The Travers, however, were on the verge of being invited by their own merit even without Warren’s presence. One of them was, in any case; while Wakefield could not get enough of Owen’s ribald stories, he wasn’t the only one who told Warren in private that Simon gave him a bit of a chill. The twins were a package deal, however, and one could hardly invite one without the other.
The parties usually went one of two ways—either there was a very nice dinner followed by a bit of dancing and wine, and the guests went home at a reasonable hour, or there was a very nice dinner followed by quite a lot of dancing and even more wine and brandy, and guests sometimes didn’t stumble home until the next morning. This latter type of party was Warren’s favorite.
He spent the remainder of the day before the party sleeping to catch up from the previous night, feeling Ben’s warmth as he lounged beside him on the bed and read the newspaper. Ben had even kissed his hair and softly scolded him for working himself too hard, which almost made him feel a little guilty.
Warren bathed and dressed himself when he woke up in the evening, and Elizabeth quite happily stayed at home, so he kissed Ben goodbye and spent the evening chatting and drinking as usual. One of the guests was a young man he didn’t recall meeting before; Wakefield introduced him as the son of Lord so-and-so, but what caught Warren’s attention was the way he held onto his hand just too long after shaking it, and the way he looked at Warren with a small smile and a slight tilt of his head. He was quite handsome in a pretty sort of way. Warren made a point to ignore the shape of his lips and the pleasantly minty shade of his eyes. After dinner, he sat with his back to the table to face the dance floor while Wakefield lit his first cigarette for him.
“All gentlemen of merit smoke,” Wakefield told him, though Warren could barely hear him over his cough as he inhaled. “I’m really shocked you don’t already, Hayward. Everyone should have a hobby, after all.”
“This is a hobby?” he asked over the chuckles of the gentlemen near him.
“Of course it is. Now pay attention. I’ve been practicing this all week, and I’ll be damned if I get it wrong now.” Wakefield leaned on the table to focus on the deck of cards sat in front of him and demanded that Warren choose one and place it back in the middle. With that done, Wakefield shuffled the deck two or three times and attempted to pull a card from the center of the deck. He presented it to Warren and the surrounding spectators with triumph. “Is this your card, sir?” he asked with a flourish.
“Afraid not, friend,” Warren said as he took a sip of brandy.
“Oh, blast it,” Wakefield said, but he was laughing as he threw the cards across the table. “Sod the card tricks anyway.”
“I can show you a real trick,” Warren offered, a slow smirk pulling at one corner of his lips.
“Can you now? What sort of trick?”
“I know quite a few,” he said with a shrug, smiling as Wakefield nudged him with his elbow.
“Go on, then.”
“Well, I suppose if you’d really like to see,” Warren teased, and a few of the gentlemen around them chortled and told him to get on with it. “Pass me that glass, will you?” he asked one of them, and he took the tall glass of water from down the table and set it in a clear space in front of him. He set down his brandy and his cigarette and placed one palm over the rim of the glass, then whispered a single word. Slowly, a thin cover of ice rose from the bottom of the glass, frosting the outer surface, and the water inside crystallized until it was completely solid. Warren pulled back his hand and rubbed his palm on his trousers to warm it while the table stared silently at what he’d done.
Wakefield narrowed his eyes at the glass as though he found it offensive, picking it up and immediately juggling it between his hands. “I say,” he laughed, “it really is frozen solid.” He passed it to the man next to him and leaned in close to Warren. “That’s quite a trick, lad. How’d you do it eh?”
“You ought to know a magician never reveals his secrets, Wakefield.” Warren picked up his brandy and took another drink.
“A magician, he says!” Wakefield clapped him on the shoulder, almost causing him to spill his drink. “Now you’re a magician as well as some sort of prodigy of engineering! Been making deals with spirits, I suspect,” he laughed.
“You’ve caught me out,” Warren said dryly, and he tried his cigarette again. He still coughed, but it wasn’t quite as bad as the first time.
