Just a Little Danger
Page 7
“What the devil is going on here?”
Everett jumped slightly at the deep voice of authority. He turned to the door as a handsome man in his middle years wearing a finely-tailored suit stepped into the room.
“Lord Clerkenwell.” Wrexham snapped to attention, saluting the man. As did everyone else in the room, including Norton.
Everett burst into a wide smile. It wasn’t every day that the shoe was suddenly on the other foot as he came to face a man whose celebrity status loomed even larger than his own. He’d wanted to meet Jack Craig, Lord Clerkenwell, Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police ever since hearing the story of how the man had risen from being the son of a Clerkenwell whore to one of the highest-ranking officers within the police force. The man’s reputation was second to none, partially for his incorruptible character on the job and partially for the way his father-in-law, the indomitable Lord Malcolm Campbell, had forced Her Majesty to grant him a title after he’d gotten Lady Bianca Marlowe with child so that the two could marry. It was a story so juicy that Everett longed for Gilbert and Sullivan to make it into an operetta so that he could play the lead role.
“My lord.” Everett rushed forward, showing all the deference he could to a man he considered one of his personal heroes. “Allow me to explain.”
Lord Clerkenwell arched one eyebrow and crossed his arm. “Everett Jewel, I presume?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.” Everett thrust out a hand, unable to wipe the grin from his face. When Clerkenwell shook it, it was all Everett could do not to laugh with glee. “My lord,” he went on, “Officer Wrexham here is in the midst of a vital investigation into a child trafficking ring.” He gestured to Wrexham—who looked as though he wanted to sink into the floor.
“Yes, I know.” Clerkenwell nodded respectfully to Wrexham. That earned the man even more merit in Everett’s eyes.
“But it seems Mister Norton here,” Everett deliberately refused to refer to Norton by his rank, “refuses to supply Wrexham with the simplest of information.”
“Is that so?” Clerkenwell fixed a hard stare on Norton.
“M-my lord,” Norton began defensively.
“What information?” Clerkenwell cut him off, turning to Wrexham.
“The last known address of Barnaby Adler, my lord,” Wrexham said with a nod.
Something clicked in Clerkenwell’s eyes. “Oddly enough, I was just discussing Adler this morning.” He glanced to Everett, frowned at Norton, then turned back to Wrexham. “I’ll have one of my assistants get you his last London address, but it appears he’s hiding out with a traveling carnival which is currently summering in Brighton.”
“Brighton, my lord?” Wrexham’s brow inched up.
“Brighton,” Everett repeated. “Lovely place. I once performed at the Royal Pavilion, when—” He snapped his mouth shut when both Wrexham and Clerkenwell stared at him. There was a time to take the stage and a time to bow out gracefully.
Clerkenwell glanced back to Wrexham. “You’re assisting Dandie & Wirth in this investigation, correct?”
“Correct, my lord,” Wrexham answered.
Clerkenwell nodded. “I’m transferring you to my division so that you can continue your work with them uninterrupted. If you need anything else, my man, Smiley, will assist you. I assume you’ll be heading to Brighton in search of Adler?”
Wrexham blinked, clearly bowled over by how fast the tables had turned. “If you think it appropriate, my lord.”
“I do.” Clerkenwell nodded, glanced to Everett, then on to Norton with a satisfied look. “Carry on.”
Clerkenwell left the office as quickly as he’d arrived. Everett couldn’t contain his excitement over the turn of events. He always had loved a good Deus ex Machina when it came to solving impasses, on stage and in life.
“Well,” he said, turning his smug grin on Norton. “It appears that settles that.” He strode to Wrexham’s side, following him as Wrexham headed for the hall, his expression tight and unreadable. When they reached the door, Everett spun to face the baffled men. “Carry on, gentlemen,” he said, then bowed with a flourish worthy of the most enthusiastic standing ovation.
“You could have landed both of us in extraordinarily hot water,” Wrexham muttered as they made their way across the building to what Everett assumed was Lord Clerkenwell’s office.
