The copper, p.6
The Copper, page 6
“I wish it would.”
What must he do to capture this man? How to hold on to the fleeting moment of connection when they’d talked the other night, and convince him they must continue?
Avery rested a hand on Tate’s sleeve. “Please, don’t apologize. I don’t know what else I can say to convince you I’d like to spend more time with you. But know this: I do want to see you again, in whatever capacity you’ll allow. I wish to be friends, at the very least. If you feel the same”—he gestured at his front door—“you know where I live.”
Tate took a long look around the foyer with its gilt-framed mirrors and marble side table graced by a large bouquet of flowers. “Here, in your rich man’s home. Truly, Lord Avery, I can’t imagine why you would be interested in someone like me.”
He met Avery’s gaze at last. Immediately, something crackled between them, as palpable as a jolt of electricity.
“Stretch your imagination a little,” Avery suggested. Lest Tate think he only meant physical desires, he added, “I believe we both enjoyed our talk the other night. If it will help to convince you I’m interested in more than your body, we could meet in a public forum next time. Perhaps take a stroll in the botanical gardens.”
Tate raised a quizzical brow. “You and me, walking through the botanical gardens. Now there’s a picture.”
“Well, you needn’t wear your uniform, and I shan’t dress in eveningwear,” Avery teased. He pointed out his shabby attire. “You see, I can clothe myself more simply and blend in.”
Tate laughed. “You could never blend in, sir. You’re one of a kind.” He turned the knob and opened the door. “I must go now.”
“Stay in touch, Officer Tate,” Avery called after him as he walked away.
Chapter Ten
Wickersham was right. When Connor walked his Shoreditch beat, he might be murdered, and it would take a while for his sergeant to concede that something may have happened to Tate and maybe a few of you lads should search for him. Connor might lie in an alley, like Bertrand, until rats chewed off his face, making him unrecognizable.
His thoughts shifted to the unlucky singer. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. Without secure employment at Renaud’s, Bertrand had probably taken to working the streets. He’d chosen the wrong companion and got beaten to a pulp. Would he have been any worse off in prison? But now he had his champion, Lord Wickersham, looking after him, so things should improve for him.
As Connor patrolled the streets, he thought about the madness of His Lordship volunteering at the mission. Why would Wickersham do it? There were unexpected levels to the man Connor couldn’t begin to fathom. He would be interested to learn more about Avery and spend more time with him. A stroll through the botanical gardens. Connor laughed aloud at the thought, and once again earned glances from passing strangers.
When his shift was finally over, he returned to the station. Passing near the superintendent’s office, he thought of what he’d overheard. Bribery and favors were part of the very fabric of the department. But he rather wished he didn’t know his superior was in some politician’s pocket. What other services would Superintendent Higgins perform in order to earn this man’s favor? And would he use the men under his command to continue to carry out these ‘duties’?
There was nothing Connor could do to change how things worked, so he finished his paperwork, bid a general good-bye to the other men, and trudged home.
That is, he meant to trudge home. But he ended up going in quite a different direction. He hailed a cab and rode to where gleaming white housefronts seemed to proclaim they were untouchable, even by the city’s coal soot.
Talking with Wickersham at his flat the other night, it had been easy to forget where the man fit in society. After witnessing the lord in his luxurious home, Connor had been brought down to earth. There was nothing a man like that could truly want from him other than rutting. It wasn’t uncommon for gents to seek out rough workingmen for a bit of fun. They apparently found the stench of a hard day’s sweat exciting. Connor would be a fool to get caught up in such a game. Yet, he paid the driver, walked to the imposing front door, and lifted the knocker.
The butler with bags the size of ball sacs under his eyes answered the door. He scanned Connor from head to toe as if trying to decide whether to send him around to the servant’s entrance.
“Is Wickersham at home?”
The butler acted as if he hadn’t just been there a few hours before. “Who shall I say is calling?”
“Officer Connor Tate of the Metropolitan Police Department.”
“I shall see if His Lordship is receiving guests.” The door closed in his face.
So then, he wasn’t to be allowed into the foyer. Connor shook his head and waited on the doorstep.
When the door opened again, Avery Wickersham himself stood there. “Come in! Excuse Greeley’s rudeness. I’d have the man sacked, but I’ve grown rather used to him.” He lowered his voice. “Besides, he’s nearly blind, and I doubt he could find another position.”
Wickersham ushered Connor in. “You’ve come to check on Bertrand?”
“Yes,” Connor lied. “How is he?”
“It’s a miracle he’s alive. He sustained a blow to the head, internal injuries, and broken fingers, which Dr. Garfield set. There are shallow cuts all over his body, and he was…intimately abused. If you hadn’t discovered him when you did, he probably would’ve died from loss of blood or exposure to the weather.”
Connor looked at his dirty shoes against the rich blues and golds of the hall carpet. “I’ve found more than one person passed out, robbed, beaten, raped, or all three in those alleys. But it was quite a fluke I happened across your friend.”
“You have no clue as to who might have done this?”
“Not until Bertrand awakens and can tell us more.”
“That might take a while. He’s in a comatose state. Dr. Garfield says it may take days for him to regain consciousness, if ever.”
