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  Just a Little Danger

  Merry Farmer

  JUST A LITTLE DANGER

  Copyright ©2020 by Merry Farmer

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your digital retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)

  ASIN: B08777DH4S

  Paperback ISBN: 9798655358997

  Click here for a complete list of other works by Merry Farmer.

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  London – May, 1890

  London in the summer was one of the most miserable places Metropolitan Police officer Patrick Wrexham could think to be, but it was where he, and countless others, were forced to stay while the loftier members of British society, the toffs and the nobs, buggered off to the country. There were still a few weeks of balmy weather to go before the heat and the stink set in, but as Patrick strode from Whitehall, across Trafalgar Square, and on to The City, he spotted more than a few carriages laden with baggage carrying relieved ladies away from the most miserable place on earth.

  It was just his luck that the most miserable place on earth was his home, and had been for his whole life. That didn’t mean that a single soul whom he passed on his journey knew who he was, however. His fellow pedestrians barely saw him, in spite of his crisp, clean uniform. Few men bothered to step out of his way, in spite of his burly build and above average height. Patrick stepped out of their way instead, wanting nothing more than to reach his destination as quickly as possible without drawing attention.

  The sooner he reached the law offices of Dandie & Wirth, the better. For the last few weeks, Patrick had been involved with the indomitable team of David Wirth and Lionel Mercer as they investigated a child kidnapping and human trafficking ring. The very thought of the ring turned Patrick’s stomach and had him clenching his jaw. It was horrific enough that anyone would kidnap children and sell them into slavery—both at home and abroad, if the information David and Lionel had been able to collect was right. It was worse that the kidnappers preyed on the poorest strata of society, children whom no one cared about and whose lives were miserable enough already. Patrick knew that kind of misery all too well. It had been a part of him for as long as he could remember.

  He rested a hand instinctively on the small pouch attached to his belt, as if it contained a hoard of precious jewels. In fact, it held half a hard sausage and a heel of bread, but as far as Patrick was concerned, that was worth more than the crown jewels. He knew what it was like to be a starving child, so desperate for the tiniest morsel of food that he would have done anything, gone with anyone, just to ease the gnawing in his belly. He had no doubt that whoever was luring the most vulnerable children of London into a life of horror barely had to lift a finger to carry out their evil deeds. The callousness of the kidnappers made their deeds even blacker in Patrick’s mind.

  The worst part of all was that the more information uncovered about the kidnapping ring—by David and Lionel, but also by others, including Joe Logan, whose sister, Lily, was one of the children who had been taken—the more apparent it was that the ringleaders of the entire, sordid operation were noblemen. Not just any noblemen, but those with titles that set them far above even their peers.

  In short, the men responsible for the destruction of young and innocent lives were untouchable. All the same, Patrick was determined to bring them to justice.

  Whether it was the inner heat of his fury or the way his thoughts had him scowling like a dragon about to breathe fire, more than a few of his fellow pedestrians suddenly seemed to notice him and jump out of his way. A pair of well-born ladies even gasped and dashed quickly to the other side of the street as though he would eat them alive. Their reaction only depressed Patrick, dampening his fierce expression as he walked on. The ladies likely feared for their virtue in the face of a man of his size, but they had less than nothing to worry about. Patrick had never been interested in women of any sort a day in his life, aside from having them as friends. If growing up in the orphanage hadn’t destroyed any possibility of him trusting another soul, he would have banded together with the gang of older girls who always seemed to get the better of the tyrants who ran the place. But no, he’d learned early on it was better to trust no one and to fend for himself.

  He reached for his pouch of food once again, then jerked his hand away as soon as he realized what he’d done. Shame twisted his gut. He had to remind himself that he had a steady job making decent money, that he hadn’t gone hungry for years, and that even if something catastrophic did happen to him, he could rely on The Brotherhood to help him out. Not that he had been able to bring himself to set foot inside The Chameleon Club—the central social location of most Brotherhood activity—more than a handful of times, let alone ask anyone for help. It was a miracle he’d let David Wirth convince him to join The Brotherhood in the first place. The organization was for men who loved other men. Patrick didn’t consider himself capable of loving anyone.

  He was saved from the downward spiral of his thoughts as he reached the plain, grey stone building that housed the law offices of Dandie & Wirth. The building itself represented confidence and competence, and it put Patrick at ease. Concentrating on vile kidnappers and corrupters of the innocent was far more palatable to him than dwelling on the darkness in his own soul.

