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Rory was the one who pulled Sebastian out of the speakeasy. “Wait,” Sebastian protested, as Rory steered him into a back hall. “I should help—”

“Nope.” Rory tugged him toward the door at the end of the hall. “Between Jade and Sasha, they’re gonna have the place locked down in a couple of minutes.”

“But—”

“Zhang’s with us right now, on the plane. If they need us, he’ll tell me.”

Sebastian huffed. “But—”

“You got blood all over your face and Fine’s losing it; you’re going outside.”

Rory pushed Sebastian forward, and for someone short and skinny, he had a wiry strength that was surprisingly firm. Sebastian found himself swept out the side door and into the car-lined alley outside the Magnolia. A light snow was falling, maybe half an inch already coating the cars and bricks.

He grudgingly moved farther into the alley, toward a parked Model T. “What do you mean, Wesley’s losing it?”

“I mean your fancy lord is in the middle of a New York bar brawl and he’s not taking prisoners.”

Sebastian winced. “Is Wes okay? Can Zhang see him?”

“Fine’s fine.” Rory pointed at Sebastian. “You? Not so much.”

Sebastian bent to look at his reflection in one of the car windows, and cringed at his blood-streaked face. He gingerly felt his throbbing cheek, checking his cheekbone. Bruised, but not broken, at least.

“For the record,” Rory said, leaning against the car door, “I’m never gonna let Fine live this down.”

Sebastian winced again. “The fight is my fault—”

“Knock it off,” Rory said, though not meanly. “You didn’t do anything but dance. That guy was a prick who took a cheap shot at you. I don’t blame Fine for being mad.”

“But if I wasn’t so useless, I could have dodged, and nothing would have happened for Wesley to get mad about.” Sebastian’s hand was unsteady where it touched his smarting cheek. “If I still had my magic, I could have neutralized him.”

“Yeah,” Rory said, with sympathy. “If you had your magic, you could’ve flattened the whole place. You don’t, though, and that’s okay, ’cause you got us, right? And you got Fine. Get the sense the fella who hit you is lucky Fine only put him on the floor and not in the grave.”

Sebastian swallowed. His skin was clammy with cooled sweat from dancing and the outside cold was beginning to seep into him.

He didn’t even have a jacket on, snowflakes further dampening his thin dress shirt, and at the moment he happily would have taken a tailcoat for at least a little protection against a late November in New York.

“Billy should not be allowed around Edith.” Sebastian scooped up a handful of snow off the car and held it to his bruised cheek. “I don’t know if he’d hit her, but his temper—”

“No one’s gonna let that dick near a doll again,” Rory said. “Stella took your dancing partner into the back office and gave her some brandy. Ace and Fine are dragging the asshole out to hand over to the cops.”

“The cops?” Oh no. “They’re not going to shut down the Magnolia, are they?”

“You know Ace would never let that happen.” Rory turned to a patch of empty air next to him, head cocked. “Yeah okay,” he said to the air. “Ace and I will give Seb and Fine a ride.”

Sebastian’s skin was starting to sting under the uncomfortable cold of snow. “We can get a cab—”

“You’ve met Ace, right?” Rory said fondly. “He wants to see you two home safe and you might as well give in. Zhang says the cops are buying Ace and Fine’s story; they’re about to head our way.”

A few minutes later, Sebastian was climbing into the backseat of the red Cadillac, Arthur behind the steering wheel and Rory in the front passenger seat.

“You want to come to our place tonight?” Arthur asked over his shoulder, as Sebastian scooted over to make room for Wesley.

“No.” Wesley got in next to Sebastian, into the space behind Rory. “I’ll tell the hotel we were mugged. They can get us a doctor.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes you do,” Wesley said, cutting off Sebastian’s protest. “It’s not up for debate.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to argue, then sighed. “Okay,” he said, in defeat.

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “The army medic is giving in that easy?”

“I’m not exactly winning any fights tonight,” Sebastian muttered.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Arthur said. “Only a complete lout throws a sucker punch like that.”

“And maybe the fight went sour, but the dancing was real good,” said Rory. “Where’d you learn to tango anyway?”

“Probably from some gorgeous woman in love with him,” Wesley muttered. “I’m sure it’s an outrageously sexy story.”

“Oh yes, very sexy,” Sebastian said, deadpan. “Isa made me learn.”

Wesley blinked.

“My cousin Isabel,” Sebastian said, for Arthur and Rory, “who is like my sister, and who only likes art—and women.” He looked over at Wesley. “It was just a dance. But if you mind—”

“Of course I don’t,” Wesley said curtly. “Honestly I wasn’t even paying attention. Did you tango? Didn’t notice.”

