by Merry Farmer
Joe shook his head. “Unless I’m mistaken, Lionel Mercer is as in control of himself as anyone, and he’s just toying with us for sport.”
Indeed, before Joe could finish his assessment, a man he didn’t recognize stepped up to Lionel’s side and said something with a grim expression. Lionel’s inebriated smile immediately dropped to deadly seriousness as the two exchanged a few words of what Joe was certain was business. Lionel said something to the man in return, then nodded straight to Joe.
For a moment, Joe was certain he was about to be exposed and punished for every sin he’d ever committed. Lionel resumed his false drunkenness as the other man pushed his way through the rowdy crowd to reach Joe and Alistair. Joe suddenly wished he hadn’t had even a single drink. He straightened and pulled his arm away from Alistair’s waist.
“Joseph Logan?” the man asked.
“Yes?” Joe asked hesitantly.
The man extended his hand. “Officer Patrick Wrexham.”
Alistair tensed by Joe’s side.
Joe held his breath and took Wrexham’s hand, certain he was about to be arrested for indecency, in spite of the crowd around him and the politeness of the handshake.
“I’d like to talk to you about your sister,” Wrexham said, letting Joe’s hand go. Only then did Joe remember Wirth had mentioned Wrexham was also a member of The Brotherhood. He was handsome, with a stocky build with muscular arms, and he had the sort of round face that made him appear younger than he probably was.
Joe glanced to Alistair, his heart racing, then back to Wrexham. “What do you need to know?”
Wrexham crossed his arms and frowned as if they were in a police station instead of a hot, noisy pub full of singing and carousing. “Did she know a man named Adler?”
Joe blinked and shook his head. “I have no idea. She never wrote anything home about anyone named Adler, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t know him.”
“Who is this Adler anyhow?” Alistair asked, pushing away from the wall to take an active role in the conversation.
“I’m not entirely certain yet,” Wrexham answered. “I’ve heard reports he’s a toymaker, a haberdasher, and a sweets seller. I’ve even heard he is a she. But frankly, all of those things sound like lies a criminal would tell a child to lure them away from where they should be.”
“So you think this man lured Lily away from her position at Eccles House?” Joe asked, in the mood to storm through London looking for the man so that he could strangle the life out of him.
Wrexham nodded. “It appears so. Unfortunately, that’s all I know right now.”
“You’ll let us know if you discover anything else,” Alistair said.
Wrexham seemed to notice him for the first time. “I’m sorry, but how are you involved?”
Alistair flushed in the way that Joe would have found charming, if his every nerve wasn’t on edge, thanks to the new information Wrexham had. “I’m a friend,” Alistair said, his jaw clenched tightly.
Wrexham hesitated for a moment then nodded. “Investigations like these are tricky. Children go missing all the time, unfortunately. But if we can—”
He was cut short as the pub’s door banged open and the larger than life figure of Everett Jewel marched in as though making a grand entrance on stage.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and those who have yet to decide, I have arrived,” he announced.
The pub immediately erupted into applause that was so loud Joe could barely hear himself think. A path instantly cleared, allowing Everett to saunter to the stage and step up with another flourish. The man from the stage door who had offered himself followed Jewel in, along with two of the ladies, much to Joe’s surprise. The ladies didn’t seem to notice or care what kind of pub they’d entered.
“Lawrence, play A Wandering Minstrel I,” Jewel commanded, thumping the top of the piano.
The admiring crowd renewed their applause at such a volume that Joe barely heard the first notes of the song. As soon as Jewel began singing, however, the crowd grew hushed and hung on every note he sang.
Joe’s brow shot up. The man had talent. More than that, there was something about his presence that held the audience in thrall, as if he radiated magic. His eyes in particular seemed to sparkle, even across a distance. Even Officer Wrexham was struck dumb as he watched the performance.
The only person in the entire pub who didn’t seem impressed was Lionel, who looked sour as he cut his way back through the rapt admirers to lean against the wall beside Alistair, crossing his arms. “I’d hate him if he wasn’t such a good fuck,” he muttered just loud enough to be heard.
