Wesley’s expression faltered. “You said to come find you if I wanted to talk.”
Oh. Arthur’s shoulders dropped. “Yes, of course. I am sorry about Chester.”
Wesley’s gaze dropped to Arthur’s lips. “I didn’t come to talk about him.”
And then he stepped forward and kissed Arthur.
Arthur froze.
No. Wrong.
Wesley’s lips were easy to reach, the same height as Arthur’s, and soft, not chapped like Rory’s, and the eyes level with his were blue, not soft brown, and there were no eager hands on Arthur’s face and body—
Arthur wrenched himself away. “Wes, what the hell?” he said ineloquently.
“Come back to London.”
“What?”Arthur took another step back.
“You make sense with me.” Wesley moved forward, filling the space Arthur had just left. “We fit together, you and I. You think I came all the way from England for a bloody wedding? I came to get you.”
“You should have just sent a telegram,” Arthur said tightly, “because I would have told you not to waste your time.”
He went for the door, but Wesley reached for him as he passed. “Arthur, stop—” Arthur pushed Wesley’s hand off his shoulder, and Wesley made an outraged noise. “What, I repulse you now?”
“There’s someone else.”
Wesley scoffed loudly. “Who, the antiques dealer? Are you really going to keep slumming when I’m asking you to come back to London?”
Slumming.Anger rose in Arthur, hot and burning. “How dare you,” he said tightly.
“Don’t pretend some working-class sod is worth your time.”
“You have no idea what he’s worth.”
The hostility in Arthur’s words must have gotten through to even Wesley, because he softened his voice placatingly. “But I’m better for you.”
“You don’t even like me.”
“I like looking at you.” Wesley’s soft and warm bedroom tones grated like fork tines on china. “I like how you looked in my home at night, and in my room when I woke. I liked looking across my parties and seeing your face among my friends. I liked you by my side, Arthur.”
Arthur blew out a breath. “I realize this may be a shock, Wes,” he said through gritted teeth, “but there is nothing romantic about inviting someone to ornament your own life. There is a man out there who wants me, not as an easy accessory to his own self-centered world, but for me, the way I really am.”
“You were good with me—”
“I was lonely with you,” said Arthur, “and now I know that’s not the same thing.”
He pushed past Wesley, but as he put a hand on the knob of the officer door, he heard Wesley behind him. “And how are you going to make it work?”
Arthur clenched his jaw, his fingers stilling.
“Have you even faced that?” Wesley’s voice was cutting. “Or are you hiding your head in the sand, refusing to acknowledge that anything you think you have with him is doomed? You’re not the first man to fall for someone of another class, Arthur. It never works. You can’t keep him any more than Romeo kept Juliet. You and your antiques man are a cliché; a pair of star-crossed fools.”
Arthur’s fingers tightened on the knob.
“But you and I, on the other hand, we’re two of a kind.” Wesley softened his tone, making it low and soothing as he came up behind Arthur. “No one thinks it’s odd that we’re friends. In the eyes of the world, we’re nothing more than two unrepentant bachelors. We could travel anywhere in the world in adjoining cabins. We could spend months at my estates.”
Wesley was close enough now that Arthur could feel the heat of his body at his back, feel warm breath on his ear as Wesley whispered, “No one would ask questions about us, Arthur. It would be easy to make it work.”
