William

by Claire Cray

  I watched Merrick carefully as he went for the door, gauging his reaction. There was no dark storm cloud in his eyes this time. It must have been a good letter; that, or Merrick's anger was finally beginning to cool on his own.

  "I'll be in the drawing room," Merrick said, pausing at the threshold. "I have a few last correspondences to attend to. They won't take long. Shall we leave in twenty minutes?"

  "Right."

  "And William." Merrick's eyes went to the letter, which I still held balanced between my thumb and forefinger like a shard of glass. "If there is anything I should know." Immediately I thrust the letter in his direction, but he held up his hand. "I leave it to you."

  I watched him leave before I looked down at the letter. To my great consternation, I was dying to know what was inside.

  I broke the seal and unfolded the page. It was covered in Theo's confident, energetic handwriting, scrawled with such obvious excitement and glee that I could practically hear him howling through the deep blue ink.

  My dear, dear, dear, DEAR young W!

  Bon TRAVAIL mon ami—is it true? Write me, W, oh do write and tell me yourself it is done, and I shall explode twice over—go on and murder me with Joy if you really want me dead. The Prince is born! I dare not believe this Feat has been conquered at last, over a HUNDRED years of TORMENT gone up in smoke, thanks to you, sweet little fool, I could cover your stupid face in kisses I am so far flung by this Happiness. Thousands and millions of Felicitations, showers of Light be upon your head! !!!

  What more shall I say as I bask in this sweet Finale? Only I beg you to write, young Prince, I do—I must have it in your own words if I am to truly, finally close the door on this ghastly affair. Write to me. And give me news, do, do tell me how it is, if he is as Happy as I. Spare not a word! I'll be in New York, waiting. Bless you bless you and bless you to the Moon and back, you magnificent little shit. I shall never forget this Beautiful Deed. I remain

  Your Esteemed Councilor,

  BENJAMIN CORRINGTON

  I dropped the letter with a sigh, but try as I might, I couldn't quite keep the smile from my lips.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The night streets were dank and pungent with the heat, and all the good people of Boston were wilting like cabbage in steam. I watched in fascination as a young worker passed us, his eyes heavy-lidded, his hair stuck to his forehead in damp tendrils.

  "Do we sweat?" I asked Merrick.

  "Rarely." We were walking toward Beekman's, and I had not yet thought of what to say about Theo's letter, the contents of which were, quite honestly, of no urgent relevance that I could see.

  I continued to look about. The poor things were turning to mush in the humidity, and now they had the threat of fever to contend with? God, what a bunch of problems I'd left behind! I was almost sorry to think that while I was to dally my nights away, light on my feet and in perfect health, these hapless creatures would be battling any number of mortal predicaments. Fatigue, headaches and back pain, bowed legs and hunchbacks, bad eyes and tired lungs, and sickness, always the threat of sickness, or bad water or cold weather or worms in the pantry...I shuddered.

  "Is something the matter?" Merrick asked.

  "I feel sorry for them."

  "Why is that?"

  "Well," I shrugged, thinking it rather obvious. "We have much less to worry about, don't we?"

  "No animal is perfect."

  "Yet it’s a perfect world in sum," I mused, glancing up at the moon.

  Merrick cast me a puzzled smile. "Is the evening so fine?"

  "Is it not?"

  His response was a bemused laugh. "Yes, I suppose it is."

  "Or," I realized slowly, "was your letter..."

  "There were no surprises."

  "He asked me to write to him."

  "Yes, he said that he would."

  There was a pause before I prodded, "And?"

  Merrick glanced at me again, raising a mild brow. "And?"

  "Well," I said awkwardly. "Do you—that is, if you would prefer that I..."

  "Do as you wish." There was no emotion behind the remark. After another pause, Merrick added, "It would do no harm to confirm that his duties, as he sees them, are finished without question."

  "I had the same thought, only, well. If it should disturb you."

  "William, I leave it to you. I told you I have faith in your judgment."

  I shut my mouth, frowning ahead. We were mere moments from Beekman's.

