“Yeah?” Bobby wonders. He could get used to that look. “What, did you bribe the coach?”
“With his very favorite wine, by the caseful,” Demeroven says, looking rather proud of himself. “Got every other Saturday to sleep in. It was bliss.” Bobby stares at him. “What?”
“You consider having a lie-in every other Saturday bliss?”
“Yes,” Demeroven says slowly. “How... often do you have a lie-in?”
“In the country? Every day,” Bobby exclaims.
“Don’t you have anything you have to do?”
“Well... sometimes,” Bobby says, fighting back a defensive edge. “What, are you up at seven every day on the Demeroven estate?”
“Mostly,” Demeroven says, his straight nose rising, giving him an air of superiority Bobby hardly thinks is earned simply by being a morning person.
“And if you ever have a late night out?” Bobby presses.
“Then I’m tired,” Demeroven says archly.
“Mmm, all right, now I see how it is,” Bobby says, wanting to get the man out of his shell—see that glimmer of someone sly and mischievous and adorable again.
“How what is?” Demeroven asks.
“You must be out late rather often in London, then, if you’re always eager for a lie-in,” Bobby continues, glancing around. They’re quite alone here by the tree. “Have you been to any of the other clubs? There are a few that are quieter. Not quite as open, but nice spots all the same. Might be a good way to ease into the community a bit, you know?”
But instead of donning that playful expression, or some manner of their earlier camaraderie, Demeroven’s face goes completely blank. His head twists about, as if they might be suddenly interrupted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, Parker’s club isn’t the only place to—” Bobby starts, his voice low.
“Parker? I don’t know a Parker,” Demeroven whispers quickly.
Bobby stares at him, nonplussed. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’re clearly mistaken. You must have gotten incorrect information at the manyclubsyou attend,” Demeroven says, his voice cold, posture going stiff.
Bobby takes a step away from the tree so he can face Demeroven fully. “You’re not seriously trying to claim you weren’t rubbing shoulders with Cunningham and Prince at—”
“Shut up,” Demeroven clips out, his blue eyes darting this way and that. “We are in public. Our maiden cousins are right behind us. How on earth can you be this careless?”
Bobby stares, his mouth falling open. No one can hear them! “I’m being nothing of the sort.”
Demeroven pushes off from the tree, stepping close enough that Bobby’s nose is almost brushing his forehead. “You never know who could be listening. You would do well to keep your lifestyle to yourself, and protect your cousin and Miss Bertram before your loose lips get them or anyone else hurt.”
“I am far from—” Bobby starts just as Beth and Gwen traipse back around the tree, arm in arm.
“We’re going to play badminton,” Beth announces.
Gwen pulls her to a halt and Bobby and Demeroven step back from each other. Indignation simmers in Bobby’s gut, tingling down his arms and into his fingers. How dare Demeroven suggest he would doanythingthat would endanger the girls? How dare he insinuate Bobby’s attempt at simple conversation, at trying to help, is somehow—
How can he judge Bobby for doing exactly what he himself has done—attend and make use of one of the only safe spaces in London for men of their persuasion? Like it’s something dirty, instead of something to be celebrated?
“Did we interrupt something?” Gwen asks, an eyebrow arched, even if her eyes do look a little bright, like perhaps there were tears on the other side of the tree.
“No,” Bobby says, pushing it all down deep into his chest, next to his thoughts about his father and his worries about his sister-in-law. Maybe someday if he pushes those feelings down far enough, they’ll simply disappear. “We were talking about which smoking club Demeroven’s going to join.”
“Right,” Demeroven says immediately, offering Beth and Gwen a truly uncomfortable smile. “Badminton?”
“Yes,” Beth says, glancing at Gwen before breaking away to take Demeroven’s arm. “You’ll be with me, Gwen with Bobby.”
