by Merry Farmer
Wrexham snorted, turning away as though he didn’t want to offend Everett by laughing. The sound was like the music of the angels, as far as Everett was concerned, as was the glint in Wrexham’s eyes when he finished securing his suitcase and turned to help Everett.
“You mustn’t be so clumsy,” he said, picking up Everett’s socks and the leather case that contained his cosmetics from the floor.
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Everett said, even though it absolutely was.
Wrexham peeked up at him from his bent-over position. The spark in his eyes told Everett that he was reasonably certain the stunt was deliberate. “Did you need to pack so much?” he asked, tucking the socks and case into Everett’s suitcase, which he’d moved to the seat as he stuffed his things back in.
“One never knows what sort of event he’ll be called on to attend in Brighton,” Everett answered with mock imperiousness. “Why, last time I was there, I was asked to perform at the Royal Pavilion.”
“So you said at Scotland Yard.” Wrexham set to work folding Everett’s jumbled clothing with a grace and care that left Everett overheated, but without meeting his eyes.
Everett leaned back against the wall of the compartment. “Prince Albert and his particular friends were in residence.” He crossed his arms and studied the set of Wrexham’s shoulders and the deliberate way he nestled each article of Everett’s clothing in the suitcase. “Which was unusual to begin with, since the royal family despises the Pavilion. The whole place is in bad need of repairs.”
Wrexham hummed to show he was listening, his expression growing sober.
That wasn’t at all what Everett was going for, so he put on a smile and fixed Wrexham with a rakish look. “I performed the Dance of the Seven Veils.”
Wrexham started, snapping his head toward him. “You…what?”
“Oh yes.” Everett’s grin widened. “It’s the only time I’ve performed in drag.”
“In what?” Wrexham stopped what he was doing, his brow knit in confusion.
“Drag,” Everett said. “It’s a theatrical term. ‘Dressed Resembling A Girl’. At least, that’s one theory about what it means. Personally, it’s not my style, though I have several friends who make a fine living impersonating women. It was a special request of His Royal Highness, you see. Bertie is quite a bounder. Drives his dear mama to distraction, and they say that’s what killed his father. But he does know how to have a good time.”
Wrexham’s jaw hung open through the entire explanation, only closing when he said, “So I’ve heard.” He turned back to packing.
“Anyhow, Prince Bertie and his coterie are known for loving the ladies,” Everett went on. “And since there weren’t any ladies on hand that evening, I was elected to do the honors. It was the performance of my life, if I do say so myself. I shaved every inch of hair from my body and dressed in silk before dancing my way into the hearts of England’s finest gentlemen. Half of them were so drunk they didn’t even realize I was a man.”
“They didn’t?” Wrexham stopped his work to blink at Everett.
Everett shrugged. “Not until I flung off the last veil to reveal my massive, fully erect prick.” He grinned. “With a pretty pink bow and bells tied around the base.”
Wrexham burst into a shorting laugh. He clamped a hand to his mouth, his face bright red and his eyes glittering with amusement.
“That was only the half of it,” Everett breezed on, inwardly dancing on air to have made Wrexham laugh, though outwardly he maintained his air of arrogant indifference. “You should have heard the way those bells jingled as a certain royal duke sucked me off. In spite of his claims to be as moral and upright as a bishop.”
Wrexham snorted so hard he lapsed into coughing.
“The bishop quite enjoyed me as well that night, if I recall correctly,” Everett went on, lying through his teeth, but as giddy as a loon over the way Wrexham laughed in spite of himself. “My arse still hasn’t recovered,” he added, pretending to gingerly rub his backside.
“You’re lying.” Wrexham said, feeling sure of himself.
“I am not,” Everett insisted with false offense. Wrexham finished with the packing, so Everett stepped in, standing flush against the man, and closed his suitcase. Their hands brushed before Wrexham pulled away.
“You’re definitely lying,” Wrexham said as Everett stowed his suitcase above his seat.
“You wound me.” Everett clasped a hand to his heart as he twisted and sank into his seat.
