by James Allen
His arm came around my waist and he sprang into an energetic waltz, one I could keep up with now. Ezra looked impressed. "You've picked it up quite wonderfully."
"I couldn't have survived out there, otherwise," I said, with a jerk of my head in the direction of the ballroom. "It was a hell of a challenge to not step on anyone's dress."
Ezra laughed. "I know they would forgive you for it."
"Not a serious breach of etiquette, huh?"
"Well, it is. But every now and then, etiquette is breached. Rules are broken. It's only human nature."
"So you do allow each other to be human. That's good to know."
He smiled at me. "A heartless thing, you are."
"Completely," I agreed as we again met under our upraised arms. "But I think you've got enough to spare."
I don't know why I'd said it. It seemed to come out before I'd even thought. Ezra stopped dancing and, letting go of my hand, stared at me with familiar trepidation. "Too much, I think," he said quietly.
"You don't want to marry her."
"I don't know." His features twisted with an expressive wealth of frustration and doubt. "I thought I did. I thought..."
He sank onto the bench and I sat beside him, wishing I had a way to make this easier for him. He'd be giving up a hell of a lot. But then, he had to consider what he would be gaining.
He was apparently weighing just that, because before I could so much as bat an eye, he leaned forward and kissed me. I was too startled to do more than just begin to kiss him back when he broke from the contact and grabbed the arm of the bench as if he hoped to stop his fall from one very high precipice. "Forgive me. I had to..."
"You had to?"
"I think I wanted to." He closed his eyes and hunched over, knuckles white around the wicker arm. "Oh dear God."
Damn, he was sexy when he was flustered. I leaned against him. "So do you?"
Opening his eyes, he peeked at me warily. "Do I what?"
"Want to?"
His eyes said it all. I kept the kiss gentle, a warm press of lips on lips. Any more than that would necessitate crawling into the bushes until the servants came to kick us out. Ezra didn't resist; to the contrary, he was losing himself to it without a thought for the crowd waiting on the formal announcement of his engagement. His hand found my shoulder and, seeking a more intimate touch, my neck, fingers threading into my hair. He breathed my name against my mouth, astonished by the need overtaking him--I knew, because it was overtaking me. One kiss and I was ready to devour him. This was not good. This was something that would only get more complicated by the time I left this world behind. Not good--but goddamn, he could kiss...
Getting a grip on his shoulders, I eased him back, entirely the opposite of what I wanted to do. "Time to slow down. Take a deep breath and remember where we are." I took one myself. "We have the worst goddamned timing."
"Unfortunate, to say the least," he agreed breathlessly. "Morgan..." He stopped, but in his face was everything he couldn't vocalize.
"Yeah, I know." Between us, we couldn't put enough words together to have a decent discussion about this. Not when what we most wanted to do didn't require any conversation whatsoever. "You're either going to have to get married or break up with her. And I think you're giving me way too much influence here. So maybe I should catch a cab home."
"Don't go. I've made a mess of things, but I will not let you suffer the consequences of it." He briefly clasped my hand before he got to his feet. "I need to think for a bit."
"Don't think too much. In the end, you've got to trust your gut." Not that trusting mine had done me much good lately, but it was a reminder I think he needed or he'd find himself a permanent, unhappy fixture in Charlotte's vision of domestic tranquility before he knew what hit him. "I'm going to let you think. I'll be inside, overdosing on cooties. If you need me, just yell. Or maybe come get me, if yelling is a breach of etiquette."
He seemed too distracted to respond, but then he looked up at me. "Cooties?"
I grinned and brushed a hand over the untamed hair falling across his forehead. "Never mind."
It was about thirty minutes later when I hit the tea room to scrounge for cake that I inadvertently learned Ezra had made his decision. It came in the form of Charlotte's dad, red-faced and out of breath, whipping past his guests as if we weren't there. Curious, I tracked him down the hall and across the ballroom. Brushing off greetings with a tight smile, he vanished into a hallway and I followed. As I crept past the stairs, I heard voices and froze.
