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It took a moment for Marcus’s words to sink in. Beckett tensed so suddenly he was surprised his back didn’t crack.
He whipped to face Marcus.
“What do you mean, The Slope?”
Sleep must still be confusing him. Noah had been in his arms just moments ago. He shouldn’t have ignored Noah’s tears when he’d thought he’d heard them. He should have shaken himself awake and asked what was the matter. He should have told Noah he loved him sooner, that he loved him just as he was, difficulties and all.
“What was he doing at The Slope?” he asked when his friends just looked at each other instead of answering his question. Deep dread pooled in his stomach, threatening to make him sick.
Blaise finally took a half step forward and said, “We were hoping he came back here. He was at The Slope earlier, shortly before midnight. He…he spoke to Marcus, saying he was sorry for all the trouble he’d caused.”
The dread in Beckett’s gut turned into outright terror. “Where is Noah?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his hands shaking.
“We don’t know,” Graham said, stepping forward to take Blaise’s place when she moved back to Marcus’s side. “Like Blaise said, we hoped he’d come back here, but obviously he hasn’t.”
“He didn’t say where he was going when he left the club,” Marcus added.
“And you let him leave?” Beckett demanded, his fear turning into anger. “What sort of state was he in? What else did he say? How did he look?”
His friends glanced between themselves, their expressions saying more than words could.
“He didn’t look good,” Graham confessed, rubbing a hand over his face. “He was pale and shaky. Ricky followed him out of The Slope, but he came back fifteen minutes later and said Noah hopped on a streetcar and went off before he could catch up with him.”
“Where was the streetcar going?” Beckett asked, heading back to the stairs. He needed to put his clothes on and go out in search of his love. There was no telling what Noah would do if he was in a state.
Why hadn’t he seen it? Why hadn’t he picked up on the signs earlier? They’d had such a lovely day together.
“It was heading south,” Marcus said, mounting a few steps as though he would follow him up to his room. “He could have been going anywhere, City Hall, Wall Street, Battery Park.”
Beckett doubted Noah would have any interest in any of those places. Not in the middle of the night. Perhaps Battery Park, but he’d never shown any interest in the place before.
“I have to dress,” he called absently down to his friends. He paused as another thought hit him. “Gardener, can you go and fetch my father? He’ll want to know about this.”
“Yes, sir,” Gardener said, stepping forward from the door. “And I could ask Miss Taylor to perhaps walk the neighborhood to see if Mr. Cheevers returned but did not come home?”
Beckett hated asking his maid to search the streets in the middle of the night, but he was desperate. “I would prefer if she could find someone to search with her. Perhaps one of my father’s servants?”
“I’ll ask, sir.”
With that, Gardener set off and Beckett continued up the stairs to get dressed. He forgot to give his friends instructions to make themselves at home in his haste to do what he needed to search for Noah, but being a bad host was the least of his concerns.
He dressed faster than he ever had, then hurried back downstairs, knowing he probably looked a fright. His friends were almost in the same place he’d left them, their heads together, discussing the situation.
“Should we alert the police?” Blaise asked, deep hesitation pinching her expression.
Beckett cringed as well as he paused at the bottom of the stairs. “I hate involving the police in anything having to do with us,” he said, knowing his friends would understand that “us” meant every man like them. “But if we can’t find him before morning, we might have to.”
“Agreed,” Marcus said. He let out a heavy breath as Beckett pushed past him to grab his coat and hat and said, “I can’t help but feel like this is my fault.”
“Your fault?” Beckett asked in surprise as he shoved his arms into his coat sleeves.
Marcus shook his head. “I was harsh with him when he showed up at The Slope that first day. I set him down too hard. I…I feel responsible for the state he’s in now.”
A twist of surprise bitterness hit Beckett’s gut as he plunked his hat on his head. “You had nothing to do with this. Noah is not ill because of you,” he said. “No, you did not help the situation at all, but if you think you are so important to him that one cross look from you could cause him to—”
He swallowed the rest of his sentence. It wouldn’t do any good for him or for Noah to hold resentment toward Marcus for his part in the whole thing. And it certainly wouldn’t help his nerves to imagine what Noah would do in a moment of mental distress, to imagine what he was doing at that very moment.
“We have to find him,” he said, worried that he was close to hyperventilating. “That’s all we need to think about right now.”
