“What?”
Wesley stopped in front of his suite door, turning to face Langford. They were the same height, their eyes level. Langford’s were the color of ice. Wesley suspected his own were even colder. “Sebastian,” said Wesley, “was a prisoner of war.”
Langford’s lips thinned. “Did he claim that’s his past? Because that’s obviously bullshit. A soft ladies’ man like that—”
“He’s not lying.”
“He’s not a man you can trust. Use your head, Fine. Think how damned convenient it was of your last valet to show up right when you needed one—and how damned convenient it is that Mr. de Leon showed up right when you needed a Spanish speaker.”
“Isthatwhat this is actually about? You think he’s a charlatan, like Chester was?” Wesley scoffed. “You’re laughably off. We’re not in the army anymore, and I’ll say it to your face: your comments were out of line.”
Langford’s eyes narrowed. “Speaking of Mr. de Leon,” he said, too lightly. “He made me think of that other Spaniard you were so fond of. Reyes was his name. You remember him and Private McGregor, don’t you?”
Wesley stilled. A rhetorical question; Langford, of course, knew he remembered.
“After I met Mr. de Leon, I thought,whatever happened to those two?” Langford said easily. “So I cabled home, asked the office to look into it.”
Wesley’s stomach didn’t drop; it hardened like stone. Infatuated idiot children, he’d never wanted to hear they were dead—
“Turns out,” Langford went on, still easy, “they’re in Edinburgh.”
Wait—what?
“Couple of injuries on the front, but they made it, the both of them,” Langford said. “Doing all right for themselves, actually. Reyes writes for the paper and McGregor became a chemist.” He smiled coldly. “They’re flatmates—isn’t that a coincidence.”
They’d survived. But what was Langford doing? “Why would you have the War Office look them up?” Wesley said lowly.
“To remind you that when you insisted I listen to you, I did,” Langford said. “So when I say now that you need to watch your back around your Spanish friend, you need to fucking listen to me.”
Wesley kept his expression still. He put a hand on the doorknob. “I’m going to bed.”
Langford’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you want to hear why you shouldn’t trust your friend?”
“No,” Wesley said shortly. “I don’t.”
“You’re changed, Fine.” Langford’s lip curled in a way that made it clear he didn’t think it was for the better. “You’re not the Wesley Collins of the war anymore.”
“Most people would consider that a blessing.”
“Then they wouldn’t know shit,” Langford said. “Captain Collins was cold enough to handle a German spy. Saved a lot of lives. I don’t think Lord Fine would be up to the task.”
“Remind me, major,” Wesley said, light and dangerous. “Who was it who gave that order?”
“You know why it had to be you,” Langford said, without remorse. “You were the only one I could trust to be ruthless enough to do what had to be done.”
Wesley tightened his jaw. “Good night,” he said pointedly, and went into his suite, shutting the door firmly behind him.
It seemed very still inside. As still as Sebastian’s face as Langford baited him with no idea the depth of the wounds Sebastian hid. Men like Wesley and Langford wore their scars on the outside, where everyone could see and know to keep their distance. Sebastian kept his inside, where they couldn’t hurt anyone else.
I’ll see you in the morning, Lord Fine.
Sebastian wasn’t coming back tonight. Of course he wasn’t; he wouldn’t risk anything that might raise Langford’s suspicions. Maybe he didn’t evenwantto see Wesley tonight. Maybe he was finally realizing that Wesley was every bit as bad as Langford said and he should cut his losses now. Maybe he’d already gone to sleep, like a man with sense, because he didn’t care what Langford said and he didn’t need Wesley.
Wesley rubbed his temple. He was fooling no one; he had no idea how to have a relationship. He was inevitably going to ruin this one, and he’d be lucky if it hadn’t happened tonight.
He did a quick search of the room, checking for the brooch as well as his own valuables, jeweled cuff links, his wallet, his watch. He lingered at the closet, eying his suit jacket and Sebastian’s waistcoat with a small frown. Still, the brooch was in its place in the waistcoat pocket, and that was ultimately what mattered. Wasn’t it?
He stepped back. The bedroom—the entire suite—felt silent and empty. Sebastian wasn’t a loud person, but his presence transformed Wesley’s spaces like having the fireplace lit on a winter’s day. Except Sebastian wasn’t coming back to warm Wesley’s rooms, because Langford was on this floor, and he wouldn’t do anything to put Wesley’s reputation at risk. Langford would probably be delighted if he knew he’d succeeded in keeping Sebastian away.
