by Merry Farmer
Everett swallowed noticeably. “It’s not good news until you tell me he’s dead,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Lionel tipped his head to the side and made a thoughtful sound. “He will be if I ever see him face-to-face again.”
Patrick’s brow shot up. To look at him, he wouldn’t have thought Lionel Mercer was the sort to kill anyone. Then again, the man did have that edge of danger to him.
Everett narrowed his eyes. “What did Chisolm ever do to you?”
Lionel’s expression changed in an instant from the elegant dandy about town to a mask of stone and steel. He stared at Everett for a long time, the air in the room crackling, before taking an almost whimsical breath and smiling. “I just thought you would want to know that the man’s reign of terror is at its end. You may rest easy from now on, knowing that past injustices have been righted and every dog will have his day.”
With a nod for Patrick, Lionel headed for the door.
“Why did you really come here?” Everett asked before he made it across the room. “You could have told me all that next time you saw me at the club. You could have sent a note.”
Lionel glanced over his shoulder at Everett as he neared the door and reached for the handle. There was something faded and wistful in his expression that reminded Patrick a little too much of Leo—starving and abandoned. “I just wanted to make sure you were well,” he said, his voice lower, less artful. “I wanted to make certain you were happy.” He glanced past Everett to Patrick, nodding. “You are.”
For several, long seconds, Lionel held Patrick’s gaze. It felt to Patrick as though some sort of torch were being passed. Finally, Lionel glanced back to Everett, his smile returning. He winked, then threw open the door and left the room.
Everett stood where he was for a moment before shaking his head. “I will never understand Lionel Mercer as long as I live.”
Patrick swallowed the lump in his throat. “I understand him,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Everett turned to him, mouth pulled sideways, as though he were about to make a joke. He remained quiet when he saw the look on Patrick’s face, though.
“Let me just remove this make-up, and we can go home,” he said, crossing to the vanity on one side of the room. “Unless you’d rather join the raucous crowd at The Cock and Bear tonight.”
“You know I’d rather go home.” Patrick took a deep breath, letting the awkwardness of the moment pass. He moved to sit on the edge of the vanity, grinning at Everett as he washed his face. “With you, I’d always rather go home.”
Everett met his affectionate smile with one of his own that promised every sort of sin once they were safely in their own flat. He hurried through his ablutions, working gingerly around his scar, which had a long way to go before it was completely healed. When that was done, Everett changed into his street clothes, and they made their way to the back of the theater to make a grand exit.
It felt as though half of the audience had crowded the alley behind the theater to greet Everett at the stage door as they left. Everett played his role perfectly, preening and welcoming the attention with open arms. Patrick, for his part, had the chance to show off his strength and to prove to anyone who may have doubted why Everett Jewel suddenly had his own, personal bodyguard why he was needed. Patrick held off overzealous admirers as they rushed in for an autograph. He kindly removed people who came too close or crowded Everett too much. He cleared a path for them to slowly make their way out of the alley. And once they reached the street, he hailed a cab and held the door open, blocking anyone who thought Everett was still in the habit of taking his followers home with him for the evening from leaping into the carriage.
“You’ve earned your keep today, Wrexham,” Everett laughed once they were safely inside the carriage. “But you’d best be sure I will require you to earn it even more once we return home.”
Patrick laughed—half at Everett’s joke and half at the shiver of nervousness that shot through him at the suggestion. On the one hand, three weeks seemed like the blink of an eye for their budding romance. On the other, it felt as though he had belonged to Everett and Everett had belonged to him for their whole lives.
It felt as though he’d lived in Everett’s flat for a lifetime, as though the flat had always been his as well, once they reached home and shut themselves away in their own private paradise.
“All in all,” Everett said, shedding his clothing piece by piece as he walked across the main room toward the bedroom, “I’d say that tonight was a success.”
“The audience certainly enjoyed the performance.” Patrick followed him, picking up each discarded item with a smirk and draping it over his arm in a growing pile. “So did you.”
By the time they reached the bedroom, Everett was down to just his shirt and trousers, which were already unbuttoned. “The only performance I’m interested in tonight is yours, Officer Wrexham.”
Patrick shook his head with a smirk. “I’m not an officer anymore, remember?”
Everett plucked his discarded clothes out of Patrick’s arms and tossed them onto a chair in the corner of the bedroom before turning back to Patrick and sliding his arms over Patrick’s shoulders. “You’ll always be my own, personal copper,” he said, mischief and flirtation in his eyes. “And seeing as I have been a shameless reprobate tonight, I think you should punish me with the full force of the law.”
Patrick laughed and shook his head. “You are a fool, Everett,” he said, then circled his arms around Everett’s trim waist. “But you’re my fool, and I rather like you foolish.”
“Good,” Everett hummed. “Because my character isn’t likely to change anytime soon. Unless—”
Patrick tugged him flush against his torso, slanting his mouth over Everett’s to stop whatever new nonsense he was going to suggest. He might not have been half a fraction as experienced as Everett, but in the past fortnight, in spite of bruises, cuts, and bodies battered from the events at Castleford Estate, they’d spent enough time learning and exploring each other that Patrick knew what Everett liked. And at the moment, he was more than inclined to give Everett all of that and more.
