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 Did you receive my note? Per Max s request days ago, Morgan left off the Your Grace. No need
to be conspicuous.
 Yes, and I need you to take me to him.
 Shall I fetch the team and the old town carriage?
Morgan didn t ask why Max needed his assistance when the note contained the necessary address.
The man likely believed Max couldn t manage anything on his own. To some degree though, that
belief was true.
 No need. We can take a hackney.
A nod from Morgan.  If you can give me a moment to grab my coat, we can be on our way. He
shut the door, leaving Max in the narrow corridor.
Shifting his weight, Max glanced behind him, to the closed door of the room opposite Morgan s.
The sound of a man and woman arguing made its way through the thin, old door. Why was it that as
the cost of place decreased, the noise level went up? The amount of dust went up, too. Random
cobwebs clung to the edges where the walls covered in yellowing paper met the ceiling. Surely a room
there wasn t even worth a couple of coins a night. He d given Morgan twenty pounds to cover
expenses incurred while keeping Tristan safe. No doubt the man would return most of it as unspent.
Likely should see to his own coat while he waited. After setting the basket on the bare floorboards,
Max donned his greatcoat.
What was taking Morgan so long?
Clad in a greatcoat over a plain brown coat and matching waistcoat, with his hair combed so it no
longer looked as if he d just rolled out of bed, Morgan finally emerged from the room. He shut the
door behind him and made to walk away.
 Don t you need to lock it? Max asked as he reached down to grab the basket.
Face blank, Morgan blinked.  No. Nothing of value in there anyway.
They made their way out onto the street. Max stopped a hackney and Morgan gave the driver the
address. Before they got into the cab, Max glanced back to the hotel. The third window from the left
on the second floor wasn t dark. Morgan had left at least one candle lit. As Max made to turn his head,
he caught the outline of a figure moving behind the threadbare curtain. A broad-shouldered figure.
Unlike himself, his driver wasn t spending his nights alone.
Looking to Morgan, Max motioned for him to precede him into the cab.
Yet like himself, it appeared his driver preferred men.
He had never given it much thought before, but it made sense. Given the various errands Morgan
had handled for him, it had to be obvious to Morgan by now that Max preferred men. Never once,
though, had he detected even a hint of revulsion or disapproval from Morgan. And the gambling hell
Max had visited over six years ago was one known to attract like-minded patrons. No more than
twenty paces from its front door and right beyond the darkened alley where Max had discovered his
fondness for sucking cock, Morgan had come to his aid. Morgan had to have seen Max leave that hell,
yet he hadn t stood aside and allowed a sod to be beaten to a bloody pulp.
Max could only hope whomever Morgan had left behind in his room made him happy in the same
way Tristan made Max happy.
After tonight, there would only be one obstacle or complaint or however one wanted to classify it
standing between him and lifelong happiness. Tristan had thrown a number of issues at Max s feet,
each a reason that should keep them apart. One by one, Max had dealt with them. He d even purchased
a half a dozen waistcoats from his tailor in a variety of colors. If that was what it took to make Tristan
happy, so be it.
The hollow rattle of wheels over a bridge filled the cab as they made their way across the Thames.
He wasn t looking forward to tonight s errand, but it was a necessity. A Chapter of his life he needed
to put closure on. While a part of him had believed Tristan had been wrong, another part had come to
suspect over the past fortnight that perhaps Tristan had had it right. The prospect did not sit well, but
he would deal with it and see it through to a satisfactory resolution.
Tomorrow... Well, tomorrow was another matter entirely. He d devised a solution, done the necessary
research. Identified the risks, weighed them and decided there weren t any to cause concern. The trick
would be in gaining Tristan s agreement.
If Tristan refused...
Cold fear gripped his gut.
The hackney slowed to a stop before a plain brick building three floors in height. Situated a couple
of streets beyond Vauxhall Gardens, it was at least an improvement over Jonathan s last apartments.
Reaching for the metal lever on the door, Max did his best to pull his mind from the fear in his gut
and turn his attention to the errand at hand.  I won t be but a few minutes, he told Morgan. Then he
exited the hackney and went up the stone steps to the building s front door.
Chapter Twenty
Tristan gave his horse a nudge of his heels. The mare obediently lengthened her stride to keep up with
Max s burly black hunter. The late-October sun had chosen to make an appearance, its rays providing
enough warmth to keep the snap in the air from approaching uncomfortably chill.
Max hadn t said much since he had shown up at Tristan s at ten minutes to eleven with the mare in
tow. All Tristan knew was they were having a luncheon in the country. Judging by their path out of
London, the location of said luncheon was somewhere north of the city.
Harvested farm fields and wide swaths of pastures, the grass no longer the pure green of summer,
slipped by on either side of them as they continued to make their way north. He took a deep breath,
savoring the fresh, crisp scent one associated with autumn. He was acutely aware of the lack of noise.
Ever-busy London was never fully quiet. Be it his neighbors in the building or the sounds from the
street drifting through his closed windows. Since he and Max had left London behind, only the
rhythmic sounds of their horses hooves against the dirt road broke the peaceful silence of the
countryside.
He smiled as he glanced around him, the leaves on a maple they passed a beautiful deep red.
 Almost there, Max called over his shoulder. Reins in one hand, he pointed with the other to a
splash of blue in the distance.
Following Max, Tristan guided his horse off the road. They cut across a field then pulled to a stop
beside a tree near a decent-sized pond.
Tristan swung his leg over the mare s back and dropped to his feet. He winced, his thigh muscles
protesting. The journey had taken no more than a couple of hours, but it had been a few weeks since
he d ridden a horse for any length of time. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]