9. November 10, 1826

9

NOVEMBER 10, 1826

GREAT QUEEN STREET ROOMS

C ol finished reading a second story to his daughter. He raced through the paragraphs to the final happy ending, tucked her stuffed velvet rabbit in the crook of her arm and kissed her on the forehead. “That’s enough Poppet. It’s time to sleep.”

“You’re going to work.” Her tone was accusatory and not a question.

“We all have duties, Dee. You know that.”

She plucked at his sleeve. “But we don’t want you to go to work. We want you to stay here with us.”

“But you have George.” He pointed to his valet who was just walking in with her nightly cup of warm milk. “And Charlotte will be here with you too.”

“Charlotte doesn’t want you to go either,” she said with a sniff and turned her face to the wall next to the bed.

Charlotte glided in for her nightly kiss from Dee just as he was leaving.

“Don’t let her tell you she hasn’t had her story. I read two for her.”

His wife grinned and shook her head. “She’s flamming all of us. George and I each read her a story as well.”

“Sneaky little minx.” He leaned down and kissed Charlotte soundly before heading toward the door.

Since he was already dressed in his wretched disguise, she asked, “How long this time?”

“I’ll be back by morning. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

“Now who’s flamming? I don’t care how long it takes, just come home to me.”

November 10, 1826

Number 5 Grosvenor Street

Margot knew better than to sneak up on Gabrielle and Mr. Bullock, but she couldn’t help herself. She had to know.

She’d heard their chatter and her lover’s laughter all the way down the first floor hallway leading toward their spare bedchamber which currently housed draper number one, Will Bullock.

No sound emanated from the second spare chamber where draper number two, John Kenton had taken up temporary residence.

She was tempted to hide her eyes before peering through the open doorway. Wait a minute. Why on earth would the two of them get up to sexual hi-jinks with the door open?

She stood hesitantly, afraid to stick her head all the way inside, just in case…

“Margot—.” Gabrielle squealed a welcome. “Where have you been? Come see what Mr. Bullock’s designed for us.”

She stepped all the way in and felt her body flush with heat all the way from the roots of her hair down to the top of her bosom above the low line of her decolletage. Gabrielle leaned over Mr. Bullock’s shoulder. He’d brought a specially designed table with him which swiveled to a slant where he was busy working with a bit of charcoal, sketching out changes for her drawing room.

“See…I can think of something we want to do, and poof…just like magic, he brings my ideas to life with his drawings.” Gabrielle danced a little happy jig around the room before returning to point out the changes. “He’s going to use watercolors tomorrow to add color to his sketches.” Margot’s lover turned a luminous smile on her, the likes of which she hadn’t seen in awhile.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” Her tone edged on begging for Margot’s approval.

“I think he’s wonderful too,” Margot admitted haltingly.

Behind her she heard, “That makes three of us who agree on something. Certainly a great way to start a friendship.”

When she turned, John Kenton was close behind her, his tawny hair and gold-green eyes glittering in the glow from the room’s gas lantern.

November 10, 1826

Covent Garden, London

Col’s long wait a city street away from the Brown Bear finally paid off. The ex-Bow Street runner, whose voice closely matched the mimicked sounds repeated by Saida’s cockatoo, cautiously left the tavern whilst eyeing both sides of the street as well as the roof-tops before heading south toward the river.

Now where was this sneaksby headed? Col was not ready for another long haul toward, or under, the river. Please, Zeus, not tonight .

In spite of Col’s aversion, Elias Shell kept moving steadily toward the riverfront. In spite of the nearness to the abandoned tunnel beneath the Thames where Col had uncovered an ungodly cabal of chess-playing blood drinkers, the runner instead dropped down to the water’s edge where a riverman waited with a small skiff. He no sooner jumped aboard than the skiff shot off into the darkness and was lost in the fog.

Although Col was tempted to find another riverman to continue the pursuit, he instead considered the direction into which the blackmailer had disappeared. Where was he going and what was his next step? Col decided to stop chasing the bastard and start thinking like a criminal, anticipating his next move.