Patrick teased his mouth, nibbling on his lower lip and sucking his tongue before invading Everett’s mouth with just enough force to have Everett moaning for more. Everett hadn’t been lying when he’d intimated to Patrick weeks before that he enjoyed playing the more submissive role. It was erotic to watch the way he came undone as Patrick used his strength to ply Everett against him and ultimately to shove him toward the bed. In a way, it didn’t make sense to Patrick that someone who had been so badly abused as a youth would enjoy being overpowered by a man larger and stronger than him. On the other hand, being overpowered was only an illusion. They both knew that Everett had as much or more control than Patrick ever would, because everything they did was his choice and his alone.
“I don’t think I’m going to last long tonight,” Everett panted as he undid the buttons of Patrick’s jacket and waistcoat, shoving them aside. He tugged Patrick’s shirt free of his waistband and spread his hands along his hot sides as well. “I’m wound too tight from the performance as it is.”
“Fortunately,” Patrick said, shrugging out of his clothes as he nudged Everett toward the bed, “whether either of us lasts long or not, all we need is a short rest and we can go at it again. As many times as you’d like, in any way you like.”
Everett let out a shaky breath. “God above, I love you,” he sighed, looping his hand around Patrick’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss.
They shed the rest of their clothes somehow—Patrick was far more engaged by the taste of Everett’s lips and the way he moaned with pleasure as he kissed and nipped his way down the line of Everett’s neck—and tumbled into bed. It still felt odd on several levels for Patrick to be on top, with Everett spread and aroused beneath him. There were so many things he wanted to do, so many ways he wanted to tease and treat Everett’s body, that he didn’t know where to begin.
Fortunately, he would have the rest of his life to do everything and then some.
“I can’t wait,” Everett panted as Patrick kissed his shoulder and teased his hand between them, stroking Everett’s prick in a way he knew was far too gentle. “I want you in me. Now. I want you to make me yours.”
“You are mine,” Patrick said in a gruff voice, teasing his tongue across one of Everett’s nipples before shifting to crash their mouths together. He ground his hips against Everett’s for good measure, earning a passionate groan from both of them. Every inch of their bodies that touched was alive with pleasure. “You are mine, and you always will be.”
He had half a mind to draw things out as long as possible and to make Everett crazy with lust in the process. Everett was positively wicked when he wanted it so badly he lost his mind, as Patrick had learned a few nights before. But he pushed to the side, reaching for the jar of ointment sitting ostentatiously on the bedside table. Keeping that jar there was Everett’s way of loudly announcing to the world that he wouldn’t hide who he was or what he liked, and what he liked was being fucked.
Luckily for Everett, Patrick was fully willing to embrace the fact that he liked fucking. He used a generous amount of the ointment on his throbbing and expectant cock before teasing Everett’s arse with what was left on his fingers. Everett made a sound of utterly transported delight at the teasing, dropping his knees to the sides and lifting his hips in invitation. Patrick wasn’t in the mood to wait, lifting Everett’s hips and spreading him even more before guiding himself home and thrusting with a satisfied groan.
It was far more beautiful than any ignorant outside observer could possibly know. Patrick moved slowly until he found his rhythm, then picked up his pace and intensity, giving Everett everything he wanted. It was more than just two bodies satisfying each other, it was two souls becoming one, two beings entwined and entangled with each other. True to his word, Everett climaxed with lightning speed, spilling his seed between the two of them with a moan that Patrick felt all through him. Patrick took longer to finish, slowing down on purpose as soon as Everett’s body softened with post-orgasmic bliss. The way they were joined felt so amazingly good that he wanted it to go on forever.
He could only hold out for so long, though, and when pleasure burst through him as he convulsed inside of Everett, everything felt exactly right with the world.
“I love you,” he panted, relaxing atop Everett as Everett curled his body around Patrick’s. “More than I ever thought possible.”
“And I love you,” Everett sighed, affection warm in his voice.
They flopped to their sides, entwined together, mouths meeting for several heady, soul-filling kisses. In his heart, Patrick knew those kisses would never end, no matter what the world threw at the two of them. They’d overcome more than most men would ever face, battled more demons than a human soul should ever see, in order to be together, and nothing would stop the two of them from living their lives together as one for the rest of their days.
Epilogue
“The fact that Eastleigh, Castleford, and Chisolm have managed to escape capture, even when we’ve known exactly where they will be, is a testament to the fact that they knew the ring would eventually be thwarted,” Lord Clerkenwell said as he paced the offices of Dandie & Wirth.
“They’re clever,” David said. It felt like a rock in his stomach to admit as much. “Only clever men could carry on with what they did for so long without getting caught.”
Clerkenwell snorted. “The fact that we’re still uncovering pockets of kidnapped children and accomplices responsible for stealing and hiding them is proof of that.”
“Have most of the children been rescued at this point?” Hope gnawed at David’s heart. It would be a crying shame if, after all their effort, even one child slipped through the cracks. And they had yet to find Lily Logan.