"She's suspected he might break it off and he proved her right."
I peered around the corner to see Mr. Blanchard standing in a doorway with George the Third and a young woman I guessed was Charlotte's sister or maybe an aunt. She looked dismayed and George looked ready to shish kabob Ezra.
"I told you, Father. Didn't I? Sir William thinks he's too good for this family."
"No," Mr. Blanchard said calmly. "This isn't Sir William's doing. Sara, will you go up?"
"Of course." Sara turned in my direction and I ducked back out of sight, wondering who the hell Sir William was. As Sara marched past, I peeked around the corner again to see Blanchard Jr. arguing in a furious whisper. His father silenced him with a firm grip on his arm.
"I'm going back inside and you will come with me. We have guests to bid good-night."
"And when they ask? Father, what in the world will you say?"
"Nothing tonight."
"If you don't, there will be rumors."
"There will be anyway. Let me handle this, George. Leave Ezra alone."
"How could he do this to her?"
"I don't know." Mr. Blanchard looked troubled. "Maybe it's true, what they say. The man's not in his right mind after all. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise."
"It's humiliating," George muttered sullenly, shaking off his dad's arm. "I won't go in."
"Then I shall go alone." There was no condemnation in his tone, just weary resignation. I ducked under the stairs again until he'd gone past. Another peek showed me that George had gone in the opposite direction. That guy was going to make it more difficult for everyone involved and I didn't get the impression his father had the will to get him under control. I wondered if Charlotte was upstairs crying. Damn, what a mess. Ezra had never come to get me, to let me know what he meant to do. Maybe he thought I'd shoulder more of the blame than I deserved. I wasn't sure just how much I did deserve, but it had to be a pretty substantial amount.
Even so, I couldn't help thinking this would be the best thing for all of them in the end. I was just worried Ezra wouldn't make it that far, once his family had cut him adrift. I went to hunt him down and finally ran into him outside the ballroom, looking for me. The grim turn of his mouth relaxed some at the sight of me.
"Morgan. Are you all right?" He took my arm. "I need to talk to you."
We found a quiet place in a bathroom down the hall. Perched on the wide rim of a marble tub, beneath winged cherubs poised at either end, Ezra told me the sordid details, most of which I already knew.
"She didn't take it too well."
"Better than I'd expected, really." He rubbed a hand across his forehead, then leaned his elbows on his knees with a heartfelt sigh. "Better than anyone else has. Mr. Blanchard was polite, but clearly disappointed. And George told me I hadn't heard the end of it."
"He's a sweetheart," I snorted, shaking my head. "Look, don't beat yourself up over this, okay? The only one who matters is Charlotte and I think she's going to find someone else before too long. Eventually she's going to understand that you did the best thing for both of you."
"I hope so," he said softly. "I feel quite the cad."
"Ezra, that falls under the heading of beating yourself up, so stop it. You two got pushed into this by other people's screwy expectations. At least you figured out it was wrong before you got married and had kids. So think of it as a mistake rectified before it did any permanent damage. She's hardly more than a kid, hersel
f. She's got plenty of time to meet the right guy. And so do you."
The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "I still cannot decide whether you are angel or demon, Morgan Nash. I shouldn't be half surprised some night to receive a message from the future asking if we might please keep you here instead of sending you back to them."
"I'll have you know I fit right in where the future's concerned." I put an arm around his shoulders. "Want to skip out on the rest of this party and go get a drink somewhere?"
"I have been invited to leave," he said and I caught a subdued flash of pain in his eyes as his gaze dropped to the pale marble floor. "But I must find Derry and Kathleen and let them know what's happened. If they don't know already."
"I'll go with you." I couldn't let him face that crowd alone. I didn't have to care what any of these people thought of me. But Ezra would be facing their wrath long after I was gone.
As we headed back, we saw no sign of George, nor anyone else apart from an older man apparently on his way out. Something about him caught my attention and as I looked at him again, I realized he was heading toward us. And not with the intention of expressing support, judging by the disapproving set of his jaw and the frosty blue eyes. I wondered just how many people intended to give Ezra hell for his decision. Well, this was one guy who wasn't going to be throwing in his two cents without getting an earful in return.
