Page 16 of Seduced by a Scoundrel (Tales from the Brotherhood #1)

Sixteen

S ometimes sleep was a peaceful journey of rejuvenation and splendor, especially when one slept in the arms of their beloved. For Jeremy, the rest of that morning and into the afternoon brought the unsatisfying sleep of exhaustion that did very little to refresh his soul. Even though he fell asleep in Derrek’s arms, he felt as though that embrace was more of a prison than a comfort.

Why had Derrek not shared the details of his investigation with him? Was it because he thought him too weak-minded to face the harsh realities of being the target of someone’s nefarious schemes? It seemed as though as long as Jeremy had lived and been aware of himself, he’d been judged as soft because he was more effeminate than other men his age. To suddenly discover that Derrek might feel that way as well was a blow he had not been prepared for.

He was almost glad when he woke up to find himself alone in bed. He’d sprawled, as he was wont to do in his sleep, and the bed was most definitely cool and devoid of his lover. His restless sleep had left him groggy, and when he turned to look around the room, all he could really determine was that it was afternoon and Derrek was not there.

With a huffed sigh of disappointment, he rolled out of the rather comfortable and luxurious bed, used the chamber pot behind a screen in the corner of the room, donned the robe that The Chameleon Club’s servants had brought up earlier, and wandered into the antechamber that made up the other room of the suite.

Derrek was there, dressed in the borrowed clothing that had been brought up along with their baths, poring over what looked to be the day’s issue of The London Times . Jeremy paused in the doorway between the two rooms, wanting to study Derrek for a few moments before he was noticed and the sudden, uncomfortable tension between them returned.

He neither welcomed nor wanted that tension. Derrek was the most beautiful thing in his life. He was the reason the country had been so lovely. Well, him and Clary. Derrek was the reason he had not been afraid when fear was precisely what he should have been feeling so far from the only home he’d ever known, with evil men intent on killing him. Derrek was the reason that time would forever live in his memory as some of the most beautiful weeks of his life.

He could only pray that those weeks were the beginning of a long life of love and joy, not merely an interlude that had ended too soon.

Derrek noticed him standing in the doorway almost at once and lowered the paper. He attempted to smile, but Jeremy could see the strain in it. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

Jeremy tied his robe tighter and wandered sheepishly into the room. “Not as much as I’d hoped, no,” he said. He tried to be casual and manly in his demeanor as he walked to the long sofa where Derrek sat and took a seat beside him. “Is there anything of interest in The Times ?”

“The usual,” Derrek reported. “Rumblings on the Continent, rumors of the king’s ill health, financial speculation.”

Jeremy searched for a way to begin the things he wanted to say in those words but did not find much to build with. “Nothing about Conroy or the Duchess of Kent?”

Derrek shrugged. “I am certain the society pages say something about the Duchess and Princess Victoria. Something somewhere must be said about the princess’s upcoming birthday celebrations.”

Jeremy nodded and hummed. He did not particularly care about the grand parties and balls of the ton , though as a tailor, he was expected to know things about them in order to converse with his clients. But as they were all men, their interests were more in line with who of influence might be attending such events that they could broker business deals with.

Clary would love everything to do with the various events of the ton , though. She would likely bubble over with gossip, indulging in every morsel journals and the like had to print about each event.

Thinking of Clary only depressed Jeremy’s spirits more, however. Given the sudden awkwardness between him and Derrek, he could have found a great deal of solace in his friend’s company.

“I do not know how to?—”

“We should go to Scotland Yard if you want someone else protecting you,” Derrek spoke at the same time as him, cutting Jeremy off.

They both blinked at each other, then Jeremy felt the impact of Derrek’s words.

“I do not want anyone else protecting me,” he said, turning to Derrek and taking one of his hands in both of his. “But neither do I want to be treated as a pawn in my own game.”

Derrek scowled for the briefest of moments, then blew out a breath and rubbed his hands over his face. Doing so meant he pulled his hand out of Jeremy’s grasp.