At Wakefield’s urging, Warren showed the other guests half a dozen other minor spells he could cast without the need for a grounding token—small sparks, levitation of small objects, drawing the water out of a flower to wilt it, even boiling the water that he had just frozen. They were near useless spells that he had learned as a boy, but they were magic enough to enthrall the gentlemen and ladies who gathered to watch. Ben would have his hide for casting spells in front of mundanes, he knew, but this sort of thing was easily explained away by the talents of a skilled illusionist.
The attention eventually shifted back to dancing and drink when Warren claimed his repertoire exhausted, and he even danced with a few of the young ladies who were always in attendance. His dancing still wasn’t what one would call impressive, but he hardly stepped on anyone’s feet anymore.
As he was bending to kiss the knuckles of one of the women to thank her for the dance, Wakefield approached and put a hand on his back, leaning in conspiratorially as Warren straightened.
“Be a good lad and go and look in the study, will you?” Wakefield murmured into the younger man’s ear. “I’ve a gift for you.”
Warren looked at him skeptically, but Wakefield shooed him down the hall to the large wooden door of the study and quickly returned to his duties as host—which mostly consisted of drinking more and singing more loudly than anyone else. Warren pushed open the door to the study and saw the son of Lord so-and-so with the pleasant green eyes sitting on the plush chair by the fireplace, his jacket hung over the arm of the chair and his waistcoat unbuttoned. Without a word, the young man approached him, pushed the door to shut the both of them inside, and kept his pale eyes on Warren as he slipped loose the knot of the other man’s tie.
“I’ve heard about you, Hayward,” he said in a soft voice while his fingers ran down the silk of Warren’s tie, slipping it from around his neck and letting it fall to the floor.
“You’ve heard that I like it when strangers don’t have boundaries?” Warren said dryly, but he felt anchored to the spot as the other man began unbuttoning his dress shirt, drawing Warren’s eyes to the skin under the young man’s collar—the delicate collarbone and the soft hollow just at the base of his throat.
“I think I can make a decent guess as to what it is that you like,” the Lord’s son said as he slipped his arms around Warren’s neck, the backs of his fingertips briefly brushing over his copper hair on their way.
“Do you,” Warren answered, his throat dry. He ought to leave. He ought to have left already. This encounter clearly wasn’t leading anywhere that he wanted. His eyes were on the man’s slightly parted lips as he leaned in closer, and a jolt went through him as he found himself being clutched tightly and kissed. Warren’s back hit the wooden door and his hands instinctively went up to the other man’s chest, his fingertips pressing into the hard flesh under his open shirt. The kiss was feverish and rushed and made Warren’s heart beat loud in his ears, but when he felt the other man’s hand slip down to his belt, he pushed him away.
The Lord’s son stumbled back a step and looked at Warren incredulously, the both of them panting and flushed.
“No,” Warren said simply, and he bent to pick up his tie and drape it back over his neck.
“No?” the young man asked with a chuckle, and he approached Warren again and reached out to run his fingers through his hair. Warren hesitated for just a moment at the slow shudder that ran through him, but he took the other man by the wrist and lowered his hand. The man frowned at him. “Why not?”
“I don’t owe you a
ny reason,” Warren said, clearing his throat as he began to fix the knot in his tie.
“You don’t kiss a man like that and then claim you don’t want him,” the Lord’s son argued. “It’s not your wife, is it?” He laughed. “Can’t be. Wakefield told me she’s just for show. If there’s someone else, you don’t have to worry. It’ll be our secret, hm?”
Warren paused in straightening his tie, and he glanced back at the young man. A boy like this couldn’t keep secrets. He’d be caught within a year if he carried on this way. The last thing Warren needed was a spiteful noble spreading gossip about him that had even the slightest chance of getting back to Ben. He gave the other man a slow smile and stepped closer to him, lightly trailing his fingertips along his jaw and watching him shiver.
