Just a Little Wickedness Page 8

  “You’re right,” she said, taking her father’s arm once more. “But we must have you to supper. Soon.”

  “Quite right,” Lord Templeton said, turning from his conversation with Alistair’s father. “How does this Tuesday suit you?”

  Alistair’s brow shot up. The whole thing had been easy. Too easy. He could already see how it would progress. Supper on Tuesday, a few more jaunts to the theater in the coming weeks, teas, family get-togethers, and by June he and Lady Matilda would be standing at the front of a chapel together. And then he’d have to figure out how to summon up the courage to do the rest of his duty and produce an heir. The thought was enough to make him instinctively search the lobby for a way out.

  As he glanced toward one of the doors to the street, he discovered Joe standing there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him with an expression of amusement and fondness. Every fiber in Alistair’s body reacted to that saucy look, raising his temperature by several degrees.

  He whipped back to smile tensely at Lady Matilda, then nodded to Lord Templeton. “Tuesday would be perfect,” he said.

  “Good.” Lord Templeton nodded. “I’ll send you more details once I make arrangements.” He arched one eyebrow slightly, as though speaking a hidden language to let Alistair know he’d carried out the favor that was asked of him, then offered his arm to Lady Matilda. “Shall we battle this crowd of sycophantic ninnies to find our box, my dear?”

  “Yes, Papa,” Lady Matilda laughed. “Until Tuesday, Lord Farnham.” She sent Alistair a victorious look, then walked on with her father.

  “Well done, son, well done,” Alistair’s father congratulated him with a weak slap on his back. “Lady Matilda seemed utterly taken with you.”

  “Yes, I think you’ve found yourself an admirer,” Beth added with an excited grin.

  “It’s about time,” his mother sighed, clasping his father’s arm to help him shuffle along toward the stairs leading to the boxes.

  Once his family had moved a few steps ahead, Alistair glanced back to Joe. Joe straightened and jerked his head out toward the street, questioning in his eyes. Alistair opened his mouth before realizing the ridiculousness of trying to reply over so much distance packed with so many people. Instead, he nodded, then held up a finger, asking Joe to wait one moment. Joe nodded, then Alistair turned back to his family.

  “I’ve just spotted someone I know,” he told Darren in a clandestine voice.

  “You know people?” Darren joked in return.

  “Believe it or not, I do.” Alistair pretended to joke as well. “Would you mind taking Father and Mother and Beth in? I’ll just be a moment.” He hesitated, then said, “I desperately need to speak to this friend.”

  Darren laughed. “I’m still surprised you have friends. You need more of them. Go ahead. We’ll stop any of the rabid ladies in love with Jewell from taking your seat.”

  Alistair thanked his brother with a slap on his shoulder, then turned to make his way against the crowd, heading out of the theater.

  He found Joe standing on the street, a few yards down from the theater’s entrance, looking as tempting as a treacle tart in the lamplight. His clothes and coat weren’t of high quality, but he wore them so well and stood with such confidence that he could have been a member of the royal family.

  “I told you I’d find a way for us to meet,” he said in a low voice as Alistair drew near. “I heard Lady Burbage mention something in passing about who might be attending this premier.”

  Self-consciousness rolled off of Alistair as he moved to stand as close to Joe as he dared. “You aren’t needed at Eccles House tonight?”

  Joe shook his head. “Burbage is off causing some sort of trouble with his less reputable friends. He won’t be home until well after midnight, if he comes home before dawn at all.”

  Alistair wasn’t surprised in the least. He glanced over his shoulder at the theater, then inched closer to Joe. “I’m here with my family,” he said, as though it were both an explanation and an apology.

  “Oh.” Joe’s inviting grin dropped. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  “It’s no trouble at all,” he said, his heart feeling strangely as though it were magnetic and being drawn out of his body toward Joe. “Only, what with my father’s poor health, and because my sister is here with us as well….”

