Just a Little Danger

by Merry Farmer

  The insult seemed to shake Everett out of his stupor. He grinned wickedly at Eastleigh and bowed dramatically. “Your words are too kind, my lord.” His expression was teasing when he straightened, but his eyes maintained the hollowness of a frightened child. “I will be certain to reserve a box for you for opening night of my next show.”

  “A show which Mr. Jewel and Mr. Cristofori here have asked me to finance,” Castleford said, puffing with pride.

  “Is that so?” Chisolm narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

  “It seems my reputation as a patron of the arts precedes me,” Castleford said. “Of course, we all know that I have always been a fan of spectacle.” He sent Chisolm and Eastleigh a knowing look that had the hair on the back of Patrick’s neck standing up.

  The air around them all sizzled, like the last moments of calm before a battle. Patrick willed himself to be as invisible as possible as he studied the noblemen in front of him. They all had an aura of evil about them, but Patrick was certain they each had chinks in their armor. Castleford had preened like a girl receiving her first compliment when asked to finance Cristofori’s show. His weakness was either renown or the theater itself. Lionel had been beyond clever to send them up north with Cristofori’s show as their ruse.

  Chisolm’s weakness was harder for Patrick to accept. It was Everett, but not in the same way that Everett was swiftly becoming his own weakness. With Chisolm, it was something far more sinister. The words “power” and “control” flashed through his mind.

  Eastleigh was harder to read, but as the noblemen fell into conversation, Castleford introducing his brother and Cristofori as their group retreated into the house, Patrick wondered if arrogance and a feeling of superiority as a peer were Eastleigh’s Achilles’ heel. The man only seemed interested in conversing with Selby—a duke—and ignored the rest of them—even Everett—the same way he ignored the servants.

  “It’s such a lovely day,” Castleford said as their group wandered into a conservatory decorated more like a funeral parlor than the scene of light musical events. “Why don’t we take tea in the menagerie. That way, I can show you Leo.”

  “And how is good, old Leo these days?” Selby asked, his smile far wider than the brittle tension around them warranted. Then again, Patrick had decided within minutes that Lord Selby was the sort who would rather smile in ignorance and be considered a dolt than weep in the face of reality.

  “As well as could be expected,” Castleford said, leading their group across the conservatory to a pair of French doors that led out to another terrace. “I am determined to find him a new friend one of these days. The trouble is, he keeps eating the friends I give him.” Castleford laughed as though he’d shared a cunning riddle.

  Everett laughed with him, though the sound hit Patrick’s ears more like the shriek of a kettle hitting its boiling point and letting out steam. He kept his eyes on the stiff lines of Everett’s back as they proceeded out into a shady section of the garden. How Everett had managed to keep his composure so far was a testament to his inner strength. In spite of everything, Patrick’s heart warmed.

  Within seconds of stepping out onto the terrace, Chisolm and Eastleigh separated themselves from the others. They inclined their heads together and exchanged a few, quick words while staring at Everett and the others.

  “I always used to enjoy visiting Montague’s menagerie when it was at its height,” Selby explained to Cristofori and Everett. “Didn’t you have an elephant at one point?” he asked his brother.

  “At one point,” Castleford said with a nod. “And a giraffe, camels, several hyenas.”

  The corner of Patrick’s mouth twitched. He would expect a man like Castleford to keep hyenas caged on his property.

  “What ever happened to the giraffe?” Selby asked with a puzzled smile. “She was a beauty,” he added for Cristofori. “I wish you could have seen her. It’s a shame you never had the opportunity to visit Yorkshire with me.”

  Cristofori’s mouth dropped open, but he didn’t reply. Patrick detected a great deal of incredulity in the man’s expression, along with heartache that Cristofori failed to hide and that Selby either couldn’t see or was deliberately ignoring.

  At the same time, Everett’s mouth was clamped shut, and a green pallor had replaced his pale shock. He eyed Chisolm as though he were the lion who was about to pounce.