Wrexham shook his head, grinning. “I can tell when you’re lying.”
Everett sat straighter. “Really? How?”
For a moment, Wrexham studied him, giving Everett the feeling that Wrexham was undressing him in his mind. That left him bristling with energy and unable to sit still.
“It’s in your eyes,” Wrexham said at last. “You look far too…clever when you’re lying.”
Everett dropped his jaw in mock offense. His heart raced and his trousers grew tighter by the moment. “I am clever, though.”
“You are.” Wrexham nodded. “And you know it.”
Everett didn’t know whether to be pleased or alarmed by the observation.
“Which is why you have that look when you’re lying,” Wrexham went on.
“It wasn’t all a lie.” Everett couldn’t help but grin and flirt by tapping his foot against Wrexham’s as they sat facing each other.
Wrexham didn’t move his foot. It was a major victory, as far as Everett was concerned. He did, however, narrow his eyes and study Everett.
“The bit about the bishop was a lie,” Wrexham said, lowering his voice. He peeked out the compartment door as if checking to see who might be listening in. “The bells and the duke weren’t.”
Of all the ridiculous things, Everett suddenly filled with embarrassment over that particular past indiscretion. It hadn’t been half as fun as he made it out to be. “He was a clumsy old bastard,” he said, still feigning jollity. “But I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
“No, you didn’t.” Wrexham’s face went dead serious. So serious that sorrow filled his lovely, deep eyes.
Everett squirmed in his seat. The point of his story hadn’t been to make him feel like an insect specimen pinned to a cork board. It had been to make Wrexham laugh. An uncomfortable heat infused him, and if it weren’t for the train conductor coming along to check their tickets and close the compartment door, Everett would have considered bolting.
Minutes later, a whistle sounded, and the train jerked forward, pulling out of the station on its way south.
“The Royal Pavilion was a lark.” Everett shifted the way he sat to drape dramatically over his seat. “But it was nothing to the private party that was held the night The Savoy hotel opened.”
The rest of the journey to Brighton passed in a flurry of lurid stories—half of them true, half of them complete fabrications—as miles of sunny countryside sped past. Everett succeeded in making Wrexham laugh, probably more than the man had laughed in his life. Wrexham amused himself by guessing which of Everett’s stories were lies and which were the truth. Unnervingly, he was right the majority of the time. As someone who had not only made a life on the stage, but had survived darker times than most mortals would ever want to imagine by lying to save his skin, Everett prided himself on his ability to bend the truth to suit his needs. Wrexham saw right through him, which left him rippling with lust.
“I’ve taken the liberty of telegraphing ahead to reserve us a hotel room,” he said once they reached Brighton and walked out of the noisy station onto an equally noisy street.
Wrexham missed a step. Everett had to reach out and steady him, which he didn’t mind at all.
“A hotel room?” Wrexham asked. “For both of us?”
Everett sent him a flat, sideways look as if to say, “Don’t be silly”. Aloud, he said, “It has two beds.”
Wrexham was silent the rest of the way to the hotel—which was down the hill from the train station, along th
e waterfront. Checking in was simple. Not a soul in the place gave them so much as a second glance. There was nothing curious about two men sharing a hotel room in the slightest, as far as Everett was concerned. And even if someone had suspected activity of a sordid nature, it was bloody Brighton. Anything that might or might not transpire between him and Wrexham would be innocent by comparison to half of what went on in the naughty holiday town.
All the same, Everett knew in an instant from the wariness in Wrexham’s eyes as they deposited their suitcases in the spacious room with an outstanding view of the sea on the very top floor of the hotel that any fantasies he had of him and Wrexham tumbling into each other’s arms and fucking the night away would remain just that, fantasies.
“It’s a bit luxurious for an investigation,” Wrexham said, crossing to peer out the window.
“Of course, it’s luxurious.” Everett shrugged. “I wouldn’t stay anywhere less divine.”
