Finally, as they traveled back through Mayfair, Clermont said, “I am ashamed of myself.”
That surprised Howard. “Whyever would you say that?” he asked.
Clermont sighed and sat straighter so he could look at Howard. “I have spent three years hidden away in The Chameleon Club, afraid of my own shadow. Meanwhile, those poor children and others like them have been forced to live their lives in the streets with no safety at all.”
“And this makes you ashamed?” Howard asked. “You have had good reason to feel so terrified after what your brother threatened you with.”
“Perhaps,” Clermont said. “But I should be doing something. We should all be doing something.”
It was a beautiful, if somewhat naïve, statement. But Howard merely said, “What do you wish to do?”
“Help them in some way,” Clermont said, settling back against him in thought. “Perhaps by supporting a charity that provides clothing and sustenance for them. Perhaps by funding an orphanage. There must be something that can be done.”
“I am certain you will think of ways to help,” Howard said, hugging his angel tighter.
He was more convinced than ever that Clermont was an angel. He certainly had the heart of an angel. And from what Howard had seen so far, if there was a way for his kind-hearted lover to overcome his own fears and troubles to rejoin the world again, he would find his way of helping. Perhaps those bedraggled children, even more than him and his efforts, were the key to healing Clermont’s soul.
Eight
Yves was beginning to think that perhaps Bradford truly was Father Christmas. He had made those poor, wretched children smile, but more than that, he had made the world magical, if only for one night. After three years of living in abject terror of London and the dangers it could hold for him, Bradford had given Yves the courage to venture out. It was an invitation to rejoin the world.
Even so, Yves’ heart had bounced around like a tiny boat flung to and fro on a sea of wildly conflicting emotions. He had been terrified to step outside of the club, even with Bradford there to shield and watch out for him and even in the dead of night. His panic had subsided as they’d toured the city, however, but it had not disappeared entirely.
Still, it was a relief for Yves to see that he was not trapped inside The Chameleon Club indefinitely and that it was possible for him to rejoin the world. It helped that his thoughts had been diverted from his own plight by that of the caroling children.
“I cannot sequester myself inside The Chameleon Club day after day any longer,” he told Bradford as they made the turn onto Park Lane near Hyde Park Corner. Without streetlights, the park itself was dark and very likely the scene of every kind ofnefarious activity, despite the cold, but that no longer concerned Yves.
“No?” Bradford asked, pulling Yves closer against his side, where Yves was very comfortable.
“No,” Yves repeated with a determined sigh. “There is no telling whether the threat against my life and my freedom has truly passed with Guillame’s death. Indeed, I believe men like us will always suffer under some sort of threat as long as we persist in living without denying who we are.”
“I fear you are right on that matter,” Bradford said, turning his head toward Yves and resting his lips on Yves’ head in a gesture that was half kiss, half comfort. “But there are places in the world where there is less of a care about our sort.”
Yves hummed, and though he was interested to learn more, that was not the path his thoughts had wandered down. “I cannot help those who truly need my help if I am constantly afraid of my own shadow.” He glanced up at Bradford. “Those children and others like them. They need a champion. My sister and her family. Even my brother’s widow. There are people who need me, even if that is simply my presence at Christmas dinner.”
Bradford smiled at him. It was difficult to see in the darkness of the carriage, with only patches of light now and then as they passed streetlamps, but Yves could see the affection in his savior’s eyes and the gentle curve of his smile. “You wish to do more?” he asked.
Yves smiled. “More than keep myself in a safe, self-imposed prison for the remainder of my days?” he asked. “Yes.”
“I approve of your determination,” Bradford said. He then cradled the side of Yves’ face, tilted his head up, and kissed him thoroughly.
Yves breathed into his lover’s kiss and his touch, feeling warm despite the cold of the night. He did not know what hehad done to deserve the attention, let alone the regard, of a man as bold and bright as Howard Bradford. Bradford should have lost interest in him days ago, but the connection between them seemed to be increasing instead of fading.
What if his dreams of having Bradford with him always could be turned into a reality instead of kept and savored as something sentimental that might have been? What could he do to show this amazing man who had brought him out of his prison and showed him a glimpse of all the ways his life could be different if he could but trust and overcome the wrongs that had been done to him? What did he have to offer the angel who had swooped into his life to lift him up?
Rather than depressing him or making him feel inadequate, those questions inspired Yves and made his mind spin with possibilities. It gave his kiss energy and life, so much so that Bradford laughed at his enthusiasm.
“There, there, my sweet,” Bradford said. “We are nearly home.”
Yes, yes, they were nearly home. In a grander sense of life and love and happiness. Yves felt so close to the life he truly wanted to live that he could taste it. Or perhaps he was simply tasting Bradford’s mouth as they fell into kissing once more.
The carriage lurched to a stop, startling Yves out of his amorous haze. Bradford, too. They both leaned back, breathing heavily to recover themselves enough to leave the carriage. Yves thanked God for the long coats that would hide the evidence of both of their arousal.
But as he stepped down from the carriage once Ben had opened the door for them, his breath caught and his heart nearly stopped. The world of The Chameleon Club that they had left was vastly changed. Yves took a few steps away from the carriage, then turned a circle and gaped around at the snowy world they’d returned to.
He had not been aware of the light flurries that had fallen over London increasing to a more insistent snowfall. The skies seemed to have opened up with white. The street in front of the club and Hyde Park across from it was dark, but there were enough streetlights flickering away, determined to shed their light even in the most impenetrable darkness, that the snowflakes stood out in majestic splendor.
“It’s beautiful,” Yves said as Bradford came to stand beside him, resting a hand on the small of his back.