Everett shrugged. “As the Bard said, all’s well that ends well.”
Wrexham shot him a wary sideways glance, then shook his head. There was a spark in his eyes, though, and he couldn’t do anything to hide the flush that painted his cheeks. Wrexham might pretend to be a duty-bound stick-in-the-mud, but Everett could see he’d enjoyed the performance. And who wouldn’t enjoy watching their arse of a superior being taken down several notches? Wrexham would thank him later.
Everett let himself daydream about all the ways Wrexham could thank him as they fetched Adler’s last known London address from Lord Clerkenwell’s office, then caught a cab to take them on to whatever destination Wrexham had next in mind. Fantasizing about what Wrexham’s hands would feel like on his body, whether his lips would be soft or demanding, and what his prick would taste like was more than enough to banish the last, lingering bits of misery and weakness that seeing Chisolm had caused. He leaned back in his carriage seat, closing his eyes with a smile, and imagining how perfect it would feel to sink his cock deep into Wrexham’s arse and how loudly they would both cry out when they came. He didn’t even try to hide his body’s reaction to his daydreams, even though he caught Wrexham gaping at the bulge in his trousers every time he peeked his eyes open.
“We’re here,” Wrexham announced at last, his voice hoarse, as the carriage stopped.
Everett popped his eyes open, as if suddenly waking from a delightful slumber. “Excellent. Where are we?”
They climbed out of the carriage onto one of the most dismally ordinary streets Everett had ever seen. Every building was exactly the same shade of dull grey without so much as a window box of flowers or a painted door to distinguish one house from another.
Wrexham cleared his throat after paying the driver—something Everett cursed himself for not jumping to do first. “My flat,” he muttered.
Everett’s brow shot up. “Heavens.” He burst into a wicked smile. Apparently, he was about to get his thanks after all.
Wrexham eyed him warily, then marched forward and into the drab building. “I figure it’s best if I leave for Brighton immediately.”
“If you leave for Brighton?” The idea of being parted from Wrexham sent snakes writhing through Everett’s gut. “What about me?”
Wrexham glanced over his shoulder at Everett in surprise as they reached a door on the first floor. “Don’t you have performances?”
“Yes, but I also have an understudy,” he said. He leaned against the wall beside Wrexham’s door, his mouth curving into a seductive smile. “So the two of us are free for a romantic holiday by the sea.”
Wrexham’s face grew even redder, and fire danced in his eyes. He cleared his throat and dragged his gaze to where he was attempting to fit his key in the door. There was something shatteringly erotic in his attempts to poke the long, stiff key into the waiting lock. Everett’s already tight trousers grew unbearable.
“What a lovely home you have,” he said in a low, seductive voice as he stepped into the depressingly bland, one-room flat. “It simply oozes charm.” Everett had seen broom closets with more character.
Wrexham cleared his throat, marching straight to the wardrobe and opening it. He took down a small suitcase from the top shelf, carrying it to the narrow, lumpy bed. Everett’s mouth tugged into a smirk at the sight of the bed. He needed far more room than that to maneuver, but if it was what had to work with, he’d make do.
“I’m sorry.” Wrexham jerked straight. “Could I offer you some tea?” He hesitated, something guarded and feral glowing in his eyes. “Something to eat?” He barely managed to push the words out.
Wrexham hesitated, then nodded and crossed to a strongbox that sat on a small table near the room’s tiny stove. Everett didn’t have the slightest idea what the man was doing. Did he have some sort of devilish devices hidden away in the strongbox that would help their congress along? He generally preferred fucking au naturel, but he wasn’t opposed to playing with toys now and then.
He knew he’d committed a cardinal sin by laughing out loud as Wrexham opened the locked chest to reveal an elaborate stash of food. “Darling, is your cooking so precious that you fear thieves will break in and steal your buns?”
Wrexham flinched, eyes wide with shame as he glanced to Everett. He slammed the lid of his food chest shut. Everett caught his hands shaking before he pulled them behind his back. He stepped cautiously toward Wrexham, watching as the man worked up the nerve to speak.
