House of Mirrors (30 page)

Jonah settled his restless body back into his chair and devoured each course as it was brought out by waiters whose clothing was finer than his own. The food was delicious and seemed exotic to a palate used to meat and potatoes prepared in various ways.

At last the dinner was finished, the final cheese course served, and the brandy consumed. The group left the restaurant to head back to the inn by way of the tram.

At the stop, Rafe grasped Jonah’s arm before he could board the tramcar with the others. “Why don’t we take a walk?”

Jonah nodded. When he glanced at the rest of the group, every one of them was smiling. Even Parinsky had a smirk on his face as he bid them good night.

With a touch of his hand to Jonah’s elbow, Rafe steered him away from the stop and down the street illuminated by gaslights, as the sun had long since set. Even the biggest towns Jonah had been in tended to go quiet as the grave after sundown, but London was a cosmopolitan city. Carriages and motorcars competed for space on the street, and pedestrians still crowded the sidewalks in this district of restaurants and theaters.

“What do you think of the city?” Rafe asked as they strolled together amid the crowd.

“Big. And busy.” Jonah was too aware of Rafe’s touch on him to care about what sort of nonsense came from his mouth. But falling into the spell cast by this too-delicious sense of Rafe would not do when they were out together.

He concentrated on the crowds around them and gazed at a woman covered in a fur coat with a jeweled tiara in her high-piled hair. A gentleman in a tuxedo helped her from the backseat of a shiny automobile and escorted her to the well-lit entrance of a theater. The marquee announced the title of a play which, unsurprisingly, Jonah didn’t recognize.

“I’m sure my father would have something to say about Sodom and Gomorrah if he were here,” Jonah said.

“This way.” Rafe’s hand at his elbow nudged Jonah to the right at the next block.

The street they turned onto was much quieter than the main thoroughfare and with fewer streetlights. As they walked through the pools of shadow between the circles of light, Jonah looked up at the elegant man striding beside him. “Tonight you talked about every topic under the sun except yourself. Now that we’re alone, will you tell me how things went with your family?”

“Mm. I’d rather talk about how much I missed you. Much pleasanter topic.” Warmth and humor infused Rafe’s low voice, and the hand on Jonah’s elbow gripped a little harder.

They were passing a churchyard, close-set gravestones jutting in uneven abandon on the other side of an iron fence. Rafe suddenly pushed Jonah through an open gate into the cemetery at the back of the imposing granite building. He dragged him into the deep shadows beside the cathedral and threw him up against the cold stone wall. Rafe pressed against him, pinning Jonah between hard heat and unyielding cold. He removed his gloves, shoved them in his pockets, and cupping Jonah’s face between warm palms, Rafe kissed him.

Jonah gave a soft moan of appreciation and latched on to the mouth covering his. He’d been starved for this, desperate to feel Rafe’s body, his breath, his very essence within his grasp. When Rafe had left America, there’d been an expectation they would meet again soon, but sometimes in those intervening months Jonah had feared he’d never see him again. An entire ocean parted them. Anything could happen. Things changed. People’s feelings changed, sometimes so fast it made one’s head spin. But now, here in the dark of the deserted churchyard, he was reassured that passion still burned between them.

Rafe pulled away at last, gasping for breath, and rested his forehead against Jonah’s. “God, I missed you.”

Warmth flooded him at the raw truth in Rafe’s voice, and perhaps a tiny bit of smugness—or maybe it was contentment. “I missed you too. Every day.” Jonah clasped his arms around Rafe’s body, feeling the rough wool of his overcoat and wishing he could feel smooth skin. “Can we…go somewhere?”

“Oh yes.” Rafe chuckled. “I don’t intend to have you off here in the churchyard. I have a house here in town, but it’s so far away, I needed one kiss immediately. A little afterdinner brandy, if you will.”

Jonah smiled and leaned forward, reaching for another kiss. Their mouths came together for several long moments, tongues entwining, hands clutching wherever they could find purchase.

But at last Rafe stepped back and released Jonah from the wall. “I’ll hail a cab. We’ll be there in minutes. I think I can wait that long.”

Jonah grunted, too winded to reply. His cock was rigid against his fly. The idea of having it off with each other here in a public place like a pair of strangers, quick and desperate and needy, did not sound so bad after all. But a glance up at the austere heights of the cathedral spire reminded him of his father’s country church and how he used to meet Ezekiel Burns there. He didn’t want those memories to taint his reunion with Rafe. They could afford the few extra minutes it would take to reach a civilized place and the softness of a real bed beneath them.

He broke from his trance of lust and shook it off like a dog shakes water from its fur. They left the churchyard and returned to the street, where Rafe searched for a hansom cab and lifted a hand to beckon a driver. A hack pulled up in front of them. Rafe gave the driver the directions, then they climbed inside.

“Now sir, no more sidestepping,” Jonah said. “Tell me about what’s happened to you.”

“My mother is as I remember her, only more so. It seems an ongoing party has been taking place at our estate, and the tenants’ needs have been neglected.” They passed beneath a streetlight, and Rafe’s mouth was grim. “I’ve set things to rights as best I could. Hired a man I believe I can trust to manage things, for I don’t intend to be too deeply involved in running the estate myself. I could tell you more, but that’s the gist of it.”

“You feel guilty.” Jonah guessed from his tone of voice. “But why should you have to be a lord just because you’re born into a certain bloodline? You didn’t ask for it. I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with delegating your responsibilities to someone else so long as you make certain things are running smoothly for those who depend on you for their livelihood.”

