Page 43 of Two Rogues Make a Right
“Is that so?” Martin said, low and demanding.
“In that get-up, I don’t want anyone to so much as look at you.” Will cast an appraising glance from the top of Martin’s head to the tips of his boots.
“Oh yes?” He put a hand on Will’s hip.
“I want to haul you into the nearest carriage and take you to Sussex and throw you on the bed and never let you leave, and these are all barbaric sentiments and I feel properly ashamed of myself—”
“To hell with that. I like you selfish.” He walked Will backward toward a tree. “I like to know that I’m not the only one. I’ve always been jealous over you. You know this.” He cupped Will’s jaw, running a thumb along his lower lip. Then he leaned in and brushed their mouths together.
Will supposed that at some point he’d understand why confessing what he considered his most regrettable personal failing had gotten him kissed to within an inch of his life, but in the meantime he was content to let Martin have his way with him. He kissed Will hard, slow and searching, as if he were trying to memorize the shape of Will’s mouth.
“Damn it, Will,” Martin said after Will had gone soft and pliant against him. “Feel free to be good and noble in every other aspect of your life, but not this one.”
“Where exactly are we?” Will asked, looking over Martin’s shoulder. He knew they were a minute’s walk from the typical throng of visitors to Hyde Park on a day without rain, but he couldn’t see them through the trees.
“The Serpentine is over there,” Martin said, gesturing behind Will. “And the barracks are there,” he said, gesturing to the side. “After dark, this is a place where men come for assignations. The guards never bother patrolling here.” Martin must have caught the incredulous look Will was giving him, because he rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t here for the assignations, obviously, but because after I left my aunt’s house I didn’t know where to go.”
Feeling very diplomatic, Will decided that instead of lecturing his friend on the idiocy of sleeping rough while consumptive—or, indeed, ever—he would imagine Martin’s reaction to seeing men on their assignations. “Did you enjoy watching?”
“No, you utter pervert,” Martin said, laughing. “Think of how much work you had to do to get me to enjoy... participating.”
“I’m thinking of it now,” Will said, leaning in for another kiss. “I’m afraid if I get you hard, you’ll rip a seam or injure yourself,” he whispered, drawing a finger up the inseam of Martin’s pantaloons. He decided that his sad susceptibility to costly clothes would be a secret he took to the grave.
“Idiot,” Martin said, and drew him in, a hand fisted in his shirt, for a deeper kiss.
They left the copse of woods and returned to the footpath, walking close enough that they could keep their voices low enough to be private, Will’s arm tucked into the crook of Martin’s elbow.
Strolling together was a comforting echo of their country walks even though there were people in every direction and horses and carriages jamming up the paths. The ground under their feet was level and neatly packed, so as not to overly soil the shoes of the ladies and gentlemen who promenaded about. The sky wasn’t even the same blue as it was in Sussex, dimmed as it was by the smoke and fog of the city. But despite all that, walking and talking with Martin was something Will had known for as long as he could remember.
“I say, is that you, Sedgwick?”
Will stopped short, his arm coming dislodged from Martin’s.
“William Sedgwick? Midshipman?”
Will turned toward the familiar voice, and saw a man a few years older than himself, with the upright bearing and slightly sunburned cheeks of a naval officer. “Lieutenant Reese,” he said faintly.
“Captain now,” Reese said. “You vanished off the face of the earth, man. Staunton and I looked and looked but there wasn’t a trace of you. Henries took up a collection.” He turned to Martin. “Your friend saved our lives, not to put too fine a point on it. He saved the lives of every officer on that ship and every sailor who would otherwise have mutinied. It was a damned shame that they tossed you out after all that.”
Will forced himself to keep his eyes open, to see the curricles and phaetons on the opposite side of the park, to hear the sounds of women laughing and horses neighing. Martin was beside him, safe and sound, wearing shiny top boots and smelling of flowery soap. He slid his hand along the soft wool of Martin’s sleeve until his smallest finger touched Martin’s. It was 1819, this was London, and they were both alive.
“I really didn’t,” Will finally managed to say.
“Mark my words,” Reese said, ignoring Will and directing his speech directly to Martin, “there would have been a mutiny if Sedgwick here hadn’t poured oil on troubled seas, as it were. Where are you living now? Henries especially would want to thank you in person.”
“The Fox on Shoe Lane,” Will said, his voice sounding like it was coming from far away.
“We’d better be going, Sedgwick,” Martin said briskly. “Lady Bermondsey will be waiting for us.”
Only vaguely realizing that Martin was lying through his teeth, Will tipped his hat and bade a clumsy farewell to Reese.
“With the traffic what it is,” Martin said, Will’s arm tight against his side, “it’ll be ages before you get to Shoe Lane in a carriage.”
“I can walk,” Will said. “I’m fine.”
After a short pause, Martin cleared his throat. “All right. We’ll walk.
“Will,” Martin said softly, and Will realized he hadn’t moved from the place where he had been standing for the past few minutes, as if rooted in place. “Will.” It was all he had to say, that syllable somehow communicating affection and shared sorrows and loyalty and a thousand other things for which even the wordlovewas only a rough approximation.