  The main room of the office was empty when he stepped in. Something about the place always set Patrick at ease, in spite of the intensity of the sort of work David and Lionel did. It was decorated in calming shades of lavender, with rich, warm wooden shelves lining three walls, a large mahogany desk directly opposite the door, and curtains that would have been more at home in a lady’s boudoir than a law office. Two leather sofas sat facing each other in the center of the room over an oriental carpet. The room always smelled of tea and cakes, as well as some sort of spicy cologne that fired Patrick’s blood, no matter how hard he tried to deny the carnal side of his nature.

  “Hello?” he asked, glancing around.

  A moment later, Lionel Mercer strode out of the back office. “Why, hello, Officer Wrexham.” He greeted Patrick with a smile, thrusting out his hand as he approached.

  Patrick cleared his throat, feeling himself flush, as he took Lionel’s hand. The man was unnerving. He had a lithe, almost delicate build, but one handshake was enough to prove to anyone that he had
more power in his little finger than even Patrick, with all his muscle, had in his entire body. Lionel was dressed like a fashion plate in a blue waistcoat that set off the vibrant blue of his eyes. His lips were soft and sensual, and almost always curved into a secret smile. Not a hair on his head was out of place, which made Patrick feel like a hulk by comparison.

  “Tea?” Lionel asked, walking past Patrick to the stove in the corner of the room.

  Patrick cleared his throat, swiped his hat from his head, and asked, “Is David in?” He cursed his voice for cracking and rushed on with, “He’ll want to hear what I’ve uncovered.”

  David came out of his office. “What have you uncovered?” Patrick noted that he was flushed and had a somewhat distracted air about him. It was enough to make him wonder what he and Lionel had been doing in the office moments before, but seeing as that was none of his business, he pushed the thought out of his mind.

  Patrick shook David’s hand once he approached. It was far less unnerving than greeting Lionel, which shifted him back to business.

  “I’ve had reports that Chisolm is back in England,” he said. “Though I haven’t been able to locate exactly where he is yet.”

  “That’s more than we knew about the man yesterday.” David smiled encouragingly. “By any chance have Joe Logan and Alistair Bevan returned as well?” he asked Lionel.

  “Not yet,” Lionel answered, bringing Patrick a steaming cup of tea. “It seems there were some difficulties along the border between France and Spain.”

  Patrick’s brow inched up as he took the offered tea. He had forgotten Lord Farnham and his valet had left for a holiday in Spain when Farnham’s father, Lord Winslow, who was reportedly quite ill, had left with his wife and other son for their country estate.

  “If they can’t get home that way, they need to find another,” David said. “The sooner we talk to Joe about his sister, the sooner we’ll be able to unravel another part of this mystery.”

  “About the man with the lion?” Patrick asked.

  As part of their mission to a cotton mill in Leicestershire, Stephen Siddel and Lord Hillsboro had stumbled across Lily Logan. The poor girl had been sold into prostitution, but she was present at the mill when it was raided and a great many children were rescued. Lily had disappeared again before she could be freed, but not before conveying the cryptic message that “the man with the lion” was responsible for the entire trafficking ring. She’d been confident that her brother would know whom she was talking about. Unfortunately, the rest of them didn’t.

  “Precisely.” David nodded. “I can’t help but think that finding the man with the lion, whoever or whatever that is, is the key to unraveling this whole thing.”

  “And nobody else has a clue who the man with the lion is?” Patrick asked, his heart sinking. Every new revelation in the investigation brought them one step closer to solving the whole thing while pushing them two steps back.

  “Nobody,” Lionel answered, brow furrowed in frustration.

  “That’s not true.”

  They all snapped to face the door as none other than Everett Jewel, the famous actor, swept into the room, making an entrance as grand as any he might make on the London stage. Patrick’s heart dropped into a whirlpool of butterflies in his stomach, and his cock jumped as though it would stand up to give the glorious man a standing ovation. The reaction was so sudden and so visceral that he nearly dropped his tea. He did the only thing he could think of to hide his sudden attack of nerves and the flush he was certain painted his face by taking a long drink from his cup, even though it was so hot it scalded his tongue. The pain might help him control his body’s reaction to Jewel, but probably not.

  “I know who the man with the lion is,” Jewel said, marching to stand in the center of the room, his back straight and his eyes ablaze with intrigue.

  He wore a suit every bit as fashionable as Lionel’s and every bit as eccentric, except where Lionel wore muted, pastel tones that blended with his naturally pale coloring, Jewel wore a maroon jacket and vivid green tie that practically screamed for attention. Jewel’s eyes were outlined with kohl, as though he’d forgotten to remove his stage make-up, that accentuated eyes so blue they were nearly violet. They were a stunning contrast to his black hair and would almost have made him seem feminine, if not for his carefully trimmed beard and moustache.