Clerkenwell seemed to sense his thoughts. He continued to pace with a grave expression. “It pains me to say that at least some of the children will never be found. Some were shipped abroad, for one. I’m doing the best I can in connection with the foreign office, but those poor souls will be the hardest to recover of all.”
David hummed, wishing there were more he could do. A stray thought hit him, and he asked, “What about the lion?”
“The one Castleford kept in a pit on his estate?” Clerkenwell paused and shrugged. “As I understand it, a zoologist in York was called in to assess the animal. The verdict was that the poor thing was too enfeebled to be returned to Africa and too mistreated to be trusted at a public zoo. But the man seemed to know of an eccentric Scotsman with a personal menagerie who was willing to take him.”
David scowled. “That’s hardly a fitting end for a once-noble beast.”
“It’s the best we could hope for. At least the lion will be fed and looked after by the Scotsman.”
“Which is more than some of those poor children can say,” David finished with a sigh.
He stood from where he had been leaning against Lionel’s desk and crossed to where the papers and files Clerkenwell had brought him were resting on one of the side tables next to the office’s two sofas. Before he could form his next line of questions, the office door opened and Lionel walked in.
Twin feelings of longing and fury pulsed through David. Lionel looked as though he hadn’t slept the night before. He had the same sort of haunted look that he’d worn when the two of them had first met several years ago, when John Dandie had hired him. That alone was enough to set David’s nerves on edge.
The moment Lionel realized David wasn’t alone, his entire countenance changed from pale and closed-off to cheery and amiable. “Lord Clerkenwell,” he said, shrugging out of his cloak, hanging it on the rack by the door, then greeting Clerkenwell with an outstretched hand. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” The way he emphasized the word “pleasure” set David’s teeth on edge. That would be at the forefront of Lionel’s mind.
Clerkenwell laughed as he shook Lionel’s hand. “While I appreciate your charm, Mr. Mercer, I believe my lovely wife wouldn’t.”
Lionel’s smile was too good-humored for David’s liking, as if the only reason Lionel was flirting with a man they both knew adored his wife and family was to irritate him. “The handsomest ones are always taken,” Lionel sighed.
“Lord Clerkenwell came here to ask our assistance in closing the last bits of the investigation into the kidnapping ring,” David said, knowing full well his jealousy was on display.
Lionel stared at him with one eyebrow arched, tension bristling between them as it had been since the confrontation at The Chameleon Club over Everett Jewel. He turned deliberately back to Clerkenwell with movements worthy of a dancer. “What can we do for you, my lord?” he asked, still flirting.
Clerkenwell’s grin was amused, though David wasn’t sure it was wise to encourage Lionel. “As I’m sure you know, Eastleigh, Castleford, and Chisolm are still at large.”
“So I’ve heard.” Lionel’s expression hardened to business, and he crossed to the stove in the corner of the room to see about tea—a sure sign his mind was working.
“The fact is, they’ve managed to evade capture at every turn these last two weeks,” Clerkenwell went on. “As I was just explaining to your partner—”
“He’s not my partner,” Lionel cut him off, sharp and curt.
David fought with everything he had not to take offense, not to let his heart break over Lionel’s coldness.
Clerkenwell cleared his throat. “Yes, well, the point is, Scotland Yard can only do so much. We are forced to go through proper channels in our search for the men. But if someone who wasn’t bound by procedure—or the law, even—were to take up the search for the three noblemen, perhaps they could be caught and brought to justice after all.”
“Are you asking us to use whatever channels we have available to hunt Eastleigh, Castleford, and Chisolm down?” David asked. “Even if they are less than legal?”
“I am not a
t liberty to make any sort of statement,” Clerkenwell said, his expression telling another story. “But I can say that if a few eggs were broken in the process of hunting the men, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men might be willing to look the other way.”
“Delicious,” Lionel said, pouring water from the pitcher David had filled earlier into the teapot to heat.
“Do you have any idea where any of the three of them are?” David asked.
Clerkenwell nodded. “We believe that Eastleigh is trying to leave the country through Liverpool or some other port on the west coast. Chisolm may be trying to head to his holdings in the Caribbean, though he must know we have agents there as well. And Castleford has headed north, to Scotland.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a challenge,” Lionel said, leaving the stove to join the discussion. “I’d wager we could have all three of them rounded up and incarcerated within a month.”
Clerkenwell sent him an appraising look. “You think you’re that good?”
“My lord, I am the best,” Lionel said with a look that sent a chill down David’s spine.
Unfortunately for him, that chill settled in an entirely uncomfortable and inconvenient spot, making David’s blood heat. He held himself doubly stiff because of it. Three weeks ago, he might have used that burst of energy to tease and tempt Lionel, but not now. After the way he’d thrown himself at Jewel, the way he’d made it clear to everyone who had been in that dining room at The Chameleon Club, Lionel didn’t deserve the sort of interest David had considered showing him for so long.
But damned if he could convince his own body—not to mention his heart—of that fact.
“We’ll do it,” he said, taking charge as best he could. “We’ll hunt the three down for you. Rest assured that they will answer for their crimes.”