  All in all, it made for a painfully awkward gathering.

  “Where is Leo at any rate?” Selby asked, walking to the edge of the terrace and craning his neck to look around at the rows of empty cages. “You used to keep him right up against the house. I remember the way he would roar at night.”

  “Alas, I’ve had to move him back to the pit.” Castleford gestured for them to follow him off of the terrace and through a row of empty cages to a knee-high fence surrounding a pit at the end of the garden. “He’s turned vicious, I’m afraid. There was no way to get close enough to the cage to feed him without one of the footmen losing an arm. So I had him moved here.”

  They reached the edge of the pit. Castleford grinned down into it, like a vengeful god surveying his supplicants.

  Patrick’s heart squeezed with pity in his chest at the sight that met him. There was indeed a lion in the pit. The poor thing was emaciated. It paced restlessly from one end of the surprisingly large pit to the other. Its misery was palpable. The moment it spotted the odd assortment of humans standing over it, it charged toward them, roaring and attempting to leap to freedom. Selby cursed and jumped backward, grabbing Cristofori and dragging him back as he did. But the pit was too deep for the starving lion to jump out of, though dozens of lines of scratches in the stone walls lining the pit hinted that he continued to try.

  “I should probably feed him,” Castleford said on a sigh, as if he didn’t truly care. He turned toward a pale footman standing on the terrace they’d just left. “Norris, see if you can’t purchase a sheep from one of the local farmers for Leo. I believe we’re out of monkeys.”

  The footman nodded, then disappeared into the house. Moments later, a stony-faced maid brought a tray set for tea out to the terrace, placing it on a table in the sun.

  “At least we won’t go hungry,” Castleford laughed, turning away from the pit.

  Patrick spared one last glance for the pitiful lion. The beast looked up at him with vacant eyes, too consumed by hunger to think about anything else. Patrick knew how it felt all too well. He touched a hand to the pouch on his belt, shame welling within him as he turned to follow the others to the terrace.

  “Jewel, tell us all about this new play of yours,” Castleford said once the gentlemen were settled in chairs around the terrace as Patrick stood in a shadow against the wall, hands clasped behind his back, observing.

  “Yes, Jewel,” Chisolm echoed with a grin. “Tell us what you’ve been up to.”

  “The show is Cristofori’s,” Everett answered in a hoarse voice, doing his best to smile and preen as usual but falling short. “I will merely be delivering his words. You should get him to tell you about it.”

  “Yes, I, for one, am eager to hear all about this new show,” Selby said, shifting in his seat to face Cristofori. He went so far as to rest one elbow on the arm of his chair and his chin on his hand as he gazed at Cristofori with rapt interest.

  “It’s a comedy of manners,” Cristofori explained, glancing uneasily from Selby to Everett, then on to Castleford. “The action takes place during a summer holiday at the country house of one Lord Applebaum, who is desperate to make a match for his spritely daughter, Abigail.”

  As Cristofori explained the plot of his creation to the gentlemen, Patrick took a moment to study the house itself. Aside from the gothic architecture, there was nothing that set the house apart from a dozen other country estates. The menagerie and deadly garden were telling, but the house itself—or what Patrick could see of it through the windows—was furnished normally. He found that encouraging, though. If the layout of the house was no different tha
n the standard fare for a country house, that meant it contained any number of parlors and offices. Any one of those rooms could contain the material evidence David and Lionel needed to bring down the kidnapping ring once and for all.

  The other, paradoxical encouragement quickening Patrick’s pulse was the presence of Chisolm and Eastleigh. Combined with the chilly way the three noblemen interacted with each other, the fact that all three of them were present was a dead giveaway that something important was on the verge of happening with the ring.

  That, however, brought with it the worry that, if they didn’t act fast, the ringleaders would get off scot-free. They had to know David and Lionel were closing in on them, which meant they would be fools if they weren’t planning to destroy whatever evidence would implicate them in any wrongdoing.

  “Gentlemen, that sounds like a lovely endeavor,” Castleford said, slapping the arm of his chair and standing.

