Page 31 of To Sketch a Scandal (Lucky Lovers of London #4)

Well, damn. Warren was in deep. His determination to maintain a simple friendship with the fellow suddenly felt like it had missed the mark rather badly. Matty, it seemed, was harboring some more complicated feelings.

And while Warren Bakshi the barkeep was still nervous about that, another version of him was surfacing, and that version was full of fucking butterflies at the notion. That version, he felt, was a bloody traitor.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, feeling his face get very hot and sarcasm creeping in to cover it. “I get a declaration of love at least once a fortnight, you know, but never one quite this—”

“Pathetic?” Matty supplied.

“Oh, no. They’re always pathetic.”

It might have been better if the impulsive quip had offended Matty. It would have hurt them both in the moment, but taken care of this whole sentiment problem in the long run. But instead, Matty smiled.

“Semi-public?” he tried again.

“I was going to say genuine .” Warren’s face got hotter. He almost couldn’t stand the sincerity of it, so he added, “And sober , I suppose.”

“Unfortunately. I tried to get good and sullied on absinthe a few times this week, but I can’t get enough down.”

Warren wanted to continue this sort of sarcastic quibbling.

Maybe tell him how to mix the absinthe more effectively.

Something silly like that. They both enjoyed the banter, and it was certainly safer.

But he couldn’t come up with anything funny.

All he wanted to say was that he was very glad to hear that Matty was improved by his company—it wasn’t along the usual axis of flattery he was used to, and it warmed him.

How could he say that, though? Warren the barkeep certainly didn’t say things like that. Didn’t sound quite right for a dutiful son, either. He lacked words for this.

But there were other options.

A quick glance about proved the utter solitude of their little corner.

He stepped in close enough to be enveloped in the scent of him, cheap, standard cologne and coconut-floral hair oil combined uniquely with whatever it was that was Matty and made Warren’s mind spin on its axis.

This was a big fucking rule to break, but in the absence of the right thing to say, he didn’t know what else to do.

He put his hand behind Matty’s head…

And kissed him…

Very…

Very…

Softly.

He felt Matty gasp with a shock that their rougher passion had never inspired.

Every atom of connection between them—lips against lips, palm against warm neck, Matty’s fingers brushing tentatively at the hem of Warren’s coat like he was looking for purchase but nervous to grasp it—felt hot and alive and like nothing else could possibly matter ever again.

Other things did matter, though, the greatest of which being their very public location.

Regretfully, Warren pulled back. Neither of them was blinking much as their eager eyes met and clasped each other’s hands and threatened to run off to France together never to be seen again.

His hands drifted down Matty’s patched lapels (he could feel the bloke’s heart pounding beneath them) before squeezing his fingers one time and placing a little respectable distance between them.

“Let’s go back in, sweetheart,” he whispered. Sweetheart. Not mate . Not even love . It surprised Warren as much as it did Matty. “I’ll help you find your ring. Little bugger’s got to be in there somewhere.”

“That…” Matty swiped at where there might have been a hair straying on his forehead after a wilder kiss, but it hadn’t been and there wasn’t.

They were both still put together as anything.

On the outside. “That would be very kind of you, Warren. I wouldn’t blame you if you felt you’d shown enough of that for the time being. Kindness, that is.”

Warren was used to very big shows of love—big plans, big meals, big sacrifices. The things that Matty seemed to feel were too much were in actuality so small that it threatened to break his heart right in two.

“Being kind to you is not as difficult, Matty,” he said quietly, “as maybe some arseholes have led you to believe. Come on.”

Warren went back into the classroom, Matty on his heels. He felt light as a feather, about to float off. He did not know what this meant, but the concept of all art was clearly not going to be troubling them again anytime soon.

“Now let’s see,” Warren said when they’d gotten back to their spots. “It really can’t have gone far.”

Matty still seemed a little woozy, so Warren took point on the operation.

He shuffled their stools, looking under them for a gleam of gold before ducking under the desk, peering in the various directions that the thing might have rolled off in.

It wasn’t under their seats, so he started asking around, pestering other students and poking other stations.

Excuse me, miss and Pardon, but could I just check?

His investigations were mostly met with acceptance—if a bit of haughtiness—but still caused a small scandal when he could find no phrasing delicate enough to ask one of the female students across the room to step aside for a second so he could make sure it hadn’t rolled under her voluminous skirts.

