It took all of his powers of concentration to keep his smile and easy manner in place as he discussed the possibilities of the job Brutus and Titus had presented him with.
They wanted him to photograph the men attending Lord Frome’s house party, all while pretending to photograph landscapes, artwork, and architecture. Clearly, Brutus and Titus wanted visual records of those house party guests for blackmail purposes. That much hadn’t escaped him, even though he had the sense he was missing a world of other things about the luncheon. But who were the men he would be putting at his new friends’ mercy, and did they deserve it?
That was just one knot that had wound itself around Jonathan’s insides, making the otherwise delicious food he’d been served, and served in the most charming manner possible, sit heavily in his stomach.
The other knot came from the increasingly clear nature of the Den itself.
He’d been distracted at first by how lovely Charlie looked in a toga. In the middle of discussing Brutus and Titus’s job, he’d been distracted by the graceful way his new, young friend carried a plate, kneeling to offer its contents both to him and to the other gentlemen at the table. A dozen new ideas for ways he could photograph Charlie sprung into his head.
He didn’t like the way some of the other men at the club looked at Charlie, though. It wasn’t as if Jonathan had any particular claim over his latest subject. At least, not logically.
Something darker and more possessive beat like a drum in his soul as he watched Charlie return to the table with Valentine. If any of the other amorous men lounging around the banquet hall thought they stood a chance of wooing Charlie for some sort of carnal activity, they would have to go through Jonathan to get him.
Which was an absurd thing to think. People were not property, despite what his great-grandfather had believed. Charlie was free to do whatever he’d like and go with whomever caught his fancy.
But it was an incredible relief when Charlie returned to his side and sat there to watch the day’s entertainments with him.
“What a strange place that was,” Jonathan said as the two of them left the building and began their walk home to Marylebone many hours later. “I never would have guessed that a place like that would exist here in the heart of London.
He glanced to Charlie, eager for his opinion.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure if Charlie had even heard him. The young man seemed worlds away, lost in his thoughts. He wore an entirely different set of clothes than the, admittedly, silly costume he’d arrived at The Zagreus Den wearing. When Jonathan had explained where and in what state he’d found Charlie, Brutus had kindly offered to supply Charlie with a new set of clothes that would be more appropriate for walking through London on a May afternoon.
Jonathan graciously agreed and thanked his new friend, all while battling within himself and insisting he wasn’t jealous.
“It almost felt as though they’d stolen their entire setting directly from the Ancient World,” Jonathan went on when Charlie didn’t say anything. “Or even from one of my photographs.”
That snagged Charlie’s attention. He looked at Jonathan as they paused to wait for several carriages to pass before crossing a street, his brow going up.
“Don’t think I didn’t see what was really going on in that room,” Jonathan added with a sly grin.
Charlie’s face pinked, and he glanced quickly around them, fumbling the parcel with his previous clothes slightly. He pressed his lips together and gave Jonathan a pointed look rather than saying what he thought, as if there were too many people who might hear him if he spoke.
He was probably right. The things they’d seen at the Den were not the sort of things one spoke about where anyone might overhear.
“I’ve no idea how Brutus intends to convince Lord Frome and my father to invite me and my camera to a house party,” Jonathan continued once the traffic had cleared and they were able to cross the street. “Father thinks photography is beneath me and that I should have gone into the law, as he did.”
Charlie made a soft, snorting sound, and when Jonathan turned his head to see what that sound meant, he smiled at the sight of Charlie’s disapproval.
“You were frightened of my father,” he stated. It wasn’t a question.
Charlie swallowed and nodded, sending Jonathan a wary, sideways look.
Jonathan laughed sharply. “He likes to think he’s frightening, but really, he’s just a pompous, sour hypocrite. He cannot hurt you as long as you are with me.”
The comment was meant to be casual, but Charlie’s face drained of color and panic filled his eyes. He swayed closer to Jonathan as they turned a corner, nearly home.
“Truly,” Jonathan said, surprised that the young man would be so terrified of his father when his father wasn’t even there. “My father is all bluster and no substance. He values his reputation and his position in Parliament more than anything in this world. More than his own son.”
He didn’t intend for those last words to come out as bitterly as they did. He had long stopped caring what his father thought of him. He’d known by the age of fifteen that his father wouldn’t ever approve of him, so there was no point in being upset when his early assumptions were proven correct.
“At least we’re home now,” he said once they reached the shop, walking a few steps ahead of Charlie so he could unlock the door and usher Charlie inside.
The day was already growing late, so Jonathan lit the lamp he always kept near the door when he went out instead of opening the shutters to let in light. He didn’t feel like tempting unexpected customers at the moment anyhow.
Charlie waited for him as he fiddled with the lamp, then followed him, his parcel clasped to his chest, through to the studio.
“You can leave those clothes by the trunk with the other costumes,” Jonathan said, gesturing for Charlie to take the parcel to the side of the room. “It was a lovely gesture for Brutus to give you something new to wear. I feel as if I was somehow negligent in not dressing you up properly myself. Whatever happened to the clothes I found you in?”
