by Tamara Allen
“Now that sounds like a proposal,” Charlie said, and immediately regretted it when Will grabbed a handful of his coat, and hauling him out of the room, began a quick march down the hall. Charlie made a half-hearted attempt to wiggle loose. “Where are we going?”
Will only gained a firmer grip and lengthened his stride. Charlie obligingly kept up until he realized he didn’t have to. He stopped abruptly, compelling Will to do the same. “I just thought Archie needed a little encouragement. He’s always been the bashful sort—”
“Let Rose encourage him.” Will got a firm grip on his arm. “Walk.”
“Say, if you are locking me in a closet, how about staying there with me?”
Will paid no heed to his suggestive grin, but allowed a somewhat slower pace as they approached the ballroom. “We’re going to pay our respects to Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore.”
“We’re leaving?”
“We are. I don’t want to dance again nor be pulled into conversation about life in California nor be offered invitations to next year’s balls, dinners, and other occasions for—what did you call it? Refined torture?”
Charlie laughed. “We’d best find Caroline and see if she wants to come along or wait for Archie.”
They found Caroline in the midst of a card game with other guests who’d wearied of dancing, and she bade them go, promising to be home not much later. Charlie was glad to be away, though the cold night beyond the Whitmores’ gate was no quiet refuge. Under the street lights, row upon row of carriages waited for the guests trickling out of doors from parties all along the block. A number of people stood outside despite the cold, indulging in lingering farewells, and Charlie noticed more than one reporter lurking about as he and Will stepped away from the curb in search of a cab.
“Mr. Nesmith!”
At the call, Charlie groaned. “Let’s run for it.”
“If I’m to be on the front page of the Sun, I’d rather it was from a more flattering vantage point.” Will turned as Jake Garber reached them. “Mr. Garber, good evening. Were you a guest of the Whitmores? I’m so sorry we didn’t bump into each other earlier.”
Charlie bit back a laugh at Will’s show of innocence, but Garber wasn’t fazed. “Reporters aren’t generally invited to the Whitmores’ parties, unless they’re lucky enough to reside in the same household with someone who is.” His glance at Charlie brimmed with curiosity… And perhaps a little envy. “You must have walked out of there with more stories than one man could write in a month.” He turned a wry smile on Will. “I mean to write one or two, myself. May I have a few minutes of your time, sir? I’d be pleased to call on you at home—”
“What is it you’d care to know? About my friendship with Lord Belcourt? Or my courtship of Miss Mayhew?”
Charlie couldn’t guess what Will was up to and found it worrisome. “It’s rather late—”
“Both,” Garber said cheerfully. “In fact, I’m interested in a great many things to do with you, sir. Is there a time I may call?”
“I’ve some free time at the moment.” As the cab drew up, Will clapped Charlie on the back. “I shall see you at home, Mr. Kohlbeck. But don’t feel obliged to wait up.”
Garber looked like a man who couldn’t believe his luck. He climbed into the cab at Will’s urging and as Will moved to join him, Charlie caught hold of his coat. “Mr. Nesmith…”
Will’s glance was full of reassurance. “It’s quite all right.”
Charlie grimaced. “Be careful.”
“Of course.”
Not reassured in the least, Charlie waved down another cab and headed home to find a dark house. Even Hilda was out, and Charlie grumbled all the way upstairs at the opportunity lost. He might have gotten Will away from Garber if he hadn’t been tired and distracted; though when Will was determined, he wasn’t an easy man to sway. And he seemed intent on making sure Garber wrote a very specific sort of story. Charlie didn’t trust Garber to live up to Will’s expectations, but he couldn’t blame Will for trying.
With a fire in the hearth and a whiskey at hand, he slumped into a chair to worry and wait. When a quarter of an hour passed with no sign of Will, Charlie gave up the chair and moved to the window seat, raising the sash in the hope some fresh air would keep him wakeful. But he was dozing when a hand settled on his shoulder and warm lips brushed his cheek.
Charlie raised his head, struggling to wake. “You’re back.”