Wrexham craned his neck one way, then the other, looking at the expanse of the beach. “It must cost a fortune.”
“I have money. I might as well spend it,” Everett said.
Wrexham glanced warily back at him.
“Right,” he said, his grin becoming impish. “Let’s get to it.”
Wrexham blanched. It would have been adorable, if it hadn’t underscored the unbreakably tense barrier between them.
“Let’s go find this carnival and Adler with it,” Everett said with a teasing look that told Wrexham he knew exactly what images his first statement had conjured in Wrexham’s mind.
He headed to the door. When he reached it, he glanced over his shoulder, winking at Wrexham.
The carnival was easy to find. Brighton had hundreds of attractions for summer holiday-makers to enjoy, but a carnival was not something the extravagant town saw every day. The sprawling sea of tents, booths, and games was set up in a field on the east side of town. It was already crawling with people by the time Everett and Wrexham purchased their tickets and joined the flow of the crowd pulsing through the place.
“I didn’t realize there would be so many people,” Wrexham said, tucking his hands nervously into his pockets as he and Everett glanced around.
Everett nodded to a woman who gaped at him, as though she knew exactly who he was, then turned to Wrexham. The man had an uncanny ability to shrink in on himself to the point where he practically disappeared in front of Everett’s eyes.
“It’s a carnival,” he said with a shrug. “Of course, there are going to be people. That’s the point of the things.”
Wrexham sent him a look that was almost sassy. “Yes, I know that. I’m concerned about finding Adler.”
A wide grin spread across Everett’s face. “I’d no idea you could be so tetchy, Wrexham.”
“I’m not tetchy,” Wrexham argued. “I’m just….” He failed to come up with anything to describe himself. “We need to find Adler and get to the bottom of this investigation.”
“Yes, I do love getting to the bottom of things.” Everett couldn’t help himself. Not with Wrexham looking as relaxed as Everett had ever seen him. Which wasn’t much.
“You’re an arse, Jewel.” The corner of Wrexham’s mouth twitched.
Everett was certain every bit of his overexcited feelings for the man were on display for the entire carnival to see. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me by my name before,” he said in a quiet, caressing voice. “Though I do wish you’d call me Everett.”
Wrexham’s brow ticked up, and his lips pressed firmly shut. He did, however, inch closer to Everett as they walked on. Everett greeted the tiny gesture as though Wrexham had thrown his arms around him and kissed him for all the world to see. He strutted on as though he were the cock of the walk.
“Wrexham, look!” He stopped suddenly, grabbing Wrexham’s arm and pointing across the way to a tall stand with a platform at the bottom and a bell at the top. A barker stood beside the contraption with a huge mallet.
“Test your strength, laddies,” the barker shouted. “Impress your little lady by ringing the bell and winning a prize. Step right up!”
“Now I’ll be able to prove to you just how virile a man I am,” Everett said with a teasing grin, dodging through the current of the crowd to approach the game. Wrexham hurried along behind him. “How much for one try?” he asked the barker.
“Just a penny, good sir, just a penny.”
Everett reached into his pocket to pay the man, then took the mallet from him.
“Get ready to swoon in wonder, Wrexham,” he said, adjusting his grip on the mallet.
Wrexham crossed his arms and sent Everett a wry look of doubt. Everett took it as both flirtation and as a challenge. Fortunately for him, Wrexham didn’t have the first clue how strong he actually was. The man had only seen him on stage and swanning about London, like the degenerate dandy he was. His gut fluttered with giddiness and an almost silly need to impress Wrexham as he stepped up to the game.
“Would you care to wager on the outcome?” Everett asked as he settled into a low stance.
Several people—including the woman Everett was sure recognized him—stopped what they were doing to watch.
“No,” Wrexham said with a simple smile.
“Suit yourself.” Everett shrugged, then made a dramatic show of preparing to swing the mallet.
