Just a Little Heartache

by Merry Farmer

  Edward smiled warily at the comment. He heard that and much worse on a nearly daily basis, but it was better to be called boring than to be called out for the truth. “I was just on my way home,” he said, swaying forward and trying to indicate to Chesterfield that he didn’t want to chit-chat.

  Chesterfield ignored his move, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Have you heard the latest about the raid in Marylebone? They broke up a very interesting party, you know.” He leaned back and tapped a finger to his nose, then darted a sideways glance to his companion before touching his fingers to his lips in caution.

  “Yes, I do believe I heard something about it in passing,” Edward replied.

  In fact, several prominent members of The Brotherhood—an underground organization of men who loved other men that Edward was a part of—had been arrested and were currently awaiting trial. It was all The Brotherhood had been able to talk about in the last few days. The party was of a sordid nature—the sort of thing Edward was both repulsed and reluctantly fascinated with—and its organizer, Walter Borne, had accidentally invited a blackmailer. The blackmailer in question had spent months befriending the men in order to be invited to something like that, and he had jumped bringing the police with him, at the first opportunity. The Brotherhood was livid, and David Wirth and Lionel Mercer were up to their eyeballs, pulling out every legal stop they could to exonerate the unfortunate bastards who had been caught up in the whole thing. The net result was that every invert in London was even more on his guard than usual. And Edward was always on his guard.

  “That sort is a blight upon England,” Chesterfield went on, puffing his chest up. “Their sort should be rounded up and thrown in the fire like the fags they are before they can corrupt the morals of the young. Why, my wife and her friends are intent on raising funds to do something about it. I believe they’re meeting about it this evening, the blessed things.” He turned to his companion—who was most certainly not his wife. The young lady giggled and cooed, hugging Chesterfield’s arm and leaning into him in a way that exposed her ample bosom. “Come on, dearie,” Chesterfield went on. “We’ll be late to Monroe’s soiree, and I hear he’s had some of the good stuff imported from Burma.” He laughed and kissed his companion’s cheek before nodding to Edward and marching off.

  Edward waited until Chesterfield had his back turned to scowl in frustration. A blight on England indeed. The hypocrisy of men like Chesterfield, with their mistresses, oriental narcotics, and who knew what other vices, insisting that men like Jewel—who just wanted to show off—or like Niall Cristofori and Blake Williamson—who only wanted to reunite Blake’s family so that they could live in domestic peace for the rest of their days—was appalling.

  The anger those thoughts brought with them burned in Edward’s gut as he crossed the Concord Theater’s lobby to retrieve his coat and hat from the booth near the front, then headed out into the frigid night. Maybe Walter had the right of things and he should make hay while the sun was shining, as the phrase went. Perhaps bending over backwards to avoid notice and deny the urges that were sometimes so demanding he couldn’t sleep wasn’t the way to go. He wasn’t a total monk, after all. He should be bending over forwards with a strapping companion behind him. He’d been cruising in St. James’s Park a time or two to find what he needed in the moment, which had never amounted to more than an impersonal hand, or even more rarely, a mouth, in the dark. Though he always felt miserably and dirty afterwards. But dammit, man was not meant to be made of stone, and he certainly wasn’t.

  His restless, winding thoughts took him around the side of the theater to the alley where the stage door stood. Already, a crowd of men and women huddled together in the cold and the dark, waiting, no doubt, for Everett Jewel to make his appearance. Edward grimaced at the pull he felt toward that crowd, walking forward to join them even as he warned himself he should go home and stay safe. The impish voice at the back of his head whispered that there might be a likely fellow loitering in the crowd who could do him a favor in a dark corner and end the relentless throbbing in his groin. When was the last time he’d had anyone, other than himself, do something about that merciless need? Months at the very least. One harmless little fumble wouldn’t do him any harm. No one would have to know.

  Edward glanced carefully at the men waiting for Jewel, keeping his eyes peeled for that particular look or a wink or any of the numerous signs their sort had to indicate they were game. He spotted a handsome young fellow with a wide mouth and teasing eyes leaning against the wall of the building beside the theater. The man’s smile widened when Edward met his eyes. He touched the back of his hand as a signal. A rush of bittersweet excitement pulsed through Edward, and his cock stirred to life. With a mouth like that, he might get exactly what he needed from the man. He inched closer.

  The stage door opened, and there was a roar of applause and adoration as Everett stepped out to greet his admirers. Edward noted the ever-present form of Everett’s lover, Patrick Wrexham, with a smirk. Anyone who thought they could get a piece of Everett for the evening would be sorely disappointed. Everett and Patrick were devoted to each other—a fact that had Edward’s heart aching in his chest. What he wouldn’t give for a man to adore and protect him the way Patrick and Everett looked out for and loved each other? When Patrick spotted him in the back of the crowd and nodded, Edward nodded back with a wistful grin. They knew each other from The Brotherhood, of course, and Edward had secretly envied Patrick and what he had for months.

