And in that clearing stood a man.
A short man—shorter than Jack himself by a good head, at least. One with chestnut hair beneath his hat. He wore a dark frock coat and trousers like an ordinary clerk, with a long grey scarf winding around his throat.
Jack felt rather more relief than he’d have liked to admit at the sight of an ordinary-looking fellow amidst their strange surroundings. And this particular fellow looked more than ordinary. He looked, to Jack’s eye, rather familiar. A dim and distant memory from a year or so ago bubbled up in his mind, of a timid gentleman and a tall brute caught out in the barracksstables, and of a night walk which ensued between the timid gentlemen and Jack himself, for which Jack had been well paid.
All of which combined to make Jack grin and emboldened him to call out, “Good evening.”
The familiar ordinary fellow flinched. His head whipped ‘round to face Jack with wide-eyed astonishment. Still, with a hard swallow, he replied in an almost even tone. “Good evening. What brings you here?”
“Looking for amiable company,” Jack replied, as he oft did. Then he paused. “I know you, don’t I?”
The fellow’s small, sharp features turned a shade paler beneath his freckles. “Perhaps.”
“Don’t take a fright—I’m discreet enough,” Jack reassured him. “But we did meet in Hyde Park, so I recollect. Gawain, isn’t it? Bit o’ Welsh on your mother’s side?”
The fellow relaxed. “Yes. And, if I recall correctly, I may call you Jack?”
Jack grinned. “That you may.”
A shy smile appeared at last, more brilliant for its rarity.
“I remember likewise,” Jack went on, “that you paid in advance for a service I never yet rendered.”
Gawain blinked. “Well, yes.”
“Seems like I owe you one, then.”
A hard swallow travelled down Gawain’s slender throat as his dark eyes swept over Jack’s frame from head to foot. “One might say so.”
Jack wondered what it might take to get this fellow to ask for what he so very obviously wanted. “Queer place, this. Never found it afore. Easy to get turned ‘round in.”
“Difficult to discover,” Gawain admitted.
“Not likely for any prying eyes to stumble across it,” Jack continued.
“No, not very likely.”
Jack ceased glancing over their admittedly beautiful surroundings and fixed his gaze on Gawain. “Shall we settle our accounts here, then?”
Gawain licked his lips, which seemed promising for Jack’s purposes. “We could. Only—my friend should be along shortly. May we wait for him?”
Jack again recalled the taller fellow with long dark hair, queer garb, and a handsome chiselled face. “The more the merrier.”
Gawain looked much relieved.
Jack cast another glance around them. The moon shone brilliant overhead. Almost too bright. Whatever wind had dispelled the fog from this queer spot, Jack hadn’t felt more than a breeze. He dropped his gaze from the moon to Gawain. No less puzzling, that one. A gentleman; clerk, most likely, judging by the ink-stains on his fingertips and shirt-cuffs. He fidgeted with those cuffs now whilst he glanced about. Turning his head as he did displayed his slender throat to full advantage. His freckled lower lip slipped between his teeth.
“While we wait,” Jack began.
Gawain jumped as if Jack had shouted and not merely spoken.
Jack withheld a smile. He didn’t mean to tease the fellow. But he did mean to have a bit of fun with him. “Might I steal a kiss?”
Gawain licked his speckled lips with the barest hint of his tongue. Jack wondered if he even knew he did it, and if so, if he realised how irresistible he looked when he did.
“You might,” Gawain said at last.
Jack approached him.
