Suddenly, the cramped hallways of the theater were too much for Niall. He changed direction, telling himself that costumes and set decoration and whatever other problems his production had could wait. He needed to get away from the closing walls of the theater, from the reminders of everything he’d lost.
He found the nearest door leading outside and burst into the balmy September afternoon. The heart of London buzzed with activity in the middle of the day. Carriages rolled up and down the streets of Covent Garden, men and women going about their business dodged tourists who stood marveling at the theaters and restaurants packing the streets. More than a few working girls—and rent boys—watched them or called out, carefully hawking their wares. It was the world Niall had immersed himself in after university, the world he felt most comfortable in. Yet, he felt the need to get away from it more strongly than ever. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, which had been suspended in the past ever since receiving Blake’s letter.
“And now the unimaginable has happened,” the letter went on. Niall recalled every word. “Annemarie has uncovered the truth at last. She puzzled out who and what I am and where my heart truly lies. And she has taken the children. I am beside myself. I don’t know where they have gone. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep in days. It feels like the last of my soul has been ripped from my body. I am terrified that Annemarie will take the children to her father’s home in America, in which case, I may never see them again.
“I don’t know what to do, Niall. I don’t know who else to turn to who will fully understand the position I am now in. I need you, more than I have ever needed anyone. I knew it the moment I saw you again. Please, Niall, please come to me. Please forgive me for turning my back on you by helping me now. I don’t think I can go on without you. Yours, truly, Blake.”
Yours. Truly. Niall swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, hopping onto an omnibus that would take him to Park Lane. Those two words, so common in ending correspondence, were everything Niall had ever wanted to hear from Blake but had long ago given up on. Blake should be his, but he wasn’t. Their love should be true, but it had proven to be otherwise. And now here he was, standing at a crossroads as Blake begged for his help. Begged in the most painful, desperate language Niall could imagine.
He pondered it all as the omnibus rattled on. What was he supposed to do with a plea like that? Everything within him longed for Blake and had for more than a decade. The man was his other half. He’d known it from the moment he laid eyes on him. But Blake had hurt him. No, it was more than that. Blake had fatally wounded his heart. Niall hadn’t been the same since that horrible spring day. The sight of Blake’s regret-filled, hazel eyes, their long lashes, and the deadness of his look would haunt Niall until the day he died. Even his brief reunion with Blake almost a month ago now in Leeds had left Niall feeling raw and unsettled. Blake had been affable enough when Niall had taken Everett and Patrick to Leeds in an effort to thwart Blake’s brother, Montague, Lord Castleford, who had been part of a notorious child kidnapping ring. The time he and Blake had spent together had been short and brittle, but it had been the first time the two of them had laid eyes on each other in a decade, and it had ripped the wound open all over again.
The omnibus stopped at Hyde Park Corner, and Niall got off. He walked the rest of the way to the discreet door of The Chameleon Club lost in thought, barely nodding to the attendant at the front desk when he entered. He didn’t have any particular business at the club, but he always felt a level of comfort there. The Chameleon Club was a formal and discreet establishment for gentlemen like him, owned by The Brotherhood. It was a place where there was no judgement, and where help was often just a conversation away. Niall didn’t have any particular expectation of help, although, he thought to himself with a wry grin, he wouldn’t say no to some of the club’s excellent pastries and tea.
He was just helping himself to a scone in the dining room—which was quiet as usual on a Thursday morning, but not entirely abandoned—when none other than John Dandie approached him, a young, awkward-looking man with blond hair, like he spent his time out in country sunshine, trailing behind him.
“John, what are you doing here?” Niall asked, taking his scone to one of the empty tables in the vast room.
“Hadn’t you heard?” John asked. “I’ve moved back to London. I’m opening a new law office.”
“Not rejoining David and Lionel?” Niall asked, referring to John’s former law partner, David Wirth, and David’s new partner—in every sense of the word—Lionel Mercer.
John grinned. “That would have been awkward, considering all the water under the bridge between David and I. I’m setting up a new practice. This is Cameron Oberlin, the clerk I’ve just hired to manage the place.”
“How do you do?” Young Mr. Oberlin nodded uncomfortably, bobbing a quick bow and glancing around, as though ghosts would pop out of the walls at any moment.
“Cameron is a country lad,” John said with a friendly grin, thumping the young man’s arm. “He’s not used to the idea that there’s a safe place for our sort in the big, noisy city.”
“I see.” Niall shook the man’s hand before sitting. “You’ll get used to it soon enough.”
“But what about you?” John took a seat at the table with Niall, gesturing for Mr. Oberlin to do the same. “I saw you as you walked in. You looked as though you had the weight of the world on your shoulders. You still do.”
Niall sighed and reached for the teapot and a teacup from the center of the table, where the service was already set. Instinct told him to keep himself to himself, but he’d known John for ages. Known him at university, in fact. John knew Blake as well. In fact, John and David had had front row seats for the bliss and the heartache back then that drove Niall to distraction now. If ever there was someone Niall could confide in, it was John.
All the same, he didn’t trust himself to actually talk about it. Instead, he paused in the middle of pouring his tea and took Blake’s letter out of his pocket. He stared at it for a moment, then gingerly handed it over to John.
“What’s this?” John asked, taking the letter with a concerned look. As he opened it and scanned through it, Niall finished pouring his tea. He poured for John and the decidedly intimidated Mr. Oberlin as well. When John finished reading the letter, he blew out a breath, folded the letter and put it back in its envelope, and handed it back over to Niall. “Judging by the date, you’ve had that in your possession for some time now.”
“A week,” Niall admitted, voice hoarse. He took a sip of tea.
“So what are you going to do about it?” John asked, taking up his own teacup.
“I don’t know,” Niall said, sipping tea to avoid giving more of an answer.
“I’ve heard all about Blake’s current troubles,” John confessed. “Gossip travels fast in our circles.”
“It does,” Niall agreed, setting his teacup down. His stomach twisted a little too much for him to drain his cup, like he would have if it were whiskey.
“It sounds to me as though Blake could use a trusted friend right now.” The look in John’s eyes said something far different than his words. It said that Blake could use his old lover back.