Ezra reined me in before I could follow through with that idea. "I know what you mean to do," he whispered. "But you must leave it to me."
"Ezra--"
"Please." The grip he had on my arm tightened and I realized he was practically vibrating with tension. Before I could say anything, he let me go and launched into conversation with the sour-faced codger moving our way. "You will let me explain."
The man eyed him with calm deliberation. "No, sir, I don't think so. You will come home with me and let the doctors take you in hand before you bring us all to ruin."
Ezra seemed to deflate a little. "I don't need medical help." He said it as if he knew it was merely wasted breath. And it was.
"You no longer know what you need. You are not competent to make any sort of rational decision in regard to your own welfare."
"Hey, before you rip him to shreds, you might consider just what he's been through this evening already."
Ezra's look of alarm stopped me from saying anything further. The old guy threw a scathing glance at me, passed judgment in the space of two seconds, and shifted the weight of his stare back to Ezra with a vengeance.
"I have been patient, admirably so, but this is indecent. Keep on as you are and you will go to prison. That sort of scandal will be the end of me. The end of us both. Is that what you want?"
Ezra couldn't find his voice but he managed to shake his head. Sir William Glacenbie--for it finally hit me just who this bossy asshole was--didn't seem to find the response believable. "I wonder. At any rate, you're a damned fool if you think I will put another penny in your pocket while you sink my good name. Perhaps you'll be less attractive without the funds for beer and decent lodging."
That was directed at me, apparently the rent boy du jour in Glacenbie Sr.'s eyes. If he'd been anyone but Ezra's father, he'd be lying on the floor nursing a cracked jaw right now. I reined in my temper, helped by the indignation sparkling in Ezra's eyes on my behalf. "Morgan is a gentleman," he said quietly, "and a friend. You've every right to be upset over my broken engagement, but you're not being fair. And you needn't hold the money over my head. I won't be a burden--"
"You've been nothing but," Sir William returned. "Your mother may have overlooked the signs of affliction in you but I cannot afford to. Will you come with me now?"
"Not there." A note of desperation broke Ezra's surface calm. "I don't belong there. Neither did she."
"If you hope to be cured, you must accept the necessary treatment. Come, get your coat. I've called the carriage."
"No." Ezra got it out with a gasp and retreated as if he feared he'd be dragged out kicking and screaming.
"Do not force my hand, Ezra."
"I don't need doctors. If you could just understand--"
"Oh, I understand. It is all too pathetically clear." Sir William looked at me briefly, then at his son with disapproval verging on contempt. "If that's your choice, we are done, sir. Good night."
I was glad to see him leave, but I couldn't say the same for Ezra. He stared after his dad and I thought I'd never seen him look so dejected. I laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. I had a good idea what he was going through. In every century, it seemed there were brutal dues to pay for being different. I'd paid mine by fighting my way through high school and ending up in juvie because of it. But that seemed like nothing now compared to the shit Ezra had to put up with. I nudged him gently. "Let's go round up the kids and get out of here."
The ride home was quiet, until we turned onto Thanet. Then Ezra, who'd been lost in his thoughts, seemed to wake up. He looked around at us and I knew by the remorseful expression he was about to apologize. Derry recognized it too. "Don't, Ezra. Morgan's right, you know. I've thought as much the past few days and I wish I'd had the heart to tell you."
Ezra dredged up a smile. "I knew you thought so. My dear friend." He leaned forward and gave Derry's knee a pat. "It's quite all right. I'm sorry I did not come sooner to the same understanding." The smile turned rueful. "I've been a trial to you all and tonight was the worst of it."
The others immediately protested, even Henry who shook his head with an impatient air. "I personally think you've made a grave mistake, but it is your business if you marry or..." with a sidelong glance at me, he cleared his throat, "...remain a bachelor."