Joe burst into laughter before he could stop himself. Everything around him felt surreal—the heightened mood of the pub, its colorful patrons, and the paradoxical sense of safety that pervaded the rowdy establishment. Clearly the Metropolitan Police knew about the place, as attested by Officer Wrexham’s presence, but Wrexham didn’t appear particularly inclined to do anything about it. In fact, the way he watched Jewel—as if seeing his first sunrise—had Joe covering his mouth with one hand to keep from offending the man by snickering. Wrexham was currently his best hope for finding Lily.
Jewel finished the number from The Mikado, then launched into an upbeat, scandalously inappropriate song that involved the participation of everyone standing closest to the stage.
“This is another side to the man,” Alistair told Joe, needing to lean close and speak directly into his ear to be heard. “Shakespeare it is not.”
Joe laughed—barely hearing the sound he made—and nestled his back against the wall by Alistair’s side. More people flooded into the pub, and within minutes, he and Alistair were wedged up against each other out of necessity. Not that Joe was complaining. He would have found an excuse to plaster himself against Alistair before too long if the crowd in the pub hadn’t given one to him. The sensation was exquisite. Alistair was fit and firm, and although Joe sensed a great deal of tension radiating from him that likely had to do with the crowd, it was just as possible that that tension was Alistair’s reaction to their proximity.
Jewel kept singing, his songs getting dirtier as the night progressed and his antics with his admirers, right in front of everyone, more shocking. Joe found the whole thing astoundingly entertaining, but he could sense when Alistair had had enough.
“Is there a back way out?” he asked Lionel—who watched Jewel’s spectacle with crossed arms and a disapproving scowl by Joe’s other side.
Lionel gestured with his thumb farther down the wall to a narrow passage just a few feet away.
Joe slapped his shoulder in thanks, then took Alistair’s hand and tugged him to get his attention. He nodded to the passage, then started forward, leading Alistair through the inebriated crowd.
By the time they headed down the narrow hallway, passing more than one door from which came the unmistakable sound of men enjoying each other, through a storeroom, and out into an alley behind the pub, Joe’s ears were ringing from the noise.
“Thanks for that,” Alistair said, overly loud.
“For what?” Joe asked, equally loud.
“For getting me out of there. Jewel is fascinating, but I’ve never been one for crowds.”
“They don’t bother me, but that was—”
Joe’s response was cut short as Alistair stepped into him, clasped the sides of his face, and slanted his mouth over his. The kiss took him completely by surprise, which gave Alistair the leverage he needed to deepen things between them, sliding his tongue along Joe’s.
Joe sucked in a breath, kissing him back with abandon. He moaned as their lips teased and tested each other and as their tongues danced. He slipped his hands under Alistair’s jacket, wishing the layers of waistcoat and shirt would vanish so that he could make contact with his skin.
He wasn’t sure when he’d backpedaled or how Alistair managed to press him up against the wall, but he approved of the results. Their bodies ground together, the hard bulge of Alistair’s cock insi
stent against his hip. Undiluted desire rushed through Joe, making his head spin. The suddenness of it all had him moments away from spending in his trousers.
“We can’t do this here,” Alistair panted, pulling back. “We can’t do this tonight.”
Joe was willing to concede the first point, but the second felt as though he’d been robbed. “When?” he asked, unable to catch his breath as he gazed deep into Alistair’s eyes, then answered his own question with, “Soon.”
Alistair blinked, looking suddenly vulnerable. “I don’t know how.”
A bolt of affection shot through Joe. The simple statement could mean so many things. “I’ll find a place,” he said. “I’ll find a way.”
Alistair nodded, hesitated, then said, “I have to go home now.” Joe’s disappointment must have shown on his face, because Alistair rushed on with, “I don’t trust what I’ll do if I stay close to you.”