He reached for Rafe’s hand and held it under cover of darkness. “You live up to your responsibilities, but you’re a showman. That’s what you love. You are not a shallow creature when you pursue the life that makes you happy.”

They passed beneath another streetlamp, and Rafe’s eyes glittered, making Jonah’s stomach lurch in a much more pleasant way than it had done on the ship.

“
You
make me happy,” he growled. “Shall I pursue you?”

Jonah smiled. “I’m afraid there’s no need to. I won’t run away.”

He settled back against the hard seat of the hansom and watched the city pass by in light and darkness. This moment was everything he’d longed for. Just this—holding Rafe’s hand and sharing confidences with him. Only the horse’s hooves clip-clopping over cobblestones disturbed the hushed stillness.

“That’s good to know, for I wouldn’t let you go.” Rafe circled a finger on Jonah’s palm, sending shivers through him. “I don’t believe I shall ever want to.” He raised Jonah’s hand and swiftly kissed his palm. “I missed you far too much, my lad,” he said. “More than was comfortable.”

Jonah caught his breath. That was as close to a declaration of commitment as he could expect to hear from Rafe. They would continue to see each other indefinitely, devise ways to be with each other as much as possible, and that was as much as two men like them could hope for.

His mind swept over all the time they’d spent together, back to the first moment when he’d seen Rafe Grimstone on stage in his swirling cape and mirrored vest—he must call it waistcoat now that they were in England. Jonah blinked, realizing how little time had passed. It seemed a lifetime ago he’d been mesmerized by that voice and magnetic presence as he introduced the wonders of the House of Mirrors. “
Step inside to see real magic. Your face reflected a thousand times over, glass within glass. Which image is the real you
?”

Now he nearly knew the man behind the many faces Rafe showed the world, yet there were always more layers, more facets. Could any human being ever truly know all there was to know about another? Probably it was best they couldn’t. Everyone had a right to some secrets. Jonah would have to be content with the level of intimacy Rafe allowed for the time being. More would come later as Jonah continued to wear down Rafe’s defenses like the inexorable drip of water on stone.

And what of himself? What was his true face—the preacher’s son, the naive romantic, the rapacious lover, or the stage performer? Well, he was all of those, of course, and many more things yet to be uncovered. Jonah smiled, happy to be exactly what and who he was on this very fine night on the greatest stage of all.

Fired by the thought, he began to quote, “‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.’”

“Oh please, my dear boy. Not Shakespeare again. I won’t have it.” Rafe let go of Jonah’s hand to cover his mouth. “If you must insist on waxing philosophical, let it at least be a philosophy worth quoting.”

“And that would be?” Jonah mumbled against his palm.

“‘Drink wine. This is life eternal. This is all that youth will give you. It is the season for wine, roses, and drunken friends. Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.’ How about that?” Rafe dropped his hand to let him speak.

“Very wise. Not a doctrine I studied at seminary. Who may I ask is the philosopher?”

“A very great Oriental named Omar Khayyam. The man knew much about love and life.”

Jonah nodded. “I’ve heard that name. His poetry was mentioned as material to avoid for its flagrant sensuality and the pursuit of pleasure the poet recommends.”

Rafe’s chuckle sent quakes of happiness trembling through Jonah. “All the more reason to read the
Rubaiyat
, then. I shall be happy to share my copy of FitzGerald’s translation with you. We can read aloud to each other in bed and then act on some of those earthy suggestions your professors frowned upon.”

“That sounds wonderful to me.” Heedless of the cab driver perched high above and behind them or the people passing outside, Jonah leaned toward Rafe and gave him a quick, fierce kiss on the mouth. “And when we’re finished, I’ll lie beside you until morning.” He tried to make out Rafe’s expression in the dark interior of the hansom and caught a glimpse of the light reflected in his eyes. And then, yes, he saw the gleam of his teeth in a wide smile.

Jonah said, “Do you know I don’t believe dawn has found us together. It will be the first time.”

“For the first time, but certainly not the last,” Lord Darkwell replied.

*

Loose Id Titles by Bonnie Dee & Sumer Devon

House of Mirrors

Seducing Stephen

The Gentleman and the Rogue

The Nobleman and the Spy

About the Authors

Bonnie Dee

I began telling stories as a child. Whenever there was a sleepover, I was the designated ghost tale teller. I still have a story printed on yellow legal paper in second grade about a ghost, a witch and a talking cat.

Writing childish stories for my own pleasure led to majoring in English at college. Like most English majors, I dreamed of writing a novel, but at that time in my life didn't have the necessary focus and follow through. Then life happened. A husband and children occupied the next twenty years. It was only in 2000 that I began writing again. Fanfiction helped me reawaken that creative facet of my life. Having an already created world and characters to play with, makes it easy for a writer to work at the other aspects of the craft.

I was content with my fanfic writing for a couple of years before deciding it was time to create my own worlds. My friend, Lauren Baker and I wrote Finding Home, and then I worked on getting an agent or publisher. Meanwhile, I kept writing short stories, articles, and novellas. Since discovering the world of e-publishing and getting my start at Liquid Silver Books, I never stopped writing. I now have the confidence to say, "I am a writer," and the published works to prove it.

Summer Devon

Summer Devon is the alter ego of Kate Rothwell. Kate invented Summer’s name in the middle of a nasty blizzard At the time she was talking to her sister, who longed to visit some friends in Devon, England—so the name Summer Devon is all about desire. Kate/Summer lives in Connecticut, USA, and also writes books, usually gaslight historicals, as Kate.