Devlin glanced at her in surprise. “Apparently Clarence has been the front man and is a great favorite among the ladies.”
Thom laughed again. “I’m sure he is. He knows what they like.” He blew her a kiss and settled back against the headboard of her big bed, picking up his book. Devlin had brought it home for him the day before, with sweetmeats. As if he were a child stuck at home and longing for treats. Just some novel he’d picked up, he said. As if he went to bookstores every day, or knew one book from another. Thom had been delighted and so had Kitty. It was about a foundling, also named Tom, Tom Jones, and Devlin said that was why he bought it. Thom had read to them from it last night.
Devlin just waved her out, not looking up from the paper. She laughed at him and left them without a backward glance. They’d be fine.
She only spent a short time at Kate’s, where she was greeted with cries of delight. Kate, of course, noticed how fetching her bonnet was. But once she’d assured her that both she and Thom were fine, she left. She could tell Kate had more questions, but she held her tongue. She knew Kitty well enough to know that when she wanted Kate to know, she’d tell her. She had another call to make, and this second one was the main reason she’d left the flat today.
Kate had advised her that since Thom was doing so well with her, she ought to keep him. Kitty had every intention of doing so. He and Devlin both. But Thom wasn’t the only one who had to change to make that work. There was only one man in London who could help her with the final impediment to her happily ever after.
Sir Barnabas James leaned back in his chair at the Home Office as he watched her walk into his office. She’d given his secretary the name Katherine Markham, not sure if she’d get in to see him or not. He was a friend of Daniel Steinberg’s and they’d been introduced once or twice. But she didn’t really know him, only knew of him. He’d been a rather notorious spymaster during the war and now held some mysterious position here at the Home Office. One that put his office on the corner of the top floor and required her to pass through several minor officials to reach him.
He stood and bowed politely. He was not overly tall, in fact he did not have a remarkable physical appearance at all, despite being fit and attractive. But he was intimidating nonetheless. Perhaps it was how foreign he looked with his olive complexion and thick black hair. His eyes were dark, his expression cool. “Mrs. Markham.”
“Sir Barnabas,” she said, holding out her hand. He bowed over it, but she got the impression he simply understood that pleasantries would have to be exchanged before they could get to the purpose of the visit, so he tolerated them. The thought made her want to giggle. She was ridiculously nervous.
He gestured to a chair opposite his desk and she sat down. He followed suit and observed her over the expanse of his large desk. “How may I help you, Mrs. Markham? Does someone else need rescuing?” He sounded amused, but Kitty didn’t take offence. She was actually rather pleased that he seemed to be in a forgiving mood.
“Someone else?” she asked.
“Mrs. Tarrant? Lady Randall? Doctor Peters, perhaps?” His smile was blandly polite, but his eyes were too sharp by far. Kitty wasn’t fooled.
She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Is there anything you don’t know? I suppose that means we don’t actually have to start at the beginning.”
He laughed in genuine amusement and tapped his finger on his desk while he regarded her. “I do not know you well,” he said slowly, observing her as if he was trying to read her mind. “I know your background, of course, and your current situation. But I must confess I cannot fathom why you have come to see me.”
She felt herself blush at his casual mention of her background. It made her angry at herself. She’d done nothing to be ashamed of. She was proud of who she was today. “Why? Why do you know so much about me? Why do you even care? Daniel?” The last was a little dig. She knew Daniel had chosen Harry Ashbury over Sir Barnabas. She wanted him to realize she knew a thing or two as well. She’d dealt with his kind before.
He waved off her remark. “Of course not. Daniel has nothing to do with the worth of your information.” He leaned his arms on the desk and regarded her with unnerving intensity. “I make it a point to know everything I can about all the major pieces in the game here in London.”
It took a moment to decipher his meaning. “Devlin.”
He nodded with a smile. “Very good. Yes, Devlin O’Shaughnessy. You have quite a bit of influence over Mr. O’Shaughnessy, I’m told.”
“By whom?” she asked out of curiosity.
He just smiled. “So, I ask again, what can I do for you, Mrs. Markham?”
