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“Everything all right?” McCameron murmured beside him as they breached the theater’s lobby. “Looking tight in the mouth.”
Naturally, a born tactician like McCameron could see the minutest detail amidst swirling chaos. Seb felt a flare of gratitude for his friend’s concern.
He took a deep breath, and then another one. “Learning how to navigate new territory.”
“I know this isn’t comfortable for you,” McCameron said.
“It isn’t,” Seb agreed. “It might not ever be.”
“And that’s all right.” Cameron clapped his hand on Seb’s shoulder. “You’re managing, and that’s enough.”
Small wonder that Seb had formed such strong ties with the other members of the union of the Rakes. They had an instinct for saying what he needed to hear.
“A crush, wouldn’t you say, Holloway?” A prosperous gentleman of middle years appeared and nudged Seb with his elbow. Seb had no idea who the gentleman was or how he came to know Seb’s name, but he beamed at Seb as though they shared a delightful secret.
For a moment, Seb couldn’t think of a single word to say in response. And then his silence unnerved him. But he stroked the glove in his pocket, and his worry receded enough for him to say, “Come to the theater often?”
The gentleman chuckled. “Often enough to know that tonight’s a fine night for sampling the evening’s pleasures. Do stop by my box later. We’re hosting a bevy of the finest female company money can secure and you’re free to sample them.”
Rather than answer, Seb inclined his head, and the gentleman’s smile widened before he disappeared into the mass of bodies.
“What a genial way to invite me to have sex with a prostitute,” Seb muttered to McCameron. They neared the stairs that led, presumably, to the private boxes.
“You’re now part of the London rakes’ world.” McCameron nudged him, and when Seb followed his friend’s gaze, he discovered a blonde woman sending him a gaze of such blatant carnal interest, it was a wonder that Seb’s garments and smallclothes didn’t combust. “And there’s the welcome committee.”
Panic crept up his back at the prospect of speaking to the woman. But in all likelihood she wasn’t looking for conversation. A handful of words would likely suffice to suggest they retire somewhere private. But he didn’t know her at all. Nor did she know him. And while that might hold some appeal, it was minimal compared to sharing erotic pleasure with someone who fully understood who he was—all the parts of him—just as he would understand who she truly was.
Like Grace.
His mind recoiled from the thought. His body, however, had other ideas. Yes, it growled. Shut up, he snarled in response.
He gave the blonde woman a smile but did not head in her direction, instead continuing up the stairs to the next floor with McCameron and Rotherby.
They reached the landing and proceeded down the corridor. Curtains hung in the doorways of the private boxes, and finely dressed men and women lingered in the hallway and in the boxes themselves. They shone with wealth and abundance, their skin and garments lustrous.
The theater was essentially just as stratified as the world beyond its walls.
Rotherby addressed everyone by name, while Seb nodded and murmured noncommittal greetings to people who seemed to know him. Wherever he looked, he was met with smiles and admiring looks.
It was surprisingly . . . not unpleasant.
Rotherby stopped abruptly as two men stepped into his path. One was thickly muscled, a contrast to his finely tailored clothing, while his facial expression verged on insolent. The other possessed a lean, wiry frame and a pair of shrewd eyes so pale blue they were nearly white.
Happiness swept through Seb. It had been too long since all five of them were together.
“The meeting of the union of the Rakes shall now commence,” the wiry man said. “I nominate Curtis here to record the minutes.”
“My writing looks like someone swallowed a bottle of ink and then vomited the contents onto the page,” Curtis replied.
“That’s a kind comparison.” Rotherby smirked. He stuck out his hand. “Rowe, Curtis.”
