“That makes two of us,” James agrees.
Mason tilts his head back again and closes his eyes. James can tell they’re nearly there. He gives Mason about forty seconds, and then kicks him lightly in the shin.
“Oi!” Mason says, glaring over at him.
“I’m not hauling his prone body out and leaving it on his father’s doorstep alone,” James says.
Mason huffs, but waves a hand in acquiescence just as the carriage comes to a halt. Prince jerks awake and stares at the two of them.
“Wher’we?” he slurs.
“Home. Time for the groom to go to sleep,” Mason says, moving across the cab to prop Prince up while James opens the door and hops down.
Together, and with no small possibility for injury to person or pride, they manage to get Prince out of the carriage and up the steps of the Prince townhouse, which could easily fit two Demeroven townhouses inside.
Bobby raps on the door, and they hover there, keeping Prince upright. They’re all going to be trashed come morning.
The door opens and a tall butler with a broad face takes one look at Prince and lets out a highly Scottish curse.
“Give ’em here,” he says.
James and Mason pass Prince into his care, and he slams the door behind them without even a word.
“Nice chap,” Mason says, staring at the door. “Eloquent.”
“And loquacious,” James says.
Mason turns and James follows, the two of them looking down at the waiting coach. The idea of being inside that small space without the buffer of Prince doesn’t fill James with confidence. Mason bumps his shoulder and James waves the coach away.
Then they set off, hands in their pockets, arms brushing. Each slight touch of Mason’s elbow sends shock waves down James’ spine, which is ridiculous, given they’re both fully clothed. But with all the revelations of this evening, all the self-discoveries, all the kindness and honesty, James’ body seems to have no defenses.
The memory of their kiss, and the way his hands held James so tenderly yet passionately—it haunts his dreams, and his waking hours, and any moment he so much as breathes. He’s never felt something that instantaneous. It makes him foolhardy. His lust has no conscience.
But his head surely does. Doesn’t it?
They round the block, approaching the Mason townhome, a modest blue three stories with well-tended ivy on the balconies and a river-stone stoop. James feels like his heart might beat right out of his chest, while his stomach ties itself into knots. He doesn’t like feeling so mixed up and unsure.
“What if there were someone who knew all the parts of you?” Mason asks.
James falters but keeps walking, determinedly not looking at Mason. His palms feel sweaty. A person who knew every part of him and, what, loved him anyway? There isn’t that person. There can’t be that person.
Mason cannot be implying that—
They approach the front stoop, but Mason veers suddenly toward the narrow alley between his house and the next. James hurries after him, just managing to catch him as Mason trips over his own feet. He ducks beneath Mason’s shoulder and pushes his thoughts away, letting Mason shuffle them down the cobblestone alley. He can’t leave Mason alone, unsteady ashe is, and he finds he doesn’t quite want to. Unlike the weight of Prince’s arm, Mason’s arm falling across his shoulders elicits a visceral reaction, like pinpricks of surprise spreading all over his skin.
James tells himself he doesn’t like the feeling. Tells himself Mason’s waist beneath his palm doesn’t feel like a perfect fit. That he doesn’t enjoy the way Mason’s hand lingers on his shoulder as they approach the door to the kitchen, hidden from the street and out of view of the windows of the neighboring house. They turn to face each other on the worn single step. James tells himself that the somersault of his stomach as Mason gazes into his eyes meansnothing.
Mason begins to lean forward, the hand on James’ shoulder gliding up to cup the back of James’ head.
Quite without thinking, James shoots an arm out, pushing Mason gently away. His palm lands right above Mason’s heart, and he can feel its thud. Mason stares at him, his eyes shuttering, disappointed.
“I thought...” he says.
James shakes his head. Pining is one thing. Intrigue is one thing. Lust and... magnetism are one thing. But he’s not brave like Mason is.
“We’re partners in—”
“Preventing blackmail, nothing more. Yes, I remember,” Mason says, his hand falling from James’ cheek to clench at his side.