  Rather than breezing on to reveal who the man with the lion was, Jewel turned to Patrick. His eyes narrowed mischievously, and he broke into a grin that showed off his surprisingly straight and white teeth. “Hello,” he practically purred, inching closer to Patrick and extending a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Everett Jewel. And you are?”

  Patrick’s mouth dropped open, but not a sound came out. He knew good and well who Jewel was. He’d spent far more than he wanted to admit on tickets to the theater to watch Jewel perform night after night. He’d skulked in the back of the crowd at The Cock and Bear pub—where Jewel often went after shows to continue entertaining a certain type of crowd with ribald songs and other theatrics after shows—more times than he could count. His face heated even more at the inconvenient memory of how many nights he’d lain awake in bed, stroking himself like a madman, while imagining what Jewel must look like naked.

  Lionel’s derisive snort spared Patrick from the embarrassment of attempting to form words to reply to his idol. “Is it impossible for you to walk into a room without demanding every man drop to their knees and suck your cock?”

  “Lionel!” David glowered at him.

  Jewel merely turned his saucy grin on Lionel. “Wishful thinking, eh, Lionel?” He sauntered closer to Lionel, arched one eyebrow, and grabbed the bulge in his trousers. “I’m always ready to go when you are.” Lionel sniffed and turned away, but before he could say anything, Jewel continued with, “Oh, that’s right. You’re out of the game at the moment.” Jewel glanced back to Patrick as though they were the best of friends. “More like sour grapes because he couldn’t get what he wanted, if you ask me.”

  “I could have, and I have had, any man I want,” Lionel snapped, far less composed than Patrick had ever seen the enigmatic man.

  “Except me,” Jewel answered with a shrug. He shifted to stand by Patrick’s side. “He’s still bitter about that,” he said with off-handed arrogance.

  “You always were a delusional ass.” Lionel crossed his arms and tilted his chin up, but his pale cheeks were flushed scarlet. “And you are forgetting our very real history.”

  David cleared his throat, sending a withering look to both Jewel and Lionel. “There’s no time for the two of you to play Who Has the Bigger Dick, and no one cares anyhow.”

  “We both know who would win in any case,” Jewel commented to Patrick in a low, teasing voice.

  Patrick nearly choked on his tea. His trousers were uncommonly tight.

  David held up a hand to both Jewel and Lionel, as though they’d both made a ribald comment and needed to be stopped. “Children are being snatched from the streets and sold into slavery, but by all means, if the two of you believe your pitiful rivalry is more important….”

  Lionel lowered his chin by a fraction, a stony look of contrition hardening his features. “Fine. If you believe you know who the man with the lion is, then by all means, enlighten us.”

  Jewel shifted his weight, glanced to Patrick, then said, “Isn’t it obvious? It’s Barnaby Adler.”

  Lionel’s expression hardly changed.

  David rubbed his chin. “We’ve considered Adler,” he said. “We know Adler is involved. His name was on several of the papers we retrieved from Chisolm’s house last month.”

  “It couldn’t be him,” Lionel said, jaw tight. “He’s a tradesman at best. Men like Chisolm and Eastleigh would never stoop low enough to take orders from him.”

  “Adler has a tattoo of a lion on his chest,” Jewel said, his cocky, teasing demeanor turning dead serious. “And I know as well as anyone just what he’s capable of when it comes to stealin
g children and twisting innocence.”

  The tension between the other three men grew so palpable that it put Patrick off the rest of his tea. Lionel seemed suddenly unwilling to look at Jewel, whereas David glanced to him with a look that could only be described as pity. A thousand possibilities about what had inspired those reactions tightened Patrick’s gut, but he didn’t dare to voice a single one of them.

  “I’m sorry.” Jewel turned to Patrick, his seriousness evaporating into showmanship and flirtation once more. “I was rudely interrupted before learning your name. And I would very much like to know you. Intimately.” He gazed coyly at Patrick, raising a hand to trace the insignia of his uniform over his thunderously beating heart.

  “I—” Patrick’s mouth fell open, but words eluded him.

  “Everett, this is Officer Patrick Wrexham of the Metropolitan Police,” David introduced them. “He’s been helping us with our investigation.”

  “A policeman,” Jewel said, sucking in a breath as though aroused, and as though he hadn’t been staring at Patrick’s uniform the whole time. “I always did have a soft spot in my heart for a man in uniform. And a hard spot elsewhere.” His gaze dropped to below Patrick’s waist.

  It was Patrick’s bad luck that the evidence of the way Jewel aroused him was there for all to see.

  Again, Lionel inadvertently saved him by snapping, “Come off it, Jewel. Wrexham is here to help with the investigation, not to suck your cock. You should be treating him with respect instead of flirting with him in this obscene way. Can’t you see how uncomfortable he is?”