“I need you to do me a favor,” she said bluntly. “A rather big one.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I begin to see why you are such good friends with Mrs. Tarrant. You both are quite bold.”
Kitty laughed. “Yes, I suppose we are.”
“Does this favor have anything to do with Mr. O’Shaughnessy?” He frowned. “It has been my observation that he is far too intelligent to be caught by the law. And as I am the law here, I would know if he had been.”
She took a deep breath. “I need you to make Devlin respectable.”
“I beg your pardon?” he asked politely, sitting back in his chair, his face a closed mask.
“I need you to erase his past and create a new one.”
He sighed. “My initial response was a polite way of saying no and allowing you to retain your dignity. You were supposed to respond with an excuse of some sort and come up with some other equally foolish favor.”
She scoffed. “Dignity? What’s that to me? I think your sort puts too much emphasis on such empty notions.”
He regarded her curiously. “What notions should we emphasize?” he asked.
“Love,” she told him defiantly.
He smiled condescendingly. “I think your sort puts too much emphasis on that foolish and empty emotion.”
“History is full of great deeds performed in the name of great love,” she argued.
“Yes, and that great deed is usually death of some grisly nature.” He shuddered. “I shall perform small deeds in the name of King and country, thank you very much.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. She could tell he was thinking. “Is love why you wish me to recreate Mr. O’Shaughnessy?”
“It is.”
He shook his head with a look of disgust. “And what of the good doctor?”
“I love him too,” she said without shame. “I want us all to be together. But Devlin also puts too much credence in things like reputation and honor and chivalry. He thinks that he can’t be with me because of his past and his business.”
At that, Sir Barnabas snorted. “Indeed. Whatever happened to having to make up your mind? Choose one or the other.” He held out one hand and then the other to demonstrate. “Make a firm decision. You and your friends want to have your cake and eat it too.”
“That is hardly an argument against my desire to have Devlin and Thom,” she said with her dignity very firmly intact. “Only an idiot would have cake only to let it sit uneaten.”
He surprised her by laughing. “Oh, I do enjoy you ladies. No dodging around your desires, carnal or otherwise.”
Kitty blushed. “I want them for more than that.”
“Good to know,” he said with a sly look. He sighed. “Be that as it may, I must refuse your request.”
Her heart sank. “Why?”
“O’Shaughnessy is the lodestone in St. Giles and the rookeries. With him gone, chaos will reign. I find him useful right where he is, breaking fingers and meting out justice in a way we cannot.” He sat up and spoke dismissively. “I cannot afford to have an individual like Anton Kruger in charge there. London cannot be allowed to sink into a battlefield.”
Kitty could see his logic. He spoke the truth. Kruger was Devlin’s main competition and a constant threat to his business and his person. Kruger didn’t have a conscience or a decent bone in his body
. But she wasn’t willing to give up. “Surely there are other men who can take Devlin’s place.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Markham,” he stated firmly, standing. It was a cue their conversation was over.
“I’ll do anything,” she told him desperately, slowly standing.
He cut her off. “I hope not,” he said with a hard look. “There are other considerations here besides your personal happiness, Mrs. Markham. Sacrifices must be made. I’m sincerely sorry you are the one who will have to make them, but you knew the risks when you chose to love O’Shaughnessy.”
“I’ll find another way,” she told him angrily, turning to the door with a vicious swish of her skirts.
“You know very well I am the only man who can do it,” he said calmly. “That’s why you came to me. Good afternoon.”
Kitty didn’t give him the satisfaction of social pleasantries as she marched out of his office and slammed the door.
Chapter Thirteen
“You know, Henry Fielding wrote this book,” Thom commented idly, trying to draw Devlin into conversation. They’d been sitting silent for the last half hour since Kitty left. Thom’s nerves were stretched tight.
Devlin lowered his paper. “I know. I saw his name on it.”
Thom gave him a half smile. “Ironic, don’t you think?”
“That I, a criminal, would buy a book written by a former Bow Street magistrate?” Devlin asked. His voice was neutral.