  “I understand,” Joe said, reaching for Alistair’s hand in the shadows cast by the streetlamp. “I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

  Alistair was fairly certain he would die on the spot at the brush of Joe’s hand against his. He suddenly wished he were an orphan. “The show shouldn’t be that long,” he said, glancing hopefully into Joe’s eyes. “Our family never goes out afterwards for anything. Father and Mother always just want to go home. But I don’t have to.”

  Joe’s suggestive grin returned. “You don’t have to rush home to be tucked into bed?”

  He shouldn’t take the bait. They were on a crowded street, for Christ’s sake. Anyone who happened to overhear could send the police after the both of them. But he couldn’t resist saying, “Not unless you’re doing the tucking.”

  Fire lit Joe’s eyes. He slipped his fingers between Alistair’s with friction that sent Alistair’s imagination soaring and blood rushing to his cock. The sensation was so intense that Alistair had to take a half step back to stop himself from crashing against Joe and kissing him in the middle of the crowd of theatergoers.

  “I’ll wait,” Joe murmured, tucking his hands into his coat pocket. He nodded across the street to a pub that catered to theatergoers. “I’ll just have a pint or something in there and watch for you.”

  “I won’t be long,” Alistair promised, his voice hoarse with desire.

  Joe took another step back and winked, then turned to stroll across the street. Alistair watched him cross to the pub, his heart beating furiously and his cock growing harder by the second. It took a monumental effort of will to pull himself together and head back into the theater for what was certain to feel like the longest theatrical event of his life.

  Chapter 8

  Joe sat at a table in the window of the pub across from the theater, watching the doors as though they were the stage and waiting for Alistair to come out. Every time the doors opened and a gentleman stepped onto the street, his heart sped up. And every time that happened, he laughed at himself. He hadn’t been so eager to meet up with a man since he’d been fresh out of the schoolhouse and discovered that the cobbler’s apprentice wasn’t averse to letting him suck his cock. Even if he never returned the favor.

  As the evening wore on, he drew more stares for sitting by himself, fixated on the theater.

  “You aren’t thinking of causing any trouble, are you?” one of the barmaids asked him with a saucy grin as she came to take away the pint he’d finished.

  Joe laughed. “I aim to cause all sorts of trouble,” he told her. “But not the kind you think.”

  She gratified him with a suggestive smile and a flirtatious glance over her shoulder as she walked away. Let her—or any woman—think what they wanted about him. There was safety in appearing like any other man.

  When the theater doors flew open, disgorging patrons at last, Joe shot to his feet. The sudden burst of color, light, and sound as chattering upper-class ladies and gentlemen and smiling middle-class theatergoers mingled on their way to the sidewalk and the carriages waiting to whisk them home echoed the lift in Joe’s heart as he stepped out into the chilly evening. He strolled casually to the end of the street, hands tucked in the pockets of his coat, waiting for the familiar sight of Alistair’s blond head.

  The excitement that filled him when he spotted Alistair helping his father through the door and down the theater’s steps had him laughing at himself once more. But there was something gratifying about the blossoming feelings he had for Alistair, foolish as they were. Life was too full of sorrow and misery not to nurture the tender shoots of affection when they sprouted up. He would
save worrying about the consequences for another day.

  Alistair spotted him from the top of the stairs and nodded briefly before focusing all his efforts on his family. For a moment, Joe thought Alistair’s brother caught the gesture. He checked to see what Alistair had nodded at, which prompted Joe to hunker down in his coat. Alistair’s brother gave up his search almost as quickly as he’d started it.

  At last, Alistair secured his father, mother, and sister in one of the carriages lining the street in front of the theater, had a word with his brother, then broke away from his family and started briskly down the street. There were still too many theatergoers around for Joe’s liking, so he crossed to the side of the street where Alistair stood, walked right past him with a quick sideways look, and headed on as though he had an errand elsewhere.

  Alistair followed him a few paces behind until Joe reached an alley that ran in back of the theater. A small crowd of ladies, as well as a few starry-eyed gentlemen, hovered around the stage door, waiting. If Joe’s calculations were correct, the sort of people who would be waiting at the stage door for whichever acclaimed actors might come out to greet them would be the kind to ignore, or even sanction, whatever he and Alistair might say.