  That only increased his mad determination to get at least a modicum of pleasure that evening. And who knew? Perhaps a wicked assignation in the dark could lead to a lifetime of happiness. Men had met in stranger ways. He focused forward again, turning his hopeful grin to the young man leaning against the wall.

  The young man’s smile widened, and he stood straighter. He pushed away from the wall, walking with purpose toward the mouth of the ally and the street. Edward knew the signs well. The man probably had rooms nearby, or at least knew of a relatively private area, like a public toilet, where they could complete their transaction. Edward’s heart thumped against his ribs in anticipation as he followed the man, taking care to keep behind him enough to deflect any suspicion, but close enough so that the man would know he was following.

  They walked halfway across Covent Garden that way. The young man was definitely heading toward one of the public toilets. Edward was tense with expectation and arousal, though a large part of him felt tainted and gross already over what he was about to do. He told himself that he was only human, that he had every right to steal a moment of pleasure if he wanted to, and that both parties would be willing and eager. There was nothing wrong with what he wanted or what he was doing.

  “Got a match?” the young man said, stopping near the entrance to the public toilet.

  Edward reached into his pocket for the coins the man likely wanted to see before heading into the toilet.

  “Charlie! Thank God. There you are.”

  Edward nearly jumped out of his skin at the shout from behind him. He whirled around, expecting to see someone who knew the young man. His heart dropped to his feet and his hands went numb at the sight of none other than Martin Piper striding toward him with a smile and something like determination in his eyes, as illuminated by the streetlights. For a fraction of a second, he was convinced Piper knew the young man, but a moment later, he realized Piper was marching straight toward him.

  “You didn’t have to come all this way to use the toilet you know, Charlie,” Piper said, grabbing Edward’s elbow and steering him away from the young man. He barely nodded to the fellow, then dragged Edward off toward the main street. “You could have used the one at the theater.”

  “Oh…I…sorry. Um, that is to say….” Edward stammered, no idea what was going on. He glanced over his shoulder at the young man, who had pulled up the collar of his coat and was rushing away. “Er, my name isn’t Charlie,” he finished.

  “I know,” Piper whispe
red, urging Edward to pick up his pace as well. He glanced around anxiously before letting go of Edward’s arm and rubbing his mittened hands together. “You’re Edward Archibald, MP. And that bloke was Jerry Rivers, one of the very worst blackmailers you’d ever want to come across.”

  Edward’s nerves frazzled so fast and so hard that he missed a step. “Good God,” he hissed, pausing to lean against a lamppost for a moment so his legs didn’t give out from under him entirely. If he’d been caught cruising in Covent Garden…the scandal that would hit the papers by morning…his reputation, livelihood, and life ruined…. He didn’t even want to think about it.

  “Patrick spotted you at the theater door, saw Rivers hook you, and sent me after you before you could do yourself a harm,” Piper explained. When Edward dared to look the man in the eyes, Piper’s face brightened into a charming smile, and he held out his hand. “Hello. Martin Piper.”

  The tightness in Edward’s groin flared to life again at the kindness in Piper’s eyes and the genuine happiness in his smile. He straightened and took the man’s hand. “Edward Archibald,” he returned the greeting.

  “But I already knew that,” Piper finished as though that was what he was about to say. “Come on. Let’s get you home, safe and sound.” He thumped Edward’s shoulder once they were finished shaking hands and steered him toward the main road. “Where do you live?”

  Edward blinked and shook his head slightly, unable to believe that the Martin Piper was walking him home after rescuing him from disaster. “Er, just on the other side of Birdcage Walk, off of St. James’s Park.”

  “Ooh, fancy.” Piper’s eyes lit up even more. “Close to the halls of Westminster, I see.”

  “Yes, something like that.” In fact, Edward had taken a small flat there in a fit of wickedness, as St. James’s Park was one of the most fruitful and notorious cruising grounds for men like them. Whenever he couldn’t stand denying his urges for a moment longer, there was always a likely fellow to be found in the park after dark.

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  About the Author

  I hope you have enjoyed Just a Little Heartache. If you’d like to be the first to learn about when new books in the series come out and more, please sign up for my newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/cbaVMH And remember, Read it, Review it, Share it! For a complete list of works by Merry Farmer with links, please visit http://wp.me/P5ttjb-14F.

  Merry Farmer is an award-winning novelist who lives in suburban Philadelphia with her cats, Torpedo, her grumpy old man, and Justine, her hyperactive new baby. She has been writing since she was ten years old and realized one day that she didn't have to wait for the teacher to assign a creative writing project to write something. It was the best day of her life. She then went on to earn not one but two degrees in History so that she would always have something to write about. Her books have reached the Top 100 at Amazon, iBooks, and Barnes & Noble, and have been named finalists in the prestigious RONE and Rom Com Reader’s Crown awards.

  Acknowledgments

  I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my awesome beta-readers, Caroline Lee and Jolene Stewart, for their suggestions and advice. And double thanks to Julie Tague, for being a truly excellent editor! Thanks also to my fabulous assistant, Cindy Jackson.

  Click here for a complete list of other works by Merry Farmer.