“By the way, your Grace,” Shaw asked curiously, “what’s with the walking stick? Did you hurt your back?”
Solomon choked on air. Ginny grinned salaciously. Rufus looked heavenward and muttered something under his breath about patience.
Shaw studied them with a confused look.
Evander sighed. “No, I did not.”
His back was in fact still sore from Viggo’s ardent attention these past three nights. The Brute seemed determined to make up for the fact that they wouldn’t be able to share many intimate moments in Europe.
The man is a beast.
Heat warmed Evander’s cheeks as he recalled their intense lovemaking. To be truthful, he hadn’t minded being repeatedly devoured by said beast.
As if summoned by thought alone, Viggo emerged from the crowd.
Evander’s breath caught despite himself. The Brute cut an imposing figure in his dark travelling coat, a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder and his characteristic scowl firmly in place as he navigated the press of bodies. The crowd partedbefore him, people making way instinctively as they sensed his intimidating aura.
Viggo’s gaze found Evander. Something warm flickered in his dark eyes before his expression grew shuttered.
“Stonewall,” Evander said formally as his lover approached.
“Your Grace.” Viggo’s voice was equally formal.
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Stonewall,” Shaw chirped brightly, rocking back on her heels.
“I am pretty certain I told you to call me by my first name a dozen times already, Miss Shaw,” Viggo grunted. He scanned their group. “Aren’t we missing someone?”
“We are.” Rufus checked his pocket watch and frowned. “Where is this damn Ministry observer?”
“I believe I am the gentleman you’re waiting for.”
The voice came from behind them, low and measured. They turned.
Surprise shot through Evander. Rufus stiffened slightly, recognition flaring briefly in his eyes.
It was the tall man they’d seen talking to Hartwick outside the Parliamentary committee chamber in Westminster. He wore black from head to toe, the only colour on his person a small silver pin on his lapel marking him as a War Office official.
Evander smoothed his face into an impassive expression.
“Hector Fairbridge, I presume?”
Fairbridge didn’t miss the coolness of his words. “You presume correctly, your Grace.”
Evander could feel animosity radiating from Viggo in waves as he observed the stranger with an aloof look.
Up close, Hector Fairbridge was even more austere than Evander remembered. He stood a couple of inches taller than him, his rigid bearing likely a leftover from his military days. His face was all sharp angles, with prominent cheekbones, a blade of a nose, and a jaw that looked carved from granite. His darkhair was shot through with grey and his eyes the colour of storm clouds.
Fairbridge looked like someone who could easily blend into a crowded room or on a busy street. Yet, the man still managed to project the same kind of danger as a venomous snake.
It confirmed what both Evander and Winterbourne had suspected.
Fairbridge was dangerous.
“A pleasure to officially make your acquaintance, Mr. Fairbridge,” Evander said politely. “I’m Duke Ravenwood. These are my associates.”
Fairbridge nodded civilly as Evander made introductions, his gaze sweeping over the assembled team with methodical precision. The man’s eyes lingered on Viggo.
“I wasn’t aware the owner ofNightshadewould be accompanying us on this mission.”