  “Are you sure we’re safe here?” Alistair asked in a near whisper as they hovered around the edge of the cluster of admirers.

  Joe grinned, inching closer to Alistair and facing him. “I love how concerned with safety you are,” he said, letting his heart run riot in his chest. “And for the record, I adore how considerate of your family you are as well.”

  “Do you?” Alistair’s brow shot up. “You aren’t…irritated that I chose to watch the show with them instead of….”

  “No, not at all,” Joe said when it was clear Alistair wouldn’t finish his sentence. “I’d do the same myself. Family is important.”

  Alistair hummed and nodded. “Of course.” He paused before asking, “Have you heard anything from Wirth about your sister?”

  Joe’s grin dropped. “Not yet. Wirth sent me a letter the other day to say he’s made contact with that police officer he mentioned and that the investigation is ongoing, but that’s it.”

  Alistair hummed again, then huddled into his coat to fight the cold. Or perhaps to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. He darted wary looks at the restless crowd around the stage door for a minute before sending Joe a sideways glance. “Why are we standing here?”

  “So I can admire the way you look in the lamplight when you’re nervous,” Joe replied, his grin returning.

  Alistair let out a breath and dropped his shoulders. He faced Joe with a wry roll of his eyes. “I’m certain there are far more places the two of us could go where you could admire me.”

  “St. James’s Park?” Joe asked, half joking. St. James’s Park was notorious for quick, clandestine meetings between men like them where money often changed hands for five minutes of pleasure.

  The shock of pink that flooded Alistair’s face was apparent even in the dim light.

  “I’m joking,” Joe laughed and shook his head. He let a beat pass before continuing with, “For that, nothing less than a room at the Savoy would do.”

  Alistair blew out a breath, then laughed himself, still red-faced. “You have expensive tastes for a country boy.”

  “I’m standing next to you, aren’t I?” Joe countered.

  The stage door burst open a moment later, interrupting their flirtation. The crowd of hangers-on burst into energetic applause as a tall man with dark hair, blue eyes, and magnetic presence stepped out to greet them. Joe recognized him from the posters hung around the theater, Everett Jewel, and was immediately impressed.

  “What a delight this is,” Jewel said as though he were still on the stage. “You all do me a great honor by waiting here for me.”

  “I would fly to the ends of the earth for you,” one of the ladies said, surging toward him. She was held off by a burly man in a dark suit who stepped forward to protect Jewel.

  “Just say the word, and I will be yours,” another of the ladies said, equally eager.

  “And so will I,” one of the gentlemen said, sighing dramatically.

  Joe exchanged a wide-eyed look with Alistair that nearly had both of them bursting with laughter at the man.

  “That’s a bit obvious,” Alistair muttered, sending Joe over the edge.

  To their surprise, Jewel sent the man a rakish wink and said, “You flatter me.”

  Joe and Alistair shared another, even more surprised look, and it was all Joe could do not to double over with laughter. Jewel went on to flirt with the ladies surrounding him as well as he signed programs and doled out kisses to their cheeks, but surprisingly, he treated his gentlemen admirers with the same teasing flirtation, seeming not to care who was watching him do it.

  The spectacle was a distraction, and as the almost hysterical fervor around Jewel grew, Joe grabbed Alistair’s sleeve to tug him away from the noise. “The night is young,” he said once he was sure he’d be heard. “Let’s enjoy it.”

  Alistair glanced from the crowd around Jewel to the passersby on the street to Joe. “It’s a shame there isn’t someplace we can go for a pint in peace.”

  “Actually,” Joe began, brightening, “I believe there is.”

  He started out of the alley, gesturing for Alistair to follow him. The Chameleon Club wasn’t the only establishment frequented by members of The Brotherhood. The network had several safe spots, although the pub Joe had heard of wasn’t strictly sanctioned by The Brotherhood. The Brotherhood prided itself on rules of propriety and restraint, but from everything Joe had heard, The Cock and Bear had no such rules.

