“No, not mine, I’m happy to say.” Alfie said, shifting on his feet. “Wonderful to see you both, of course, but we were just leaving.”
“Now that would be intolerably rude,” said a voice from behind Dominick.
Every street-raised fiber of his being wanted to spin around and confront the man at his back with raised fists.
“You must introduce us to your friend, we so rarely see you with any.”
Alfie’s eyes went wide with more than a trace of fear. Whoever the man behind him was, Dominick decided he would very much like to rearrange his face.
“Reginald,” Alfie said haltingly. “I didn’t know you were a member here.”
Reginald. The cousin. The man who was threatening to send Alfie to an early grave all for the sake of a fortune he’d likely fritter away on a turn of the cards. White hot anger clouded the edges of Dominick’s vision as he turned to face his foe. He fought to keep the satisfied sneer from his lips when he discovered he towered over the red-faced man.
“Well, they do allow most anyone in now,” St. John drawled. He flicked a glance up and down Dominick. “Clearly.”
“Reginald, Lord Boyle, Mr. Stockton, allow me to make introductions. This is my friend Mr. Trent.”
A pallid, fish-like hand was thrust into Dominick’s range of vision. He turned to face the other two interlopers, but kept St. John in the corner of his eye.
“Call me Stokes, and this one’s Batty,” the skinny one said, laughing at his own joke as Dominick shook his offered hand gingerly so as not to break him. From the look on Lord Boyle’s face, this was not the first time Mr. Stockton had made that jest.
“Any friend of Freddie’s is a friend of ours,” Lord Boyle said. “I swear, you look familiar. Have we met?”
“Yes, do tell us where our Freddie met such a gentleman as yourself,” said St. John. “I’m sure I would remember if I’d seen him with such a… memorable friend before.”
The insinuation in his voice was barely veiled. Across the table, Alfie flinched. From the panic in his eyes, Dominick guessed this “night out” Mr. Stokes had mentioned was likely the night he and Alfie had met. Bless the vice of overindulgence that they didn’t remember Dominick's face. If St. John knew who he was, it would be easy enough for him to find out about his past and his more unsavory occupation, which would be all the ammunition he needed to destroy Alfie. An earl parading a male prostitute at his fancy club? Even a whiff of such a scandal would be ruinous.
He cursed silently. Why had he let Alfie convince him to come here? It was a ridiculous risk and for what? A meal that now sat like lead in his stomach. If he was really Alfie’s bodyguard, it was time he started treating this like the dangerous situation it was, not some grand adventure story.
“I’m sure I’d remember a man of your stature as well,” Dominick said evenly. “I’m just up from Cornwall.”
At that pronouncement, Mr. Stockton looked about ready to flee or reach for his smelling salts, but his infernal friend persisted.
“I’m sure I’ve seen you before. Perhaps at school?”
Dominick faltered. If he agreed, it might stop Lord Boyle before he actually remembered, but if the man tried to reminisce, Dominick would be sunk.
“Mr. Trent went to Oxford, I’m afraid,” Alfie piped up. “Unfortunately he’s not a Cambridge man like ourselves. Perhaps you met in a scrum?”
Dominick very much doubted any of the three would have lasted more than five minutes on a rugby pitch, but they appeared flattered that Alfie seemed to believe otherwise. Even St. John relaxed a little, his eyes on Dominick not quite so sharp.
“Oh, we would have graduated well before either of you I’m afraid,” Mr. Stockton sniffed, making no comment on if he had ever spent any time on the field. “But perhaps at an alumni game. We do donate heavily to the alma mater after all.”
“That must be it,” Dominick agreed with a forced grin.
He was suddenly very tired. For a moment there, he’d almost felt like he’d belonged in this world, or at the very least, by Alfie's side. But listening to these men talk casually about their universities and vast sums of money, he realised he was only fooling himself. The sooner they could find proof against St. John or whoever Alfie’s attacker was and stop him for good, the sooner Dominick could return to the life he was meant to live. Never seeing Alfie again would feel amputating a limb, but he’d survived their separation before. He could do it again.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Alfie was making their excuses again, more forcefully this time, and herding Dominick out of the dining room and back down the stairs to the foyer. Dominick took a last look over his shoulder.
