“I’m not seeing him press-ganged for Harry’s convenience,” Dominic snapped.
“The man holds your life in his hands, Dom. I am not disposed to trust him with it.”
“That’s the problem. He’s had my life in his hands for a year or more, and I trusted him utterly. I think I still do.”
“You cannot mean that. I’ve seen the bruises he’s left on you. I’d be glad to see him flogged.”
“I want the bruises!” Dominic hadn’t intended to shout, but the words rang around the room. “That’s the point; that’s what I need—oh, damn it, Rich, can you not try to understand?”
“No, I cannot!” Richard slammed a hand on the tabletop, then drew a breath and spoke more quietly. “I truly can’t. I cannot understand why you threw away everything between us to indulge this urge for degradation. I would have cherished you, Dom. I wanted to. I don’t understand why you would not let me.”
Please, please, not this, not now. “I wish I had wanted you to,” Dominic said, calming his voice. “More than you can know. But I don’t. I can’t. It’s not my nature.”
“Your nature.” Richard let out a hissing sigh. “Which has brought you to this pass. I don’t know what to say. What do you want from me?”
Friendship. Comfort. Forgiveness.
“I don’t know what I should do,” Dominic said. “I feel that I should excuse myself from the business and let the law take its course—”
“You should indeed do that. But what if the man does lay information against you?”
“Take the consequences, I suppose.”
“Except that the consequences may be further reaching. If you are prosecuted for abominable acts—”
“Suspicion may attach to my friends,” Dominic supplied. The Ricardians: Ash and Francis, inseparable to the point of indiscretion. Harry and Julius, who had had a flagrant lovers’ quarrel in public not much more than a fortnight ago. Absalom Lockwood, the Whig lawyer with too many enemies and a tendency to make sheep’s eyes at pretty young men. Richard.
Their little private group offered not just a space in which they could be honest, but also mutual protection. Richard’s wealth, Julius’s exquisite dress, Dominic’s respectability, Ash’s noble birth: as a set they were unassailable. But if Dominic brought disgrace and scandal into their midst and people began to look closely…
If one fell, they all might fall.
“Indeed,” Richard said. “You cannot let your indiscretions affect the others.”
“No.” Dominic’s voice sounded stifled in his own ears. “I don’t intend to allow that.”
“So this man must be removed or placated. Will you shield him from justice if he proves to deserve punishment?”
“I have not sunk quite that low. I will not, and I told him that.”
“Then we must get him out of the way before that becomes an issue. Be reasonable, Dominic. Leave it to me; I’ll have it done.”
He doubtless could. He would give the order to his quiet, watchful valet, and Silas would be spirited out of the country. It would solve the problem, but the idea grated.
“Let us not rush to action yet,” Dominic said. “Mason doesn’t want Harry hurt, I am sure of that. Skelton may not find further evidence. You know I won’t let the others suffer, Rich. Just leave it to me for now.”
“If you say so.” Richard looked deeply troubled. “You will ask me for whatever you need?”
What he needed. Dominic wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. “Yes, Richard. I will.”
Chapter 4
The whole week hurt.
It had started hurting when Silas threw the bastard Tory out of his shop. Not his Tory, never that again. Just Dominic Frey, another damned bully of the upper classes. A tool of the Home Office. A hypocrite and a liar. He wasn’t losing anything that mattered more ,than a hole to fuck.
But still it hurt, with a stupid feeling of disappointment or something worse, and it didn’t help when Harry Vane turned up with his la-di-da new clothes on his back and concern in his eyes. He stripped off his fine coat and helped Silas put the shop to rights—a decent lad, Harry, for all the gentleman’s airs he put on these days—and for a few moments, Silas began to feel like he could breathe again.
Except of course Harry had to ask.
“Dominic Frey told me the place had been wrecked.” He spoke cautiously. “I told you he was a friend, and you said you knew his name.”
He’d known the name and known the man. Just not put one to the other. “I know who he is now,” Silas snarled. “He stood there while those bastards wrecked my shop and watched—” He couldn’t finish, the betrayal choking him all over again.