Darius would be well advised to do the same. Despite that, he would not. He wanted to live as fully as possible. He was fortunate to have a powerful family at his back. That gave Darius immunity to a lot of situations he would otherwise be vulnerable to.
In the act of opening the door, he paused. Behind him, Andrew waited. He could feel the other man as if touching him.
A thread of possibility weaved its way through his mind. He would not give up. After he had dealt with the current matter, he would explore his idea, see if he couldn’t turn it into something acceptable.
With new resolve, he turned his mind to the problem of catching an Italian spy. Opening the door with a sudden wrench, he came face-to-face with a party of young men.
“Oh, damnation, someone has discovered our plan!” one said. Catching sight of Darius, he bowed and received a bow in return. “My lord, good day.” The young man’s bow was somewhat unsteady.
“Mr. Court,” Darius murmured.
The youth’s attention went past Darius to the man behind him.
Darius ignored the overt question in the man’s eyes. Introducing Andrew to this person would not help him in the least. “This room is a private one. I understand. That is why we were leaving.”
“Not interested in a very interesting encounter with three young, ah, ladies?” the youth said. “We had a wager we could induce three ladies of the town to come here tonight, and damn me, they have!” He blushed, the vivid color flooding his face and under his formal wig.
Darius said nothing.
“Oh, ah, that is, I daresay you are not interested in trysts with ladies of any description,” the man behind him said, with a snigger.
“I might surprise you,” Darius said mildly. “But I doubt it. It wouldn’t be worth my while.”
Three men, three scions of noble families, who had smuggled three whores inside the house. Darius detested telltales, but he was sorely tempted to make an exception. Knowing her as he did now, he assumed she would get to hear of it. He walked past. Andrew followed him, his face as pale as the youth’s was scarlet.
“We will inform the lady,” he said, when he was past them.
“Better to tell the butler, who will have them ejected quietly,” Darius told him. “Perhaps we can find her special footman. Miss Childers can hardly come storming up here demanding an explanation.”
“She will get to hear about it.”
“No doubt,” Darius said.
They did not return to the ball but informed the butler that if he went up to the green drawing room, he would find uninvited guests if he waited twenty minutes.
“I have already discovered the young ladies,” the butler told them with a smirk. “They were not hard to single out.”
Darius imagined they hadn’t been.
Most whores were easy to spot. But only the honest ones.
Chapter 9
Andrew had not known what true loneliness felt like, but he did now. How could he miss someone so much after half a day? But he did. Every time he paused from his work, he thought of Darius. Little things reminded him of the brief time they’d spent together.
Perhaps he was just melancholy. He probably needed a change. He closed the folder he was working on, left his office, locked it, and paid a visit to his daughter, who was busy with her nurse. The rainy day made their usual visit to the park impossible, so they were drawing.
A little soothed by his visit, Darius donned his hat, overcoat, and gloves, and left his house for his office in chambers. Glancing up, he spared a thought for Darius, wondering if he was on horseback or in a carriage.
Water dripped down the back of his neck, and Andrew turned up the broad collar of his coat. The weather suited his mood. A wet October in London—what could be better?
But he wished he lived closer to the Inns of Court. His house was near Lloyd’s Coffee House in an area he’d grown up in and felt comfortable with. The Inns were farther west, centered around green spaces. Perhaps he should move his offices to the Inns of Chancery, where many solicitors were situated. Then he could buy one of the new houses being erected nearby. It was definitely time for a change. He had kept his distance when he had taken the property work, deciding he must work for his family more than following his inclinations.
Restlessness infused him as he strode toward the Inns of Court. When the rain changed, surging into a vituperative downpour, he gave up and took shelter under the heavy overhanging sign of a printmaker. This one specialized in political caricatures, so he peered into the window, joining other people taking shelter and peering at the offerings within.
While the prints were cruel, he had always considered the subjects fair game. The artists generally chose current topics, and they could produce their caricatures remarkably quickly. Parliament would open soon, and the citizens of London and farther abroad could look forward to some particularly scurrilous examples.
He liked the one that showed the Prince of Wales, now nineteen, clinging to the apron strings of Lord Bute, his erstwhile tutor and, some said, his mother’s lover. Bute was not popular, so any caricature with him as its subject would sell well.
He moved on, glancing into the sky. Someone looked at him and then returned to look again. Andrew followed the man’s attention to the brightly colored prints in the window.
His heart lurched. There he was, in the middle of the display. Kissing Darius. Young men surrounded them, some in female dress, their bodices askew. Others wore the garb of dandies. All but Andrew, depicted in his usual sober, dark, unremarkable clothes. Because of that, he was the focus of the picture. Just in case the viewer hadn’t understood the point, a judge stood behind him. His full-bottomed wig was comically askew with the effort he was making hammering his gavel on the bench.
Andrew closed his eyes, but it didn’t help. The picture was still there when he opened them again.
The rain was better than this. With the image burning its way into his brain, he put his head down, more because he didn’t want to be recognized than against the downpour. His mind in turmoil, he strode to his chambers in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Sparing a nod to the clerk, he went past and unlocked the door to his office.
He retained a small room here, all he needed, enough to keep his barrister work separate from his main business. But the folders and cases didn’t hold his interest any more than the work at home had. Especially after the shock of seeing himself depicted in the printshop window.
He could still see the thing in his mind’s eye. He and Darius were cruelly depicted, Andrew’s own sharp features and pale face a contrast to Darius’s handsomeness.
After a tap on the door, his Head of Chambers came in. Famed for his large, imposing, and terrifying presence in court, today Edward Jeffries smiled, although grimly. Twenty years older than Andrew, Jeffries held the respect of everyone in the legal business. What he didn’t know about criminal law wasn’t worth knowing.