Mr. Stockton and Lord Boyle were already wandering deeper into the club, animatedly discussing whatever trivialities they deemed important, but St. John stood stock still, watching Alfie and Dominick depart with an unreadable expression on his piggish features. When Alfie tugged Dominick’s sleeve to keep him moving, a slow grin crawled across St. John’s face. He raised a silent hand in farewell.
Dominick shuddered. It wasn’t until they were in the carriage on the way back to Bedford Square that he finally felt free of those knowing eyes and greedy smile.
✽✽✽
When they were in front of Alfie's door again, Dominick could see him hesitate. Outside the coach’s windows, the rain was pounding the cobblestones, one of the harsh London spring rains. In the morning, the city would be as beautiful as it could possibly get, the soot washed from walls and the filth from gutters. The air would be fresh and pure. The sweetness of it would last for a few days, but then dogs would die, horses would shit, men would piss. The factories would bellow out their smoke and soon the city would be its dirty, stinking self once more. Dominick thought about the long walk back to his lodgings, the way the wind rattled through cracks in the chimney and the roof leaked over his bed. It wasn’t hard to guess what Alfie was about to say.
“I’m sorry the visit to my club didn’t go as well as I had intended, so I hate to ask you to do something else you’ve refused, but the weather is too foul to walk in. I’d happily lend you the carriage, but that means the driver would have to sit in the rain all the way there and back, so—”
“Yes.” Dominick interrupted. “I’ll stay in the blue room tonight. Thank you.”
Why not? His day had been miserable enough already. He might as well trade the physical torture of the long journey home for the mental one of having Alfie just down the hall. So close and yet so completely out of reach. He couldn’t look at Alfie right now, he could practically feel the joy radiating off of him, and so he leapt from the carriage, waiting under the slight overhang of Alfie's front door while Alfie gave the driver his instructions to return to the stables.
Even with that little protection, they were both soaked to the bone by the time Alfie finally got the door open.
“Watch your step, it’ll be slippery.” Alfie’s hair was plastered down against his skull, the auburn dark with rainwater and beginning to curl at the ends. He shivered. “Go get changed. There should be some towels to dry off with in your wardrobe. I could heat some water in the kitchen if you need to wash. I have to put the kettle on for tea, anyway.”
“Mrs. Hirkins isn’t here?”
“Oh no. I imagine she departed shortly after we did. Never fear, she’ll have left the fixings for a cold supper behind her. She has quarters here of course, but prefers to be home, especially when the weather is this bad. Doesn’t like to leave her husband alone.”
Alfie tapped his leg. “She has a gammy knee. It’s never been wrong about the weather. Always gets her home right before the storm itself starts.”
So they wouldn’t even have the token supervision of Mrs. Hirkins’s presence. Dominick shuddered, and not just from the cold. His body was aching for him to take this opportunity, to go to Alfie, to have him while he still had the chance. Strip him down in front of a roaring fire, see all of that long, beautiful bo
dy pinken with warmth and desire. Dominick would reveal him slowly, adoring every bit of skin as it was brought to light, then follow that trail of hair he’d glimpsed before to the treasure it promised. Would Alfie just lie there and let Dominick worship him, or would he take control?
Dominick would be fine with either. But the idea of Alfie pushing him down onto the rug, then preparing himself while Dominick watched, pinned under that piercing blue gaze, before sinking down onto Dominick’s cock and using him for his own pleasure?
He wrapped his overcoat tighter around himself, not trusting the clinging material of his trousers to hide his reaction to that particular thought.
“A bath won’t be necessary,” Dominick said, before nearly sprinting up to his room.
Not his room, he reminded himself, slamming the door closed and dropping back against it. Just the blue room.