The simple motion was so unnerving that a knot of anxiety formed in Jeremy’s gut.

“I know who the best men to speak to at Scotland Yard might be,” Derrek said, twisting slightly to face Jeremy better. Their knees bumped together in the process. Jeremy had a sudden, breathtaking memory of their legs twined together at other times. “I’m sure we’ll be able to speak to someone who is ready to help us.”

Jeremy managed a small smile. At least they were still “us”.

“So go on and dress in the clothes that were brought up for you,” Derrek went on, standing and stepping to the side to hold up a plain shirt that rested atop a pile of secondhand clothing someone had put on the narrow table against the wall. “I doubt anything here is up to your standards, but everything is clean and smells fresh.”

Jeremy rose with surprising grace, given the anxious feelings that made him feel like he was fighting his way through vines just to move. “Of course, the conundrum of what to wear would not be a problem if I could simply return to my shop and my rooms above to fetch my own clothing. I did not bring everything I own to Kent, after all.”

Derrek sent him a stern look as he handed over the shirt. Under different circumstances, Jeremy might have found that look exciting. It might have led to more.

Instead, Derrek quashed any excitement by saying, “You cannot go back to your shop, Jeremy. Not until we are absolutely certain that the threat presented by Conroy and Lord Albert has passed.”

Jeremy blew out a breath and studied the shirt in his hands. “No, of course not,” he said without conviction. He missed his home and his life more and more with each passing minute.

He dressed without saying more to Derrek. He knew where Derrek stood with absolute certainty, and Derrek likely knew his thoughts on the matter. In a very real way, it was the first major disagreement the two of them had had as an “us”.

He very much disliked the two of them disagreeing on anything at all.

The borrowed clothing did not fit as it should. The shirt was just a bit too tight and the breeches were a little loose. The waistcoat and jacket that accompanied the ensemble were enough to hide any flaws in the fit, to a degree, and as long as he did not smell as he had earlier, Jeremy had few qualms about going downstairs into the heart of the club for some much-needed food.

“London is filled with expectation these days,” Lord Wilmore chattered away excitedly to Jeremy and Derrek as they took a quick moment to eat before going out. “There was quite a bit of speculation about what had happened to you and your shop immediately after the attack,” he told Jeremy, “but much if not all of that speculation has died down in favor of everyone wondering if the king will last until Princess Victoria’s birthday.”

“Which is only just next week,” Lord Fulbright, Wilmore’s partner, who also happened to be at the club, added. “I think the old bastard will make it,” he added with a grin.

“He is rumored to be quite ill indeed,” Wilmore cautioned him. “Though I do pray for the sake of young Victoria and our entire realm that a regency can be prevented.”

The discussion continued for a few more minutes, satisfying Jeremy that no real changes had taken place in the time he and Derrek had been gone. It was clear that Wilmore and Fulbright had forgotten that his life was in danger because of everything they were speculating about, but from the sound of things, it might not matter.

“Less than a fortnight,” Wilmore repeated as Jeremy and Derrek finished their hasty meal and stood to go. “Everything will be resolved and the fate of our kingdom will be decided in less than a fortnight.”

It seemed like such a short time, and yet the end of it all still felt a long ways off.

“Are you anxious to be back in London?” Derrek asked once they’d left the club and moved almost immediately into one of the carriages owned by The Brotherhood that were constantly sitting in wait for its members to use.

Jeremy hummed then sighed then shook his head. “I am anxious for everything to be finished so that I might go back to my own life.”

He glanced to Derrek as he did, intending to imply that Derrek should not force him to stay in hiding, now that they were back in the city.

Instead, Derrek seemed somehow hurt by Jeremy’s words. His expression turned sullen, and rather than continuing the conversation, he glanced out the window, his arms crossed tightly in front of him.

Jeremy had never been to Scotland Yard. It was the headquarters for the relatively newly established Metropolitan Police, and from the moment he and Derrek stepped out of the carriage and up to its large front door, Jeremy felt as though it had the frantic energy of a new business that had yet to find its feet.

