Death by Silver (38 page)

By the time the cab delivered them back to Julian’s lodgings, it was well past three in the morning, and Ned was beginning to regret the amount they’d both drunk. He felt thoroughly foxed, and Julian was if anything in worse straits. Julian fumbled for his latch-key as Ned braced himself on the railing of the stairs, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to say he’d take the same cab home. In his present mood, it would probably have been for the best.

Instead he followed Julian up to his rooms, where Julian shed his coat to drape precariously over the back of a chair, one arm trailing on the floor, and disposed of his hat by dropping it on the sofa, from which it promptly tumbled.

“Your hat,” Ned couldn’t help saying.

Julian blinked. “What about it?” His shirt was wrinkled under his waistcoat, and he smelled of whiskey and cigar smoke and other people’s overused scent; it was unfair for that to make him even more damnably attractive. The clubs they’d visited had been more respectable than Ned had expected, but the atmosphere had been intensely charged, with men engaging in open flirtation to the point of frankly indecent caresses. It had been startling but not at all uninteresting, and he’d reached the point of wondering whether Julian would mind Ned taking a few liberties with him when Julian had made the answer to that unpleasantly clear.

“Nothing.” It would be absurd to begin quarreling about the hat.

“What’s the matter?” Julian turned up the gas light and then turned to peer at him with searching eyes, as if the question were a great mystery. The unspoken words were a knot in Ned’s throat, and abruptly he could no longer swallow them.

“Is he the one you’d rather have? Lennox?”

“What?” Julian stared at him. “Lennox likes opera.”

That was apparently intended as a definitive dismissal, but it didn’t help much. “You were certainly determined to make it clear to him that you were free.”

“I am free, aren’t I?”

“I see that you’d rather be.” Ned had his own hat still in his hand, and realized he was crushing it in his fist.

Julian seemed at a loss for words, an unusual state for him, but not surprising considering the last few whiskeys. Which probably made it unsporting to demand explanations from him in his present state, but at the moment Ned didn’t care. Better to have it out and be done with it.

“As opposed to what alternative?” Julian asked finally. “It’s not as if you’re serious.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Are you?” Julian looked as if this were the most unreasonable idea he’d ever heard. Ned found himself momentarily tempted to hit him.

“I should think I’d done everything in my power to make that clear,” he managed instead.

“You can’t be serious,” Julian said. “What about all those girls?”

“What girls?”

“At Oxford,” Julian exploded. “There were dozens of them. They followed you around.”

“Well, yes. They were very pleasant company.”

“Yes, I should think. I particularly remember Sophie.”

“She was interested in bird-watching.”

“She kept getting her clothes caught on things.”

“Skirts must be a nuisance, yes.”

“So that you would have to untangle them for her,” Julian said, his voice rising hotly on the words. “She was pursuing you, in case you somehow failed to notice! She wanted you to embrace her!”

“Yes, that was the problem with the girls.”

Julian let out a disbelieving breath. “Do you mean for me to believe that you didn’t encourage them?”

“Not to embrace me.”

“You went on picnics with them. You took them punting.”

“I enjoyed their company, certainly – their conversation –”

“And so you led them on?”

“I did not,” Ned said, stung. “I never led any of them to believe my intentions were serious.”

Julian smiled without pleasure. “They never are.”

“They are at present.”

“You said before you weren’t serious.”

Ned frowned at him. “I never did.”

“You
did
,” Julian said, the same desperately stubborn note rising in his voice as when he’d been expected to repeat falsehoods at school. “When we were at Oxford. You said we were too old for that sort of thing.”

“I suppose I might have,” Ned said, feeling suddenly a bit ashamed of himself. He hadn’t thought Julian remembered that, although Julian had an unfortunate tendency to remember everything one ever said. “I was young, and stupid, and I suppose I thought that if I spent enough time in the company of young ladies, some kind of appropriate feelings might develop.”

“You mean to say that all that time, you thought –”

“And then they didn’t.”

“You said we ought to give up schoolboy vices.”

“I said I was sorry,” Ned said, and then realized he hadn’t exactly. “At least, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. And it didn’t work.”

“I thought it did. You spent all that time playing cricket.”

“I like cricket,” Ned said, very precisely.

“But if…you could have come about with me. There were parties at Oxford, like-minded people…”

“Oh, yes, I met your friends at Oxford,” Ned said, bitterness spilling over before he could decide whether to try to hold back the words. “They mocked me to my face, remember? Made it clear they thought sportsmen were dull fellows too lacking in intellect to be worth conversing with.”

Julian looked startled. “I suppose they did, didn’t they.”

“They most certainly did. And you didn’t say a word to stop them. You sat there looking amused.” It was surprising how fresh the hurt was. There had been a time before Oxford when he’d trusted that it would always be the two of them against the world.

“I shouldn’t have let them do that,” Julian said after a moment. “I suppose it was just that they were very clever.”

“For God’s sake.”

“I know. I know. I am sorry,” Julian said, and sounded as if he meant it. “It was unfair, and I shouldn’t have let it go on.”

“You know, cricket does involve watching athletic young gentlemen in cricket whites take exercise,” Ned said after a moment. “And undress, for that matter.”

“I suppose it does,” Julian said, looking amused himself for the first time.

“It can be very frustrating.”

“I had no idea.”

Ned shook his head and set his hat down, hoping that constituted some sort of gesture of good faith. Besides, he was mangling the brim. “You thought I was planning to break things off with you and marry,” he said, testing his understanding of the situation.

“It was a logical conclusion.”

“And so you’ve been trying to fend me off because you thought my intentions weren’t honorable?”