“You can do whatever you’d like,” Joe said, meaning it more than he’d meant anything in his life.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Alistair said in a whisper. He darted a glance around. “But not here. Not like this.”
Joe nodded. Alistair wanted things between them to be special, more than just a grope and a fumble in the back alley behind a garish pub. “I’ll figure something out.”
Alistair let out a breath, but that didn’t seem to be enough. He surged back into Joe, kissing him deeply and grinding their hips together. They both sighed with longing at the connection, tasting and touching. “I want you,” he confessed in a whisper. “More than I’ve wanted anyone in my life.”
“And I want you,” Joe said, heart pounding. “Soon.”
Alistair peeled away slowly, his gaze lingering on Joe’s eyes. There was so much need, so much desperation and affection in Alistair’s bright eyes that Joe was tempted to change his mind and fling Alistair across the pile of crates beside the pub’s door and have his way with him right then and there. But the look in Alistair’s eyes was right. Whatever was growing between them deserved more.
Chapter 9
Waiting was agony. Alistair couldn’t concentrate on a damn thing as days ticked slowly by without seeing Joe’s mischievous smile, without kissing his passionate mouth, and without feeling the heat of his body. The anticipation of what Joe might figure out so that the two of them could be together was made even harder to bear by the fact that his courtship of Lady Matilda was proceeding at lightning pace.
“I’m proud of you, son,” Alistair’s father said, thumping his back with a shaking hand as they loitered in the front parlor, waiting for the rest of the family to be ready for the ball they were about to attend at Eccles House. “Lady Matilda Fairbanks is perfect for you.”
“Thank you, Father,” Alistair said, certain the embarrassed heat rising to his face would give away every lie he was telling by clinging to Lady Matilda.
“I can see it in your eyes,” his father went on. “The way you look at her, yes, and the way you have taken to staring off at nothing, that mooning look of love in your eyes.”
Alistair flushed hotter and cleared his throat. “I don’t have a mooning look,” he muttered, stepping away from where his father stood, warming himself by the fire. He pretended to examine the clock in the corner as a way to hide his face from his father.
“You can’t fool me, son,” his father laughed. “I’ve been in love. I know what it looks like. And you, my boy, are besotted.”
“Yes, well,” Alistair said with a shrug and cleared his throat.
His father was far too perceptive for his own good. Alistair was in love. There was no way around it. He might not have seen Joe for more than a week, but the delightfully dangerous bugger had sent him letters, delivered by special courier, every day since the night at The Cock and Bull. Letters that would land both of them in prison if they were ever made public. Letters that detailed everything Joe planned to do to him once they had a chance to be together. Alistair had rubbed himself raw every night, and several times in the middle of the day, reading those letters, and, God help him, he had responded with epistles that would spell his ruin if they were ever discovered. But he couldn’t help himself. Joe had become as much a part of him as the blood that pounded into his cock every time he remembered the way they’d kissed in the alley.
“Besotted,” his father repeated, shaking Alistair out of his thoughts.
Alistair cleared his throat again and turned away from the clock, begging his body to settle so that he wouldn’t embarrass himself any further in front of his father. “Whatever you say, Father.”
His father chuckled, then coughed, the rattle of premature age sounding through his amusement, and shuffled toward Alistair. “I cannot tell you how proud I am of your choice. Matilda Fairbanks is by far the prettier of the two sisters. But more importantly, this means that you and Burbage might be brothers-in-law very soon. And with such a connection as that, we’re bound to uncover every dirty secret of the Eccles slave trade before long.”
Alistair’s awkward emotional maelstrom instantly died away, leaving old, gnawing sorrow for everything his father had become in its wake. At the same time, a new spark of curiosity flared behind the shame and disappointment he was so used to feeling at his father’s ranting, though he didn’t have time to examine what that spark could mean. Darren strode into the room just as their father spoke. He sent Alistair a long-suffering look, as though their father were at it again.
“I say let the law deal with legal problems,” Darren said as he crossed to check on their father, “and the rest of us should mind our own business.”
