Page 66 of Molly Boys
When he returned to the room, Inspector Franklin was on his knees in front of the fireplace, having discarded his coat and hat somewhere downstairs. He had laid out a layer of cinders and covered them with several sheets of paper. On top of that he placed several pieces of wood and then stacked the coal, taking care to leave spaces for air. Ev took a moment to watch him as he struck a match and lit the paper underneath.
Everything Franklin did was with a calm air of competence. Ev had no idea how to lay a fire and start it, another stark reminder of the difference between them. It was probably also why Ev always felt so calm and safe in the inspector’s presence.
Turning his attention back to the boy, Ev removed Jack’s boots and reached for the grubby shawl wrapped around him like a shroud. With a damp cloth, Ev began to clean the dried blood from the boy’s face and scalp, but there was so much bruising it didn’t make much of a difference.
“How is he?” Franklin asked softly as he approached the bed, his face filled with concern.
“I don’t like the sound of his breathing.” Ev frowned. “Go to my room and bring the pillows from my bed.”
The inspector did as asked, returning a few moments later. They carefully manoeuvred the boy so they could tuck the pillows underneath him, propping him into almost a sitting position which seemed to help ease his laboured breath.
“Help me get this shawl and coat off him,” Ev said as he begun to peel away the material. “Oh, wait a minute.” Ev paused as the other man reached for the boy. “He’s got something in his hand.”
Ev unpeeled the boy’s fingers from around the object carefully, despite the boy being unconscious, his grip on the item was so tight Ev struggled to get it loose. When he finally did, he turned it over in his hand. It was a small dented pocket watch. Ev glanced up at Inspector Franklin, whose face had grown pale, his eyes wide. Ev flipped the front of the watch open to find an engraving.
Archie, every minute is a gift, don’t waste it.
“Archie,” Ev murmured and looked back to Franklin. “This is your father’s watch, isn’t it?”
The inspector stretched out with shaking fingers to clasp the watch, looking first at it and then at the broken boy laid out in front of him. He wrapped his fist around the watch, his fingers squeezing so tight his knuckles whitened, then closed his eyes and let out a broken, shuddering breath before pushing to his feet and stalking from the room.
* * *
Archie looked up as Lord Stanley entered the parlour, glancing first at him and then at the glass in his hand, which was empty again.
“Inspector,” the pretty lord said quietly, his eyes filled with understanding.
Something unnamed squirmed in Archie’s belly, slippery and unpleasant like an eel. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he crossed the room to help himself to another drink but as he lifted the decanter, Stanley’s slim hand settled on his wrist to halt his movements, much as he’d done to the other man the day after they first met.
“Archibald,” Stanley said softly.
A shiver rippled across his skin at the sound of his name. He wanted so badly to return the intimacy, to call Lord Stanley by his name, but he knew he shouldn’t. Archie was already too close to the edge. But the name danced on the edge of his lips.Everett.
“Archie,” Stanley corrected, most likely recalling the inscription on the watch that even now burned a hole in Archie’s pocket and set his gut churning with guilt. “It’s not your fault,” he said gently.
“I shouldn’t have left him there.” Archie closed his eyes as he set the glass down with a clunk.
“We”—Stanley emphasised the word—“had no choice. We don’t know the streets of The Nichol the way Jack does. There was no way we could’ve found him.”
Archie shook his head, but when he felt a smooth, warm palm cup his jaw, his eyes opened and settled on the beautiful man in front of him, looking at him with a mixture of concern and understanding.
“Do you think I don’t feel the same guilt? I do, but I’m saving my anger for the monster who did this to him. But… you found him.”
“I didn’t.” Archie shook his head. “An unfortunate from The Nichol by the name of Pol brought him to me. I didn’t find him.”
“But she knew to bring him to you,” Stanley argued in a firm tone. “She knew he’d be safe with you.”
“He could’ve died.” Archie swallowed painfully. “He might still.”
This time the young lord shook his head. “His injuries are severe, but the doctor said he has a good chance of recovering with the proper care. He has broken ribs and a broken arm, and a lot of bruising and torn skin, but he will heal. He’s safe here, I promise you.”
Archie shifted slightly, canting his body more towards the handsome man in front of him. Not wanting to lose the feel of his hand against his skin.
“Archie.”
Archie’s belly gripped with need at the whisper, the cadence of that voice as it wrapped around Archie’s name, doing things to his insides he couldn’t name. All Archie knew was his rapid heartbeat and the ache deep inside him.
“Everett,” he rumbled, reaching out and gripping the younger man’s waist, feeling his slim build beneath his thin shirt.