“Did I offend?” Thom asked, wincing. “Sorry.”
“Not at all,” Devlin said, shaking out the paper and raising it again. “Yes, ironic.” He leaned around the paper and smiled perfunctorily at Thom. “I know what that means, too.”
Apparently he’d picked the wrong topic. He was hardly going to wheedle his way into Devlin’s good graces with comments like that. Devlin held the paper too close. Thom didn’t want to mention he probably needed spectacles. He didn’t think that would be a good topic, either. The thought of Devlin wearing a pair of wire spectacles was oddly arousing, however. He sighed.
“I can actually,” Devlin said from behind his paper shield, “converse at length on the state of the police establishment here in London and the parishes. I’ve even been to the new prison at Brixton.” He lowered the paper and drily added, “As a visitor.”
“I can say I’m sorry again,” Thom said, setting his book aside.
“No need,” Devlin said dismissively.
“You made your point.” Thom waited for the paper to go down again.
“I know.” Devlin was still blocked by the newssheet. Thom sighed. Devlin slowly lowered the paper. “Why aren’t you reading?” he asked irritably.
“My eyes are tired,” Thom said, rubbing the offenders. He heard Devlin rise from his chair and quickly opened his eyes to watch him walk to the bedroom door. “Where are you going?” he asked sharply.
Devlin stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I’m going to the next room to either find some peace and quiet to read the news, or to let you sleep. Preferably both.” He turned and walked out.
Thom threw himself back on the bed and pulled a pillow over his face. Well, that went well. He dropped the pillow back on the bed beside him. He crossed his ankles and laced his fingers together over his stomach as he contemplated the ceiling. It needed to be painted. He should do that for Kitty. God knew he needed to make himself useful or else she’d be showing him the door soon. He was feeling better and really had no excuse for still lounging around in her bed other than he wanted to be there.
He mentally berated himself. He knew damn well Kitty wasn’t going to make him leave. She’d have moved him in here lock, stock and barrel ages ago if he’d let her. But she hadn’t offered and he hadn’t asked. This thing that was growing between them in her little flat was too new and fragile to upset the delicate balance among the three of them. And he wasn’t quite sure what Devlin would say about it. He’d been a gentleman, for the most part, about Thom’s presence and his reasons for being here. There’d been no recriminations or disparaging remarks about his recent ordeal. Devlin had helped him almost as much as Kitty. But that didn’t mean he was willing to let Thom move right in and take a permanent place in Kitty’s bed.
Thom closed his eyes. Devlin was right. He needed more sleep. That had actually been going rather well the last few days. Perhaps it was the drink that had caused the nightmares to become more frequent and virulent. He would have preferred a hand to hold—he wasn’t too proud to admit it to himself—but he was tired and sleep beckoned in a way it hadn’t in a very long time.
Dev was half asleep, reclined on the sofa when he heard Thom muttering feverishly. He hastily rose and went to the bedroom door. Thom was tossing and turning. It was another dream. Dev clenched both hands around the doorframe on either side of him. He’d hoped they were over now. Suddenly Thom sat straight up with a gasp, his hand to his throat. It was the dream about North, then.
“Thom,” he said in a quiet but firm voice. He’d found that worked to wake him from a dream. But not today. Thom fell back on the bed with a groan and began thrashing again, calling out orders about men, right, left, and then he sobbed. Dev went over to the side of the bed and sat down. He put his hands on Thom’s shoulders and gently shook him. “Thom,” he tried again.
This time Thom grabbed his arms and opened his eyes. His pupils were large, drowning out the hazel green of his eyes. He just lay there panting and staring at him. Then he reached around Dev and hugged him tightly. Dev wasn’t sure what to do. He lightly rested his hands on Thom’s back. He was hot to the touch, his shirt damp with sweat, and Dev’s heart raced. Thom’s head was buried against his chest, his blond curls gleaming like a halo in the sunlight coming through the window. Dev had to fight the urge to run his fingers through that fine, soft hair. Thom was trembling in his arms, and he wished he knew how to comfort him. But he wasn’t any good at that sort of thing. “Here, now,” he said inanely.