“Talboys, is that you?” a wiry young man in a rather smart uniform stopped his journey across the front hall to address Derrek.

“Duncan,” Derrek greeted the man with a nod, standing a bit taller and suddenly seeming twice as impressive as moments ago. “As you see, it is me. Do you know if Anderson is about?”

The wiry officer, Duncan, shifted directions and approached. “Rumor was that you’d buggered off to India or some such,” he said, smiling. He glanced at Jeremy, then asked, “Who’s your friend?”

“Mr. Wilkes is one of the preeminent tailors of the ton , and he needs to speak to Anderson on a matter of great importance,” Derrek replied.

His ferocity wiped the smile off Duncan’s face at once. Jeremy was uncertain whether that was kind or necessary.

“Anderson is in his office,” Duncan said, gesturing to the stairs. “You’d best be quick if you hope to catch him before he goes home to his missus.”

Derrek nodded, then gestured for Jeremy to follow him to the stairs.

“Do you need to be such a bear?” Jeremy whispered as they started up to the first floor.

Derrek glanced incredulously at him as they turned a corner. “This is a police station, not a ball.”

The curtness of the answer felt as though it drove the wedge farther between the two of them. Their harmony and accord was most definitely out of tune at the moment, but Jeremy could not imagine how it had become so dissonant so quickly or how he might fix things.

“Inspector Anderson,” Derrek introduced the two of them as they walked through the open door of an office toward the end of a corridor on the first floor.

They caught the middle-aged man in the room in the act of donning his outer coat. He glanced over his shoulder, then his eyes went wide at the sight of Derrek. “Talboys,” he said as if seeing a ghost. “Whatever are you doing here?”

Derrek’s uncomfortable shoulder roll was not lost on Jeremy. His stomach sank, and he wondered just how much leave Derrek had had to whisk him away to the country two months ago.

“If you will remember, sir,” Derrek said, standing like a soldier, “I was called away to the country on a matter of particularly urgent business.”

Jeremy eyed Derrek with even more suspicion. Had he not been honest with his superiors about running off to Maidstone Close with him?

Mr. Anderson narrowed his eyes at Derrek for a moment, then widened them. “Oh, yes. It was some matter involving The Crown, was it not?”

“Yes, sir,” Derrek said. “A matter that involves my friend here, Mr. Jeremy Wilkes.”

“How do you do?” Jeremy greeted Mr. Anderson with a graceful bow when the inspector turned to study him.

“Quite well,” Mr. Anderson said, then hurried on to, “What brings you here today, Mr. Wilkes? Have you come to return my errant officer to me?”

Jeremy glanced at Derrek again. Errant officer? It seemed as though there were more things than just Derrek’s trip to the manor house at Maidstone Close that Jeremy had not been told.

“Detective Talboys has been protecting me from men who wish to kill me,” he said, addressing the problem directly.

“Kill you?” Mr. Anderson said. He looked at Derrek as if to ask why he had not been informed earlier.

“Yes, sir,” Jeremy said before Derrek could step in and continue the explanation in some way that would once again omit him from his own crisis. “You see, about two months ago, I was called to Kensington Palace for a fitting with Sir John Conroy, who had commissioned me to create a suit of clothing for him.”

“Kensington Palace, you say,” Mr. Anderson said, stroking his chin.

“Yes, sir. And while I was there, I overheard Sir John and an accomplice, a man I have since come to discover, with Detective Talboys’s help, is one Lord Albert Howard of Maidstone Close in Kent, plotting to poison King William and bring about his demise before Princess Victoria’s birthday so that a regency, led by Conroy through the Duchess of Kent, could be established.”

It was a horrible mouthful to explain, and before the speech was complete, Jeremy lost confidence in how it would be received.

His story was met by baffled silence from Mr. Anderson. Worse than that, Mr. Anderson looked at Derrek as though he’d brought a stray dog into the office.