“Nothing,” he reported back to Matty, carrying back a scrap of ribbon between his fingers. “Just this.”

Matty choked down a horrified laugh. “Warren! You didn’t get that off her, did you?”

Warren waggled his eyebrows and twirled the ribbon like maybe he had, but then he shook his head, chuckled, and shoved it into Matty’s hand. “Don’t get jealous. It happened to be on the floor by her feet, but she says it’s not hers.”

Before they strategized further, Mr. Buttersnipe materialized by Warren’s side, this time with their old friend Sandford Binks in tow. The boastful chap looked very sullen just now, his shoulders slumped and his lip twitching like he was trying his damnedest to keep a sneer off his face.

“Forgive me, Mr. Bakshi,” said Mr. Buttersnipe as he pointed to Warren’s picture.

“Now that you’re back, I simply wanted to show…

Mr. Binks, do you see what we’re saying here?

This is what Mr. Harris was trying to tell you.

” He circled his finger around a bit of shading under the chin of his subject.

“When the marks go in many directions like this, layer after layer, the effect is smoother than even the smoothest marks going parallel. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” said Binks, the words sounding like they’d been dragged out of his throat, screaming for a chance to talk to their lawyer about the injustice of this undignified removal. “Thank you.”

Once they were back on their way, he turned to Matty, burning with annoyance.

“We should check his things,” Warren huffed. “If anyone would do something so petty as steal someone’s ring, it’s him.”

“Good thought, but I’m afraid Mr. Binks is your enemy.

Not mine,” said Matty. He still had the pink ribbon in hand and smoothed it a few times.

“I don’t think we’re dealing with a thief, Warren.

It’s a broken clasp that’s the real culprit, and me for being so stupid as to wear something I might need to give back on a cheap chain instead of leaving it at home. ”

“It’s still on the chain?” Warren asked. “Then it can’t have rolled off as far as I was looking, can it? You said you had it when you came in, and we’ve retraced all your steps. Someone must have picked it up.”

Matty shrugged, a bit cynically. “Maybe it was my dearest chum in the world, Mr. Harris . The fucking dog,” he added in a nasty whisper.

The fucking dog.

“What?” said Matty.

“The ribbon,” Warren said. He snatched it back from Matty’s hand, looking it over. “It’s that dog’s, ain’t it? That yippy thing that’s always nosing around. And we know she’s got a nose for coin, the little miser.”

“Surely you aren’t referring to our dear Miss Martha in such a crass manner, Mr. Bakshi.”

“She was fucking around over here a while ago. I was worried she was about to piss on my shoes.”

“That is a classy lady you’re talking about, you know. I am shocked by your continued impropriety. Shocked.” He said it so straight-faced that Warren wanted nothing more than to kiss those clever lips again and again. He grinned instead, since it was all he could do.

“You’re going to kill me if you keep going on like that, you know.”

“You’d deserve it,” said Matty. His voice was plain, but now that it seemed they’d solved the case, his eyes had gone flirty, the answer seeming to cheer him before they’d even confirmed it.

“Oh, would I?” Warren asked. “For what?”

Matty lowered his voice. “For coming in here looking like that ,” he hissed, nodding at the flattering attire he’d chosen. “When you knew I was meant to keep things strictly art. One might think you’d done it on purpose, to test me.”

“If I had, you failed miserably, didn’t you?” Warren said. “Let’s get your ring.”

They found Miss Martha retiring on her little bed beside the supply cabinet, a gleam of something shiny sticking out under the fall of her floppy ear.

She had several pencils, an eraser, a penknife cap, three shillings, and a few crumpled balls of paper in with her as well.

A light snoring emanated from this small dragon upon her treasure.

“She’s a right criminal,” said Matty. “A serial thief. I’d never have thought it of one such as her.”

“It’s always the pretty ones, ain’t it?”

“Why don’t you grab it?” Matty said, as they eyed the drool at the corner of her mouth. “You’re the brilliant detective who solved the case, after all. You deserve the final moment of glory.”

“I thought you were the brilliant detective.”

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t have been removed from my case, would I? Far as I know, you’ve never catastrophically failed at the job, and therefore are the detective in better standing.”

Miss Martha let out a particularly loud snore, as if in agreement.