Page 26 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

“Titles open doors.” Beauregard’s mouth twisted slyly. “And on the other side of those doors are people. People who…how can I say it…”

“Can be parted from their possessions?”

With a low chuckle, Beauregard shook his head. “As a man of business, I couldn’t possibly comment. But say ‘Valentin’ for me. I want to hear it on your lips.”

“Valentin,” parroted Mickey, feeling foolish and somehow managing to turn the exotic into the mundane. Valentin seemed pleased, however.

“Good. Now I believe it is your turn to divulge a secret.”

“And I believe I confessed to owning none.”

“You lied.”

“Yes. I did.” Searching for a change of subject, Mickey’s eyes alit on the pile of correspondence and a gilt-edged invitation atop it.

“I-I see the Marquess of Talybridge is having a New Year ball.” His breath stuttered as he picked up the thick card. “To celebrate his recent betrothal,” Mickey read out loud. “And…and you are attending?”

Was that the sort of door being a vicomte opened? The door to a grand ball, held in a grand ballroom not fifty paces from a safe housing the parure?

“I rather fancy I might. You?”

Mickey perused the card until he felt able to speak again. “Possibly, as a guest of Ashington or Rossingley. Not in my own right, naturally. Attending these things is good for business.” Mickey doubted Talybridge even knew his name. “You are already acquainted with the man?” he pressed, trying to sound bland.

“Yes.” The Frenchman inclined his head. “We became…acquainted earlier this year, whilst in Italy. More’s the pity.”

Mickey’s pulse quickened all the more. So, Beau—Valentin had seen the parure in Florence. “You don’t care for him?”

“I find him repellent,” answered Valentin bluntly. “Don’t you?”

“I am not worthy of his notice,” Mickey owned, “not being wealthy or titled, so I don’t have much of an opinion. But he is not revered for his…ah…charm in my…circles.” He hesitated before plunging forward. “May I enquire as to why you are attending if you dislike the man so much?”

Neatly sidestepping the question, Valentin tittered. “Does there have to be a reason other than to celebrate a wonderful union of two people and to enjoy what shall unquestionably be a divine party?”

“A divine party full of folks wearing shiny baubles?” pushed Mickey. Valentin could take his comment however he liked.

“There is only one bauble I hope to grasp in my palm at Talybridge’s ball.” Beauregard’s bare foot wound around Tommy’s calf. “And on that note, what are your afternoon plans, London? If they don’t involve baring yourself in my bedchamber, then frankly, I’m not interested.”

It occurred to Mickey that where other men led, he would forever be destined to trail after: Tommy’s expanding businesses, for instance, and Mickey’s unwavering loyalty to him; his pliant agreement to tag along with the plot to steal the parure, to join the others as an accomplice. And now here, with this appealing, shadowy thief summoning Mickey to his bedchamber and expecting him to follow. Mickey wasn’t sure he approved this aspect of his own character, but now wasn’t the time to examine or amend it as before his eyes, Beauregard divested himself of his loose garments.

There was no imperativeness in his movements, no urgency to shed the layers of the day. With almost deliberate languor, Beauregard unbuttoned his shirt, each small action considered and precise, as though the act of undressing was as much an appreciation of himself as it was a shedding of fabric. The first button came free with a soft fwip, and then another, the cuffs loosening with a flick of his wrist.

“What about servants?” Mickey asked urgently. “The door is not locked.”

Valentin’s fingers worked at the placket of his trousers, unhurried. “I have no use for them. I’m quite adequate at fending for myself.”

More than adequate. As the trousers dropped, pooling at his feet, Valentin’s eyes caught Mickey staring, and with a final movement, he pulled the shirt off.

“You like what you see?” Valentin casually stroked his engorged cock, lowering his gaze and watching himself. “You should touch, too, if it pleases you.”

Mickey had almost regretted leaving the kitchen, thinking it a shame to end the most intimate, absorbing conversation he’d ever encountered. But, as he disrobed with far less panache, the cool air leaving a trail of gooseflesh as it kissed his bare skin, he revised that opinion. Mickey would happily be rendered forever mute if the beautiful, unashamedly naked creature standing in front of him took him right now, for however long and however he pleased.

Mickey stepped into Valentin’s open embrace, mostly because he had no option; behind him was the bed, and Valentin was everywhere else. His cock nuzzled Valentin’s.

“I’d like to kiss you.” Valentin’s eyes roamed Mickey’s face. He pressed a fingertip against Mickey’s lips. “Here, if I may.”

“I…I don’t,” said Mickey. “Sorry.”

“Then I shall kiss you here instead.”