Alistair nodded in approval.
“But it is our business,” their father insisted, allowing Darren to help him into the chair nearest the fire. “The entire Eccles clan has hidden their nefarious activity so well. Only we can bring their villainy into the light.”
Alistair winced as he crossed to stand on the other side of the chair from Darren. “We’ll do the best we can, Father,” he said, sharing a flat look with his brother. Then again, if there was a kernel of truth behind his father’s ridiculous fancies, it might explain how a good girl like Lily could disappear from Eccles House.
“You’re certainly doing well,” Darren said with a grin, overriding Alistair’s thoughts. “Matilda Fairbanks? Where did you ever come up with an idea like that?”
Alistair swallowed. Mentioning Lionel Mercer and his web of social connections was utterly out of the question, so he settled on, “We met at some ball or another ages ago, then met again and had a lovely conversation at the theater last week.”
“Yes, I noticed you weren’t the only one to rush off at the end of the show,” Darren said with a teasing look. “She seemed to have somewhere to go in a hurry herself.”
Alistair’s brow inched up before he could conceal his reaction. Had Lady Matilda left the theater in a hurry as well? He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t even seen her after the show. His thoughts had been for one person and one person only. All the same, he mumbled, “Yes, well,” letting his brother and father think what they would of it.
“Three invitations to dine with the family in a week,” Darren went on, his expression impressed. “Not bad.”
“It’s excellent,” their father added from his seat, looking up and between his sons. “We’ll have just the alliance we need by the end of the spring, I’m certain. And it carries the added advantage of a solid connection to the Eccles family. The blackguards will be in prison by the time your first son is born.”
Alistair and Darren exchanged another look as Alistair’s heart sank. “Could I have a word with you?” Darren asked in a low voice.
Alistair nodded, then followed as his brother stepped away from their father’s chair and out into the hall.
Once they were alone and well away from their father’s ears, Darren faced Alistair and said, “We can’t let him go on like this indefinitely.”
“But what can we do about it?” Alistair asked, his brow knit
in frustration. “We can’t have him committed to Bedlam. There’s nothing wrong with him but illness and senility.”
“Perhaps not,” Darren murmured back. “But we can’t keep taking him out in public like this. It’s only a matter of time before he says something that truly puts the entire family in hot water. This obsession with the fantasy of the Eccleses’ slave trading will end with one or both of us challenged to pistols at dawn if he doesn’t shut up about it.”
“Agreed.” Alistair let out a heavy breath and rubbed a hand over his face. Though he couldn’t shake the idea that kidnapping and the slave trade weren’t as different as they might have been. Could his father actually know something? But even if he did, how could they possibly separate the truth from his father’s madness?
An awkward pause passed, and Darren’s troubled expression slipped into a grin. “Matilda Fairbanks,” he said, shaking his head. “I never would have thought you had it in you.”
“To court a suitable lady?” Alistair asked.
“I’ve heard rumors Lady Matilda was holding out for a duke. Or a marquess at the very least.”
Alistair scrambled for an explanation of how he had managed to interest the woman. “I suppose she decided she was willing to settle for a future earl.” That seemed weak, so he quickly added, “We get along well.”
In fact, they did, if getting along meant that they had been able to carry on conversations about innocuous topics without irritating each other in the time they’d spent together. Lionel had been right about her being cold, though. Still, Alistair rather suspected Lady Matilda liked him because, unlike so many other gentlemen, he hadn’t taken aggressive control of their conversations. He’d spent more time listening to her express her opinions on every topic under the sun instead of telling her what to think. And she was intelligent. He had to give her that much.
“Well, I applaud you for choosing well,” Darren said, slapping him on the arm.
“I’m just doing my duty,” Alistair replied, feeling it keenly. His thoughts flew back to the letter he’d received from Joe that afternoon, the promises of sin it contained. How he would be able to negotiate a dutiful marriage while also following his heart was a problem he did not look forward to solving.