The moment he knew he had an audience, he dove into his antics with a showman’s flare. Finally, he swung the mallet and smacked it hard on the platform. The ringer flew up the tower, making it almost to the bell, but falling short by less than a foot. The watching crowd groaned in disappointment on Everett’s behalf as he exaggerated his dismay.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, appealing to the crowd. “I am desperately sorry not to have lived up to expectations for you. I don’t usually have a problem getting it up.”
The crowd roared with laughter. Ladies blushed and clapped hands to their mouths. One woman covered her young son’s ears.
“Shall I go again?” Everett asked. “I’m usually good for more than one pop.”
Again, the crowd laughed. But instead of letting him take another swing, the barker marched forward to retrieve the mallet.
“We have another paying customer,” the man said as Everett started to protest.
The barker handed the mallet to Wrexham, who held out a shiny penny. Without a word, Wrexham strode forward to take Everett’s place. He hefted the mallet in his hands, testing its weight, then stepped back from the platform and set the mallet, head down, against his leg so that he could remove his jacket. With a serious look, he handed his jacket to Everett to hold, then rolled up his shirt-sleeves, exposing thick forearms.
A hot flush poured through Everett. He didn’t bother to hide his admiration for Wrexham’s form—though he did hold the man’s jacket at the level of his waist, since there were children in the crowd—as Wrexham rolled his shoulders and lifted the mallet once more. For a man who loathed attention, Wrexham had the crowd rapt with attention.
With a final frown of concentration, Wrexham stepped up to the platform. He swung the mallet, hitting the platform so hard that the ringer soared up, ringing the bell loudly. The crowd burst into shouts and cheers. Everett’s knees went weak. His mind instantly filled with all the things Wrexham could do with his monumental strength that would leave him moaning and undone. He’d never wanted to be flat on his back, splayed and helpless to another man’s whims, more in his life.
As a final insult added to delicious injury, after handing the mallet back to the barker, Wrexham extended a hand to Everett, reaching for his jacket. As Everett handed it over, like a subservient doll, Wrexham winked at him, his lips curved in a devilish grin. If Everett didn’t get the man alone and naked soon, he didn’t know what he’d do with himself.
Chapter 8
He was having fun. At least, Patrick thought that was what he was doing. The sensation was so unfamiliar to him that it seemed wrong.
“Can you believe
I’ve only ever been to one carnival in my life?” Jewel asked as they made their way up a row of booths selling every sort of food imaginable. No, Everett. He’d asked to be called Everett, and, curse his weakened heart, Patrick couldn’t think of the man as anything but now.
“Only one?” Patrick asked, picking at a corner of the fried cod nestled between chips in the paper cone he carried.
“It’s ridiculous for an entertainer such as myself to only have gone to one carnival in his life, I know,” Everett said with a laugh, biting into a chip. Of all the savory treats they could have purchased from the numerous food stalls, they’d settled on the pedestrian choice of fish and chips. And yet, it seemed only fitting. Such simple fare was the sort of things that friends shared when they were frittering away an afternoon together.
And he and Everett were friends, strange as it was.
Stranger still, Patrick knew there was something deeper than friendship roiling right under the surface—something that unnerved and intrigued him.
“Carnivals were far too rich for my father’s blood when I was a boy,” Everett went on with a shrug as the two of them reached the end of the row of booths. “And after that, the sort of entertainments I was privy to were of a much more sophisticated sort.”
They leaned against a thick post that had been driven into the soft ground to support the temporary fence that enclosed the carnival. Their hips and shoulders touched, raising Patrick’s awareness of Everett’s body to a wild degree, and yet, there was something comforting about the two of them sharing the space.
Patrick eyed Everett warily, his face heating at the thought of what sort of sophisticated entertainment a young Everett had been exposed to.
As if he could read his thoughts, Everett let out a wry laugh. “It wasn’t what you’re thinking.” He paused to eat another chip before going on. “I mean, yes, that sort of entertainment abounded, and I was at the center of it more often than not. But the…shall we call them caretakers I found myself with were titled and refined. Or so they liked to consider themselves. I was exposed to opera and Shakespeare at the same time that I was exposed to buggery.”