Speak Its Name: A Trilogy (15 page)

“That’s my business, don’t you think?” Scoville exchanged a look with Darling, not even caring if Cecil saw the warmth in his gaze. “I’m quite pleased with him, actually. But let’s not get off the subject of your snuffbox. A stranger stole it from you. On the train, I presume?” He turned the box over in his hands, his eyes never leaving McDonald’s face. “And then he filled it with cocaine and gave it to me. What a strange thing to do. Or was there some other reason? You knew I’d never touch the drug myself, didn’t you, that I’d never do something like—this.”

Before McDonald could say or do anything, he flicked the lid open and let the white powder spill onto the tabletop.

“No!”

He blocked McDonald’s hand. It wasn’t just powder lying on the linen cloth. There in the crystalline heap were five much larger crystals—glittering, faceted diamonds.

“Why don’t you just tell me the truth?” Scoville suggested. “What are these—payment for the papers?”

“No—” McDonald caught himself, and nodded. Scoville could almost see the gears whirring in his brain, making up a new story. “Yes. Robert, you don’t understand. My contact—he was getting greedy, he was afraid he’d overreached himself this time, and he wanted more money. He meant to leave Germany for good. When I gave him the diamonds, he said, he said he would only give me half the papers until I brought him more money. I shouted at him, lost my temper—”

“You killed him.” It wasn’t even a question.

“It was self-defence, I swear! His life or mine! But after that—what good would the diamonds have done him? I need to get out of the game, Robert—I know they suspect me, I’m no good as an operative any more, I needed the money...”

“And you had a buyer for the stones here in Vienna, didn’t you?” Darling interjected. “You used us to smuggle them over the border for you.”

“Is that true?” Scoville asked. McDonald’s guilty face gave him the answer. “You damned fool! Didn’t you realise you could have simply given me the parcel and asked me to carry it through for you? I’d have thought it was part of the mission. And what was the point of hitting me—from behind, damn you! Are you going to tell me that was self-defence?”

McDonald licked his lips nervously. “I... I wasn’t sure I could still trust you, Robert. It’s been a long time. What if you’d asked me questions about it? What if you looked in the package? I couldn’t risk that.”

Scoville said nothing.

“I didn’t hit you very hard, did I?” McDonald wheedled. “You seem to be just fine—”

“No thanks to you,” Darling said. “Shall I send for the police, my lord?”

Scoville shifted his attention for only a moment, but in that instant McDonald had a gun out, aimed at Jack. “I’m leaving, Robert.” He reached over and scooped up the gems. “You’ve got the papers. They’re genuine enough. Give my regards to Sir James, would you—and tender my resignation.”

He rose, motioning with the gun to make Darling get out of his way. Jack didn’t move.

“It’s all right,” Scoville said. “Let him go.”

“My lord—”

“No. It’s all right.” As Jack wavered, he snapped, “That’s an order, Sergeant.”

Darling stepped out of the path to the door. McDonald backed slowly away from the table, then suddenly seized his chair and threw it at Darling, who knocked it aside. But the distraction bought the fugitive the seconds he needed.

As the door slammed, Jack pulled his gun out. But when he started after McDonald, Scoville called, “Jack. Don’t bother. It’s all right.”

Darling whirled, furious. “All right? He’s a murderer, a traitor—I could stop him!”

Scoville closed the space between them and pushed the door shut. “Yes, I know you could.” Standing so close, he could see that Jack was practically vibrating with anger. “But he wasn’t always like this. When we were at school, he was the only living soul who knew what I was. The only one who accepted me.”

“But—” Jack looked at the door once more, incredulous. “He could have killed you, on the train. And you’re letting him go for old times’ sake?”

“No! No, of course not.” It was hard to admit, even to himself, that a part of him still wished he could have done just that. “As you say, he’s a murderer. But he was my friend once, Jack. I don’t want his blood on your hands. It’s already on mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I sent a message to Sir James when we went down to the baths. There were guards from the Embassy waiting for him downstairs. Look.” He strode over to the window, pushing the drapery aside. Darling leaned close, looking over his shoulder.