  After a silence, Merrick sighed. "Of course. You're worried after my reaction to hearing of your meetings. I'm not troubled by letters, William. If I thought you easily corrupted by words on a page, I'd be in for a harrowing ride, wouldn't you say?"

  That was better, and I relaxed considerably. "But I am, you know," I smirked as we stepped onto the path toward the tailor's door. "Just look what my love of books has wrought."

  "What has it wrought?" Merrick murmured, clearly suppressing a smile.

  "A life of dark adventure, lust, passion of the most savage—"

  Merrick laughed, surprised, before cutting me off with a gesture. "Yes. I see. Thank you."

  I pressed my lips together to contain a grin as he knocked on Beekman's door, pleased with myself for amusing him, and with him for being amused—with the pair of us, decidedly. There had been times in our acquaintance where I'd wondered if he would look down on some parts of my character he hadn't yet come to know. After all, I was considerably younger—considerably—and a bit rough around the edges. Indeed, the more I learned of his experiences and compared them to mine, the more alarmingly mismatched we seemed.

  And yet somehow, to my constant and ever expanding amazement, I had never once sensed condescension or disapproval in Merrick's eyes. When I tested the waters with a hard word or a sly remark, he always took it in stride. Of course, he was as he was, and I was as I was; I had no illusions that I'd ever see him howling with laughter at some beer-drenched table. The very notion brought a fresh smirk to my lips. But the point was that he humored me as I was, that he took visible pleasure in my amusement, no matter what it was that amused me. It warmed my heart. It made me want to crush him in my arms and drink him up.

  I was looking at him wistfully when Beekman opened the door.

  "Gentlemen," the tailor said warmly, beaming as he beckoned us in. Mr. Beekman was clad in supple buckskins, a pale waistcoat and a navy jacket, and his hair was even more lusciously windswept than I remembered. But it was the scent of him smacked me right in the chest. When he turned away to lead us into the main room I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath before I followed. Merrick had told me it would be a challenge, and I was determined to conquer it, but my God, his presence already tickled my tongue! Absence, I feared, had made my thirst profounder.

  "You're due to leave us soon, are you?" Beekman asked, looking between us as he took the first suit over his arm. The chamber was lit as lustrously as before, but appeared much emptier. There were no bolts of fabric set out for display this time, and something else was missing, too.

  "Yes, we'll be off in the morning." Merrick said. "Business in New Hampshire."

  "Very good. Though I can't say I'm happy to see you go. The city could use your sense of fashion, the two of you."

  "You're kind to include me," Merrick said pleasantly, and looked my way. "But between the two of us, it is my associate who has the discerning taste."

  Discerning taste, indeed. My teeth were ringing. Distractedly, I realized what was missing from the place this time. "Have your apprentices gone to bed, sir?"

  "Oh, I do hope so. I sent them home for the night. The poor lads would toil all hours of the week if I didn't push them out the door on occasion. Here you are, sir." Beekman beckoned me to join him behind the linen dressing screen.

  I glanced at Merrick, who only met my eyes calmly. God help me. I stepped into the small enclosure.

  "Forgive the darkness, sir," Beekman said, pivoting to take my jacket.

  "Har
dly your fault." My reply came out as a murmur, and I resisted the urge to clear my throat. His fingertips softly clipped the backs of my shoulders as he helped me shed the garment, and I looked upward as I undid my waistcoat. "We should beg your pardon," I said, trying to distract myself. "Insisting on such late meetings."

  "Oh, not at'all." Beekman laid my jacket over the clothes horse and held out his hand for my vest. "If only all business could be done so peacefully. The usual in-and-out by day makes it rather difficult to give as much personal attention as I'd like." Setting the waistcoat aside, Beekman took my arm to steady me for the boot jack.

  Reflexively I grasped his elbow, a perfectly mundane gesture that set my heart spinning. The man's blood, I guessed, would taste of tea and ginger. I quickly hooked a heel in the wooden notch to pull off one boot, then the other, and let go of him to shed my trousers.

  "We discussed an exceptionally slim fit," Beekman said, holding my new pants at ready. "I hope this will be to your liking."

