With enough concentration, he managed to make The Bride of Lammermoor’s action chase his dilemma to the back of his mind. He was halfway through the book, stretched out on the bed, when Will Quex came in.
“Bookworm. How you feeling?”
“Good enough.” Silas sat up. “Is it late?”
“Eleven, near as. Got a message from your sweetheart.” He grinned at Silas’s glare. “Won’t be coming by tonight, busy at work, he says, but put on something pretty for him tomorrow.”
“Rot you. What did he say?”
“He’ll be with you around three tomorrow. He’s asked for the private room again. We’ll do it this time, but—”
“I know. You need me out of here.”
“We’ve to do whatever Lord Richard says.” Will spread his hands. “And Lord Richard’s first order is to do what Mr. Frey says. But what Mr. Frey says would piss Lord Richard right off. And if you can tell me how to untangle that, I’d be grateful.”
“Not your problem. I’ll be gone…” He thought about the private room. A last afternoon and night with Dominic. “Thursday afternoon?”
“Make it lunchtime,” Will said. “Sweet dreams.”
—
The next day Silas lunched on bread and cheese and The Vampyre, which was, as he’d guessed, nonsense, although its portrait of nobleman as murderous blood drinker gave him some fine ideas for a pamphlet. Will took him down to the private rooms a little later, with a few caustic comments, and he read in the bedroom, because he couldn’t feel right in the grand meeting room with its fine papered walls and upholstered chairs, not without Dom. He couldn’t shake the feeling that a gentleman might come in.
So he sat with a pile of yesterday’s newspapers and a book he didn’t like and tried not to think about the evening and what would happen on Cato Street.
Dom arrived a few minutes after three. Silas heard his footsteps: pausing in the room outside, then hurrying to the bedroom a little too fast. He pushed open the door, with force, and stopped on the threshold, looking at Silas.
Silas rose. “Afternoon. You all right?”
“Yes.” Dominic shut the door behind him. “Yes. Glad to see you.”
He didn’t look all right. He hadn’t even taken off his fine greatcoat, he looked as unnaturally nervy as a galvanized frog, and there was a plea in his dark eyes that Silas knew. He took three steps forward, scowling as Dom turned his face away; grabbed his chin and pulled it back. They stared at each other.
“Right,” Silas said. “Looks to me like you’re thinking again. I could swear I told you about that.” He tightened his fingers just a little. “Do I need to give you something to think about?”
Dom’s lips moved in soundless agreement. Silas nodded. “So what do you want, Tory?”
Dominic hesitated for a second, watching his eyes. “What do I want?”
“Aye, go on. You tell me just what you want, just how you’d like it.” He paused, let the confusion build in Dom’s expression, then added, “I’m warning you, though, this is what you might call a trick question.”
“What I want…” Dominic looked down, then back up. “What I want is academic. You’re going to fuck me how you choose, aren’t you?”
“And be damned to what you want. I don’t care, you Tory whore.” Silas shoved him away. “Get your clothes off.”
He moved to obey, hands shaking. Silas snapped his fingers as Dominic pulled the snowy length of starched cloth from his neck. “Give me that.” He had a use for Dom’s cravat.
Silas waited till he had the Tory naked, then jerked a thumb at the bed. “On your back. Hold the rail.” For what he had in mind, he wanted the familiarity of their long-standing signal. That, and it would be a long time before he could tie Dom up again without one eye on the door.
Dominic’s eyes widened, but he took the position ordered. Silas straddled him, sitting heavily on his chest, hearing the grunt as Dominic bore his weight.
“Right.” He brandished the cravat. “You and me, Tory, we’ve got unfinished business. Head up.”
Dominic’s eyes had that look of genuine alarm they’d had before at the prospect of blindfolding, but his hands didn’t release their grip on the rail. He raised his head, and Silas wound the cravat around it, over his eyes. It was good linen, opaque, cutting out any chance of a peek.
Dominic was breathing hard, and Silas could feel the tension in the chest under him. “Don’t like it?”
“No,” Dominic said. “I don’t like it. I don’t.”