“When I was a boy,” he started, but gave up. He swallowed, eyes downcast. “Growing up, in the orphanage, there was never enough.” He was barely audible. His shoulders hunched. “We had to fight for everything—beds, clothing…food.” Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Everett’s. “Do you know what it’s like to starve as a child while watching others gorge themselves at the head table?”
Nausea clawed at Everett’s insides. “No,” he admitted quietly. He’d never had to go hungry, as long as he’d swallowed what had been thrust in his mouth first.
“You don’t ever forget the feeling,” Wrexham whispered.
“No, you don’t,” Everett agreed with equal agony.
Neither of them moved. At least, outwardly. Inside, Everett pulsed so desperately that it was a wonder he didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces. He needed Wrexham, needed to explain everything to him, needed to beg his forgiveness, needed to demand to know why they’d been forced to suffer so much. He needed to feel the man’s body entwined with his, needed his heat and his sighs of pleasure. He needed someone to weep and scream with who would understand.
He surged forward, reaching for Wrexham to draw him into a passionate embrace. Every inch of his body ached for the man, inside and out.
His hands had barely brushed Wrexham’s face when Wrexham jerked away from him, holding his arms up as though Everett had come at him with a knife. Only he was the one who felt the sting of the blade sinking into his heart.
“I know you want—”
“I can’t,” Wrexham cut him off before Everett could finish his plea.
Everett ground his teeth and balled his hands into impotent fists. The heat between them was enough to ignite the dismal drapes covering Wrexham’s windows. Wrexham’s trousers were tented to the point where a blind man could have seen his arousal. So why, in God’s name, was the man rejecting what they were both gagging for?
Everett stepped toward him, hand outstretched. “If I could just—”
“I think you should leave.” Wrexham turned away from him, wincing as though in pain.
Pain that Everett felt deep in his gut. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He, the man who could and had talked his way out of any situation, was at a complete loss. He held his ground at first, refusing to let Wrexham reject him so coldly. The trouble was, there was nothing cold about the rejection at all. It was all fire and passion that burned so hot he could see Wrexham being consumed alive.
“I’ll go,” he said in a strangled voice, taking a step back. “I don’t want to go, but I will.”
Wrexham glanced miserably at him. “Thank you.”
“We’ll meet at Victoria Station tomorrow and head to Brighton together,” Everett went on, moving away and hating every inch between them. “I’ll purchase tickets for whatever train leaves closest to nine.”
Wrexham nodded, shoulders dropping as though he were forcing his body to unclench.
“Don’t worry about—” Everett ended with a helpless shrug. There was so much to worry about that it would do no good to deny it. He turned and marched to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said with false cheer before rushing out to the hall.
Once the door was shut behind him, he sagged against the wall, burying his face in his hands. For years, he’d managed to keep Pandora’s Box shut tight, but all it’d taken was one soul as wounded as his to wrench it open again.
Chapter 7
Victoria Station was crowded when Everett strolled in after yet another fitful night’s sleep. He’d dressed in a plain, dark grey suit and scrubbed his face of all lingering cosmetics, and for a change, he blended in with the rest of the dull clerks and tradesmen going about their morning business. Few people gave him a second look, and no one stopped to gape. It felt as unnatural as the sun rising in the north, but the heaviness that had settled over him with Wrexham’s dismissal the day before and the rawness of his wounds from that interaction made him reluctant to be seen, for a change.
He purchased two first-class tickets to Brighton at the ticket window without the clerk even meeting his eyes. The man behind him shunted him out of the way in his haste to make his purchase. Everett glared at the short, beefy man for a moment before taking his tickets in one hand, his suitcase in the other, and marching out to the center of the station to wait for Wrexham. The lack of attention was unnerving, and it made him wonder what sort of life he would have had if his father hadn’t viewed him as a shiny object, worthy of sale. Would he have ended up just like any other grey-faced, hollow-eyed laborer, like his brother Frank? Or would he have turned to drink, like his father, or landed in prison, dead before the age of twenty, like his brother Morris?