Thom rubbed his face against his shirtfront and Dev tentatively ran his palm over Thom’s head, cupping the back. That seemed to calm him a little. After a minute or two, when the embrace verged on awkward, Thom said, “I’m sorry.” He didn’t let go despite the apology.
“That’s all right,” Dev said. He settled Thom more comfortably in his arms and rested his chin on the top of his head. “Are you going to let go anytime soon?” He kept his tone light. Thom shook his head and Dev sighed. “All right,” he said, resigning himself to it. He refused to acknowledge that he liked it. He liked holding him, being a source of comfort to him. He never got to do that for anyone except Kitty. Kitty could do it for Thom too. Soothe his jangled nerves. Dev cleared his throat, suddenly tense and all too aware of the man in his arms and what Kitty wanted.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, Devlin,” Thom said with a desperate chuckle, “do you think you could fuck me?”
Dev choked and had to let go of Thom as he had a coughing fit. “What?” he croaked, astounded that Thom seemed to have practically read his mind.
Thom blew out a breath and ran his shaking hands through his hair, leaving it in wild disarray around his head. “It helps. To keep the memories at bay.”
“Is that why…” Dev let the question trail off.
Thom smiled ruefully, but it didn’t reach his haunted eyes. “Yes. A little bit, yes.” He shook his head and lay back down, curling into a ball, his back to Dev. “Never mind,” he mumbled. “That was a stupid thing to say.”
Dev tried not to think too much. He slid down onto the bed and lay behind Thom, his chest to Thom’s back. “No it wasn’t,” he said quietly. “A man needs what he needs, doesn’t he? We all need things to help us get through the day.”
Thom had tensed in front of him. “Yes,” he whispered.
Dev’s heart was racing and he couldn’t take a deep breath. He could indulge this desire with no one the wiser. Thom wouldn’t tell a soul, he was sure of it. Dev hadn’t been with a man in over twenty years. But he’d wanted t
o, oh how he’d wanted to. He’d gotten a taste for it when he was young, liked the feel of a man under him. As O’Shaughnessy he couldn’t risk it. But here, just Dev and Thom, he could if he dared. And Thom needed it. He’d said so.
He ran his hand from Thom’s shoulder to his elbow. “Where did the muscles come from?” he asked, keeping it light, not too serious, not as if this was anything extraordinary.
“To help me sleep,” Thom said, his voice rough. “I do exercises. To wear myself out.”
“Hmm,” Dev said, afraid to reveal how much he liked it. Liked the lean doctor with the whipcord muscles and sharp cheekbones and soft skin and silky hair. His hand slipped around Thom to rub his chest.
“Dev,” he breathed out on a strangled sigh. Dev moved his hand down Thom’s stomach, pressing closer, his hips cradling Thom’s bum, his knees bent behind his. He pressed his nose into the back of Thom’s head and breathed him in. He smelled good, clean and fresh, like Kitty but with a tang of sweat, of desperation. Dev knew that smell. He’d smelled it on himself a time or two back in the day. He pressed a kiss to Thom’s nape and felt the ragged rise and fall of his stomach, the quiver in the hard muscles there.
He had to swallow and close his eyes. This was about Thom, about comfort. He let his hand slip lower still. He ran his fingers lightly over the edge of Thom’s pants, eliciting a moan from him. Dev bit his lip. If he were on top of him he’d have grabbed Thom’s face and kissed him in reward for that moan. Thom pushed his backside into him, bumping his prick. Dev breathed deeply through his nose. He refused to let the groan loose, to let Thom know what he did to him. He slowly began to unbutton the front of his pants, and in front of him Thom held his breath. Dev stopped and nudged the back of his head with his nose. “Breathe,” he ordered him. Thom obeyed with a great gulp of air.
“You don’t have to,” Thom whispered. “I…you don’t have to.”
“Shut up,” Dev told him, his voice sharp. He didn’t want to hear that, didn’t want to acknowledge he had a choice.
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