The insightful observation earned him an affectionate grin. “So I am. And quite alone.” Will dropped onto the opposite end of the seat. “I thought you might be abed.”
“Waiting on an explanation tends to keep a fellow up.”
Will’s grin softened with apology. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I thought Mr. Garber might write something unkind about Rose if I didn’t provide him the rest of the story.”
Charlie bolted up. “I knew it. You told him Belcourt wasn’t the only one asking Rose to marry him.”
“I’m afraid so. And Mr. Garber was delighted to hear it.” Will sighed. “No better society tale than a love triangle, I suppose. But at least we’re spared a headline mocking Rose for refusing Belcourt’s proposal.”
“You’re too much the gentleman for your own good.”
“You mean for your good.” Will was smiling as his gaze wandered to the street below. “Where is that music coming from?”
“Our neighbors are having some sort of romp.” Charlie shrugged. “It’s been going on since I came in…” He cleared his throat. “To a deserted house.”
“It won’t be deserted for long,” Will ventured.
“Just long enough, perhaps.”
“Yes.”
“Of course they may come home before…”
“Possibly.”
“Shall we shut the window?”
Will laughed. “Unless you’d still care to dance.”
“Is that an invitation?”
A gaze soft with affection answered and Charlie stood, hauling Will up and near enough to kiss. Will’s arms came around him and the kiss grew tender, encouraging Charlie to linger in it as if they had all the time in the world. They waltzed in slow circles and Charlie sensed that Will had no more desire to rush than he. The brush of fingers through his hair, the warm lips seeking bare skin, he wanted it to go on all through the night.
When he collapsed on the bed, Will falling upon him with kisses that poured fire into his veins, Charlie still didn’t want to rush; not when he didn’t know how long it would be until they were together again. The vow of chastity might be broken tonight, but Mr. Nesmith wasn’t leaving for California with the dawn…
Charlie sighed, burying his face in Will’s neck as Will rocked against him, hard cock bruising his with such sublime torment, he couldn’t hold back. “Rented trousers,” he gasped with a laugh, and Will groaned.
“Devil take them,” came the muffled reply, and Will rocked all the faster. Pleasure that had been too long put off crashed over him as if it meant to drown him and Charlie sank breathlessly, welcoming it. After a moment, he was aware of Will melting against him, hardly seeming to breathe, himself.
Charlie let him float a while, until Will exhaled a hot breath against his neck and slumped partway onto the mattress; then with great reluctance, Charlie stood and unbuttoned his trousers, tugging them off. “There we are. I’ll only have to take laundry soap to my flannels.” He leaned over and unbuttoned Will’s trousers. “I’d help you out of your clothes,” he murmured, giving Will a grin. “But there will most certainly be consequences.”
“We haven’t tempted fate sufficiently?” Will caught the offered hand and got to his feet, removing his own clothes. “We’d better tidy ourselves—”
“Come back and stay for a bit, afterward?” Charlie didn’t care for the thought of crawling into bed alone.
Will seemed of the same mind, but they’d hardly finished washing up before signs of life downstairs made it clear Archie and Caroline had finally wandered in—and the other fe
llows too, judging by the commotion. Will gathered his clothes and made a dash back to his own room, leaving Charlie to wring out his scrubbed flannels alone. After hanging the damp clothes at his open window, Charlie fell into bed and lost himself for a time in the music still drifting across the way. Footsteps passed his door as the fellows went to their rooms and the house settled into slumber, but the distant sound of violins had taken on a rather melancholy strain. He couldn’t sleep. The tryst had been too brief and he wanted Will back in his arms, warm and naked…
Charlie groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. The remedy for his sleeplessness was so near and so impossibly out of reach. Wondering if he should sneak across for a few stolen minutes, he realized someone had opened his door. Not daring to hope, he pushed away the pillow in time to see Will, in only a nightshirt and lugging along a coal scuttle, lock the door—and then proceed to the fire to pour the coal into Charlie’s near empty scuttle. Leaving the pail at the hearth, he came to the bedside and smiled with an air of mischief most unlike him. “Take me in for the night?”
