“Everyone knows you rarely leave London,” Sir Ellery said. “Of course we’re curious why you’ve returned to New York.”
“Tourism,” Wesley said flatly. “Were you aware the Bronx Zoo has a fox den and a sloth?”
“Foxes, eh?” Sir Ellery said slyly. “And me without my dogs.”
Sebastian’s eyes almost imperceptibly narrowed.
Langford scoffed. “You’re not here as a tourist.”
Sir Ellery turned toward Alasdair. “I should have warned you, Fine is well-known in London for being, shall we say, abrupt?”
Sebastian’s expression didn’t change, but he went a little too still. Was he actually irritated to hear Sir Ellery say that? Wesley had warned Sebastian that he had a reputation. Not everyone saw Wesley through rose-colored glasses.
“It’s quite all right,” said Alasdair. “I could hardly be in my latest line of business if I minded sharp tongues, could I?” He leaned in, again toward Sebastian, like he had no interest in Wesley or anyone else. “If you get tired of all this ginger ale and juice, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
Well,thatwasn’t subtle. WastextilesSir Ellery’s euphemism for bootlegging, then? Surprising that Langford hadn’t objected, pedantic rule-follower that he was, considering Alasdair had practically just announced his bootlegging to the room.
“You look like a man who enjoys going out,” Alasdair was saying to Sebastian. “With your very forward fashion sense. Do forgive the nosiness, I’ve been learning the textile business for a few years now; I always notice sartorial choices. But you have very modern sensibilities, unlike your viscount friend.” He pointed to the gold chain that dangled from Sebastian’s waistcoat pocket, the one that led to the brooch relic. “Although you’ve gone for a pocket watch instead of a wristwatch, that’s surprising. It must be special, I take it. May I see it?”
Sebastian visibly stiffened.
Now they were absolutely done. Wesley didn’t give a damn what people said about him, but he would not stand for Sebastian being made uncomfortable. “As I said: we can’t linger.”
Alasdair did look at Wesley then, with pale, watery eyes. Had the man come straight from some speakeasy somewhere? Too drunk to keep his line of business a secret or leave Sebastian alone?
“I asked to meet with you, Fine.” Langford spoke like a man accustomed to giving orders, a tone Wesley had heard too many times on the front. “You know I don’t make idle requests.”
Perhaps not. But they weren’t in the army anymore; Wesley was the Viscount Fine now, and also accustomed to having his orders followed. “Forgive me, major,” he said, “but it will have to wait.”
Langford’s gaze turned cooler, and went to Sebastian again.
“I’ll see if I can get him on the list for Lady Blanche’s party,” Sir Ellery said to Major Langford. “Gives Fine a few days to wrap up whatever this business he’s prattling about is, and she’ll be delighted to have another peer at her Halloween masquerade.”
Christ, absolutely not. Wesley would rather meet the sloth. “Good night, gentlemen.” He set off for the door, Sebastian at his side, feeling eyes on their backs as they left.
Sebastian was glad to see a cab at the curb when they exited. It was close enough they could have walked, but between Wesley’s dress shoes and Sebastian’s exhaustion—and lack of a coat—they picked the ride, and in moments they were on their way downtown. It was fully dark, and colder now that no sun was left. The wind cut through the taxi’s open windows as they crawled south through traffic. Sebastian tried not to look closely at Fifth Avenue; he’d been on the street too many times in that horrible February he’d spent here, and he didn’t need more reminders of Hyde and Shelley, of the havoc they’d wreaked.
As if the brooch relic wanted to echo the terrors of his memories, a pulse of fatigue went through him, like his blood was mixed with lead.
Wesley’s irritation was also palpable. He hadn’t spoken since they got in the taxi, his jaw set, his arms folded, his long legs stretched out.
The cab driver was leaning out the window, trying to get through a traffic jam in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and didn’t appear to be listening to the backseat. Sebastian bit his lip, and leaned in. “I have to confess something,” he said quietly.
Wesley’s gaze darted sideways, to him. “What?” he said warily, matching Sebastian’s low volume.
“I am very glad you made us leave,” Sebastian said, “because if your acquaintances ever imply you don’t have any friends again, I might put them on the floor.”
Wesley barked out a surprised laugh. “I assumed you were mortified by my rudeness,” he said, a hint of the tension in his shoulders easing.
“You always frame things to make yourself the villain,” said Sebastian. “But I was there. You made it clear you were busy and they did not respect that. They kept insisting to talk to you.”
“Except for that Alasdair Findlay fellow,” Wesley said. “He was only interested inyou—your name, your accent, your clothes.” He sounded particularly grumpy. “Frankly, I thinkMr. Call-Me-Alasdairwas drunk and trying to hide it. Sampling his own product, perhaps.”
Sebastian had picked up on the bootlegging too. “Maybe they had come from a speakeasy.”
“My thought as well,” said Wesley. “Sir Ellery was with me on my singular trip here in February, when we were whisked off to Miss Robbins’s speakeasy with the blindfolds and the cloak-and-dagger act. Maybe he found the Magnolia again. I should have asked, but as you might have noticed, I was rather preoccupied with leaving.”
“Not like I wanted to linger,” Sebastian admitted. “How do you know the major?”
