Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

T he gaming hell buzzed with lively chatter and the clinking of glasses as Jonathan stepped inside, his eyes searching the room until they landed on his friend Hector Allen, the Duke of Islington, who was already seated at a corner table, nursing a pint of ale. Jonathan made his way through the crowd, greeting Hector with a hearty slap on the back.

"Ah, Jonathan!" Hector exclaimed, raising a hand in a mock toast. "I was beginning to think you had found more interesting company than mine."

Hector cut an imposing figure, standing tall and lean, with a presence that demanded attention. A faint scar ran along his right cheek, a subtle but unmistakable mark that hinted at a past filled with dangerous encounters. It added to the sense of danger that clung to him, a silent testament to the battles he had faced and survived. His hands bore the calluses of a man who was no stranger to physical confrontation.

Jonathan grinned. "Not yet, Hector. Let me get you another round, and we can see what this fine establishment has to offer."

As he raised his hand to the bartender, signaling to him to bring them two pints of ale, Hector's gaze followed Jonathan's to a small gathering of women—or more specifically, courtesans— at a nearby table, their laughter ringing out as they tried to seduce the gamblers away from their card game.

"Ah, I see you have already found tonight's entertainment," Hector said with a knowing smirk.

Jonathan nodded, but his enthusiasm felt hollow. He could not shake the memory of the mysterious woman from the garden party: the softness of her lips, the way her hair felt as it slipped through his fingers, the intoxicating sound of her little moans. It was maddening how she occupied his thoughts so completely, even now, amidst the bustle of the tavern and the promise of easy conquests. All he could think about was the way she tasted, and he wanted more. So much more.

"Let's see if we can charm our way into their good graces," Jonathan suggested, standing up with a roguish smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Good evening, ladies," Jonathan greeted as they approached them. "It seems that you are enjoying yourselves."

One of the women stared at him straight in the eyes. He loved when women had the audacity to do something like that. Yet, this particular evening, not even the passionate boldness of such a gaze was enough to distract him from the mysterious woman whom he had kissed.

"We are," she said with a slight accent, proving that she was not fully English. The thought titillated him beyond belief. At least, it would normally but not this time. Everything was somehow different this time, and he couldn't quite figure out why.

"But you are missing something," Jonathan pointed out equally boldly, pulling a chair and taking a seat at their table without even being invited to do so. He tried to remain focused on what would usually be his goal.

"Oh?" the woman asked, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes were deep, dark with mischief and a promise of even darker delights. Usually, she would be just his type. "And what is that?"

"Handsome men," Jonathan smirked.

The two women burst into an amused chuckle which Hector seized as a chance to take his seat between them. The woman Jonathan had been speaking to did not laugh. She was not even smiling. She was staring at him mysteriously as if she were still deciding whether to kiss him or slap him. Usually, he would not mind either.

But once again, he realized that he was not focused on the situation. He was not in the present moment, and he hated that. He didn't like to dwell on the past. He didn't like to dwell on the future because that was yet to come, and it was not determined. He liked the present moment the best. It provided instant gratification, and he loved it. However, this time, his thoughts lingered in the past.

"What if we do not find you handsome?" suddenly the woman asked, bringing him back to the present moment.

"Excuse me?" Jonathan asked, not because he was questioning her own question but because he had not heard it.

She frowned, obviously caught off guard by his own question. Then, Hector hastily intervened. "Do not hold it against my friend, madam. He is not himself this evening."

Jonathan glanced at Hector, who gave him a puzzling look. Jonathan knew that Hector must have noticed his absentmindedness, so Jonathan endeavored to focus on the company. "Yes, my friend is right. I am a bit distracted this evening. That is all."

The woman liked the response. She leaned closer to him. "Does that mean that there is someone else on your mind?"

He forced a smile. "No. I am merely captivated by your beauty, my dear," he replied smoothly though the words felt completely empty, devoid of any meaning. He was usually much more charming than that. He tried to focus harder.

"I must say, your friend was right," she said seductively. "We did need handsome men at our table, especially one as handsome as yourself."

He smiled at the compliment. Usually, he would see that as a promising sign that he would not be going home alone. And she was a ravishing beauty. He had to admit that. However, her lips didn't beckon to him. His manhood didn't roar with desire, lusting after her. It lusted after the siren of the pond, the memory still as fresh in his mind, creating ripples of yearning in his loins.

Hector, ever the observant friend, caught Jonathan's faraway look and intervened with a boisterous story, drawing the ladies' attention away.

"Allow me, ladies, to tell you a story of the time when my friend here and I found ourselves in a duel at dawn over a matter of mistaken identity!" he began, his voice rich with exaggerated drama. The ladies leaned in, captivated by the sudden shift in conversation.

Jonathan was grateful, taking a sip of his drink and trying to shake off the persistent thoughts of the mysterious woman. He watched Hector weave the tale with effortless charm, his friend's aloof demeanor momentarily replaced by an engaging storyteller's warmth. The ladies laughed and gasped at all the right moments, completely absorbed by Hector's narrative.

