“How much do you want for him?” Hammond asked.
Jonathan wasn’t certain he’d heard the man correctly at first. “I beg your pardon?”
Hammond’s grin turned devilish. He lowered his head and sidled closer to Jonathan, picking a stray piece of grass fromJonathan’s shirt. “I believe we understand each other,” he said quietly, peeking up to meet Jonathan’s eyes.
Jonathan’s jaw dropped for a moment before he found the words to reply. “I do not believe we do,” he said hoarsely.
“I would pay handsomely for him,” Hammond went on, as if Jonathan had agreed with him instead of putting him off. “You would have enough to buy two or three boys for the price I’d be willing to part with.”
“Charlie is a man,” Jonathan said coldly. “He is not a commodity. I do not own him.”
“Are you certain about that?” Hammond asked. He waited for Jonathan to reply, and when he didn’t, he went on with, “I believe we understand each other, Mr. Moorgate, and where we are both coming from.”
The Zagreus Den sprung instantly to mind. That was the world Hammond meant, the place they both came from. But Jonathan wasn’t a member of the Den, and something in him doubted Hammond was either. He didn’t feel the same way Brutus and Titus had.
That notion was ridiculous in so many ways, but it stuck with Jonathan. Hammond might have been a part of the same underground world as Brutus and Titus, but he wasn’t from the Den.
A worse thought struck him as soon as that certainty settled in his mind. What if Hammond was the man Brutus and Titus wanted him to photograph specifically? What if he and Charlie had been unwittingly lured into some sort of war between two rival factions…of what? Two brothels? Two criminal gangs?
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said, stepping aside so he could pass Hammond, his heart racing. “Charlie is not for sale. If you will excuse me.”
He walked on quickly, hoping he was fast enough that Hammond couldn’t grab him or stop him. He needed to get away as fast as possible. From everything.
He found the closest door into the house and rushed through, nearly knocking over the pale-faced maid as he went. He couldn’t stand to be in anyone’s company anymore, not the gentlemen of his father’s acquaintance, who laughed at him for sport, nor Hammond and his sickening offers. If Brutus and Titus had been there, he would have run away from them, too.
He was not prepared for this, not for any of it. He was a photographer, a pornographer, nothing more. He wasn’t a spy who could capture the likenesses of The Zagreus Den’s enemies or a hero who could rescue young lordlings who may or may not be being held against their will. He was nobody with no power at all.
His heart was heavy by the time he made it to his room. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do or where to go. Not only did he not know how to do the right thing, he didn’t even know what the right thing was.
Charlie was waiting for him in their room. He was seated in one of the windows, knees drawn up, arms around his legs and forehead resting on his knees. As soon as Jonathan entered the room, he started, then unfolded himself from his protective position and scrambled to stand.
The sight of his boy, looking so pale and anxious, but with a hint of hope and longing in his eyes, was too much for Jonathan.
Neither of them said a word, but as soon as the door was shut, Jonathan tossed his jacket carelessly aside and strode toward Charlie.
“What—” Charlie whispered.
Jonathan didn’t let him finish. He reached Charlie and threw his arms around him, clutching him tightly to his chest. He benthis head and buried his face against Charlie’s hair, breathing him in shakily as the two stood in each other’s arms.
Jonathan had never been so lost. The only thing that felt solid to him was Charlie, but he knew he would never be able to live up to the young man’s expectations.
Chapter Fourteen
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Jonathan was supposed to be the one showing Charlie comfort, not the other way around. But they ended up spending the next half hour just sitting together in silence, Jonathan holding Charlie and resting his head on Charlie’s shoulder.
Charlie was too stunned to know what to do about it. He was still reeling from Hammond’s attempt to lure him away and preoccupied with Fabian’s fate to know how to comfort his…not his master or his savior, his…friend. All he could do was sit in silence with him, letting the warmth of his body surround Jonathan.
“Right, enough of this,” Jonathan said after they’d been resting there together for what felt like ages, neither of them truly sharing their thoughts. “We have photographs to take, and I am beginning to suspect whose photographs we should be taking.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows a bit as Jonathan pulled away, hiding his face as if he didn’t want Charlie to see or understand the emotions he was feeling. He stood where he was, just watching as Jonathan gathered together the things they would need to take a few photographs.
“With any luck, Frome’s guests will still be playing tennis on the lawn,” Jonathan said, his back turned to Charlie. “I can easily make the case that photographing a tennis match would be jolly. Not only will it allow us to document Frome’s guests as we’ve been charged to do, if any of them make a point of not wanting to be in the image, it will give us a clue about who among the guests is guilty of…something.”
Charlie frowned, not because of what Jonathan said, but because something had changed with the man. Had the other guests been cruel to him somehow? Charlie doubted it. The other gentlemen, as far as he’d been able to tell, were amused by Jonathan, though perhaps a bit too much.
“Come now,” Jonathan said once he had all the equipment he needed. He held out the full satchel to Charlie.
Charlie stepped over, regarding Jonathan carefully, and slipped the satchel over his shoulder. He desperately wanted to ask Jonathan what had happened to cause his change in demeanor, but he doubted he had the right to ask about such things.
