Silas glowered, not with any real menace. He’d known the Shakespeares since they were children. Their mother’s master had dumped them on the street when he’d faced financial reversals, on the grounds that they were freeborn and not his obligation. Zoë had been nine, Jon seven. Silas, a few years older, had kept an eye out for them in the rough-and-tumble of the Ludgate streets, until they’d found a perch in Belle Millay’s little empire. She’d dressed them up as pages while they were small enough to be fashionable; as they’d got older, she’d offered them other work around the house and left selling their flesh up to them. Work at Millay’s had given Jon much of the experience he needed to start Quex’s, and when age and obesity restricted Belle’s movements too much, she had put the assignation house that bore her name in Zoë’s capable hands.
Silas occasionally wondered if any of the gentlemen even knew who ran the business of their pleasures.
Which reminded him. “Do you deal with a fellow called Foxy David, Zo?”
“Doesn’t everyone? Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. Is this like Will’s place? How secure do you have it here?”
Zoë gave him a look. “Foxy’s master pays for security. It isn’t worth anyone’s while to talk. His lordship and friends are the geese that lay the golden eggs.” A filthy grin slid over her face. “We just arrange the stuffing.”
They cackled together; then Zoë sobered. “You worried about something?”
“Feeling skittish today, that’s all. Sidmouth’s bills, damn his eyes.”
“I heard you’ve been raided. You be careful, Silas.”
“I’m careful as I can be.”
“And that’s not very careful. I know. Just don’t bring my sweet Mr. Frey down with you.”
“He’s not yours,” Silas growled. “Ain’t it time yet?”
“Impatient.” Zoë rang the bell and exchanged a few words with one of the girls who slipped through the back ways of the maze-like house to keep the bedrooms decent. She turned back with a frown. “What’s bothering you?”
“Ah, I don’t know.” Silas made a face. “Nerves and imagination. I’m getting old, Zo, that’s the truth. Too much on my mind. These bloody bills, the raids…the Tory. Stupid bastard. I don’t know what I should do about him.”
“What’s for you to do?”
Silas shrugged awkwardly. “Make sure he’s all right. You know.”
“Not really,” Zoë said. “He’s gentry. They always come out all right, that’s how it works. Why do you care, anyway?”
“Been bedding him for a twelvemonth and more. You get to like a fellow.”
Zoë laughed. “Silas boy, I bedded my husband for years, and I nailed him into his coffin myself in case the bastard climbed back out. You’re in the wrong house for sentimental talk.”
“True. Aye, well.” He met her quizzing look, shrugged again. “Like you say, he’s got pretty eyes.”
“Have it your way.” Zoë tapped his hand. “But, Silas? I said eyelashes. I didn’t say a word about his eyes.”
—
Mistress Zoë greeted Dominic with her usual calm smile, but he couldn’t help feeling she was looking at him oddly.
“Mistress?”
“I beg your pardon, sir, you have a…” She indicated the side of his face with a finger. “May I?” She stopped him there, under a gas lamp, to brush at his temple, regarding him the while, and gave a little satisfied nod. “There, sir. Your companion has already arrived.”
“Thank you,” Dominic said, baffled, as she escorted him on.
She slipped away as he went into the room. Silas was there already. He looked around swiftly, grunting, “Evening,” as Dominic opened the door.
“Good evening to you.” Silas didn’t respond. He was looking at Dominic oddly. “Silas?”
Silas came over and took Dominic’s chin in his hand, tilting his face to the light. Not a move of domination, more as though examining his features, as Mistress Zoë had done. Heaven knew what smear of the streets he had on his face to elicit that intent look. “What are you doing?” Dominic asked.
“Nothing.” Silas let him go. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”
“Pretty?” Dominic repeated, with a ludicrous, unmanning pulse of pleasure. “Pretty?”
“Pretty as a girl.” Silas brushed a thumb over Dominic’s lips. “Pretty eyes, pretty mouth.”
That sounded as though it would be the prelude to some humiliation. But Silas didn’t continue. Just looked at him.