Page 33

Thirty-Two

KILMARNOCK ABBEY, EDINBURGH - JULY 22, 1816

Dav,

You are never to see the sheep friend ever again.

I would ask you to assure Mother of my well-being, but I know you will not so I will write to her myself. Also, remind her that, while veils may be as long as she pleases in the back, they must be no longer than the floor in the front—it is a safety concern.

The girl’s name is Sorcha. She is a feminine version of Gabriel—unfortunate Hasket brow and all. We are both convinced that she is Gabriel’s natural-born daughter as apparently her mother was quite forthcoming with her history. She is charming and mischievous and not at all impressed with me—thus proving her relation. In fact, she reminds me a great deal of you in temperament. If you have other questions, I am happy to answer them, but you will need to actually ask them.

Home repairs are coming along smoothly with no notable foibles. A friend from town has come to stay for a while and we are enjoying ourselves immensely.

Warmest Regards,

Xander

XANDER

With Miss Gillan bunking in the kitchens to save time on the ride from Edinburgh, I had no opportunity to sneak off to see Tom at night. Instead I was left with Godfrey’s snores and Sorcha’s unrest for company.

But in exchange for the lack of privacy, we had a set of stairs that were unlikely to collapse in on themselves with a wrong step, a sturdy sheepfold for Fenella, who seemed more or less content to stay there during the night—the day was another story—and a functional entry door. I hated to admit it, but I would’ve made the same exchange again.

“Yer certain ye know the way?” Lock asked as we broke our fast one morning. Tom and I were to set off for Edinburg. Alone. Thank Christ. I didn’t even need my mouth around his cock again—I mean, I did, absolutely—but my skin positively itched for even two minutes of uninterrupted kissing.

“I’m certain I do not. But Tom does. You’ve given him the direction three times.”

“There’s a pub ye should stop at if ye have time, the Black Swan off Wallis. I think ye will like it. Tell them my sister sent ye.” There was something about his tone I couldn’t name, paired with a significant tilt to his brow. I knew I was missing something but hadn’t the foggiest guess as to what. And I honestly hadn’t known the man had a sister.

Before I could question him, we were interrupted by Miss Gillan and Sorcha descending on the table like locusts—Sorcha especially ate like she’d never see food again.

Then Tom arrived, hair still damp from the wash basin and eyes bright. Two minutes wouldn’t be enough time kissing. Would two hours satisfy?

Anticipation curled low in my belly as he tipped his head toward the door with a piece of toast in hand.

“Have a good day,” Lock called after us as I trailed Tom outside.

The morning was bright as we set off for Edinburgh in Lock’s wagon. We arrived in town two hours after we should have with private smiles. I could safely say that two hours wasn’t long enough.

After selecting mattresses and bed linens, we were left in want of a drink. As we turned down Wallis, a memory sparked. And as we drove past the Black Swan across the street, I had Tom stop.

“Lock told me of this place.”

Tom shrugged, generally willing to go along with most things, especially with the promise of food.

The door swung open as we approached, and a burly gentleman with light red hair raised a brow.

“Pardon me,” I said, slightly confused.

“Who sent ye?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Who sent ye?” he repeated.

Understanding dawned in that moment and I felt a flush rising up my cheeks. Tom’s expression was perplexed as I struggled to remember the precise wording Lock had used. “Tell them my sister sent ye.”

“My sister.”

With a grunt, the man stepped back and tipped his head, allowing us entry. I knew what I’d find based on my brief time on the continent, but Tom was in no way prepared.

There were molly houses in London, but none I’d been brave enough to frequent—not at the risk of Mother’s and Davina’s reputations and security. If I’d had a bit more warning, I probably wouldn’t have risked it here either. But the wide-eyed awe with which Tom glanced around the room, a ruddy flush rising up his chest and cheeks, was enough of a reward.

The environment was tame at the moment, though it would probably get more exciting as the night wore on. I was almost certain he’d never experienced anything like it.

“Molly house,” I whispered in his ear.

He nodded distractedly.

And then, with the ceremony it was due, I reached for his hand and laced my fingers between his, before releasing a breath. He startled, glancing down before meeting my gaze. Agonizingly slowly, he brought our joined hands to his lips where he kissed the back of mine.