Where all of his clothes were hanging in the wardrobe, and his boots were tucked away in the corner. Where he had his own washstand, upon which the shaving kit he had brought from his lodgings sat, since the light here was so much better to shave by and Mrs. Hirkins made sure the pitcher was filled with hot water each morning.
He kept the set of cufflinks Alfie had loaned him in the same drawer each night, and had a stack of books on the dresser to read on days when Alfie had too much work to go out in the morning and Dominick needed something to fill the hours before he could resume his bodyguard activities in the afternoon. In fact the only thing that he didn’t really do in the bedroom was use the bed, but tonight he would.
For sleep, he told himself firmly. Nothing else. Because even with the faint airs and hints Dominick thought he recognized that suggested Alfie might be open to his advances, it wasn’t worth the risk. If he was wrong and Alfie kicked him out, there would be no one to protect Alfie from the attacker. And even if he was right…
If he was right, it would be even worse. He had fallen. Dominick could admit it. He had fallen in love with Alfie. He had loved Alfie his whole life in one way or another, he’d known that. But as a child it had been the love of two friends with nothing else in the world but each other. This was different. Those feelings were still there, but the last few weeks they had increased a hundredfold and mixed with desire.
But even if Alfie wanted Dominick like all those other men had wanted him; for an hour, or a night, or even several nights if he was lucky, it didn’t matter. There was just no way for them to be together after this was over and that was it. Now, the pain when he had to finally walk away would be bearable, if only just. But to walk away after being with Alfie, body and soul, knowing it could never happen again? That would destroy him.
Dominick sighed, stripping off his wet clothes and wrapping himself in several of the plush towels. He couldn’t help but give one a sniff. He inhaled the same clean lavender scent that Alfie smelled of each morning at breakfast, before the scent from his freshly laundered shirts and cravats faded, leaving behind only the sharp smell of Alfie's cologne and the warmth of his skin.
He dropped the towel and buried his face in his hands. He should leave now while he still could. But he really had fallen, and all of the ways out of the abyss were even more painful than staying. At least if he stayed, he could be around Alfie for as long as he still needed Dominick. And then?
He sagged down onto the bed, too dejected to even notice the way it pillowed around him. It really had been the most wretched day.
Chapter 16
Alfie clenched and unclenched his hands with nervous anticipation. It helped if he had something to do with them, so while the water heated over the kitchen fire, he went to lay out all the implements for tea. He had watched Mrs. Hirkins do it enough as a child when he was still small enough to not be in the way. That done, he cast his eyes about the kitchen looking for something—anything—else to do.
Enough of that. Just because Dominick had agreed to stay the night didn’t mean there was anything to be nervous about. Well, there was someone trying to blackmail and kill him, but nothing had really happened on that front in weeks. For now, everything was fine. Alfie was just alone in his home with his dearest friend whom he secretly desired carnally and who was going to be spending the night just down the hall from his bedchamber. Nothing to be nervous about at all.
When the kettle whistled he took it off the heat and carefully poured the water over the leaves in the teapot. Had he been too forward offering to warm some water for Dominick? He honestly hadn’t meant it in any sort of lecherous way. Of course, he wouldn’t have turned down the opportunity to watch if offered, but he had just wanted to help his friend warm himself after their brief drenching.
He reordered the contents of the tea tray one last time and carefully lifted it. He supposed he’d find out. If Dominick locked himself in his room and refused to come down for tea or whatever supper they could scrounge, then that would be answer enough. If so, in the morning he would pay Dominick for all his time, give him an excellent recommendation, and promptly go about finding himself a new bodyguard. Despite the fact the idea of replacing Dominick, even if after only knowing him again for a few weeks, seemed impossible.
He shook his head, careful not to jostle the tray as he navigated the stairs. He was overthinking things. He had just been thrown off-kilter by seeing his cousin and his odious friends at White’s. Thankfully, they had not recognized Dominick as the boxer they had seen nearly killed just scant weeks before, but still, it was a closer call than he was comfortable with.
