“I wish him the speediest of recoveries.” He looked at Lark directly and made eye contact. “I wanted to share, Parliament is coming back in session. Prinny has some reason for calling them, likely for Parliament to appropriate more funds to his house decoration budget, but at any rate, my uncle is back in town from his sojourn to Bath.”
Beresford’s uncle was the current Lord Chancellor, a powerful position in the British government. The Lord Chancellor was of advanced years and had murmured about possibly retiring soon, meaning the position was likely going to be open at some point in the near future. This interested Larkonly insofar as he was curious to see which lord made the bigger fool of himself jockeying for the job.
Lark’s overtaxed brain tried to see if he could make some connection between Hugh vanishing and Parliament being in session. He could come up with no way to connect these two things. He rubbed his forehead and then realized that Beresford was busy gossiping about various MPs.
Trying to recover from having bowed out of the conversation so as not to alert Beresford to the fact that something was wrong, Lark said, “This should keep the scandal sheets busy for a bit.”
Beresford laughed. “Indeed.”
“Is the rumor about Canbury true?” Owen asked.
“About his wearing women’s clothing in public? No,” said Beresford, “at least not as far as I know. However I heard he was seen leaving the molly house on Guildford Street. Some men are just not capable of discretion, I suppose.”
Lark tried not to react. Beresford was hardly discreet himself—Lark would not have been surprised if he’d been the one to spot Canbury at a molly house—but perhaps being a marquess insulated him from scandal to a certain extent. The men of his generation of thetongenerally knew about Beresford’s inclinations but did not discuss them in polite society. Lark kept his interest in his own sex private, although now he was thinking about his recent tumbles with Beresford, partly because Beresford was now eyeing him in a meaningful way.
Lark sighed. “Didyousee Canbury at the molly house?”
Beresford scoffed. “No. Nor would I go to one myself. Nor do I have any interest in donning women’s clothing if that is your next question.”
“You’d rather follow Brummell’s instructions to the letter,” said Fletcher. He tipped his glass toward Beresford. “I read that he’s decided the dandy set were all to wear that exact shade of yellow this Season.”
Beresford grinned and fingered the edge of his waistcoat, which was indeed a rather bold shade of yellow. “Do not shame me for following the latest fashions. I’m told this makes me quite attractive to a certain set of men who are in the know.”
Lark rolled his eyes. “And dressing like a goldfinch is the very height of discretion.”
Beresford shrugged. “Anyway, I also came to pay call to your little quadrangle because I wanted a word with you, Waring. May I discuss something with you without the presence of all of your friends?”
“We were having a somewhat serious conversation before you interrupted,” said Lark. His mind was still on Hugh, and he wanted to spend more time brainstorming how they might find him. Beresford was… a distraction.
“Just a minute or two of your time.”
“All right.”
He followed Beresford to a dim hallway out of sight and earshot from the rest of the members of the club. Beresford kissed him, fast and hard, then stroked the side of his face. “What I actually wanted to discuss was how I might find you without the presence of all of your clothes.”
“An urgent business matter requiring my attention has suddenly made itself known this week, and I’m afraid I don’t—”
“Surely your business obligations do not require your attentions at night.”
“Anthony, I—”
“I want you however I can get you. Tonight, tomorrow, anytime. I think you want me, too. I know you don’t want to get caught, and I will do everything in my power to see that we aren’t.” Beresford nipped at Lark’s lips. “You may not think I am capable of discretion, but let me assure you, I can keep a secret if needed.”
“Kissing me in the hallway of a gentlemen’s club certainly seems like a good way to get caught.”
Beresford smiled and stepped away. “Fair point. Come to the house on Charles Street tonight.”
Beresford owned three houses in London. He had enough money to make scandals disappear as well, which Lark assumed was why he was not currently in jail or an asylum. At any rate, the house on Charles Street was the least glamorous. He kept minimal staff there, the house itself was nondescript and looked identical to three others on the block, and only a handful of people even knew Beresford owned it. Which, of course, meant Lark was hardly the first man Beresford had brought to that house, since it was ideal for secret trysts.
He grunted. “Fine. I need some time, but I will come by tonight.”
“Only if you want to.”
“I want to, all right? But you must be more careful in public.”
“Naturally.”
When Lark returned to his friends, Fletcher gave him an odd look. “What did Beresford want?”