Or would he have taken the exact same path he’d been forced down, only by his own choosing? Some men were born to drag themselves through the dirt of life, toiling without looking up at the sun, and some were destined for greatness, even if they had to suck a few cocks or bend over and take it up the arse to get there.
“I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Everett came close to leaping out of his skin at Wrexham’s softly-spoken words. He shoved his thoughts aside, as though they were filthy pictures he’d been looking at when he wasn’t supposed to, and spun to face him. Immediately, his heart dropped to his groin. Wrexham was dressed in plain clothes, which were extraordinarily plain indeed. But he’d scrubbed himself up nicely, was clean-shaven, and wore his sandy hair combed rakishly to the side instead of in the abominable fashion of being parted down the middle that Everett couldn’t stand.
It took several seconds for Everett to realize he was staring and holding his breath. He didn’t help the situation by blurting, “You look lovely,” when sense finally returned to him.
Wrexham blushed and glanced sheepishly down, his eyelashes brushing his cheek. Everett’s cock stiffened in response. He cursed himself for behaving like a green lad with his first fancy.
“I bought tickets.” Everett thrust the two tickets awkwardly at Wrexham, feeling like an utter fool. It was a terrible idea not to dress up and paint his face for the trip. Without his costume, he was unrecognizable, true, but he was also utterly out of his depth.
Wrexham took the tickets, studying them for a moment. “Nine fifteen,” he said. “We’d better head to the platform.” He turned and started away from Everett, then paused as though he’d been struck by lightning, facing Everett again. “First-class?” His brow flew up.
“Of course.” Everett put on a coy grin, sauntering up to Wrexham’s side. He was tempted to take the man’s arm and escort him on as though he were a debutante on his way to his coming-out ball, but without his theatrical persona, he wasn’t sure he could pull it off. “Why have money if you can’t travel in style?”
The train had just begun boarding when they reached the platform. Wrexham remained painfully silent as they waited for a drab but diligent maid to sweep out the compartment that they had tickets for. Wrexham stood at attention, but his face remained a fetching shade of pink, and he continually
stole glances in Everett’s direction. Every time Everett caught him staring and smiled, Wrexham would snap his eyes away.
It was intolerable. There was no earthly way the two of them would survive the journey to Brighton—let alone their mission once they got there—unless the impasse between them could be breeched. And the only way for that to happen was if Everett swallowed his pride and did the one thing his years of theatrical training had taught him could diffuse any tense situation.
“Here we are,” he said with a grin once the maid finished tidying their compartment. “All ship-shape, just for us.”
He stepped over the gap into the train and pretended to catch his foot on the carpet. With studied elegance, he flung himself comically across one of the seats, then tumbled to the floor, deliberately making himself look like as much of an arse as possible.
“Are you all right?” Wrexham leapt into the compartment after him, tossing his suitcase on one of the seats and reaching to help Everett up.
“I’m fine, just fine.” Everett grabbed hold of Wrexham’s arm—feeling a quick thrill at how strong and solid his muscles were—and stumbled to his feet. “Oh, dear. How very clumsy of me,” he said with a teasing grin.
Wrexham eyed him warily before letting go and reaching for his suitcase to store it in the compartment above his seat.
Everett did the same, but as he lifted the case, he subtly undid the clasps so that once he hoisted it over his head, the lid sprung open and a cascade of clothes, toiletries, and sundries spilled out, covering him and his seat. He made sure that a pair of his drawers landed on his head.
“Good heavens,” he exclaimed, feigning shock.
Wrexham twisted to frown at Everett over his shoulder. The second he saw Everett’s predicament, his brow flew up and his mouth twitched, as though he were trying not to laugh.
“I’m certain I’m wearing these on the wrong end,” Everett said, adjusting his drawers so that they sat, like a kerchief, on his head. “Though I have, on occasion, been called a nob head.”