“Run out of coal, did you?” Charlie had to admire the subterfuge. “You might just borrow some of mine.”
“I’ve run out of matches.”
“I could give you—”
“You’ve misplaced yours.”
Charlie broke into a laugh. “You won’t snore or take up too much room?”
Will climbed in, burrowing deep, and exhaled in relief. “I can’t promise.”
“You might be more obliging to a fellow who’s given you half his bed.” Charlie shifted toward him, pressing close, and Will smiled sleepily.
“Just how obliging would you like me to be?”
Charlie dipped a hand beneath the blanket, resting it briefly on Will’s knee before grazing fingers over goose-fleshed skin, pushing the nightshirt up as he went. He took in hand a cock as sleepy as its owner, stroking it, and Will’s breath caught in a most satisfactory way. Slipping a hand behind Will’s neck, Charlie kissed him gently but with such deliberate care, it felt more intimate than any kiss that had come before. Will seemed too mesmerized to kiss him back at first, but the fingers around his cock stirred him from his drowsy state. His hands found Charlie’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and Charlie allowed it for the moment, relishing the feel of Will growing hard in his grip. A firmer stroke made Will gasp and he sank back into the pillow, closing his eyes. “That obliging?”
“This obliging,” Charlie whispered, and ducked down under the blanket. Will couldn’t stay still, but he stayed quiet, only the smallest gasps breaking from him as Charlie did his worst to the vulnerable length of flesh. There wasn’t a sound from him when he came, and only the soft, dazed call of Charlie’s name afterward. Charlie emerged from under the blanket and sprawled upon him. “You can snore if you want, but if you take up all the room, I’ll be sleeping right here.”
“Mm-hmm.” Will’s lashes fluttered, then dropped again, and he turned his head, resting his cheek against Charlie’s arm. Charlie exhaled a laugh and kissed him, too gently to wake him.
“Poor, old Smitty.”
He settled beside Will and drew the blanket over them both. Weariness might have won out, but he’d gotten what he wanted most; and knowing that Will had wanted it just as much made him inexpressibly glad. He basked in the comfort of it for mere minutes before succumbing to sleep, himself—and woke to a room still dark. Morning was not far off, he sensed, and Will was warm against him. They had some time yet. He closed his eyes, hoping to go back to sleep, but it was rather more elusive. The house was quiet and the lullaby from next door had long since concluded. There was nothing to keep him wakeful, and yet…
He drew a long breath, pulled the blanket up close, and shut his eyes. He was tempted to gently nudge Will awake, and if he seemed the least amenable, pounce on him—just for a few glorious minutes. The notion idled in his thoughts, providing the most agreeable distraction, and he thought he might at last be drifting off. He imagined Will’s lips on his, soft, and a hand briefly caressing his cheek before gliding down to rest, splayed, on his abdomen.
He held his breath, afraid he would wake, but those lips found his collarbone and kissed the skin there as gently. Fingers moved in tormenting circles over his stomach, at last settling lightly over his cock, and he wanted to encourage that touch, but he dared not break the spell. Lips teased his nipples before pressing the most tender kiss on his breastbone.
It was a maddeningly slow progression—too slow, for he would wake any moment—but he didn’t want it to end. He was growing hard under the pressure of the warm palm pumping in leisurely rhythm against his cock, and as he stiffened, the fingers curled around him gained a demanding grip. Lips grazed his abdomen and he became aware of how fast his heart was pounding.
He was awake. And Will was kissing the tip of his cock, lips parting to take him in. He tried to open his eyes, only to realize he didn’t want to. He was awake only for the touch of Will’s mouth and hands, centered on that consuming pleasure. The spell remained intact and he lay gasping as the gentle ministrations grew more devouring, almost ruthless. He pressed his lips together, but couldn’t silence himself. He dragged the blanket over his head just as release came with a force that made him groan aloud. Not until he was spent did those lips give him up and he still couldn’t move, not even when Will’s weight settled over him and the gentlest caress brushed his hair back from his brow. “Probably not the wisest course in the dead of night. But it’s my fault for falling asleep in the middle of things.”
