“I already miss him,” Sebastian admitted.
“You’re not going to go three years without seeing him this time,” Wesley said. “See him for Christmas.”
Wesley had spent the six Christmases since the war alone. His cook, Mrs. Harrick, was a war widow, and she’d leave Wesley meals that could be eaten cold before taking Elsie to see her doting grandmother in Lincoln. Ned, the footman, came from a large family in Nottingham, and he’d head up there to spend the time with his nieces and nephews, would probably meet a nice girl one of these days and get hitched himself. Wesley gave all the staff holidays and then would sit in his silent Kensington home, smoking too many cheap cigarettes and drinking too much expensive whiskey and resenting the hypocrites who would chirpPeace on Earthwhen they’d been happy enough to send other people to war.
There was no point being maudlin over any of it, because he had countless identical holidays to come. Wesley was, after all, beastly and intolerable company; unending solitude was simply reaping what he sowed.
Then Sebastian nudged him tentatively. “I’ve spent so many Christmases alone these last few years,” he said quietly, like he was confessing. “The holiday is two weeks of happy chaos in my family. If I go, you have to come, but wherever we are, maybe we could be together, yes?”
Wesley stilled. He glanced at the beautiful man at his side, who had swept into his life and changed those endless identical days into adventures in new places. Who had filled the solitude with literal magic. Who had also had isolation and loneliness as his relentless companions, and if Sebastian was hoping they’d be together for the holidays, then Wesley would make damn sure he got what he wanted.
“As if you could possibly be rid of me by Christmas,” Wesley said brusquely. “You owe me the Caribbean,” which earned him a smile that made his knees a little weak, no magic needed.
As they walked through the Grand Central soaring terminal, however, two men he had no desire whatsoever to see were coming straight toward them.
“Fine, fancy catching you again!” Sir Ellery said, as Alasdair smiled politely next to him.
“Yes, fancy that,” Wesley said. “It does feel a bit coincidental, doesn’t it?”
“What are you talking about?” Sir Ellery asked.
“Did you send Lord Fine a letter this morning, by any chance?” Sebastian asked pointedly.
“No.” Sir Ellery looked mystified. “I would have picked up the phone and called if I had anything more to say.”
Hmph. He could be lying, of course. Wesley had played cards with the man; he had an excellent poker face. But would he really know anything about this business?
“Sebastian, it is so good to see you again,” Alasdair said in his Scottish-tinged accent, breezily ignoring Wesley. “I love the fabric you’ve chosen for your waistcoat, light and flexible. I see you’re still pairing casual clothes with the pocket watch chain; perhaps that’s just your style.”
“He’s trying to get on my good side, appealing to my disdain for these blasted trends,” Wesley cut in. “Transparent, really.”
Alasdair turned his gaze on Wesley with lazy slow blinks, his light blue eyes as watery as they’d been the day before. Was the man day drunk? “Where are you two off to now?”
“Just playing the tourists again,” Wesley said brusquely.
“Really?” Sir Ellery said skeptically. “You?”
“What about you?” Sebastian said, changing the subject.
“Tarrytown,” said Sir Ellery. “Lady Blanche extended an invitation for her guest house. We’re still a couple of days from the masquerade, but Alasdair here has some establishments up there.”
“Does he.” Wesley could well imagine what sorts ofestablishmentsa bootlegger like Alasdair might have.
“Her husband Walter is a very good customer,” Alasdair added conspiratorially. “I’ve been to their new estate several times.”
Of course the New York governor’s son threw parties and invited bootleggers. Wesley had spent enough time around politicians not to be surprised.
Sir Ellery still had his friendly smile, but there was something slightly more calculated in his eyes. “Why not join us now? Lady Blanche was happy to add you to her guest list. It’d be no trouble at all to get you lodging in Tarrytown and have your things sent up. Your man here could come too,” he finished, gesturing at Sebastian. “Alasdair’s got plenty to entertain us all.”
Wesley highly doubted Alasdair had anything half as entertaining as Sebastian panting under him. “Can’t make it, itinerary to keep.” After all, they were quite booked up finding where the devil the others had gotten to and then hopefully fucking straight up until their ship departed for San Juan.
“That’s a shame,” Sir Ellery said easily. “So you’ll be staying at the Roosevelt for a few more days then? Are you liking it? The major was planning to stay in Manhattan until the masquerade and might need a new place.”
Christ, no. What an absolute fucking disaster that would be, to have Langford in the same hotel as him and Sebastian. “You should tell Major Langford he’s better off at the Waldorf,” he said briskly. “More his style.”
“If you say so.” Sir Ellery glanced at the large clock in the center of the terminal and grimaced. “I’m afraid we’ve got to run.”
“So good to see you, Sebastian,” Alasdair said brightly.