  Patrick flinched. He’d been so involved in his observations that he hadn’t followed the conversation. The others rose along with Castleford, indicating that their conversation was over. Everett stood on shaky legs, glancing warily in Patrick’s direction.

  “I would be more than happy to invest,” Castleford went on. “Send me your address in London, and I’ll pay you a call as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Everett pretended to be thrilled, but as he edged toward the door leading into the conservatory, it was clear to Patrick that all he wanted was to flee.

  “Why wait to discuss the matter in London?” Chisolm asked, striding closer to Everett.

  Everett froze for a moment, terror filling his eyes as Chisolm circled him. Patrick watched the deliberate way his expression changed to feigned ease. His heart went out to Everett, and he cursed the distance between them that kept him from rushing to Everett’s rescue.

  “Why don’t you stay here for a night or two,” Chisolm went on, grinning at Everett and ignoring Cristofori and Selby. “Send your man back to London on business, but you stay.” Chisolm nodded in Patrick’s direction, but Patrick had the feeling he didn’t really see him.

  “I couldn’t possibly,” Everett laughed. The sound set Patrick’s teeth on edge. “I’m needed in London. The show must go on.”

  Patrick’s expression tightened. He attempted to tell Everett with his eyes that he was making a mistake. The whole point of traveling to Yorkshire was to find the evidence against the ring, and they’d barely begun that search.

  “Nonsense,” Chisolm said, as though issuing an order. “You’ll stay here. We’re having a shooting party tomorrow. You must join us.”

  Everett glanced desperately at Patrick. There wasn’t a thing Patrick could do but meet his eyes with a steady gaze and hope he remembered why they’d come in the first place.

  “I…I suppose,” Everett started, furrowing his brow as though attempting to read what Patrick was trying to tell him. He turned back to Chisolm. “But I already have a hotel reservation in Leeds. I couldn’t disappoint the staff there.” He burst into one of his most charming smiles.

  “You should come stay at Selby Manor,” Selby suggested with a broad smile. “I would love to have you there, and I’m sure Annamarie would jump at the chance to entertain.”

  “No,” Cristofori answered, a little too sharp. “Jewel is right. We’ve already committed to staying at the hotel in Leeds.”

  “But you must come back tomorrow for our shooting party,” Castleford said. “We have so much more to discuss.”

  Everett checked in with Patrick once more. “Yes, that would be lovely,” he said, sounding as though it were anything but.

  More pleasantries were exchanged as Castleford led them all through the house and back out to the front. Selby’s carriage still waited by the stairs, as though the driver knew the visit wouldn’t be a long one. Patrick had never felt so much relief as when he climbed back into the carriage and watched Castleford Estate disappear behind them as they returned to Leeds.

  Chapter 15

  Everett couldn’t shake the feeling that he was swimming through a thick, foul fog, even as the carriage whisked him away from Castleford Estate and Chisolm. His ears felt full of cotton as Selby and Niall chattered through the short journey to Leeds.

  “I really wish you would stay at Brayton Park,” Selby said, pleading in his eyes. “We’ve so much to catch up on.”

  “It would be out of the question,” Niall mumbled.

  “At least come visit,” Selby insisted. “I would love for you to meet my children.”

  A part of Everett wanted to make some sort of joke or pointed observation about how obtuse Selby was being, but the fog reduced that impulse to a flat buzz at the back of his mind. It was hard to fault a man for fighting desperately to ignore the past when he’d just been smacked in the face with his.

  Chisolm had been so smug. The man had grinned and snickered at Everett as if the years had fallen away and he still held Everett’s life in the palm of his hand. The sickening part was that he did. All of the acting and posturing on Everett’s part hadn’t wiped away the fear that Chisolm would expose him, make demands of him, and leave him hurt and humiliated. And though it was unlikely the man would have tried anything untoward in front of the others, the terror was still there. Chisolm still controlled him.