Oblivious to Henry's veiled reference, Kathleen looked around at us, the familiar schoolmarmish glint in her eye. "I cannot think why you would turn down such a suitable marriage, Ezra, but as Henry says, it is your business, and certainly 'tis the lesser sin to end it now than run from the girl in ten years when you cannot bear it any more."
It was gratifying to hear my words echoed by Kathleen, of all people. The way she said it, and the look that passed between her and Derry, made me wonder if she was speaking from personal experience.
Reminding myself to ask Ezra later on, I followed the grave little group into the house. Our resident cinder girl had lit a fire in the parlor and fallen asleep in front of it, her head resting on the plump ottoman, her broom on her lap. I figured she had been waiting up to hear about the ball. Kathleen woke her and, bidding us good night, spirited her off to bed. When Henry and then Derry went up, I moved over to sit beside Ezra on the sofa. I wasn't much on apologies, probably because I was so seldom in the wrong, but I felt I owed him one. I had pushed the situation along, maybe a little faster than he was ready for. As necessary as it had seemed at the time, I felt a little guilty over it now. "Ezra, about tonight..."
He shook his head before I could get any further. "I think you've done me a good turn, even if it may not seem so at the moment. No need for apologies."
A good turn. For a guy who'd just experienced one, he seemed awfully glum. "Well, I am sorry--at least about your father. His reaction was pretty harsh."
"He has reason to be upset. People will talk terribly."
Apparently a more important issue to Ezra's dad than preserving what relationship they had left. "So? It'll die down eventually."
"Eventually, yes. As soon as another more interesting scandal takes its place," he concluded with a shake of his head.
I grinned. "Want me to start one?"
He caught me off-guard with an affectionate smile. "You do seem to have a natural affinity for them. Morgan..." His gaze dropped. "I think it's best if you stay with the others until we can send you back home. I've asked Derry if you might sleep with him tonight. Since you're leaving soon, it seems the wisest course for us both."
Rejected before I'd even had the chance to consider whether I could take advantage of his vulnerable state. But he was right. And th
e regret I felt was only natural. I just wished it wasn't so persistent. Judging from his manner, he was feeling it too. "Think you'll be okay sleeping on your own?"
"Much the same as always, I suspect," he said with a resigned cheer. "Whitechapel tomorrow, then?" Despite the difficult evening he'd just endured, a familiar humor flashed in his eyes. "You'll want to bring your firearm, I think."
I laughed. "Yeah, well, if I'm bringing you, you're getting some sleep."
"I will."
I knew it was a promise he wanted to keep. And I knew he hadn't been able to when a small hand on my shoulder woke me from a sound sleep and I saw Hannah's worried face peering at me in the flickering moonlight through Derry's window.
"What is it?" I whispered, trying to sit up without waking Derry.
"Please come, sir." She was tugging at my sleeve, pulling me toward the door before I could find a robe or my pants. If it was so urgent that Hannah had been brave enough to come in without even a knock and wake me, I didn't have time to worry about proprieties. As soon as we were on the stairs, I asked her again what was going on. Hannah shushed me with a finger to her lips until we were well beyond the range of Kathleen's hearing and she felt safe to speak. "I know he don't want it, sir. He never would, if he knew the harm in it. I've seen it and I know."
"The harm in what?"
She led me toward the kitchen and quietly pushed open the door. The gas was low but I saw Ezra sitting at the table, as still as a statue, his back to us. On the table was a cup and what looked like a pocket-sized whiskey bottle. I whispered a quick thanks to Hannah and told her to go back to bed. She seemed to trust that I could take things from here. When she'd gone, I shut the door, not wanting to wake anyone else.
"Hitting the hard stuff, huh? I suppose that's one way to get to sleep." Not a really good way. I picked up the bottle to look it over. It wasn't liquor--well, it wasn't only liquor. It had one other ingredient, one that shocked me despite the fact I knew it was in common use in Ezra's day. "The really hard stuff," I murmured, putting the bottle back down. The cup was dry and unless he'd taken it straight from the bottle, he hadn't yet imbibed. "You don't take this regularly, do you?"