Page 73 of King's Man

Helpless to do anything else, Nate slipped off the bed and into Sam’s waiting arms, all but sobbing in relief as Sam gathered him in. “I'm so sorry,” he breathed, holding Sam tight. “I’m sorry for everything you lost. I’m sorry for everything you suffered. And I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it happening.” He pulled back, looking at him deeply. “Iloveyou, Sam. I always have and I always will.”

And then they were kissing, Nate pressed back against the edge of the bed and Sam’s arm around his waist holding him up until it all got too awkward and they sprawled in an undignified heap on the floor. Nate laughed, burying the sound against Sam’s shoulder.

“Bed,” Sam said, untangling himself. He stood, offering Nate a hand, his happy grin untarnished by the bleak years between them.

With leaping joy, Nate let Sam pull him to his feet and back into his arms. They kissed deeply, Sam tracing glorious paths with his lips across Nate’s collarbone, the open neck of his shirt slipping off his shoulder. It was damned unfair since Sam was still fully dressed. Laughing, Nate ducked away, pulling his shirt over his head, and delighting in Sam’s heated gaze. “Clothes off,” he ordered, and glanced behind him at the door. “Hurry.”

While Nate threw the bolt, Sam took off his coat and waistcoat. Nate helped with the neckcloth, eager for the taste of his skin, and then Sam’s hands were on the buttons of Nate’s breeches and Nate was hauling Sam’s shirt over his head.

“Damn, you feel good,” Sam growled when they pressed together, naked from chest to toes. Sam’s cock was a hard pressure against Nate’s belly, and he rolled his hips with a grunt that made Sam whimper.

Nate grinned and pushed Sam back, toward the bed. “Lie down,” he said, and Sam flopped back onto the mattress, pulling Nate down on top of him. Warm clean skin, golden sunlight spilling over them both: it was unbearably perfect. Nate paused, framed Sam’s face in his hands to see him better — this face he’d been without for years, this beloved face he’d so nearly lost forever. “I’ll never leave you,” he said, eyes filling. “I swear on my life, Sam. We’ll never part again.”

Sam’s smile was emotional as he lifted a hand to palm Nate’s cheek. “You’re the love of my life.”

“And you, mine.”

Laughing, Sam wiped a hand over his shining eyes. “Hell, never let Elias Cole hear us talking like this.”

Nate grinned. “Well, that’s unlikely.”

“He’d say we were fools.” His smile dimmed. “He’d say love isn’t possible for men like us. He’d say it’s too dangerous.”

Leaning down, Nate kissed his forehead. “Then I say he’s the fool.” He kissed one eyelid, then the other. “I’d say Elias Cole doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He kissed Sam’s lips. “I’d say he doesn’t understand that it’s worth risking everything for this. For you.”

“For us.” And Sam kissed him again, warm, languorous, and with all the time in the world.

∞∞∞

Two days later, Sam watched from the window as Nate left.

They’d spent a blissful couple of days holed up at Hal’s, where nobody cared what two men did together behind closed doors. They’d slept and eaten and fucked with abandon, they’d talked and kissed and thoroughly ignored the world outside.

The world would intrude, however, and on the third day Nate had gotten dressed, kissed Sam on the forehead, and gone to see Colonel Talmach. Sam had wanted to go with him, but Nate had forbidden it and Cole had suggested locking him in his room if he tried.

Even Moses had voiced an opinion. “Don’t go courting trouble, Hutch. It’ll find you easily enough without handing out invitations.”

They were right, of course. MacLeod’s accusation against him had only gained more weight since his flight from justice, and God knew Colonel Talmach was no friend of his. But plenty of wanted men lived among Hal Foxe’s brethren, and while Sam stayed under his protection, he knew he’d be safe.

The same couldn’t be said of Nate, out alone on London’s streets.

To distract himself from his worries, Sam headed down to his workshop at the back of the Bowl. He was pleased to see that several pieces of jewelry had been set aside for his assessment in the time he’d been away. Nice pieces, too.

“Wessex?” he asked Moses.

“That’s right. He came in twice last week. Says it’s urgent he gets his money.”

“Wessex always says that.” Sam picked up his loupe and began to examine a rather elaborate silver pocket watch, the case inset with a garish arrangement of gemstones. It was a display of wealth rather than taste, but in this place all that mattered was the price. He angled the watch to the light. Wessex was in luck; the gems were genuine rubies and diamonds. Wessex was usually in luck, Sam had noticed, and suspected he chose his targets well. He certainly brought in fine pieces.

Alongside the watch sat a gentleman’s ring and a lady’s chatelaine. Ignoring the chatelaine, he picked up the ring. It was an elegant rose-cut emerald and the simple oval setting reminded him of the ring Nate still wore about his neck. He’d like to see that ring on Nate’s finger again, Sam decided with a smile so giddy it made him blush. Hell, he was as love-struck as a milkmaid — and nervous as a cat when he thought of Nate off to make peace with the colonel. Smile fading, Sam set the ring aside. He needed to concentrate on his work, or the wait would be unbearable.

Pulling out his stool, Sam reached for pen, paper, and ink. He’d start with the watch and make a few notes to assist with the assessment. The design, he thought, looked French, although the maker’s mark was obscured by the latch which appeared to have been badly mended some years after the piece was made…

“Hutch?”

He glanced up, blinking at Moses who’d poked his head around the door. “Hmm?”

“Tanner’s back. He’s gone to speak to Mr. Foxe in his study.”

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