Connor clicked his tongue. “I’m sorry his condition is so serious. This must be upsetting for you since he was such a close friend.”
“Oh, he wasn’t. I mean, I’d seen him perform at the club before, but I don’t know him well and never spent time with him before the night… Well, you know which night.”
The reminder of how they’d met brought on a mixture of shame, regret, and several other emotions Connor couldn’t identify. He’d gone into the raid with conflicting feelings and come away from it with even more. He’d broken the law by letting two men walk free, and a third if he hadn’t been interrupted. An officer of the law should always put duty first. But on the other hand, shouldn’t a good man temper duty with true justice? Did sodomites actually deserve prison time and ruined lives?
“You look as if you’ve the weight of the world on your shoulders. Come in and have a drink,” Avery offered gently.
“I shouldn’t. I…” Connor couldn’t think of an excuse, and he desperately wanted to go in, so when Avery cupped his elbow, he allowed his host to guide him to the parlor.
What a parlor. This was not the fussy, crammed room Connor was used to seeing. Most middle-class folks crowded their visiting areas with a clutter of furniture, lace doilies, pictures, and knickknacks. Avery’s room was spare and tastefully elegant. Another thick carpet covered the floor. On it were placed several pieces of simple furniture with clean lines. Only a few paintings hung on the pale-green walls that gave the room a cool and restful air.
Connor sank down on the edge of a chair and found it not stuffed with horsehair, but light and soft, quite the most comfortable seat he’d ever occupied. He stared around the room while Avery poured drinks at a sidebar and carried them over.
Connor gratefully gripped his glass, feeling as out of place as a donkey in a thoroughbred horse’s stable. Wickersham sat across from him and gracefully crossed one leg over the other. The man was impeccable, from his pristine white collar and shirtfront to the precise half inch of cuff displayed by his jacket. Not a fleck of lint marred his suit, and his shoes were so highly polished, Connor imagined he’d see his reflection in them if he leaned forward. Connor stopped himself from jiggling one nervous leg.
Wickersham swirled the brandy in the glass, sniffed, then tasted it. Connor copied his movements. The smooth, rich liquor tasted like molten gold. Christ, he’d offered this man gin when he was used to drinking nectar.
Avery regarded Connor over his glass. “Other than discovering Bertrand, how was your work today?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he answered succinctly.
“You must have seen sights on the job an average man couldn’t stomach.”
“A few.” A barrage of images flooded his mind. But, as always, it was the frozen newborn swaddled in rags and lying on a trash heap that stayed with him. He’d never forget that barely begun life stopped cold. Connor changed the subject. “You decided to volunteer at the mission.”
“With time on my hands, I could find no reason to refuse Miss Stanhope. Today was my first teaching assignment. I have no words to describe how terrifying it was to be tossed into it without preparation. But I think my students and I muddled along rather well overall.”
Connor recalled the incongruous sight of Wickersham chatting with Dirty Dan the ragpicker. “That’s good.”
Avery took another sip of brandy. “I’ve been… For a while now, I’ve thought maybe I should find better uses for my time. I certainly never imagined teaching anyone, but I believe it will be good for me.”
“And for the people, who can use any kind of leg up in the world.”
“How did you decide to become a constable, Mr. Tate?” Avery asked. “Was your father on the force?”
“Rather the opposite. My father died in Newgate serving out a term for robbery.”
“Ah, and you vowed not to follow in his criminal footsteps.”
It was irritating to have Wickersham condense his life down to a single sentence, but Connor couldn’t deny it. “Something rather like that.”
“Do you enjoy your work?”
“Sometimes. Anyway, it’s a steady paycheck so I can help my family.”
“Your mother and… Have you any siblings?”
“My mum remarried, and she’s fairly well set. I have two brothers and a sister. They’re all employed, but even so, sometimes they need a little help.”
“A good family man. Someone to be counted on. That’s nice. Maybe if I had someone counting on me, I’d be less of an arse.”
“Are you?” Connor set aside the liquor that was making him a bit woozy on a nearly empty stomach. “An arse? You seem rather all right to me.”
“I follow whatever whim takes me. My life thus far has been as inconsequential as a gnat’s.” He shook his head. “Sorry. Lately, I’m rather too morosely introspective.”
“You seemed to be a good friend to your companions,” Connor pointed out.
“Perhaps.” Wickersham stared at the unlit fireplace as if he saw something else there.
Connor felt a strange need to comfort this man who had everything. He wanted to cross the short distance between them and put his arms around him. It wasn’t only because he found him the most magnetic man he’d ever met. He felt strange stirrings about Avery Wickersham. Emotions he had no business feeling. If he were more like Avery, he would casually follow his urges. Another lunge like that of the other night, and he could have the man in his embrace.
But that wasn’t the sort of man Connor was, so he sat and fingered his brandy glass and did nothing.
Chapter Eleven
If anything happened tonight, it was going to have to be up to him, Avery realized after about fifteen minutes of sitting and talking with his guest. Not that he didn’t enjoy the conversation he’d promised to be content with, but at that precise moment, he craved physical connection too.