“Okay,” Sebastian said uncertainly. He ran a hand over his hair and found it stiff with dried sweat. “I was just going to buy Edith the drink,” he said, more quietly. “I told her I had to go back to my friends.”

“It was a dance, not a fuck,” Wesley said dryly. “I don’t need to be reassured.”

Of course he didn’t, and Sebastian was probably insulting him by implying that Wesley might care if he danced with someone else.

He hunched back against the seat. The ache in his cheek had seeped down to his jaw, crawled up to his temple and spread across his forehead, so that his entire head throbbed.

Wesley glanced at him, then huffed. “Here.”

He shifted in the seat, awkwardly maneuvering until he’d managed to slip out of his jacket.

He leaned over and wrapped it around Sebastian’s shoulders.

“I really should let you suffer, because you purposely under-dressed just to tease me and now you’re hoisted on your own petard.

But you’re shivering and our overcoats are back at the Magnolia. ”

Sebastian bit his lip. The jacket’s lining was silk, and still warm from Wesley’s body heat. He threaded his own arms through the sleeves, then glanced at Wesley. “Good thing it fits me.”

The corner of Wesley’s lips turned up in a grudging smile. “You wish it fit you.”

And Sebastian abruptly was aware how much had happened that evening, and how very tired he was. How much would have liked to scoot across the seat to Wesley’s side.

But the streets of Midtown were crowded, even on a cold night, with traffic thick enough that Arthur had to drive slow.

Any passersby might see him pressed against Wesley unless he lay down on the seats.

And as tempting as that was, if he lay down now, he might not be willing to get back up, so he pulled the jacket more tightly closed instead.

* * *

At the hotel, Sebastian hung back and let Wesley do the talking. As Wesley had predicted, the staff were properly horrified that an English aristocrat and his traveling companion had been mugged on their streets and injured.

A doctor was fetched immediately. Sebastian was bustled up to Wesley’s parlor, where he was sat on the settee and had to submit to being poked at and prodded.

“Well, someone cleaned your clock, didn’t they?” the doctor said, examining Sebastian’s cheek.

Sebastian tried to keep his voice polite. “Nothing is broken,” he told the doctor, smothering a wince as the man pressed on his face. “And I already put a cold compress on it.”

“What Sebastian means is that he slapped some filthy alley snow on his cheek and thinks that’s laudable,” Wesley said dryly. “Please accept my apologies on the former army medic’s behalf, doctor. He’s unsurprisingly a terrible patient.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at Wesley.

“Well, he’s right enough.” The doctor straightened and addressed Sebastian.

“You’ll have a bruise for a while but that should heal up, and there shouldn’t be any scarring.

” He looked over at Wesley. “He doesn’t seem to have had a concussion, but someone ought to stay with him tonight, just in case. I’ll send for a nurse.”

“No need, no need at all,” Wesley said breezily. “He’ll stay in my quarters tonight. For his own good, of course.”

Sebastian fought back a grudging smile. Wesley was so shameless.

The doctor reached into his bag. “I have a powder you can take for the pain.” He handed a small tin to Sebastian and added, kindly, “Next time, try to duck.”

Sebastian was suddenly exhausted.

The doctor picked up his bag and Wesley began walking him to the door.

Sebastian seized his chance and disappeared through the bedroom and into the large adjoining private bath.

He was achingly tired, but he smelled like blood from his nose, along with sweat from dancing and flowers from Stella’s dressing room.

The thought of lying on clean sheets made him cringe.

In the bathroom, he put some of the powder on his tongue, the bitter medicine flooding his mouth as he chased it with a few handfuls of tap water. As he started the bath, the phone rang out in the parlor, Wesley’s voice a low rumble as he answered.

Sebastian stripped off the borrowed clothes, and then grabbed one of Wesley’s soaps and climbed into the tub. He took a moment with the soap and running water to wash off the sweat and dried blood. When he was clean, he turned the hot water tap up even higher and put the plug in the drain.

As hot water filled the tub, he sat back against the cold marble with a sigh. Out in the parlor, Wesley was still on the phone, and Sebastian couldn’t make out the words but the sound of his voice in the air was welcome. He closed his eyes.

A couple of minutes went by, and then the bathroom door opened.

“That was Arthur, wanting to know what the doctor said. He’s given up even pretending he’s not New York’s biggest mother bear.

” Wesley’s voice was much closer. “You’re having a bath?

Are you a bath sort of man and I hadn’t realized that yet? Not that I’m objecting to the view.”