  He shook out of his thoughts with a sharp intake of breath—not realizing he’d forgotten to breathe—when Patrick rested a hand on his thigh. Heat rushed through Everett, and his eyes stung. Mostly because he was certain Patrick was still angry with him, but there he was, attempting to give comfort all the same. Patrick was a thousand times the man he was.

  Whether the others noticed how unusually quiet he was as they reached the hotel, Everett couldn’t tell. None of them seemed in much of a mood for conversation.

  “Shall I reserve us a table in the hotel’s dining room?” Selby asked with cheer that was almost grating.

  “I’ll take supper in my room,” Everett said, leaving the others to cross to the front desk.

  He ordered a light supper from the concierge for him and for Patrick, even though he had no appetite at all. Once that was done, without taking his leave of the others, he marched to the stairs and started up to the suite he’d reserved.

  Patrick caught up to him just outside of the suite’s door. “Selby insists on meeting us here tomorrow and returning to Castleford Estate with us,” he said.

  Everett nodded, exhausted, as he fit his key into the door.

  “I’m not sure if the man will be a help or a hindrance to our investigation, but at least he can provide a distraction,” Patrick went on.

  Everett agreed, but the aftereffects of fighting for his life not to crumple into a cowering mess at Chisolm’s feet back at Castleford Estate had him too weak and weary to do more than push open the door and shuffle inside.

  “I consider it a promising sign that the gentlemen paid me no heed at all,” Patrick went on, taking the key from Everett once they were safe in the room. He closed and locked the suite door, keeping an eye on Everett as he crossed to an elaborate sofa that faced a wide window framed by cheery curtains. “I would say the chance of me slipping away into the house while the rest of you are shooting tomorrow is a good one.”

  Everett nodded, then sank into the sofa. He let out a breath as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes, and willing himself to evaporate. He listened as Patrick put the key down on a table somewhere with a click, then walked around the sofa to stand near him.

  “Usually you’re the one talking up a storm while I merely nod.”

  Everett opened his eyes slowly. His heart swelled in an odd, broken way as he gazed up at Patrick’s concerned face. He wasn’t wearing his police uniform, but the simple drabness of his suit was just as no-nonsense.

  “Are you still angry with me?” he asked in a pathetic voice. God, he really was reverting to his younger self.

  Patrick’s expression barely changed, but his eyes filled with compassion. “It
’s hard to be angry with a man who looks like he’s just seen a ghost.”

  Everett blinked before falling into a bitter laugh. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “You only asked it to avoid talking about what happened at Castleford’s estate,” Patrick fired back.

  Everett’s heart leapt with affection at the same time as his stomach churned. “I’m merely attempting to ascertain your feelings so that I might come up with a way to beg for your forgiveness.” He closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the sofa once more, stretching his arms along its top.

  “I don’t know my feelings.” Patrick sat gingerly on the far end of the sofa. “I’ve never been in a position like this before. But obviously, you have.” His voice was stony and clipped.

  Everett hummed in exhaustion. “I see.” He pressed his lips together, caught between hating himself and indignation over being judged for a thousand things that happened before he knew Patrick existed. “You’re jealous.”

  “Of course, I’m jealous,” Patrick laughed.

  Everett popped his eyes open. He’d expected a denial and defensiveness.

  “Who knows how many past lovers you have to judge me against?” Patrick went on. “Lovers who, it seems, you’ve had no problem throwing off once you grew tired of them.”

  “Lionel.” Everett shook his head bitterly. “Don’t believe a word he said. He knew what sort of an agreement we had, and he was just as much a party to ending it as I was.”

  “Which is precisely the point.” Patrick’s voice took on a brittle edge. “You wear your lovers like a costume that is changed and discarded at the end of each performance.”

  “I do not,” Everett snapped.

  Except that he did. But not for the reasons Patrick seemed to think.

  He turned his head away, staring out the window at the sunset-streaked sky. “You don’t understand.”

  “I bloody well don’t understand,” Patrick said. “You love everyone. I love no one.”