The way Connor licked a drop of brandy from his lips. The way his body seemed to dwarf even the generously proportioned armchair. The way his voice rumbled when he spoke, and his blue eyes caught and reflected the light. All these details compounded to create a surge of desire that made Avery actually tremble.
He knew this feeling wasn’t one-sided. The telltale signs of arousal—heavy-lidded glances and flushed complexion—signaled Connor wanted him too. Pretext about checking on Bertrand be damned, the man had come all the way across the city to seek Avery out. But his continuing struggle between duty and desire was all too transparent.
The right thing would be to allow Connor time to finish this battle and wait to learn which would be the victor. But Avery was too impatient. He stifled the inner voice that prompted him to change his ways and reverted to listening to the one that told him to take what he wanted.
He rose. “Come. I’d like to show you something in my study.”
Connor frowned but got to his feet.
“My father collected antique weaponry. At our house in the country, we had a room devoted to swords and battle axes and maces. Several suits of armor were displayed, including a specimen mounted on a horse dressed in battle armor,” he said as he led the way down the hall. “After he died, I sold most of the collection, but kept a few of Father’s prized pieces.”
Avery turned up the gaslight in the study and led the way to the display case. He pointed out various weapons and told the stories behind them.
“This particular sword was carried by a Knight Templar during the Crusades. Imagine! There’s a vast difference between knowing historical facts and coming into contact with something people actually used, be it pottery or blankets or instruments of death. Seeing such details of their lives makes history become real.”
He glanced at his companion. Connor wore a rapt expression that matched what Avery felt as he studied the weaponry.
“These are remarkable.” Connor added, “Were you close to your father?”
“I spent precious little time with him. He lived apart from Mother and me for many years, devoting himself to his political life,” Avery explained. “But I believe Father may have been even more devoted to a secret mistress, although I’ve never been able to find proof of it. Of course, he’d have kept her a deep secret in order to avoid scandal.”
Avery gazed at a ceremonial katana sword from Japan. “I feel if he’d been around, we would’ve got on all right.”
Connor gave a bitter laugh. “The brief time I spent with my father made me feel just the opposite. It was best for all of us when he got taken away. We were no poorer or worse off without him. What about your mother? Is she still living?”
“In spirit only. Oddly enough, she passed within a week of my father. Two people who never professed love for each other, who barely spoke or corresponded, and yet that coincidence of their deaths, as if something bound them together despite their attempt to remain separate.”
He shared private thoughts he’d never told anyone. Perhaps it was Connor’s quiet stillness that made it easy to confide in him. Probably the man was good at interrogating suspects and getting them to confess without lifting a hand to them.
Connor studied Avery as intently as he had the display. “Do you have other family members?”
“Not so much as a kindly uncle or crotchety grandmother,” Avery said lightly. “I do, however, have Chaney, my solicitor, who’s more than glad to reprimand me as a parent might and curb my spendthrift ways.”
“A man might be lonely even in the midst of family,” Connor said. “As you said, not to have anyone you can truly talk with is difficult.”
Had he said that? Avery wasn’t certain. But it was true enough, and this was Connor tentatively reaching out to him. Avery would reach back with both hands.
“That kiss the other night. You’ve been holding that in for a long time, haven’t you? The need.”
Connor bit his lower lip and didn’t answer.
Avery continued. “I understand your vow to uphold the law. It’s honorable you take your work seriously, but it’s a hard thing when one’s natural inclinations are at cross purposes with man’s laws. For example, would you fault a priest who realized he simply couldn’t maintain the vow of chastity he made to the Church?”
“Yes,” Connor answered.
“You’re Catholic. Should have thought of that.” Avery tried another tack. “Would you fault a man who stole a loaf of bread to feed his starving family?”
“I wouldn’t fault him, but I’d arrest him.”
Avery almost smiled at such stubborn determination. “You’re a very rigid man. How can I make you believe that what you do in private should have nothing to do with any laws? No one is being sold against his will. No one outside of the participants is affected. What right has the law to infiltrate a man’s privacy or the inviolability of his home?”
He moved a little closer to test the waters, and Connor did not back away. Avery reached out to brush the side of his face. Beneath his fingertips, he felt the flexing of Connor’s jaw. Would he push Avery’s hand away? If anything, he seemed to lean in to Avery’s touch as though he’d been starved of any sort of caress for far too long. Time to remedy that, Avery thought.
“You weren’t at home when I arrested you,” Tate murmured, but hardly seemed to pay attention to what he said as his eyes drifted closed.
Avery cradled that strong jaw and rubbed his thumb over Connor’s mouth. The man’s lips parted, and he made a small sound in his throat.
Avery didn’t kiss him. Not yet. He stroked that thick black hair with his other hand, the strands soft between his fingers despite how short it was cropped. He cupped the back of Connor’s head, allowing him to become accustomed to the touch, the way one would gentle a horse by slow degrees.
Still Tate didn’t stop him. Nor did he open his eyes. Like a young child who imagined closed eyes made him invisible, Connor seemed to believe he could deny what happened between them if he didn’t acknowledge it. That was fine. Let him indulge in self-deception so long as he also indulged in the pleasures Avery would give him.