Charlie opened his eyes and fixed solemnly on the smiling countenance above him. “I forgive you.”
Will bent his head, resting his brow against Charlie’s. “My mind is greatly eased.”
Sensing Will was about to slip off to his side of the bed, Charlie wrapped both arms around him. “Stay.” He pressed a kiss on Will’s neck. “There’s no better feeling in the world.”
“Think you’ll be able to sleep now?”
Charlie laughed. “I hope not.”
But he did, waking in a pale patch of sunlight to find Will had gone back to his room, but he’d lit a fire since the window had been open all night. Charlie was slow to rise and dress, as yet floating along on the pleasures and comforts of the night before. It seemed a secret, sacred place, the night; a world apart from the commonplaces of daytime, where he and Will kept to their separate spheres. A buoyant happiness had hold of him, spilling over in measure enough to sail him contentedly through anything; and sail him it did, into a busy city department where a triumphantly strutting Mert delivered the message that Holloway wanted to see him.
Charlie refused to be daunted by Mert’s glee. “What’s it about?”
Mert unfurled the newspaper he was carrying; the morning edition of the Sun, Charlie realized. Garber had turned in the piece, along with a photograph of Rose and Belcourt waltzing at the Whitmores’.
Charlie maintained his nonchalance with an effort, but Will’s dismay spoiled it. “May I see that?”
Mert handed it over. “How’d you two lose this to Jake Garber?”
He seemed genuinely curious, but Charlie wasn’t about to indulge him. Afraid Will might, Charlie steered him out the door and around to Holloway’s office. He was about to rap on the glass when Will caught his wrist. “I turned this into a bigger story—”
“Don’t kick yourself. You did it for Rose.” Charlie knocked. “Let me talk to him, all right? If we’re in trouble, I can get us out of it.”
Holloway looked no more annoyed than usual, despite the bottle of dyspeptic pills lying spilled beside a half-eaten roast beef sandwich. Still, a reprimand was coming, Charlie knew; what he and Will hadn’t had the heart to write, Garber had managed quite nicely. And now Charlie didn’t have the heart to offer up excuses that might derail Holloway’s reproach. He hadn’t done his job properly. A dressing-down was in order.
But when he’d sat, hands folded in his lap, to await Holloway’s worst, Charlie couldn’t
help noticing that Will hadn’t followed suit. He’d approached the desk with a worrisome penitence, and Charlie debated pulling him back by his coat tails before he could do something as foolish as quitting. He hissed softly in warning, but Will ignored it, instead laying the Sun on Holloway’s desk. “Sir, this isn’t Charlie’s fault. It was entirely my doing.”
The confession seemed to leave Holloway strangely amused. “That’s a given, isn’t it?” He stood. “Mr. Nesmith, when I sent you out on this assignment, it never occurred to me…” He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re in love, are you?”
Will seemed taken aback, but he let out a breath, the tension in his stance easing. “Yes, sir. As a matter of fact…” He turned his head slightly as if meaning to glance at Charlie, and a tender smile touched his lips. “I am.”
Holloway’s attention shifted to Charlie and his brows suddenly knit. “Just what are you grinning about? You’re a goddamned reporter and you let the Sun pluck this story right out of your lap. Have you got a column for me today?”
Derailing Holloway’s reproach seemed like a good idea after all. “Yes, sir. You’ll have it by six.”
“Five.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charlie made a quick exit while he could, forcing Will to hurry to catch up with him in the hall. “Charlie, hold up. You’ve started a column?”
“No.”
“But you’ve an idea for one?”
Charlie cleared his throat. “No.”
“Charlie—”
“It’s not the first time. Don’t worry. I’ll scribble something.” He slowed as Will fell into step beside him. “You meant what you said in there?” He glanced at Will to see a smile bloom.
“You’re not going to write that up, I hope.”
“Write it up?” Charlie wanted to run down Broadway, shouting it out to everyone who passed. “You’re not ready to fall in love with the world peering over your shoulder?”
“If I could be sure the world would rejoice, perhaps.”
“If I rejoiced… Would that do?”
Will’s gaze brightened. “Do you?”