“Is this why you have been absent from your duties for two months?” he asked Derrek.

Derrek cleared his throat and shifted his stance. “I believed it of the utmost importance to protect Mr. Wilkes, who is influential in higher circles, from the machinations of a would-be puppeteer behind the throne.”

“Were you given leave to abandon your post for this duty?” Mr. Anderson asked, his frown growing.

“Yes,” Derrek answered quickly and definitively. He then hesitated and continued with, “In a manner of speaking.”

“A manner of speaking?” Mr. Anderson questioned him.

Derrek squirmed a bit more, then said, “I informed Mr. Cooper that my current investigation would take me out of the city for a time and that I did not know when I would be at liberty to return to Scotland Yard.”

Dead silence filled the room.

Then Mr. Anderson huffed. “Mr. Talboys,” he began, his failure to address Derrek as a detective setting an ominous tone, “The Metropolitan Police Department is an institution of London. It was created, and indeed, its sole purpose continues to be for the policing of the city of London, not locations in the countryside.”

“Yes, sir, I do realize that?—”

“Furthermore,” Mr. Anderson interrupted him, “Rumors about Conroy’s plot, with or without the Duchess’s involvement or approval, have been bandied about and summarily dismissed. Quite a few months ago. I must question the judgement of anyone who believes that any such thing is remotely possible, let alone worthy of two months of absence from one’s position.”

“Someone attempted to run me over with their carriage,” Jeremy insisted, horrified at how quickly something that was a true danger to him could unravel. “On a different occasion, someone attempted to poison me as well when I was discussing the danger with Detective Talboys at a coffee shop near my premises on Jermyn Street. That same premises was vandalized a very short time later.”

“Was the force called in to deal with the vandalism?” Mr. Anderson asked, seeming interested at last.

“I believe so,” Jeremy said.

“Yes, they were,” Derrek answered with more authority.

“Then this matter appears to be settled,” Mr. Anderson said with a shrug, reaching for his coat once more. “Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to go home, where my wife likely has supper waiting. But I wish to see you, Talboys, back here in my office tomorrow morning for a frank discussion about your future with the Met.”

“But, sir,” Jeremy protested, beating Derrek to it. “Attempts have been made on my life. I overheard a plot within Kensington Palace itself. Detective Talboys removed me from London to keep me safe.”

“Are you quite certain Detective Talboys did not take you off to the country for different reasons entirely?” Mr. Anderson asked, one eyebrow raised.

There it was. The death of all Jeremy’s hopes for safety, and likely whatever hope Derrek had left for a career as an officer with the police. The insinuation was bright in Mr. Anderson’s eyes. Like so many others before and likely after, the man must have looked at him and Derrek and made assumptions that could cost them their lives. Simply showing up at Scotland Yard to ask for help could very well have cost Derrek his position. If Mr. Anderson chose to talk about his suspicions and if those whispers somehow made their way into the ton , Jeremy’s business would likely crumble as well.

It seemed as though there was a reason Derrek had taken matters into his own hands and a reason why any matter of justice for men like them whatsoever needed to be contained to an organization such as The Brotherhood. By attempting to find help, Jeremy deeply feared he had only made matters worse.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Mr. Anderson said, shaking Jeremy out of his thoughts. He’d put his coat on fully, had his hat in his hands, and looked as if he would march directly through Jeremy and Derrek if they waylaid him any longer.

“Good evening, sir,” Derrek sighed, stepping aside.

They stepped into the hall, then followed after Mr. Anderson at a slower pace, giving him time to get well ahead of them before they descended the stairs and exited the building.

“That was a colossal waste of time,” Derrek sighed once they were on the street where, fortunately, the carriage from The Chameleon Club still waited for them.

Jeremy said nothing as he climbed in and took a seat. Derrek was accusing him of not only wasting his time, but likely wasting his career. The horrific thing was, there was a good chance Derrek was right. All that and his life was still in danger, perhaps more than before.