the nearest parks and checking to see if Toby or Emma had skipped off to play there. He found nothing. He even backtracked to Eccles House to speak to Mrs. Harris, the housekeeper, to ask if anyone had been at the house before, during, or after the ball that had seemed suspicious or unusual.
“It was a ball,” Mrs. Harris laughed at his question. “Half the tradesmen in London were in and out of the mews yesterday, delivering food, flowers, and wine. There were the musicians, the extra help, and the guests themselves. The house was swarming with people yesterday.”
It wasn’t the answer Joe wanted, and Mrs. Harris balked when he asked for a list of names of all the tradesmen whom she’d had dealings with. Her lack of willingness to help his search, the lack of willingness of everyone he spoke with, had him boiling with frustration by the time he gave up and continued on his way to The Savoy. Somewhere, there had to be an answer. Someone had to have seen Toby and Emma—and Lily—leave the house, in company or alone. He even considered that Burbage could have taken the two children with him, that his trip had something to do with missing children after all. But he’d seen Burbage’s train ticket on his dressing table, confirming that he’d departed from Victoria Station in the middle of the night. He wasn’t sure that fit with the timeline of when Toby and Emma had gone missing.
The scowl Joe wore as his thoughts tumbled over each other must have radiated a warning around him as he stepped through the grand doorway into the lobby of The Savoy. The hotel was new and reported to be one of the most modern, fashionable hotels ever created. Every bit of marble, metal, and mirror shone, screaming prosperity and progress. Ladies and gentlemen in the latest fashions, jewels shining, seemed to be showing off, like glamorous statues in a museum, as they waited around the lobby’s vast and beautiful space for whatever engagements they had. The hotel’s staff, their liveries crisp and attractive, lingered at key points around the room or rushed to and fro, assisting the hotel guests.
Joe barely noticed a few of them glancing his way with turned-up noses and lips curled in distaste as he strode toward the hotel’s front desk. He was too lost in the riddle of missing children. It wasn’t until he reached the desk and told the concierge, “Reservation for Mercer,” that he realized anything was out of the ordinary.
Rather than bowing or nodding and hurrying to fetch a room key, the concierge narrowed his eyes and stared at Joe down the length of his long nose. “Are you saying you have a reservation, sir?” he asked.
Joe clenched his jaw and met the man’s imperious gaze with stubbornness. “Yes.”
The concierge broke into a condescending laugh. “I think you must be mistaken.”
“I’m not mistaken,” Joe growled. “Reservation for Mercer.”
The concierge’s lips twitched as though he were eating a lemon, and he glanced down at the reservation ledger in front of him. The desk was low enough that Joe could see the names listed as clearly as the concierge could, and the name John Mercer was written in a clear hand near the top of the page.
“I’m afraid I don’t see anything under that name,” the concierge said all the same, sweeping Joe with a look.
Joe had enough fury inside of him from the events of the morning already. The last thing he needed was for some snobbish concierge, whose background was probably no better than his own, to question his right to be where he was. “We both see the reservation,” he said, his tone threatening.
The concierge laughed nervously. “I’m certain it’s a mistake. The Savoy caters to a very specific clientele. We do not take in just anyone off the street.” He glanced down his nose at Joe’s less than stylish clothes once again.
“And I am telling you,” Joe went on in a low growl, “I have a reservation under the name John Mercer, and it’s right there.” He jabbed the ledger over the name to prove his point.
The concierge rocked back in alarm at the aggressive gesture and glanced quickly from side to side. Two large bellmen left their positions of readiness on either side of the desk and closed in on Joe from both sides.
Joe stepped back, ready for a fight. Fighting was exactly what he needed to defuse the anxious energy that had been surging through him all morning. He was hungry for it. But he didn’t get his chance.
“Is there a problem here?”
Alistair’s cool voice instantly calmed Joe’s defensiveness. Joe turned to see him striding across the lobby, his suit impeccably tailored, a gold watch fob shining against the grey of his waistcoat, not a hair out of place. His blue eyes were bright with expectation as he glanced to Joe, but otherwise, he was the picture of aristocracy.
Joe found himself drawn to and repelled by the image at the same time, which unsettled him. Particularly when the concierge instantly snapped to attention and leaned forward, as if ready to fawn all over Alistair.
“It’s nothing, sir,” the concierge told Alistair, dripping with deference. “My assistants were just in the process of removing this riff-raff.”
Joe’s back went up, and he glared at the concierge.
Alistair, on the other hand, laughed casually and shook his head as though it were all some childish misunderstanding. “This man is not riff-raff,” he told the concierge. “He’s my valet. I’ve been waiting for him.”
By the look he sent Joe, Alistair clearly expected claiming Joe as his valet would make everything better. In fact, Joe felt as though he’d been slapped.
“Very good, sir.” The concierge bowed and smiled obsequiously at Alistair. “So sorry for the misunderstanding.”
“Mind you don’t judge books by their covers in the future,” Alistair told the man with a brittle smile, then turned to Joe. “Shall we go up?”
