Silas’s fingers hardened on Dominic’s, thumbs digging into his palms. “I wouldn’t bet on that if I were you, Tory.” There was that little growl in his voice that made the hair rise on Dominic’s arms. “No, I wouldn’t bet on that at all.”
Epilogue
MAY 1820
Silas was in the book room at Albemarle Street, staring into the fire lit against the cool of the evening, when Dominic entered. He latched the door behind him. Silas didn’t turn.
“You’ve seen the newspapers,” Dominic said.
“Aye.”
“You didn’t go, did you?”
“No.”
Dominic came up behind him and put a light hand to his shoulder. “Good.”
The trial of the Cato Street conspirators had been as much a farce as the conspiracy itself. The prosecution had declined to call George Edwards, and in his absence the judge had refused to consider any evidence of his involvement. The mysterious notice of the dinner was dismissed as irrelevant. No question of an agent provocateur had been admitted. Robert Adams had stumbled his way through his highly coached testimony, and the sentences of high treason had been handed down.
Five of the conspirators, including Thistlewood, had hanged the previous morning. As an act of clemency, they had been spared drawing and quartering; instead, the corpses had been decapitated and the heads displayed, as traitors deserved. Five more had had their sentences commuted to transportation. A clean sweep, much as Lord Liverpool’s Tories had made of the election, holding on to power with an increased majority. It had all been a triumph for the government. In another life, knowing less, Dominic would have been jubilant.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Aye, well, we knew it was coming. They died well by all accounts, and there’s an end to it. Enough.” Silas turned from the fire, or from his thoughts, and gave Dominic a long look. “Very nice.”
Dominic knew he looked well. He was dining here, a private meal with some of the Ricardians. It was intended to be a regrouping after the events of a dramatic twelve months that had tested old friendships and forged new ones, and he was looking forward to it. He was plainly dressed, in silent opposition to the peacock feathers Julius and Harry would doubtless be sporting, but he was pleased with his new waistcoat and with the subtle silver watch chain he wore across it.
That had caught Silas’s eye. He lifted it with a finger. “Chain, eh? What’s that for?”
“My watch.”
“Is it.” Silas gave it a tug, and Dominic swayed forward in response. “I reckon I should be the one putting chains on you.”
“You are,” Dominic said softly. “You have.”
Silas twisted his finger in the chain, tightening it. It was attached only to Dominic’s waistcoat, it was just cloth that pulled over his chest, but he still gave a little flinch at the shadow or anticipation of pain and saw the response leap in Silas’s eyes.
“I’ve got better ideas for you than a dinner, Tory.”
“I can’t be late,” Dominic said, telling himself as much as Silas, because Silas’s other hand was moving downward and taking commanding hold. Dominic shifted his legs apart, giving access. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t what?” Silas murmured in his ear. “Don’t put you on your knees and give you a mouthful? Don’t bend you over the desk and make a mess of your pretty clothes? Or…” Silas’s hand tightened. “Don’t pack you off to the drawing room with a stand you could use to poke the fire?”
“Please don’t do that.”
Silas’s strong fingers were working him through the cloth, with unquestioned ownership. His other hand was wound in the chain, keeping Dominic close. As though he could have pulled away. “Aye, that sounds good. You go mix with your gentry friends with your prick aching for it. Me, I’ll have a drink, put my feet up. Maybe I’ll pay David a visit, see if he fancies losing at backgammon.”
“I thought he mostly beat you.”
Silas tightened his grip punitively. Dominic whimpered.
“And when you can’t stand any more waiting, you come and find me, Tory, and we’ll see about a bit of backgammoning for you too.” Silas brushed his lips over Dominic’s ear, sending shivers over his scalp. “No doubt about who’ll win that round, is there?”
None at all. Dominic squirmed against him. “Couldn’t we—”
“No.” Silas’s hand pressed harder against Dominic’s constricted prick. “You’ll just have to wait.”
“I don’t want to wait,” Dominic objected breathlessly.