“Because, for all his faults, Albert genuinely cares about me in his own peculiar way.” Evander’s expression was bleak.
Viggo wanted to rage at the violation, to demand they return to London immediately and root out whoever was spying on them. But the hopeless look in Evander’s eyes stopped him.
This was the world his lover inhabited, one where privacy was an illusion and every acquaintance could be a source of danger.
“I’m sorry,” Viggo said instead. He shuddered, feeling an utter cad for having lost his temper. “That you have to live like this. Always watched. Always judged.”
“It’s not your fault.” Evander leaned his forehead against Viggo’s. “And I knew the risks when I—when we—” He faltered.
“When you fell in love with a thrall?” Viggo finished quietly.
“When I fell in love with you.” Evander’s voice and eyes were fierce as he met Viggo’s gaze. “Your status has nothing to do with it. I would face the same scrutiny if I’d fallen for a shopkeeper or a soldier or anyone else deemed unsuitable for a duke.”
Viggo’s throat tightened. He kissed Evander again, slower this time, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the press of lips and the slide of tongues. Evander responded with equal fervour, his fingers threading through Viggo’s hair.
They were both breathing raggedly when they finally pulled apart.
“We should get back,” Evander murmured against Viggo’s mouth. “Before someone notices we’re missing.”
“Let them notice.” Viggo nipped at Evander’s lower lip. “I’m not ready to share you yet.”
Evander’s answering smile was both tender and sad. “We have weeks ahead of us where we’ll barely be able to touch.”
“Then even more reason to let me have this moment.”
Viggo pulled him closer, memorising the feel of Evander’s body against his, the taste of him, the soft sound he made when Viggo’s hands slid down his back. Outside their stolen refuge, the yacht’s engines thrummed and the Channel waters rushed past the hull.
But in this small, dark space, there was only them.
It was a while before they reluctantly disentangled themselves. Evander straightened his clothes whilst Viggo attempted to smooth his hopelessly rumpled hair.
They slipped out of the closet separately, Viggo emerging first to check that the corridor was clear before signalling for Evander to follow. They made their way back toward the main salon, where the rest of their team had gathered.
Ginny took one look at them and smirked. “Did you enjoy your tea with Her Imperial Highness, gentlemen?”
“Quite pleasant, thank you,” Evander said coolly.
“Your neck is red, your Grace,” Shaw observed helpfully. “Did you get sunburnt?”
Solomon coughed into his hand. Rufus frowned at the forensic mage. Fairbridge, who was reading a newspaper in the corner, turned a page without comment, though Viggo could have sworn he saw the man’s lips twitch.
“Mr. Stonewall and I took a walk on the deck to discuss our strategy for Brussels,” Evander said with remarkable composure. “The sea air was quite bracing.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Ginny murmured, earning herself a quelling look from Evander that only made her grin widen.
Viggo moved to the window, ostensibly to check their progress across the Channel. In truth, he needed a moment to compose himself. His skin still tingled where Evander had touched him and his pulse still raced from their stolen moment of intimacy.
He wanted nothing more than to drag his lover to the nearest bedroom and have his wicked way with him.
Viggo distracted himself by gazing at the white cliffs receding behind them. Soon, the horizon swallowed the last traces of home.
CHAPTER 15
They partedways with Princess Victoria in Calais, the future German Empress and her entourage setting off on the Northern Railway to Belgium.
The journey from Calais to Paris was uneventful, if one discounted Shaw’s enthusiastic commentary on everything from French architecture to the peculiar smell of Gauloises cigarettes that permeated their train. The landscape rolled past in shades of grey and green as daylight faded to dusk. Farms gave way to villages, villages to towns, until finally the sprawling mass of Paris emerged from the darkness.
By the time their locomotive pulled into Gare du Nord, the city was dressed in gaslight and shadow, its famous boulevards gleaming like rivers of gold in the night. They barely had time to check into the hotel the Met had booked for them before exhaustion claimed them all.
