Wesley grimaced. “He headed my company for a year.”
“You reported to him?”
“On paper,” Wesley said. “But my grandfather had a seat in the House of Lords. I might have been a captain under Langford, but he was shrewd enough not to treat me as a commoner. And in turn, I followed his orders—well.” Wesley’s gaze darted to the cabbie, then back to Sebastian. “Most of them. At any rate, he wasn’t a friend, but we ran a tight company together. Maybe too tight.”
Sebastian furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”
“War doesn’t exactly bring out the best in people,” Wesley said. “And Langford had a talent for bringing out one’s very worst.”
His shoulders had gone tense again. New York was full of memories Sebastian didn’t want, but Wesley seemed to have plenty of those from the war—had alluded to doing terrible things, to being the one called in when his troop had captured a spy who knew where Wesley’s soldiers were held prisoner but wouldn’t talk. Sebastian had seen Wesley with his staff, how he took responsibility for people in his care; it made his chest ache to think of Wesley’s concern for his soldiers exploited in the worst possible way. Hopefully Langford had nothing to do with any of that. “He didn’t say why he was in New York.”
“He didn’t, did he? Though could simply be wartime connections: Langford is well-acquainted with the new Mrs. Hartman’s father, who was always a big military supporter. Langford has known Sir Ellery since the war as well, so perhaps he’s here on one of their invitations. What a travesty that we ran into them instead of people I’d actually like to see.”
And there it was again, the other thing about New York Sebastian was trying not to think about. But Sir Ellery had been with Wesley in February, and Sebastian couldn’t forget why Wesley had come to America before, that there was some unknown man somewhere in the city that he’d sailed an ocean for.
He tried to keep his tone light. “You mean Jade and the others, yes? Or...well. Someone in particular?”
“Who would that be?”
“You know. The person you came here for in February.”
Sebastian thought he got it out more-or-less steadily, but Wesley’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “We’re not going to be awkward about this after all, are we? When I told you that story in York, you said it was a gallant gesture, hopping a ship in my doomed attempt to win back an ex-lover. Why be odd about it now?”
“Um.” There was no good way to say it, but Sebastian obviously wasn’t good at sounding smooth anyway. “Because when you told me the story in York, that was before we were—”Boyfriends? Lovers? People who sleep together and save each other’s lives but don’t know what to call their relationship?“—before we started...this.”
So much for not broadcasting his own insecurity loud and clear.
But Wesley only shook his head. “It is not worth making it awkward,” he said, more self-deprecating than mean. “That night with Sir Ellery at the Magnolia, I was pawned off on Miss Robbins. My ex couldn’t lose me fast enough. I should have gotten the message then, but my head was so far up my own arse I couldn’t see that I was chasing a convenience, not a passion. But I didn’t know things could feel so—well.”
He quickly cleared his throat. “Anyway. The entire fiasco was short and unenjoyable.” He glanced at Sebastian. “Although, when it comes to terrible visits to this city, I think you win that dubious trophy.”
Sebastian startled.
“You expected everyone else had forgotten what you went through on your last trip here?” Wesley said quietly. “I didn’t forget. I likewise doubt your brother has. You do know you don’t have to sugar-coat any of that either?”
Sebastian glanced outside the window as the cab pulled up to the curb in front of their hotel. Grand Central’s traffic flowed around them, lights everywhere despite the night, honking cars and shouting people. The October air smelled like exhaust fumes and had a chill that hinted at the bitter cold of the February he’d spent here.
The past was stronger in New York, harder to ignore when his memories were constantly triggered by sounds and sights and scents. The brooch made it worse, not oily like blood magic but pulling at him like a magnet drawing energy out of his bones. It was better when they were moving, when he had distractions; in the stillness of the cab, his collar felt too close, cuff links too sharp where they touched his wrists, all of him raw to the touch like skin torn by claws—
Sebastian quickly looked away from the street, focusing on what he could see of Wesley’s face in the dark interior of the taxi. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“None of that,” Wesley said warningly. “This isn’t about me beingnice, which is a patently outrageous sentiment on its own.” He dropped his voice even lower. “You might have been a medic, but you were used as a soldier, and now life expects you to play the tourist on your former battlefield. That can’t be easy.”
The doorman was striding toward their taxi. Sebastian swallowed. “We’re only here one night. I can just—think of other things.”
“Ah yes. Because of course the mind always cooperates when one instructs it to do that.” Wesley eyed him. “Perhaps someone needs to give you something else to think about.”
“Like what?” Sebastian asked, as the doorman opened their door.
“I’ve got some ideas.”
Chapter Five
They paused by the hotel desk, and Wesley waited while Sebastian gave their names. “Do we have any messages?”
“As a matter of fact, you do,” said the clerk, reaching for a scrap of paper.
“Oh good,” Sebastian said. “Is it—”