The excitement in Alistair’s eyes was unmistakable. It was almost enough to melt Joe’s heart. He loved Alistair, but even he had to admit that no one was perfect. He nodded and followed as Alistair headed toward a row of shiny, brass elevator doors.
They couldn’t speak in the elevator, what with the attendant on duty to run the contraption. Alistair’s silence as they swooped up to what appeared to be a high floor, brimmed with giddiness. Joe found it endearing, but not quite enough to make everything better. As they reached their floor and stepped out into an empty hallway, Alistair’s grin began to fade.
“You don’t look happy to see me,” he said at last, once they were alone behind the closed and locked door of the fanciest hotel room Joe had ever been in.
The furnishings were of the highest quality. A gilded mirror hung above a polished bureau against one wall. A fire crackled merrily in a small grate as a clock ticked on the mantel above. An open door led to one of the modern bathrooms that the hotel was famous for. The bed was an enticing, large presence in the heart of the room, but even the sight of the small jar already set out on the bedside table couldn’t quite cut through Joe’s sour mood.
“Of course, I’m happy to see you,” he grumbled, shrugging out of the strap of the satchel that held his change of clothes and tossing it on the bed. “But it’s been a trying morning, and that bastard of a concierge didn’t make it any better.”
Alistair’s affectionate smile faltered. “Sorry about that. I suppose the man was just doing his job.”<
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“By calling me riff-raff and attempting to have me thrown out?” Joe demanded. He knew he needed to calm down and let it go, but he wasn’t ready to yet. “And what is this nonsense of you telling him I’m your valet?”
A brief look of uncertainty flashed across Alistair’s face, followed by a wince as his shoulders dropped. “What other excuse do you have for the two of us entering a hotel room together?”
Joe stepped to the bed and sat on the edge, rubbing his hands over his face. “You’re right,” he muttered. “Though I hate it.”
Alistair moved cautiously to the side of the bed. He flinched as though he would sit, but changed his mind. “Would it be so bad if you were my valet?” he asked.
Joe glanced up at him, finding the sort of endearing innocence that only Alistair could pull off while still looking masculine and alluring. “It means we aren’t equals,” he said honestly. “It means you’re above me.”
A sensual spark lit Alistair’s eyes. “I don’t mind being below you,” he said, his expression warming.
Joe couldn’t help but grin in reply to that. He patted the bed beside him, and Alistair sat. “I’m sure we can come up with a thousand variations of above and below between the two of us that way.” He curled his hand around Alistair’s thigh, brushing his fingers against the already increasing bulge in Alistair’s trousers, before irritation got the better of him once more. “But the way I was treated down there, the way I will always be treated in public when I’m with you….” He rolled his shoulders and frowned. “It stings.”
“It’s class,” Alistair answered with more seriousness than Joe would have expected. “It’s ingrained in the system. Nothing you or I do can change it. At least, not in the short term.”
Joe stared at him incredulously. “And you can live with that? You can live with that sort of inequality between us?”
“What other choice do I have?” Alistair asked, suddenly serious. “If I want you—and I do—I must accept you as you are, and you must do the same with me. At least as we present ourselves to the world. But behind closed doors, we can be whomever we want to be.”
It was a hard truth, but Joe saw it clearly for what it was—the conditions of love for men like them. It was their lot in life to love in secret, whether they were a valet and a viscount or two farm hands living out in the country. He had to take what he could get.
“I do want you,” he said with a sigh.
“Good,” Alistair answered, pivoting to face him more fully and taking Joe’s face in his hands.
He kissed him with enough passion to push the frustration to the back of Joe’s mind, though that frustration and anger tried to hold on in spite of the joy of being kissed so hard. It took a few good seconds of their lips pressing against each other and their tongues entwining for his tension to begin to subside.
“That’s more like it,” Alistair murmured as he began to relax. “Forget everything in the outside world and just be with me. Kiss me, embrace me, fuck me.”
Joe sucked in a breath at the demanding invitation. Blood surged through him, pushing everything bad even further into the back of his thoughts. He worked open the buttons of his jacket and waistcoat, shrugging out of them and tossing them to the floor as Alistair did the same.
It was far more efficient for the two of them to undress themselves, and within minutes their clothes had been thrown about the room and the bedclothes pulled back so that they could slide between the sheets. Joe couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a bed that was so soft or so luxurious, but that was nothing to the hard planes of Alistair’s naked body. It was a sight to behold in the sunlight that streamed through the tall windows. Every line and curve of him was magnificent—his broad shoulders, his powerful chest with enough hair to tempt him, his narrow waist, and his sizeable cock standing proud between his hips. Joe remembered the taste of that cock and how much it had filled his mouth. He wanted to taste it again, but Alistair had other plans.
“I don’t care who we are out there,” Alistair whispered as he kissed and nibbled Joe’s shoulder and brushed his fingernails down Joe’s sides in a move that had him catching his breath. “Alone, we are equals.”
“We are,” Joe said, his words turning into a gasp as Alistair cupped a hand around his balls.