An elegant closed carriage with the royal coat of arms, an Embassy vehicle, waited before the entrance. While they watched, two men escorted a third to the street. They couldn’t make out faces in the dim light of the streetlamps, but as the three climbed into the carriage it was clear that the man between them was handcuffed to one of the guards.

Scoville dropped his hand; the drape fell back into place. “Even if he were to escape,” he said, “where would he go? Not back to England. And he’s wanted in France for murder. He isn’t important enough for any country to give him sanctuary—he can only hope that England will keep him safe from the guillotine because they’re afraid he might tell France what little he knows about the errands he’s done.”

“Safe?” Jack raised a sceptical eyebrow. “My lord, wouldn’t stealing government property and murdering one of Her Majesty’s informants be considered treason?”

“Yes.” Scoville closed his eyes, trying not to think about the reckless, playful lover of his younger days. “I think it would. If he knows too much, he may not even reach England alive. But he did give us the documents, and that might save his neck. I have no idea if it will.”

“I’m sorry, my lord.”

Scoville shook his head. “No. I could have warned him off. I very nearly did. But when he pointed that gun at you, he lost any hope of mercy.”

“I’m still sorry you had to make the decision.” Jack touched him on the arm, tentatively. “My lord—would you mind if I kiss you?”

“I would be delighted.” As the painful memories were eclipsed by the warm, living present, Scoville decided they really would have to do something about Jack’s formality—at least in private.

The way the evening had been going, he shouldn’t have been surprised by the knock at the door. They sprang apart. Jack reached up and smoothed his own hair, then smiled faintly and did the same for Scoville, his fingers lingering on his lordship’s face for just a moment.

Scoville raised his voice. “Who’s there?” Bad manners, but he wasn’t about to have Darling shot down for the sake of courtesy if Cecil had come back nursing a grudge.

“Woodward.”

Darling immediately leapt to the door. “Sir James! Please come in.”

“I was still at the Embassy when your message arrived, my lord,” Woodward said, shaking Scoville’s hand. “It seemed best for me to be in at the finish of this affair.”

“Thank you, sir. I wish your trip had not been necessary.” Scoville handed over the packet that had caused all this trouble, glad to be rid of it. “Two lives wasted for such a small thing.”

The packet disappeared into an inner pocket. “Not wasted, my lord. If this contains the information we’re hoping for, it could save thousands of lives. I’ll leave you now—you’ve had a long day.” He rose, then turned. “I know McDonald was a friend of yours. I am sorry.”

“So am I, Sir James.” The words were inadequate, but it was kind of him to offer them. “More than I can say.”

Jack escorted their distinguished visitor to the door, closed it behind him, and set his back against it. “Are we expecting any other visitors tonight, my lord?” he asked with a touch of exasperation.

“I hope to God not.” Scoville consulted his watch. “Two minutes past midnight. Are you finished packing?”

“Nearly. Another five minutes should do it.”

“Excellent. You finish with that while I go throw myself on the mercy of the management. I need to get out of here.”

~

The new suite was one floor higher, its second bedroom a little smaller, and the view, they were warned, was not so desirable. At this point, Jack didn’t care. He would have happily dossed down in a broom closet. But though he knew he needed sleep, he had passed through the point of fatigue where he wanted it. Right now he was as keyed up as if he were going into battle, even though his brain was struggling through a thick London fog.

He didn’t expect he’d be using the bed in this smaller room. But appearance was everything, and gossip was life and breath to chambermaids. Before he went about the little rituals of laying out their shaving gear and clothing for the next day, he took a moment to pull the covers down on his bed and climb under them, leaving the print of his body on the mattress and shoving the pillows around. He’d seen to Lord Robert’s guest room often enough to recognise a bed that had been artfully rumpled but not slept in. It was so comfortable he had to struggle to drag himself out, but he managed. Just barely.

“Jack?” Lord Robert called from the next room. “Don’t worry about unpacking again. That can wait for tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll just be a moment.” Was that the proper thing to say, in this ambivalent situation? Hard to say. Hard to know what he should be doing, either, so he’d taken refuge in routine, retreating to his own room and setting their belongings to rights. Apparently he wasn’t going to be allowed the distraction of domestic duties.

