With a deep breath, he tugged at the hem of his jacket with one hand, still holding Yvette’s letter in the other. He fixed his gaze on the doorway leading out to the club’s main hall, then forced himself to walk that way with single-minded focus. Somehis friends noticed him and watched as they continued their conversations. Only a few of them might have had any notion of the significance of what Yves was about to attempt.
It was a sign of how scattered his mind truly was that he did not return to his room to fetch his coat and hat. He marched straight down the hallway, into the lobby, and up to the door that had separated him from the cruel, outside world for the last three years. His breath barely seemed to enter or leave his lungs as he reached for the handle, then tightened his grip to the point where his knuckles went white.
It took a few more, long seconds before he found the strength to turn the handle and more time still until he was able to open the door.
“Clermont?” Bradford’s deep voice sounded from somewhere behind him as Yves stared out into the cold bustle of Park Lane in the morning.
He ignored Bradford, barely hearing him. Yvette needed him. He had to leave The Chameleon Club at last. He was a fool and a coward for succumbing to the crippling fear that struck him every time he so much as looked through an open door to the outside world or felt the air on his face. He had to do it though.
With a tight whimper that came from a primal place within him, Yves stepped over the threshold of the club and out onto the wide stretch of flagstones that separated the club from the street. Panic hit him as soon as he was two steps outside the door. They would find him. The police would be waiting around the corner to arrest him. He would not even be tried before they would string him up and kill him simply for being who he was and loving who he did.
“Clermont, you are not wearing a coat.” Bradford’s voice sounded a thousand miles away.
Yves made another, frightened sound and stepped out farther. He could not even remember where he was going now orwhy. He only knew that he’d left the one place in the world that was safe, the one place where he would not be snatched up and dragged to the gallows.
He took a few more steps, but panic overwhelmed him and his knees turned to jelly. He could not breathe either. His next step saw him spilling to the ground as if he’d been felled by a blow to the head. He cried out, more from fear than from pain as he crumpled into a ball on the pavement.
“Clermont!” Bradford shouted behind him.
Yves began to shake all over. He was going to be sick. He could not breathe. He was about to pass out. The world was about to implode upon him. He never should have left the one place he was safe.
The edges of Yves’ vision began to go black, but a moment before he passed out, strong, warm arms closed around him and Bradford drew him close.
“I’ve got you,” Bradford said in a voice as gentle as a caress. “There, there.”
Twin feelings of relief and humiliation struck Yves as Bradford lifted him into his arms and carried him back into the club. How wonderful that an angel had come to rescue him, and how mortifying that Howard Bradford, who had just given him the best night of his life, had seen him fall apart so completely.
Five
Howard had never been one for mornings. Pesky, unpleasant things. He would much rather have whiled away the early hours in sensual comfort with an equally languid lover. He had a vague memory of Clermont being more of the lark sort, rising from the bed where they’d enjoyed each other so thoroughly throughout the night to…do what? What work could possibly be more appealing than dozing away until noon with him?
He'd fallen back into a heavy, dreamy sleep in which Clermont was frolicking joyfully on a Mediterranean beach, shirt unlaced, blue eyes bright, skin granted a bit of color after England. His imagination was so alluring that he awoke for the second time with an impressive morning tumescence. He reached for Clermont…and was alarmed to find his sweet angel no longer in bed with him.
Indignant, he sat up, rubbed his face, and looked around. The room was empty but for himself and Clermont’s clothing was gone.
With a frown, he remembered the half-asleep conversation he’d had with the man. He did not like what he recalledhimself saying. He feared he had given the man an impression of indifference, which was far from the truth. If he was not mistaken, Clermont had seemed disappointed.
“This will not do at all,” he muttered to himself, rising and heading straight for the screen that hid the necessities.
He washed and dressed as quickly as he could. Something deep within him felt far more unsettled than was usual. He’d had more lovers than he could count, most of them of the extremely temporary variety. He’d never cared before whether they stayed with him or set off for the farthest corners of the earth.
But Clermont was different. Clermont was gentle, yet passionate. He was intelligent, but also had a certain naiveté about him. Howard had made him sigh and moan with pleasure, but now he longed to hear the man laugh, to see his lazy smile as they lounged on the veranda of some Italian villa, gazing out over the green of vineyards and the blue of oceans. He wanted to discuss the railroad with his angel and even argue over the duties of industry and governments toward people.
In short, he wanted to actually get to know Clermont, not just to enjoy him and cast him aside. The man called to him.
As soon as he was dressed, he hurried downstairs to the club’s dining room. It came as a surprise to him that so many men were already seated around the tables spread throughout the room. The scents of bacon and bread filled his nose, and the cheery sight of the decorations that had been erected the day before gave the dining room a decidedly festive air.
But Clermont was not there, which made the entire place pale.
“Can I help you, sir?” Giles, one of the footmen employed by the club approached Howard.
There was no point in being coy or keeping secrets. Organizations like The Brotherhood had few secrets at any rate.
“Have you seen Mr. Clermont?” he asked.
Giles smiled as if he knew all. “He is on his way out just now,” the young man said. “He received a letter from his sister, and do you know, this time I think he might actually summon up the courage to leave.”
Howard stared at the young man in confusion, but only for a moment. Everything within him urged him to go after Clermont. Something was not right.