  "I'm delighted to be in your hands." I shut my mouth as soon as I'd said it, wondering where that husky tone had come from. Cheeks aflame, I took the new pants from him readily, pulled them on, and stepped out from behind the screen.

  Oh, thank Christ, a real distraction. "Splendid," I breathed, gaping at the mirror. They cut was divine, the fit transcendent. I turned this way and that, admiring the lines.

  "As narrow in the hip as could be," Beekman said, and my inner composure went up in smoke when he crouched down to skim his palms up the sides, pulling gently at the fabric to test how it laid against my body. "Oh, yes. You carry this very well, sir." He adjusted the waistband around my shirt, slipping two fingers between the garments to check the fit. "Wonderful," he said to himself, then looked up at me. "How do they feel?"

  "Exquisite." I made the mistake of glancing down at his intent expression, and then studiously fixed my eyes back in the mirror. "You've a deft hand, Mr. Beekman."

  The tailor flushed with pleasure and rose to his feet, then helped me into my new waistcoat before offering the jacket he'd made.

  I sought Merrick in the mirror as I put my arms into the garment. The man stood behind me at a distance, watching with an expression I couldn't read. Was he worried I'd lose composure? I straightened my spine and looked Beekman in the face as he straightened my lapels, determined to pass muster. The tailor was deep in his craft, focused entirely on the look of the garments he'd constructed. His eyes were narrow with concentration, his lips pursed, his brow furrowed, and he laid his hands on me with the utmost professional confidence to inspect his work. It dawned on me that there was possibly no trade more intimate, more seductive, more alluring...

  Beekman had asked me a question, and somehow, even with my eyes trained on his face, I had failed to hear it. "Sorry?"

  "Too tight, sir?"

  "No. No," I said, looking at the mirror again as I stretched my shoulders and turned at the waist. The results of his craftsmanship nearly brought a tear to my eye. The outfit hung so fluidly about my body it was like a second, more fashionable skin. "Bloody Hell, you do fine work. It fits like a glove."

  "I dared to cut right up to your measurements," Beekman said, stepping back and crossing his arms to look me up and down with barely contained pride. "I must say this is the cleanest first fitting I’ve seen in a good while."

  "Indeed," I murmured, admiring the perfect lines of my new ensemble. "Flawless, sir. Well done."

  Mr. Beekman smiled broadly, glowing with his accomplishment. By God, he was a treasure. "It’s your figure, sir, that takes the credit. Move around, if you would, and tell me if you feel any need for adjustment.” He looked toward Merrick. “If you're ready, sir."

  Merrick approached the dressing area, and on the way he gave me a placid, inscrutable look in the mirror. I swallowed. Was he impressed? I did want to impress him. I wanted to impress myself, for that matter. I wanted to know I was capable of standing atop my desires.

  With the two of them out of sight for a moment, I closed my eyes and let out a long, deliberate breath. When I faced myself in the mirror again, I couldn't help but be impressed by how calm and confident I appeared. There was a keen look in my eye, perhaps, but one would never guess I was lusting for this poor tailor's blood. I turned on my heel to stroll the room, determined to keep my wits about me. Mr. Beekman had arranged a tray of wine and glasses at one side of the room, and I served myself a glass before sitting down in the same chair I'd taken the week before, when I'd watched Merrick have his measurements taken.

  The wine soothed me as much as the distance I'd put between Beekman and myself, and I relaxed considerably to watch Merrick dress. To my utter lack of surprise, he was resplendent in Beekman's creation. In fact, I was instantly afraid that Merrick would never step outside in this new ensemble, for despite the fact that we'd kept it confined to plain and somber tones, he was so profoundly, breathtakingly perfect in it that he'd be easily remembered wherever we went.

  I drained a good few inches of the bottle of wine as he and Beekman conversed, letting their words fade into the background as much as I could. My teeth were practically begging to pierce something, and I wasn't willing to test my stamina any more than I had to. My thoughts swung like wild pendulums as it was, full of elation over the suits, satisfaction in my own self-control, intense feelings of desirous affection for Beekman, and distress at the thought that I could not have him. By the time they'd gotten around to settling the bill, insides were all in a furor and I was more than ready to leave.