What had he gotten himself into? It was one thing to cherish a secret passion, however hopeless, quite another to face the reality. But he’d let the secret out. There was no going back.

No, what was he thinking? He didn’t want to go back. It was only this morning—or last night, or technically the night before—that he’d wanted to climb into bed with Lord Robert. Well, he had the chance now, and in a much nicer bed than that narrow bunk on the train. What kind of fool would turn down that opportunity?

But he had to consider what might happen after tonight. Lord Robert had never shown any sign of wanting a permanent lover. He might just be curious.

Yes, that’s all right. So am I
. And after that incredible first kiss, more than curious. He had to know what the rest would be like.

And if he decides to send you away in the morning?
He would at least be given a civilised space of time to deal with that necessity, if it became one. His lordship had never been an unfair man, and he certainly wasn’t a cruel one. But he might, after a brief affair, prefer to resume their previous arrangement.

Jack wasn’t sure he could do that. He didn’t want a few nights; he wanted every night. It was mad to even hope for such a thing, but he wanted forever, and there was no guarantee of that. Having touched what he had been yearning for, he was now terrified of losing it.

He knew he could trust Lord Robert with his life. It was a hundred times harder to trust him with his heart.

He glanced in the mirror above the neatly ordered hairbrush, comb, and toiletries, looked himself in the eye
. Don’t lie to yourself, old boy. He’s had that since the day you met.

“Jack?”

The object of his thoughts stood in the doorway, a hesitant smile on his face. He had changed out of his suit, and in his pyjamas and dressing gown looked as young and even more handsome than he had all those years before. And for the first time Jack could remember, Lord Robert looked slightly uncertain.

Since he’s got your heart, why not give him the rest?
“Yes, my lord?”

“No, Jack. I don’t want to be your lord. I want to be your lover.”

The simple sentence took his breath away, and words with it. Before he could find any they were in each other’s arms, and words no longer mattered. His hands slipped down shimmering fabric, bringing what he’d dreamt of close enough to hold. Words and thought vanished under the onslaught of feeling. It shouldn’t be possible for a kiss to be so utterly satisfying and at the same time completely insufficient. The only thing he could do was demand another, and another after that. Lord Robert clutched him like a drowning man, pressing even closer.

Even as he threw himself wholeheartedly into the embrace, he couldn’t believe what was happening. Years of longing answered in the space of a few hours—it was too much. It couldn’t be real.

He knew this dream. It was an old friend. He would wake in a moment and find himself alone in his bed, or on the floor of the railway coach, or even back at the townhouse in London. It was a wonderful dream, intense and vivid, but he would awaken.

Jack stumbled, and reality asserted itself when his back banged into the doorframe. He leaned back on it, pulling his—yes, his lover—tight against him. They were much the same height, and the brocade dressing gown had fallen open. Nothing stood between them save a few thin scraps of cloth. He couldn’t reach his own trousers, but he was able to slip his hands up under the dressing gown and slide the pyjama bottoms down.

When Jack’s hands touched bare flesh, Lord Robert gasped and shifted just enough to reciprocate. The belt gave his lordship a little trouble, but in a moment Jack’s trousers fell and they were skin-to-skin from waist to knees.

Maybe it wasn’t a dream, after all. This was nothing like his fantasies. It was foolish, undignified... irresistible. As their cocks met and slid together Jack felt like a lightning rod in an electrical storm, and he dug his fingers into Lord Robert’s arse, wanting only more of the breathtaking contact. And he got it. Even better, he felt lips brush his ear, and a whispered, “Yes, Jack. Yes.
Now!”

His whole body shook with the climax. He couldn’t hold back and it didn’t seem to matter. They were both thrusting and shivering together, and then sagging against the doorway, trying to keep their knees from folding under them. The corner of Jack’s mind that normally gave him a shield of irony suggested that if he really was determined to shag above his station, it would have been sensible to lie down first.

As though reading his thoughts, Lord Robert said, “I think we should retire to the bed.”

“Yes, my—” He caught himself just in time. He stared down at the garments puddled around his ankles, decided there was no point in pulling them back up, and stepped out of them. “Major, then—just how shall I address you?”