“Ye’ll need to move oot of the doorway.” The guard from before muttered, tipping his head toward an empty table. I pulled Tom after me to sit.

We were quickly attended by a man in a dress that would have made my mother weep with envy, a vibrant red silk with more lace than fabric. He’d forgone the stomacher, leaving his front bare for the viewing. “Good evening, gentlemen?” There was a flirtatious note in the tone.

I nodded and replied, “Good evening, sir? Ma’am?”

“Ma’am,” she confirmed.

“Whiskey for me. Tom?”

He nodded again, still not managing to form a word.

“First time?” the server asked.

“Yes.” His voice was strained.

“Dinnae worry, lad. We’ll be gentle with ye.”

I hummed. “ I’ll be gentle with him.”

“So possessive,” she teased, then wandered off with a swish in her step. Tom’s gaze flicked over to another table where two men were kissing freely, openly. And I rather suspected a bit more, though I couldn’t see.

“Xander…”

“I know.”

“I’d heard of such a thing, but I never?—”

“I know,” I whispered, resting my forehead against his temple, breathing in his fresh scent.

“It’s…”

“A lot?”

“Wonderful,” he murmured, and I turned to follow his gaze. Two older gentlemen, one with hair mostly gone grey, the other with little hair to speak of, shared a table across the room, simply murmuring quietly and holding hands. I knew the ambiance would be nothing like this in the hours to come, when drink and other substances took hold in the night air. But now, in the late afternoon, it wasn’t so different from Gunter’s or Hudson’s, with happy couples chatting amiably.

A tall, shapely man came over to us with two glasses of whiskey. He wore a black, richly embroidered, feminine corset over his shirt in place of a waistcoat and I heard Tom’s quiet gasp at the sight. The man’s braces hung around his waist and he’d forgone a coat. Though there was nothing particularly scandalous about the outfit, I could tell that Tom felt something—whether it was intrigue or distaste wasn’t entirely clear. At least not until his tongue darted between soft lips.

“There you are, boys.”

“Thank you.” I waited until he turned back to the bar before questioning Tom. “So, a corset?”

He turned back to me, pupils enveloping his irises. The flush seemed to be a permanent state at this point. “I-I don’t— I didn’t?—”

I caught his cheek and rubbed a thumb along the bone. “I’m not opposed.”

His tongue darted between his lips again. I caught them with mine without thought. Tom froze for a second before melting into the kiss.

Before we could become carried away, I pulled back. “For you?” I asked, drawing a hand down his chest with purpose. “Or me?” His eyes widened even further with the second option—as though he hadn’t even considered the possibility.

Tom’s swallow was thick and loud. “Is both an option?”

“It can be.” His answering shudder left me nearly as affected as he was.

“You’re just…”

“What?”

“I don’t even know. I just—perfect. You’re perfect.”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“Perfect for me,” he said, dropping a kiss on my jaw.

“Hmm, you’re affectionate today.” I tucked a curl behind his ear. It was easy to read in his eyes, the freedom he was feeling. I wasn’t looking forward to watching it fade when we left.

He pulled his lips in tight, biting back a smile. “Are there places like this in London? How did I not know about this?”

“There are. They tend to get raided though, so I didn’t make it a practice to visit them.” I didn’t want to dim his light by pointing out that they could usually be found near a pillory.

“Is that why there was a password?”

At my nod, Tom squeezed my hand. “Do you wish to leave?”

No, not while he looked so free, but my well-founded anxieties won out. “We probably should.”

I set two shillings on the table after catching the eye of the man at the bar. He wandered over to clear the table. “Ye aren’t staying? The evenings are a wee bit more… exciting.”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Just dipping yer toes in the water?”

“Not like that, just?—”

“We’ve not had a raid in months, if that’s what yer worried about.”

“That, and it’s a journey to where we’re staying.”

“Oh, where are ye staying?”

Against my better judgment, I replied, “Kilmarnock.”

“Oh, that wreck. Who did ye anger to find yerself there?”

“You know of it?”

“Aye, everyone does. Is it even fit to be inside?”

“Barely.”

“Ye wouldnae need any help out there, would ye? Brennan’s a plasterer in need of work. And I think Murray too.” He tipped his head to a collection of men I hadn’t noted earlier. They sat in the corner playing some sort of dice game.

