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“I’ll be fine!” He promised, then turned back to the sitting room as Anastasia finished her first aria and everyone clapped. “I told you I wasn’t aiming blindly. Winterstone’s trying to scare me because he knows I’m close to connecting him and Francis to those girls. I just have to figure out how to prove it without getting committed,” Reginald said and raised his glass to Winterstone, daring him.
“You’re probably right but you’d do well to heed his warning,” Lavender said from behind the rim of his empty glass and Reginald pulled a face.
“I’d have to care. Lord Winterstone can’t do anything to me,” Reginald declared loudly. Lord Winterstone wouldn’t be able to hear him over Anastasia as the next piece started but plenty of his guests would. “It’s stifling in here and she’s off-key. Let’s take a turn around the garden.”
“That would probably be wise. I’ll go,” Paul said to Lavender and followed Reginald through a set of French doors and out onto the terrace.
It was snowing but the wind had settled and they had the garden to themselves so Reginald offered Paul an arm. Paul looked around before accepting it but he was relaxed as they took the steps and headed into the small back garden.
“I was thinking…” Paul guided them into the shadows of a long arched trellis. The vines were bare but they were shielded from the house and the terrace.
“Dance with me.” Reginald caught Paul’s hip and his hand and turned them.
“Why don’t you come back to America with me when this is over?” Paul said. He stopped them so he could cup Reginald’s cheek. “We could see if this thing between us is real without half a city watching our every move. None of this would follow you there and I could protect you,” he said, his tone urgent but hopeful.
He made Reginald’s heart hurt, he was so perfect. “Almost everything about this has felt like a nightmare but I’m so glad I got a chance to fall in love with you again.”
“Marston…” Paul muttered a curse as he pulled him closer and rested his cheek on Reginald’s hair. “Just talk to me about now. I think you’re right about Lord Winterstone and Sir Francis and you’re in real danger.”
“I promise, I’m not,” Reginald whispered and offered his lips. He held his breath and silently begged Paul to kiss him. Paul’s lips nudged his tentatively but it was enough to give Reginald goosebumps. A moan of relief slipped from Reginald as he leaned into Paul and wound an arm around his neck. “I’m so tired, Paul. I wish I had listened to you because I could scream, I’m so sick of this place and this nonsense with Lord Winterstone. Take me home and let me love you and I’ll figure out what to do with them tomorrow.”
“I’ll think about it if you promise you’ll stop all of this and rest. You’re taking this too far and you’re making yourself sick.” The hand on Reginald’s back spread possessively.
“You can’t help yourself, can you?” The morphine was wearing off and he was scared of spending a night alone with himself but Reginald felt like he could float as Paul’s lips pressed chastely against his again. “You can feel that I’m yours and you can’t part yourself from me, not when you know I need you.”
“Will you listen to me and let this go if I admit it?”
There was a low, growling laugh as O’Leary stepped out from the shadows and joined them under the trellis. “You should listen, Lord Marston. You might not give a damn about your reputation and your prospects but you still have a great deal to lose,” he said. His hands were pushed into the pockets of his trousers as he ambled closer.
“Remarkable,” Reginald said as he studied O’Leary. He looked so much like the Frank Leary from the picture of him and Speed with the Camaro. Reginald stared at O’Leary’s brow and the shape of his nose. Reginald’s eyes widened when he noticed an interesting similarity but he set the thought aside for later. “You’ll always be a gangster, won’t you?”
“A gangster?” O’Leary asked and Reginald smiled.
“A gangster,” he repeated even louder and whistled as he aimed a finger at O’Leary, “is a member of a criminal organization. Just like you.”
“There’s no organization but I will do whatever is necessary to protect Lord Winterstone.”
“Why?” Reginald asked as he drew closer and tried to get a better look at O’Leary. “You know what he’s done, what he deserves. Why are you willing to kill so many young women to hide the one that Lord Winterstone killed? Why the shell game with all these Eldon girls?”
Reginald knew his hunch was correct when O’Leary drew back and his lip curled into a sneer. “You’re a very smart man, Lord Marston, but you might be too smart.” He attempted to loom over Reginald but Paul put an arm around O’Leary and turned him toward the house.
“You keep threatening him but how are you going to accomplish any of that once I’ve broken your arms?” Paul asked, his tone kind and curious despite the hardness in his eyes and the flaring of his nostrils. O’Leary took a step back so he could size Paul up.
“I’ve been waiting for the opportunity since you turned up and started sniffing around our business,” he said and put his fists up in front of him. That got a laugh out of Paul as he looked around him and at the house.
“Sir Francis, I’d drop you like a bushel of potatoes but I promised the Commissioner and my employer that I’d mind your British customs and behave myself.”
“But that’s where you’re mistaken, Sloan,” O’Leary said silkily and stepped up to Paul. “I’m an Irishman and I don’t give a damn about British customs. I’m not here to do the pretty and beg for respect,” he explained and the change in Paul was instantaneous. His eyes flashed with delight and his posture became even more erect, more alert and ready to brawl.
“Come on, then!” Paul said, opening his arms and welcoming O’Leary but Reginald’s instincts flared. Paul hadn’t picked up on the significance of O’Leary’s declaration. He and Lord Winterstone weren’t like Lord and Lady Coonan. They weren’t interested in gaining power and respectability by kissing up to the British nobility. They were in London to rile up the other Irish lords and businessmen and reignite demand for Irish independence. Lord Winterstone might have been the polite face of the cause but O’Leary was the muscle and he was looking for a fight.
He was a gangster as Reginald had warned, and Paul wasn’t wearing two knives like O’Leary was. And he wouldn’t cheat. Reginald was sure Paul had spotted the odd shape under the ankle of O’Leary’s trousers or noticed the way his coat pulled around something straight at his side. But Paul was confident in his abilities as a pugilist and taunted O’Leary with a wide, patronizing smile so Reginald jumped between them.
“Tell me, Sir Francis, do you know a man named Eldon Speed?” He asked quickly and watched O’Leary very closely. But O’Leary was stunned and shook his head cluelessly.
“No. I’ve never…” He said slowly. His eyes darted wildly as he tried to catch up, afraid he might have missed something.
“I didn’t think so but I had to check,” Reginald said, then ducked, hoping Paul was ready. A fist slammed into O’Leary’s eye, sending him tripping backward before his legs gave out. He fell to the ground in a limp heap. “Exactly like a bushel of potatoes,” Reginald noted as he turned and beamed at Paul. “We should go now.”
Paul nodded as he shook out his hand. “O’Leary won’t say anything after he wakes up but it won’t look good if someone catches us out here with him.”
“Right…” Reginald nodded. “I was hoping you’d let me take that mustache for a ride but that too.”
“Would you—!” Paul choked out and Reginald laughed and ran before he wound up in the dirt next to O’Leary.