Hector glanced at Jonathan, noting his friend's continued distraction. With a subtle nod, he wrapped up his story, leaving the ladies giggling and curious for more. "But enough about our past escapades," Hector said smoothly, raising his glass in a toast. "To new adventures and the company of lovely ladies."

The group echoed his toast, and the conversation flowed once more. Jonathan forced himself to engage, smiling and exchanging pleasantries, yet his mind kept wandering away from the gathering, back to the siren by the pond.

At one point in the evening, Jonathan realized that he had had enough. That had never happened. He downed his drink, slamming the glass against the dirty, wet table before them. He leaned over to Hector, his voice low and purposeful. "I think I shall call it a night."

Hector's eyebrow rose in silent shock. His friend had never said that before. He was always the one who wanted to stay in the tavern until the break of dawn, unless there was a lady accompanying him home, which Hector probably suspected was the case now.

"Ladies," Hector announced, "my friend here says we've had enough to drink."

"Are you going home?" one of the two ladies surrounding him asked.

"Yes," Hector grinned. "Are you?"

"Yes," the same lady replied, batting her eyelashes. "We could accompany you if you'd like."

"I would like that very much," Hector nodded, turning to Jonathan. "I just have to see about my friend."

"I can see about him," the olive-skinned beauty replied. "He seems like he could use some company."

Jonathan hesitated, the offer tempting but somehow… hollow. He could not believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. "No, thank you. I am quite tired. I think I will just head on home."

Hector's eyes widened slightly, unable to hide his surprise. Jonathan, the ever-charming rake, turning down such an offer was unheard of. "Are you certain, Jonathan?" he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

"Yes, quite, old boy," Jonathan nodded. "But you go ahead and enjoy yourself. Good night, ladies." He turned to leave without waiting for a response.

With a smooth, practiced smile, Hector turned to the two ladies. "Ladies, it has been a delightful evening, but I must also take my leave. I trust you will find your way home safely?"

The ladies, momentarily disappointed, nodded gracefully. "Of course," one of them said.

Hector offered a polite bow then quickly caught up to Jonathan, who was already stepping out of the tavern and into the cool night air. "Jonathan, wait," he called out, his voice cutting through the din of the street.

Jonathan turned, surprised to see Hector following him. "Hector, what are you doing? I thought you were staying with the ladies."

Hector shook his head, his expression serious. "No, my friend. I can see you are not yourself tonight. Let's head home together."

Jonathan gave a grateful nod, appreciating Hector's perceptiveness and loyalty. The two friends walked in silence to the carriage waiting nearby, its lanterns casting a warm glow in the night.

As they settled into the plush seats of the carriage, the driver set off, the clip-clop of the horses' hooves a steady rhythm against the cobblestones. Hector studied Jonathan for a moment before speaking. "Now, are you going to tell me what the devil is going on with you?"

"Just tired, I suppose," Jonathan sighed, attempting a dismissive wave of his hand, but it didn't work. They had been friends for far too long for Hector to believe such a flimsy excuse.

Hector raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Tired? You have turned down a lady's company, you are distracted, and you have been uncharacteristically quiet. That's more than just fatigue. I don't think I have ever seen you like this."

Jonathan leaned back, looking out of the window, his mind racing. Suddenly, he remembered something that might help. "There was a song," he said slowly, almost to himself. "A song I heard recently. I can't get it out of my head."

"A song?" Hector frowned. "A song has you so besides yourself?"

"Maybe," Jonathan shrugged. "If I could figure out where I know it from, I might stop thinking about it." He hated lying to his friend, but he could not tell him that there was a woman he could not get out of his mind. That would be breaking his own rules.

Hector sighed. "Fine. Do you remember the melody?"

Jonathan nodded with a smile. "I feel like that is all I remember now."

"Tell me," Hector urged, "so we can get this all behind us and you get back to your usual self. This is beyond concerning, Jonathan."

"I know," Jonathan chuckled. "Now, I remember some of the words but not everything. I think it went something like this: Dream of fields of emerald green, where troubles fade, and hearts are seen . And the melody was like this…" He continued to hum what he remembered, hoping it might trigger Hector's encyclopedic knowledge.

Hector listened carefully, his brows furrowing in concentration. After a moment, he nodded. "I cannot say with complete certainty, but I think it is an Irish lullaby."

Jonathan's heart skipped a beat. "Irish? Are you sure?"

Hector frowned. "I just said I cannot be sure. Are you listening?"

"Oh, yes," Jonathan chuckled.

"Where did you hear it?" Hector inquired.

Jonathan hesitated, knowing that he could not reveal the true nature of his encounter with the mysterious siren. "Oh, it's just something I overheard at the garden party. It stuck with me for some reason."

After all, it was not a complete lie. In a way, it was the truth.

Hector regarded him with a skeptical eye but didn't press further. "If it's Irish, it narrows things down slightly. There aren't many in our circles who would know such a song. You might have to start asking around discreetly."

Jonathan nodded, a plan beginning to form in his mind. "Thank you, Hector. You have given me a starting point."

Hector smiled faintly. "I still don't understand why it is so important."

"It's not," Jonathan urged. "It just… puzzles me."

That was also true. More true than Jonathan himself was willing to admit.