  "It's been my distinct pleasure, gentlemen," Mr. Beekman said as he escorted us out with our parcels under our arms, and the wistfulness in his voice was unmistakable. "Would that you could stay with us a bit longer."

  "Indeed," Merrick said. "You've spoiled us with your work, I fear."

  "You're very kind," Beekman said with a flush of pleasure, looking between us as we stood at the threshold. "But it gives me no end of joy to know I’ve been the one to dress you for your travels. Please do stay in touch, gentlemen, and whenever you should return to Boston..."

  "It's a promise," I said, extending my hand. He clasped it warmly, and I could have moaned in despair.

  The door closed behind us. Merrick put a friendly hand to my back as we walked back to the street. "How are you?"

  "Oh, Merrick," I groaned softly. "I pray we can find someone quickly, now..."

  "You've shown a great deal of discipline."

  "It's not my favorite part so far," I quipped without much heart.

  In truth, it was worse than I'd thought. With every step we took from Beekman's, I felt a hollowness expanding within me. I had expected the distance to dull the craving I'd felt inside; on the contrary, the knowledge that I was leaving the object of my desire behind me provoked a faint sort of panic somewhere deep in my mind. In fact, I could scarcely call this sensation a thirst, for it wasn't felt in the usual way, in my lips and teeth and throat, but all through my mind, all over my skin, deep in all the hidden parts of me. I exhaled, struggling to regain my bearings.

  "You know, William," Merrick murmured, slowing to a halt.

  I stopped and turned to him with an inquiring look, trying to keep my discomfort hidden.

  "I believe I may have left my handkerchief behind." His glimmering amber eyes bored into mine, intent and inscrutable, and he lowered his voice even further. "Would you like to go back inside for me and see?"

  "Christ," I groaned softly, glancing back in the tailor's direction and turning to lean a hand on the stone wall near where we stood. "You'd best do that yourself, I'm afraid."

  "I'm asking," he said gently, stepping closer and reaching up to brush his thumb along my jaw, "if you would like to go back inside for me."

  I searched his coppery eyes, confused. "I don't think I could handle myself, Merrick."

  "I'm well aware," he whispered, and hearing the sounds of hooves around the bend, he stepped back to put a proper distance between us again.

  I blinked at
him, speechless, while the carriage passed.

  "If you'd like." Merrick regarded me with that look of quiet fondness, the calm expression that made me feel so at peace. There was no riddle or test at work here. It was perfectly clear that his suggestion was as simple as he had framed it to be.

  And I could not say no. Could not say anything, in fact—could only nod, and turn around to take the two-dozen steps back to Beekman’s gate.

  Here we were again.

  Beekman was pleased to welcome me inside again. Noticeably, distinctly pleased. In fact, it was abundantly clear to me how easy it would be to pull him close, to press my lips to his neck. No venom would be necessary to seduce him. No, he would yield of his own natural will, the lovely gentleman, the delectable creature, and he'd shiver and sigh before I even bit him. And when I did, he would moan with pleasure, and his blood would be sweet and fine, and his soul's departure would be as flawless as his seams.

  When I emerged from Beekman’s shop again, Merrick was waiting calmly on the corner where I'd left him. It wasn’t until I drew close enough for him to see my face that his eyes widened in surprise.

  "He's too fine a tailor," I said wearily, and braced my hands on my knees as though I'd just run a mile.

  "William," he murmured, taken aback.

  "God's sake," I groaned. "Let's find a few sailors and get that coach on the road, can we, please?"

  Merrick pulled me into a brief, tight embrace of the brotherly kind we could afford in public. And then, having clapped me on the back, he took me on the arm and led me swiftly toward the waterfront.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Our coach set out from Boston at midnight, a rather treacherous hour for highway travel, I thought, but I was a New Yorker. Anyhow, Merrick wryly assured me that we need not take pains to avoid robbers. The vehicle was outfitted comfortably enough, well sprung and with plenty of cushions, and we'd brought flasks of tea and wine for the journey. So I settled back in my seat with a sigh of relief, feeling as though I'd exerted myself quite enough for the evening.