“Rumors?” Yves asked, sorting through the other bits of decorations they’d brought from the main table and coming up with two rather splendid pinecones.
Bradford laughed. “Rumors that the two of us had been spotted in a very interesting position indeed through the keyhole of Mr. Spurgeon’s office door,” he said with a sly grin.
Yves nearly dropped one of his pinecones. His heart began to race at the very thought of being caughtin flagrante. Hehadbeen caught and it had changed his life forever. Bradford appeared to have escaped his interrupted encounter with his honor and freedom intact.
Realizing that made Yves blink. “You were caught with another man and not imprisoned and hanged for sodomy?” he asked, whispering the question, even though they were in the protected halls of The Chameleon Club.
Bradford merely shrugged. “If Spurgeon had turned me in, he would have had to implicate himself.”
“But the person who discovered you,” Yves said, gripping the pinecones a little too tightly with his own remembered fear. “Could they not have reported you to the authorities?”
“And risked their extremely lucrative employment?” Bradford asked in return. He shook his head and went on with, “They would not have dared. I had wanted to voyage to Hindustan for quite a long time at any rate, so when Spurgeon suggested my departure as a solution, I jumped at the chance.”
“But you returned,” Yves said, puzzled as to why anyone with the Sword of Damocles hanging over their head would return to England.
Bradford laughed. “Poor old Spurgeon died while I was abroad, God rest his soul. That meant I was the sole inheritor of the entire company. A great many things are forgiven of men of wealth, whether they should be or not.”
Yves nodded and sighed as he returned to his work. That was his problem, of course. His family may have had an ancient claim to a title and estates that would have ended with his head lopped from his body if he’d lived during his grandparents’ time, but since the family had relocated to England, they’d quickly fallen to middle class at best. He had neither the money nor the influence to fend off Guillame’s threats to expose him, and since David had immediately disappeared, rendering everything Yves thought they’d had to ashes and dust, he’d had no choice but to flee or die.
And yet, Guillame was dead now. The danger had passed.
“That’s quite a tempting display you’ve made, my friend,” Bradford said, stepping up beside Yves and looking at the windowsill with him.
Yves made a small questioning sound, then gasped when he saw what he’d created. He’d set the candle in the center of the field of greenery and placed the two pinecones directly in front of it at its base. The end result was undeniably phallic.
“I’m sorry,” he said, racing to move the pinecone balls.
“No, no!” Bradford said, stepping forward and grasping Yves’ hands so that he could not fix the display. “I like it just the way it is. I dare say that everyone will like it just like that.”
Heat spilled through Yves again, but not necessarily because of the rude decoration. He glanced up at Bradford, noting how tall the man was and how masculine his scent. It occurred to him then that Bradford must have just arrived from wherever he’d been adventuring and that he had not had time to bathe before joining the decorating party.
Strangely, Yves did not mind. He was usually fastidious about his own person, but there was something heady and masculine about a man who did not need to hide behind soap and scents to be his true self.
“Do you not like it?” Bradford asked, mischief twinkling in his dark eyes.
Oh, yes. Yves liked it very much indeed. And that was the problem. He was no monk or fainting violet. He had not sequestered himself in The Chameleon Club for three years because he was afraid of the sins that had caused him to flee for his life in the first place. He kept himself rigidly alone because he liked the temptations that had nearly ended with him executed as surely as his ancestors were because he enjoyed the horizontal company of another man so much.
Without warning, he found himself leaning closer to Bradford, lifting up onto his toes ever so slightly, bringinghimself closer to the man’s intoxicating scent and teasing eyes. His lips parted gently and his face burned with shame over the liberties he was so tempted to take. Bradford’s smile grew and his mirth increased, as if he could tell precisely what Yves was thinking.
It had been so bloody long. So what if Bradford would love him one night and fly off to some other continent and a new lover the next? It would be worth it…wouldn’t it?
“This looks like the perfect location for a sprig of mistletoe,” Wilkes interrupted the intensity of the moment, approaching them with a small branch of mistletoe tied with a red ribbon. “Shall we hang it right here?” he teased, lifting the sprig as if he would hold it over Bradford and Yves.
“I cannot do this,” Yves said, yanking away from Bradford and nearly upsetting the chair Bradford had moved over to hold some of his decorations while he was working.
“Nonsense,” Bradford said, taking the mistletoe from Wilkes while giving the man a significant look, as if he was warning him to step back. “There’s no harm in a little playful flirting while caught up in the festive spirit.”
“Yes, I am afraid there is,” Yves said, wringing his hands and backing away, even as his body reacted with need and longing. “I am terribly sorry, but I have a great deal of work to complete before…before….” There was no before, Yves simply needed to get away before he lost himself entirely. “Good day to you, sir. It was very pleasant to make your acquaintance.”
He turned to run, slamming into another chair instead. As soon as he straightened himself up and pulled together the remaining shreds of his dignity, he stepped around the chair and walked back to where he’d left his accountancy work, and Yvette’s letter, as quickly as he could without drawing further attention. He’d already drawn more than enough attention for one day, and he was deeply afraid that once Howard Bradfordsingled a man out, he would not let them go until he’d taken what he wanted.
Three
Yves Clermont was the most fascinating creature Howard had ever met. From the moment he watched the high-strung young man scamper away at the mere hint of a kiss to that evening, after Howard had a bath and a nap, to when he’d watched Yves from across The Chameleon Club’s crowded dining room at supper. All throughout the next day, as he visited with old friends and kept one eye on his new interest, at least some part of Howard’s awareness was fixed on Yves.
It was not until the dawn of the second day of his Christmastide stay at The Chameleon Club, as he came down to breakfast to find Yves already toiling away at his accounting books, that Howard realized he had yet to take any of the highly willing members of The Brotherhood who subtly vied for his attention to bed.
“This isn’t like you at all,” Thurleigh observed as he, Howard, and Haythorne sat together for breakfast at one of the smaller tables in the lively dining room. “Generally, you’ve singled out a favorite by now and have him dandling on your knee, so to speak.”