“If you can promise it will be our secret,” Warren purred, and he urged the Lord’s son backward until he hit Wakefield’s desk, and then he turned him around and forced him down over it, spilling papers onto the floor. The man laughed and let his head rest on the surface of the desk as he pressed back against Warren’s hips.
“Knew you only needed a bit of encouragement.”
Warren slid one of the vials of blood from his jacket pocket and quickly downed the contents, grimacing against the taste as he tucked the empty glass away in his coat. He took hold of the other man’s wrists, holding them firmly behind his back as he leaned over him to whisper into his ear. “This didn’t happen,” he said softly, feeling the heartbeat under his fingertips. “Wakefield didn’t tell you anything about me, and you will never touch me again.”
He pushed away from the man and left him slowly straightening with a hand to his head, and he paused to fix his tie in a small mirror on the wall. Before the other man could come to his senses, he opened the study door and went out into the hall without another word, smiling brightly as he spotted Wakefield and casually linking their arms to pull him away from his conversation.
“If you don’t stop telling everyone in earshot about my boudoir preferences,” he began cheerfully, “I’m going to have you thrown in the river with a heavy load of stones around your feet.”
Wakefield frowned down at him like a guilty child. “You didn’t like your gift?”
“I’m not interested. This is still supposed to be a secret, Wakefield.”
“That’s what the wife is for!” He laughed and held up his hands in surrender at Warren’s scowling face. “Have it your way. See if I offer to let you sully my library again. Ungrateful creature.”
“You are magnanimous and kind,” Warren sighed as he released Wakefield’s arm, “and you are also a right pain in my ass.” Warren felt the weight of the remaining vial in his pocket, and for a moment he considered using it. But Wakefield was still a friend—one who had been good to him. He deserved a warning. “Just keep it to yourself, will you?”
“As you like. You’re missing out on life experiences, but I’m not your father.” Wakefield chuckled and put his arm around Warren’s shoulder. “My friend is missing a brandy!” he announced as he led him back into the crowd. Warren could still taste the blood in his mouth, but it didn’t seem to bother him as much now. Now he could defend against anything. He would tolerate no more threats against his freedom and privacy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A week from Monday, Warren waited at the train station like a dutiful son, ready to collect his parents and escort them to their hotel. Cam stood by, passing the time by inspecting the ticket machines, and Elizabeth stood beside Warren with her arm in his, having graciously agreed to play along with the visit.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be telling either of them anything remotely true for their entire trip, will you?” she asked blandly as she gazed down the terminal to watch for the arriving train. “I suppose they’ll be happy about your genius invention, if nothing else.”
“Yes,” Warren agreed, but he wasn’t at all sure. He was banking on his mother not being able to tell the difference between a regular automaton and a golem, but the possibility remained. He only hoped that if she did notice, he would be able to lie to her as effectively as he had Ben when it came to what powered the machines.
The train chugged its way into the station only slightly late, announcing itself with the deep sound of its whistle and pouring smoke out of its stack as the engine began to slow. The train was gleaming brass, a relatively new construction that ran the entire length of the country and was said to have the fastest cars in the world. It would have taken the better part of a day to take a coach from Huntingdon, but the train took little more than an hour. It was much more expensive, of course, but Warren had assured his mother that he would pay for the tickets.
The brakes screeched as the train stopped alongside the terminal, and a final puff of smoke erupted as the engine thudded to a stop. The doors opened, and people filed out in a crowd, most of them looking much better-dressed than Warren expected his parents to be.
As anticipated, a rather hastily put-together couple stepped down from the train, one of them bustling along and the other decidedly not. Anna Hayward was quite short, and growing a bit rotund as she aged. She was also quite clearly the source of Warren’s dark copper hair, accentuating the rosiness of her pale cheeks, the long locks tied up in a tidy bun at the base of her neck. His father, Mason, was broad-shouldered and lean, with a stoic, wrinkled face and large, calloused hands. They didn’t look like they belonged together.