“They are not otherwise occupied with the repairs at Dalkeith?”

He shook his head. I looked to Tom, whose only input was a shrug and a, “Better than the none we have now.” It was a fair assessment. I wasn’t enthused about the idea of learning to repair walls.

“Send them over?”

The man nodded and wandered off to the table. Tom turned to me. “I thought we were leaving.”

“A desperate desire to avoid further home repair lessons outweighs all other risks.”

“But you would’ve looked so pretty with plaster in your hair.”

Before I could offer a retort, the entire table of men arrived.

One was of an indeterminate age—he could be no more than twenty, with tanned skin and bleached hair weathered by sand and sun, or he could be more than fifty and remarkably well preserved.

The second was a young man, perhaps nine and ten, with ruddy everything—cheeks, nose, and hair. If his toes had been visible, I was certain they’d have been ruddy as well.

A woman dressed in dark, masculine cuts was also with them. Her hair was mousy and her face was plain—all except her eyes. Those were bright. The mischievous sparkle reminded me of Davina, in truth.

“Yer hiring?” the sun-worn one asked.

“At present, I’m hiring skilled labor for some repair work. Though I do have need of household staff once repairs are further along.”

“Murry,” he said, gesturing to himself. “I’m a plasterer by trade—though I’ve some skill as a painter too. And this here is wee Jamie. He clapped the younger man about the shoulder. “He can paint. An’ Kenna, there’s nothing she cannae do.”

“It is too far to travel every day, and the house isn’t in any fit state to… well, house you. Not yet.”

“We can sleep in the stables.”

“I’m not certain the stables are in a fit state either.”

“Xander,” Tom whispered, before turning to the folks surrounding our table. “Would you give us a moment?”

“Aye.” They wandered back off to their corner to stare with interest.

“We need laborers. They need work,” he said, catching my hand. “Why are you fussing?”

“I don’t know.”

Soft, smiling lips found my jaw. “Something is wrong. Tell me.”

“It’s too easy.” I hadn’t known the answer until the words left me, but it settled there in my chest, heavy, crushing.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never… made it a habit to associate with people like me. It has always been too big a risk. And now I stumble in here on Lock’s recommendation, of all people, and happen upon an entire staff?”

“Isn’t that why you moved here? To shake off some of the trappings of London?”

“Yes, but not this many. This is how rumors get started.”

“And then what?” he asked, working his way to the hinge of my jaw, kisses intermingled with the occasional nip.

“What?” It was so hard to focus on anything substantive when he was doing that .

“And when the rumors get started, then what?”

“Arrested, noose, shame on both our families.”

“That seems a stretch, but all right. What is the alternative?” Intriguing fingers worked on the knot of my cravat.

“Huh?”

“The alternative. Say we’re not arrested and hung, and our families live on forever, unashamed. What does that world look like?”

I forced myself to consider, even as he pulled away the starched collar of my shirt to trace lines of my neck with his tongue. “Freedom.” A home where Tom and I could be open like this—maybe not precisely like this, this was perhaps a bit too open if the hand tracing down my abdomen was any indication—but we could be together and in love and no one would care?—

And that was the precise moment where Tom and love—my love, not his—entered my head in the same context and it didn’t feel strange at all. In fact, it was natural, like breathing. And wasn’t that an absurd realization to have in the middle of a molly house discussing employment opportunities?

“Exactly,” he breathed into my ear, interrupting that nerve-racking trail of thought. “Imagine it. We could share a bed—never having to sneak away before morning. I could kiss you anywhere, anytime I wanted to. I wouldn’t have to hide the way I look at you. We could hang your paintings above our bed—hell, I could pose for one. I would never have to bite my tongue to keep from calling you sweet, precious, heart, dear, love… lover. We could have an afternoon tiff in the drawing room and no one would bat an eye, sweetheart.”

His honeyed words had my spine melting into the chair.

The vultures in the corner sensed my surrender because they nearly tripped over themselves as they reached the table again, eager for employment.

Christ, it was risky. But then, so was everything else I did with Tom. And at this point, I couldn’t, wouldn’t, have stopped that for the world.