“Precisely what Ada believed, and convinced us of it too.” He held Mr. Michaels’s gaze. When he spoke next, it was in a whisper. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room. You cannot breathe a word of it to another soul. Understood?”
Mr. Michaels nodded. “You can trust me.”
For some incredulous reason, considering how brief their acquaintance had been, Brody didn’t doubt it. Perhaps it was in Mr. Michaels’s tone or the seriousness with which he seemed to approach everything he did, from work to caring for his sister. He seemed responsible. Trustworthy. And while Brody knew he was taking a risk – that the secret he was about to share was not his alone – he’d rather divulge it than have Mr. Michaels find out on his own. The chance of his doing so was certainly there, unless Brody gave him an adequate explanation for why he’d chosen to work at Hudson & Co.
The truth seemed like the best option.
“My friends and I have written a book together. A romance novel, to be precise.”
Mr. Michaels’s lips parted with notable surprise. “Really?”
Brody nodded and had to clasp his hands together to stop them from trembling. He was suddenly nervous. More so than he’d been at any other point in his life. It was ridiculous, but it occurred to him that Mr. Michaels’s opinion on this mattered. Greatly.
Why? He could not – no, he dared not – say.
“I’m very impressed,” Mr. Michaels said, prompting a surge of warmth to expand Brody’s chest. “Writing a novel is no small feat. I’ve tried.”
“You have?”
“Gave up after the second chapter when I realized how long it would take to complete the story.” He shrugged. “I must not have wanted it badly enough. Or rather, I preferred reading to writing. Being part of the book creation process has always been a dream of mine though, and thankfully, opportunity gave me that chance.”
“As far as I can tell the job of compositor fits you perfectly.”
It was the strangest thing, but there was no doubt the compliment made Mr. Michaels blush all the way to his ears. He laughed with that sort of uncomfortable need to hide his response. The effect on Brody confirmed that he felt more for Mr. Michaels than what was proper and that his attraction toward the young man was no passing thing. However inconvenient and illegal it was.
Hell, if he pursued a relationship with him and he were discovered, his actions would see him hanged. Perhaps Mr. Michaels too. It was certainly enough to make a man think more than once or twice before acting. Wanting a kiss wasn’t nearly enough to risk his life over.
But if things progressed and he grew fonder of Mr. Michaels – if his feelings for him deepened and he fell in love—what then?
Would he be willing to stake his life on having a proper relationship with him?
His heart beat with sluggish movements. The very idea of what it would mean to bed him squeezed his lungs until he struggled to breathe.
He winced. A kiss was one thing a shag quite another. His stomach roiled. Christ have mercy, if only Mr. Michaels had been born a woman.
“Mr. Evans?”
Brody blinked. “Yes?”
“Is something wrong?” Mr. Michaels was watching him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
Giving his head a quick shake to dislodge all the muddled thoughts he’d been having, Brody folded his arms on the table. “Sorry. I got a bit distracted, that’s all.”
“My apologies. I shouldn’t have taken control of the conversation like that. Not when you were trying to tell me something important. Please, go ahead. I’d love to know more about this project of yours.”
Brody smiled. He liked the term ‘project’. It fit the undertaking he and his friends had embarked on perfectly. “After several failed attempts at getting our novel published, I happened upon the announcement in Hudson & Co.’s window. It seemed like an excellent opportunity to get the novel noticed, so I applied for the job of assistant editor. After reviewing a few of the manuscripts in the slush pile, I finally showed the novel my friends and I had written to Mr. Hudson, who instantly loved it and asked me to present his offer to the author. That’s why I was at Westcliffe House.”
“Incredible.” Mr. Michaels gazed at him in dismay. “You mentioned friends, as in plural. Who else besides you and Westcliffe is involved in this project?”
“The Duke of Stratton.”
Astonishment filled Mr. Michaels’s eyes. “It’s hard to grasp. Not so much the writing part, but the fact that you’re a duke is something I still can’t get used to.”
“I would prefer if you didn’t,” Brody said. “I’ve enjoyed being treated without any fuss.”
“So I shouldn’t start saying, ‘Your Grace’?”
“Don’t you dare.”