He took a small mote of pleasure in the fact that his disguise of Dominick as a gentleman seemed to be working. But it was probably only a matter of time before someone either did recognize him, or at the very least realised that that was not a Cornish accent.
There was something in the way Reginald had looked at Dominick too that worried him. Nothing so specific that he could put a name to it, just a vague sense of unease. The sooner they resolved this mess, the better.
He had the tea laid out in his study, and was busy coaxing the fire in the fireplace to life when he heard the door open behind him. Still on his knees, he turned and was, not for the first time, stunned into silence with Dominick's appearance. He was in just his shirtsleeves with the cuffs unbuttoned, and his stocking feet flexed against the oriental rug that had been the pride of Alfie's father’s collection.
He had obviously attempted to dry his hair, but it was still damp and fell in wild golden waves about his face. The complete image was like some romantic hero from a novel, there to save the day and rescue the damsel. Even the blanket Dominick had clutched around his shoulders didn’t look ridiculous, the way it would on Alfie, but more like a kingly mantle. Alfie gestured towards one of the chairs.
“I did promise to loan you one.”
He saw the moment Dominick's eyes landed on the banyan Alfie had laid along the back of the chair. He had promised, and they were such cozy garments. Dominick snorted, but to his credit, folded the blanket and wrapped the banyan around himself instead. Red with orange stripes, it was less ornate than Alfie's usual one and so he wore it less often, but it was just as fine. Dominick held out his arms for inspection.
“Very smart,” said Alfie. “You look every inch the Cornish gentleman at ease.”
“Perhaps I can start a series of rumors. All bootblacks are secretly from Cornwall and that’s why they talk that way.”
“All Cornish men laugh disruptively in clubs.”
“All Cornish men use only one spoon.”
“All Cornish men are giants.”
“There’s enough people already that believe that one,” Dominick grinned, pouring himself a cup of tea and then another for Alfie.
As Alfie finally got the fire crackling merrily away, Dominick added just the amounts of cream and sugar that Alfie liked and passed him his cup. Alfie seated himself in the armchair that mirrored Dominick's in front of the fire and smiled softly at the sweet domesticity of the action. He wanted to say something about it, but Dominick had acted like it w
as a completely common occurrence, like he had made Alfie's tea for him a hundred times before. Alfie decided to say nothing. He took a sip instead. It was perfect.
They enjoyed the silence for a long while, listening to the rain hitting the windows, its ceaseless tapping on the glass blurring with the sounds of the fire crackling in the hearth.
Each chair had a matching footstool, and they both took advantage, stretching their legs out towards the fire and warming their soles. The slight angle of the chairs meant their feet ended up mere inches apart. Alfie was debating whether it would be too much to give Dominick a friendly kick, like he’d done at luncheon, when he found himself being kicked lightly instead.
He glanced over and found Dominick pointedly not looking at him, staring into the fire with a small smile playing about his lips. Alfie nudged his foot back in return, the slide of silk on silk far too intimate. But perhaps here in this little bubble of the two of them, cut off from the world, the rules of proper society that had been beaten into Alfie did not need to apply.
He closed his eyes, indulging in the feelings of warmth and companionship. The worries he’d had earlier dried up like a pool of rainwater on a hot hearth. Whatever his feelings for Dominick were, Alfie knew he was safe with him. That had been true when he was five and it was true now.
It had been a long day. Perhaps he would just take a short rest now while they warmed up. Distantly, he felt Dominick's presence shift and the teacup and saucer being lifted from his slackening fingers. Then there was the faintest brush against his forehead. In his half-awake state, Alfie let himself pretend it was a kiss as he drifted off into his dreams.
✽✽✽
He awoke slowly. The fire had burned down, and while the embers still glowed, the study was beginning to get the slightest chill. The rain still beat against the windows in a steady tattoo. Alfie rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock on the mantel. He’d been asleep for nearly three hours. Glancing over, Dominick was fast asleep in the chair next to his, banyan wrapped tightly around him and chin tucked into his chest. The tea on the table between them was no more than half drunk and ice cold.
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