  The Cock and Bear was still within the boundaries of London’s theater district, and the moment Joe stepped inside it’s rowdy, raucous atmosphere, he knew the rumors were true.

  “It’s louder than the theater in here,” Alistair said, forced to raise his voice above the clamor of conversation and song.

  The place was packed. Even though the main room was larger than most of the pubs Joe had been in, it seemed cramped. There were few empty places at the tables crowded into the room, but it was the small stage at one end of the room and the piano that stood on it that seemed to draw the most attention from the patrons. A man in a red velvet jacket sat at the piano, banging away at a popular song, while at least a dozen men and a handful of women sang along. Half of the patrons of the pub sang with them from wherever they sat. The mood of the place was jolly, wild, and excited.

  “Do you want a drink?” Joe asked, almost having to shout over the song, as he led Alistair through the crowd to the bar.

  “I think I’ll need one if I’m going to make it through this,” Alistair answered, his eyes bright with wonder.

  They found spots at the bar and were able to order. Joe laughed at the speed with which Alistair downed his whiskey, then asked for another.

  “I don’t usually like crowds,” he explained, his voice rough from swallowing the alcohol, as he traded his empty glass for a full one.

  Joe slapped him on the back, then nudged him away from the bar to a space that had just opened along one of the walls, where they could see the stage and observe the entire pub. It was obvious Alistair wasn’t used to the sort of crowd that took up space and made so much noise, but everyone around them was enjoying themselves. The mood was merry, the song was fun, and smiling faces abounded. Not just smiling faces. As Joe claimed a spot for them against the wall and leaned back, rubbing shoulders with Alistair as he did, he spotted a couple in the corner going at each other with abandon. A male couple. Their mouths seemed fused together, and their hands fumbled where they shouldn’t have in public.

  “I’d give the two of them a standing ovation, if I weren’t so jealous,” a familiar voice said at Joe’s side.

  He turned to find Lionel Mercer—pale face pink and blue eyes bright with alcohol, dressed in a lavender waistcoat and rose cravat—sliding up to him. Lionel wedged his way between them,
throwing his arms around Joe’s and Alistair’s shoulders, and proving he was taller than he’d seemed in the office as he did so. Lionel wore a drunken grin as he stared at the entwined couple in the corner.

  “Fucking vow of celibacy,” he grumbled, if it was possible to grumble in a voice that would make a soprano green with envy.

  “What, you?” Joe asked, blinking. He’d barely met the man, but Lionel Mercer was the last person he would have pegged to have taken a vow of celibacy.

  “Long story,” Lionel told Joe before rolling his head to the other side to smile at Alistair. “D’you meet Lady Matilda tonight?” he asked, words slightly slurred.

  Alistair stood a bit straighter. “I did.” He nodded. “I assume I have you to thank for that.”

  “You do.” Lionel’s smile turned triumphant. “George was delighted at the prospect of a match when I suggested it.”

  A twist of jealousy pinched Joe’s gut. He had no claim on Alistair and certainly no right to prevent him from doing what gentlemen of his class did and marrying a titled lady, but the flare of possessiveness that shot through him was unmistakable. He ducked away from Lionel’s arm around his shoulder and executed a quick turn around the man to Alistair’s other side, then proceeded to circle his arm around Alistair’s waist and tug him close.

  “Ooh. Lady Matilda has competition, I see,” Lionel said, spinning away from Alistair as though he and Joe were part of some sort of choreographed dance around him. “I know which prize I’d choose,” Lionel went on before swaying forward and planting a sloppy kiss square on Joe’s lips.

  A second later, Lionel stepped away, winked at Alistair, then sauntered back into the singing crowd, joining in with the song.

  “He’s drunk,” Alistair said, eyes wide with astonishment, not just for Lionel, but for everything around them.

  “He’s not,” Joe said, his tingling lips pulling into a lopsided grin. “I didn’t taste a drop of the stuff on him.”

  Alistair shot a narrow-eyed look Joe’s way. “High, then?”