Warren’s mother barely contained herself as she waved across the terminal at her son, tugging her worn shawl tighter around her plump shoulders as she hurried across the platform to him. Elizabeth preemptively detached herself from Warren’s arm, allowing him to be hugged and kissed on either cheek as soon as the older woman reached them.
“You’re a sight, darling,” the woman said with a laugh, steadying Warren by his shoulders as she released him and giving him a long look up and down. “Look at you, in such fancy clothes!” She smiled broadly as Elizabeth unintentionally drew her attention. “And this must be the lucky woman, yes?”
Elizabeth stopped Warren’s mother from breaching propriety by immediately offering her hand and saying, “How do you do, Mrs. Hayward?”
“How do you do, Mrs. Hayward,” she answered with a bright smile as she took the younger woman’s hand. “I’m so glad to meet you, even if it is later than it should have been.”
Warren shook his father’s hand without a word, but Mason’s eyes were on the golem that trotted up behind his son.
“Hello, Mr. Hayward,” Cam said politely as it offered to take the man’s luggage.
“What’s this?” Anna turned away from beaming at Elizabeth to peer at the machine.
“It’s an automaton, mum. They’re very popular in the city.”
“Your son has made quite a name for himself selling these, Mrs. Hayward,” Elizabeth chimed in.
“Selling them? My word, darling, where do you get them?”
“I build them, of course,” Warren said quickly, waving off the question and urging Cam to take up the rest of the bags. “We have a lot to catch up on. Let’s get you to your hotel, shall we?” He led them back to the newly-purchased autocar—one with a nice long inside, as Owen had suggested—and opened the door to the carriage while Cam loaded the luggage.
Warren put on a polite smile as he helped first his mother, then Elizabeth, but he felt a chill as his father approached the door, his dark eyes staring steadily at him as he climbed into the carriage. Warren knew the look. He’d never been able to keep secrets from his father.
The hotel suite Warren had rented for his parents was probably larger than their lodging at home, and definitely grander. His father huffed and grumbled about the cost under his breath while his mother touched everything in the room, sighing and telling Warren over and over again that he shouldn’t have.
“I’m always within reach if you need anything,” Warren said, and he handed his father his card and got a skeptical look in return.
“You’ve mo
re explanation due to us than I expected, darling,” his mother said as she settled on the plush sofa. “Shall we make some tea? Oh, I suppose we’d have to send up for it here, wouldn’t we?”
Cam happily volunteered to be of service and dashed out of the room, but Elizabeth softly cleared her throat.
“I do apologize,” she said pleasantly, “but I have a long-distance conference with the members of my father’s board. Difficult to organize these things across the Atlantic, you understand. I’m sure we’ll get the chance to visit later on.”
“Oh, a conference, is it?” Anna swatted at Warren with her handbag as he took a seat near her. “Couldn’t even tell us your new wife is a businesswoman, could you?”
“I’m quite sure we’ll make up for it,” Elizabeth said with a polite smile, and she gave the couple a dainty little curtsy before excusing herself.
“All right then, young man,” Anna began sternly as soon as the door was closed, “get explaining. How did you meet a woman like that? What are you doing selling machines like that other one? How can you afford to put us up here and live in Belgrave Square?”
Warren took a deep breath, hesitating to give his father time to take a seat, but he didn’t. Warren settled for merely avoiding his gaze while he started as near to the beginning as necessary. He told them the real reason that Sir Bennett had died—that Cam walked and talked because of his sacrifice. He told them about his experiments, leaving aside the gory details, and concluded that he had managed to find just the right spell for creating the legendary automatons without the need for blood. He pointedly avoided his father’s eyes as he divulged this detail, and he hurried on to say that the demand was quite high, and he was working himself day and night to keep up.
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