“But this afternoon, as soon as I finish priming the pump, I want you to use me like a French whore,” Alistair went on. He kissed his way down Joe’s chest, flickering his tongue over one nipple as he went until Joe writhed beneath him. “I want you to fuck me without mercy, show me that you own me in every way.”
Joe could barely breathe, let alone answer the demand. He threaded his fingers through Alistair’s hair, and tugged tightly as Alistair’s mouth made its way across his stomach. Alistair groaned in approval, then closed a hand around Joe’s throbbing prick, lifting it so that he could kiss and lick the tip.
It was exquisite. Everything about the intimate act had Joe’s heart pounding. He shifted his hips wider and arched his back as Alistair bore down on him, sucking hard. Almost too hard. If they weren’t careful, Joe would come long before either of them were ready. But in the meantime, the hot wetness of Alistair’s mouth encompassing him was so good that he answered each movement with moans of pleasure.
“Enough,” he panted at last, pulling Alistair’s hair hard to get him to let go. The passion-hazed expression on Alistair’s face, coupled with his open mouth, was so erotic that Joe had to fight the urge to orgasm then and there. Alistair had asked for something, though, and Joe wanted to give him everything he’d ever asked for and more. “On your knees,” he said as commandingly as possible.
A small, deep moan of victory sounded from Alistair as he shifted positions. Joe rolled to the side, reaching for the jar on the bedside table. The thrill of the moment he’d been dreaming about for weeks finally arriving made his hands shake as he unscrewed the top and dipped his fingers into the cool lubricant.
He set the jar aside and returned to Alistair, who was bent forward, poised and waiting, in a position so suggestive that it made Joe dizzy. “You look like a green lad begging for his first fuck,” he said, not sure whether to laugh or growl with lust.
“I feel like it,” Alistair panted, inching his legs farther apart and lifting his backside.
Joe wanted to capture the image of Alistair, submissive and eager, in his imagination forever. He planted his knees between Alistair’s spread calves and stroked his salve-covered fingers over the pucker of Alistair’s arse. Alistair gasped in response, which only made Joe want him more. He took his time, though, teasing and stroking, inserting one finger to test him, then two as Alistair rocked back, asking for more. He spread the remaining salve over his own cock, close to trembling with need, before guiding himself to Alistair.
It was almost too good to be true. Alistair accepted him with an impassioned moan, his thighs shaking with pleasure as Joe slowly drove deep inside of him. The tightness and pleasure of it had Joe hungry for more, but he moved slowly, not sure how long it had been for Alistair or how ready to accept he was.
“More,” Alistair panted after a few strokes, answering the question. “Give it all to me. Don’t hold back.”
Joe moved deeper and faster, not sure he could have held himself back if he wanted to. He curled around Alistair’s back, clasping his hand over Alistair’s as it gripped the sheets and threading their fingers together. He moved his other hand around Alistair’s hip to close around his iron-hard cock. There wasn’t much he could do, as his focus was narrowed on jerking his hips against Alistair’s backside as a delicious urgency built within him, but by the ecstatic sounds ripping from Alistair’s throat, it was enough.
“You’re mine,” Joe growled as his thrusts peaked in intensity, the pleasure of it almost unbearable. “Mine.”
He was so close that his body felt as though it were on fire. Tension poured off of Alistair as well. Joe hid the desperate sounds coming from him by biting Alistair’s shoulder, and wh
en he did, Alistair let out a fierce cry. Warm wetness spilled into Joe’s hand. That was all it took for Joe to let go himself and fire into Alistair with an orgasm so powerful the edges of his vision went dark for a moment.
For a few, delicious heartbeats, they were no longer two entities. They were one—one heart, one body, one soul. The sweetness of the moment wrapped around Joe like angel’s wings as his spent body loosened. Alistair collapsed, face down, into the sheets, and Joe relaxed with him, covering him.
“I love you so much,” he panted as any will to move or exist apart from Alistair vanished.
“And I love you too,” Alistair said, pure happiness in his voice.
Chapter 13
The afternoon passed in a haze of pleasure. Alistair couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy. Within the walls of the hotel room, he didn’t have to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. Duty didn’t press down on him, and the scrutiny of his family didn’t hang above him like the Sword of Damocles. Even when he and Joe cleaned up enough to leave the hotel to seek out supper and entertainment at The Cock and Bull pub, the world seemed just as it should have been.
The night passed with as much fire and tenderness as the afternoon. Something was bothering Joe, something more than the vagaries of class and position, but Alistair chose to put his efforts into distracting Joe rather than talking about it.
By morning, he was beginning to wonder if that had been a mistake.
“You’re still moody,” he said as they two of them lay naked and entwined in each other’s arms in bed. Early morning light filtered through the sheer curtains over the tall windows, giving the room a fairy tale feeling.
Joe didn’t answer, though his body tensed. Alistair had come to know Joe’s body so well in the last day and stroked a hand up to Joe’s shoulder to rub his muscles loose again as they lay face to face. Joe let out a breath and softened a bit, but the underlying tension was still with him.