If Col wanted to perpetrate the perfect blackmail on a peer of the realm, where would he go? Where would he hide out to evade capture? More importantly, what would be his next move?

Since Derek Framlingwood hadn’t notified Col of receiving any more demands for payment, it was probably time for Shell to make another move. All Col had to do was station Sally Big-Un’s near the pick-up location and get her sworn testimony that this was the same man who’d paid her to be a distraction during the most recent drop-off.

However, all of that effort would be for naught if Col couldn’t figure out where he kept his bolthole hideaway.

What did Col know about that key bit of information? He knew which way he’d fled on the riverman’s skiff. That was a start. What kinds of boltholes were along the riverfront east of Covent Garden? Boarding houses and rooms above taverns were out of the question, because hostlers were notoriously bribable. What did that leave? Friends, acquaintances, family? Now that he knew the identity of the blackmailer, perhaps he could dig up a bit more facts.

And then there was the other important fact he knew. He was an informer for one or more of the current runners at Bow Street. Sooner or later he’d have to return to the Brown Bear to keep his other source of funds viable.

November 10, 1826

Number Five Grosvenor Street

John lay staring into the darkness of the earl’s opulent bedchamber whilst he wondered. He wondered what the Earl of Framlingwood and Lady Camilla really wanted from them. Surely one re-decorating job was not enough to warrant all the perquisites they’d been promised.

Now that he’d met Gabrielle and Margot, he was more than certain neither one of them was capable of murder. Although one could never tell what lay in the heart of a stranger. And they were all still essentially strangers. A polite afternoon spent in desultory discussion of fabrics and furniture didn’t exactly constitute a full investigation of what might be going on with the two women.

His musings were interrupted by a soft, feathering touch on his ankle. Will’s tongue . He sucked in a breath and smiled into the darkness. When the whisper-light touch moved on up his calf toward his thighs, John unbelted his banyan, exposing his twitching cock to his lover’s ministrations.

The way Will would gently lick the head of John’s cock before taking full charge with his mouth never failed to drive him mad.

This gentle, tentative dance of love-making had begun when they’d clung together through bitter winters spent tucked amongst the pigeon coops beneath the eaves of the roof at St. Mary’s. They’d crawled under whatever tattered blankets they’d been able to scavenge and shared bodily warmth.

Within a few years, they’d begun to experiment, as the young are wont to do, and in the process discovered a love so deep, so vast, they were still together decades later.

Will’s deep breaths tickled against John’s belly which coaxed a simmering fire into a conflagration raging through his body. A whirlwind of desire set off by the steady sucking and pull of his lover’s mouth drove every rational thought from his mind.

The hardest part of making love in someone else’s home was the need to keep their usual utterances quiet. He longed to hear Will demand, “Is this how you want me to fuck you? Tell me how you want to come…don’t hold anything back. I want you bare, all of you…now.”

At that point, he lost his train of thought and could do nothing but arch his back as spasms of pleasure washed over him, and he spent into the linen cloth Will had brought with him. Will always thought of everything. John bit hard against the back of his hand to silence the scream of pleasure he’d normally indulge in if they were safely ensconced in their padded hideaway behind a false wall within their vast warehouse.

They rolled into a panting heap and clung to each other as if nothing else existed outside the walls of the earl’s spare bedchamber in Margot and Gabrielle’s townhouse.

After their breathing returned to normal, Will produced a small bottle of scented oil which he gave to John before rolling over and opening his body to the next level of pleasure.

Will relaxed and bent his knees just so to present himself to John’s thrusts. He buried his nose in the lavender-scented, plump pillows and listened. He loved the sounds his well-oiled bottom and John’s cock made when they slammed together in a rhythm as old as history itself.

Sometimes he fantasized about all the ways the Sacred Band of Thebes, an elite fighting unit made up of male lovers, had pleasured each other before their massive battles in ancient times.