“I certainly hope they’re not,” Julian said, in a tone that suggested he hadn’t quite taken Ned’s meaning.

“I mean, you were planning to reject me preemptively before I could leave.”

“Well…I suppose something like that.”

Ned shook his head. That was believable enough of Julian, and yet – “Not because I’m not up to your friends’ standard?”

“Never,” Julian said, his voice heated. “You can’t think that. You’re a brilliant metaphysician, for God’s sake. And I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“Are you? When you were talking to Lennox –”

“I didn’t think you’d like to be introduced as… Well, I thought you wouldn’t like it,” Julian said. “And I wanted to fend him off before he could make a play for you himself. You’re exactly his type. Not that you couldn’t do worse, but…”

“Would you care if I did?”

“I… Well, we’ve never said…” Julian looked so much at sea that Ned took pity on him.

“I don’t suppose there’s some sort of etiquette manual for this situation? Some language of which I’m ignorant?”

“Well, yes,” Julian said. “To a certain extent, yes.”

“Is that what you were being tutored in at Oxford?” Ned said, unable to resist.

“Among other things,” Julian said, and the corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. “You’ve had the benefit of that instruction, though.”

“Might you enlighten me, then? Is there any way in this language that I might possibly convey the message that I’m interested in some sort of ongoing arrangement, and discover whether you’re interested in the same?”

“I think we may have both just conveyed that,” Julian said.

“I mean, without a confusing quarrel.”

Julian’s mouth quirked again. “Possibly not. I wouldn’t really know. I’ve never really managed to get on for very long with anyone. Although I’ve never properly tried. And it probably doesn’t help that I…do insist on having my own way in things.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” Ned said. “I don’t think I’m likely to be easily ordered about.” Julian frowned as if that weren’t entirely what he meant. “And once again I feel that I need a translation. If you have that manual to hand…”

“It might be useful,” Julian said, but didn’t volunteer anything further. Ned felt that whatever he meant, it couldn’t be important enough to attempt to extract it from him at the moment.

“Perhaps we could agree that whatever your faults, they haven’t bothered me so far?”

“That’s fair,” Julian said promptly.

Ned shook his head. “You really thought I wasn’t interested? And you a detective?”

“All those girls.”

“It never worked with them.”

Julian looked abruptly bitter. “And I’ll do as second-best?”

“Never,” Ned said, trying to put all he meant to say into the word. “I was…tempted to take the coward’s way out and marry. I’m grateful I didn’t succumb. I’d far rather have you.”

“I’m glad of that,” Julian said, the lines of tension in his face easing.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever…” Ned began, but he was afraid the words would be too much, and shatter the fragile moment between them. “You’re the one I want.”

“Come to bed, then,” Julian said, deep fondness and amusement mingled in his voice, and reached for Ned’s hand. For a moment their fingers tangled innocently, and then Ned caught Julian in a fevered embrace. There was nothing innocent at all about the way they kissed, or the way Julian clutched at Ned’s coat, crushing it in his fists.

“Not to bed,” Ned said, sliding down to his knees before Julian could protest and working Julian’s trousers open. “Not yet.” He wondered if Julian let his friends do this in the back rooms of his clubs, and what it would be like to be on his knees by the card-table, the room in a haze of smoke and the sound of footsteps outside in the hall.

“If you put it that way…”

“And I do.”

“Then I won’t argue,” Julian said, and tangled his hand in Ned’s hair, holding him tight as if he didn’t intend to let go.

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Julian slept far better than he’d expected, woke to late morning sun and traffic noise, his feet still tangled with Ned’s, and one hand tucked under Ned’s ribs. The sheets smelled faintly of smoke and sex and Ned’s cologne, and he lay there for a long moment, smiling drowsily, until the clock struck ten and he dragged himself out from under the covers. He bathed and started the coffee machine – careful to open the siphon this time – then wrote a cantrip to banish the incipient headache. He had just dissolved the paper in a tumbler of water when Ned appeared at the bedroom door, looking sleepy and embarrassed.

“What time –”

“Half past ten,” Julian answered.

“My watch stopped.” Ned looked even more embarrassed, and Julian couldn’t help a grin.

“We had other things on our minds last night than winding it.” He held out the tumbler, and Ned gave him a wary look. “For headache.”

“Ah.”

Ned took it, and Julian poured himself another glass, dissolved the second slip of paper in it. They touched glasses and drank, and Ned ran his hand through his hair.

“Bloody hell, I’m late.”

“Send your Miss Frost a note,” Julian said. “Tell her you’re delayed and she should just – carry on. You don’t have any appointments, do you?”

“No.”

“Well, then.”

“Yes. That’s a good plan.”

He stood staring for a moment longer, though, to the point that Julian was considering giving him a push, but finally shook himself, and turned to the desk. He scribbled a note while Julian retrieved the breakfast tray, cold and unappetizing, then vanished into the bath while Julian shouted for young Digby. Young Digby arrived with the morning mail and the usual papers, and Julian sent him off to find a messenger boy, then turned his attention to the tray. The sausage and toast, at least, would survive and maybe benefit from reheating, as would the tomato; the eggs were more dubious, but he sketched the enchantment anyway, and was gratified to see steam curl slowly from the plate. He topped up his coffee, and spread jam on a piece of toast, was just starting on his half of the sausages when Ned reappeared, looking more alert.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Julian said, and shoved the plate toward him. “I can’t recommend the eggs, but the rest is hot. And I sent your note.”

“Thank you.” Ned poured himself a cup of coffee, and settled himself at the table, moving a stack of papers. Julian winced, but refrained from comment. He could always put them back later. “Any word from Bolster?”