Page 35 of Once a Rogue
A man came by and offered a box of cigars. Wesley took one at random while Sebastian ordered sodas for them all, and what a fucking travesty it was that Wesley had to talk to Langford without a stiff drink.
Langford lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair. “So. Collins—Fine, sorry.”
He wasn’t sorry, Wesley knew, nor was the slip accidental. An unsubtle reminder to Wesley of his time as Captain Collins and the rank difference between them.
“You haven’t told me why you’re in New York,” said Major Langford.
“Business,” Wesley said coolly. “Same as you.”
Sebastian looked between them. “Lord Fine said you served together, major?”
“That’s right.” Langford stuck the cigar between his teeth. “I assume you hid out the war in Spain?”
“He was a medic in the American army,” Wesley cut in. “Healed up people like us.”
“Or the unfortunates we got our hands on.” Langford smiled at Sebastian around the cigar without an ounce of warmth. “And what has Fine told you about himself? Any stories?”
Sebastian’s expression had gone unreadably blank. “Why do you ask?”
“You just don’t seem like the type who’d want to hear the kind of stories men like Fine and I can tell,” Langford said easily. “It’s a shame; I’ve got some good ones.”
It again would have been almost imperceptible to anyone who hadn’t made a study of Sebastian’s movements. But Wesley saw Sebastian’s eyes narrow, the subtle shift in his body posture to lean forward. It made the hairs on the back of Wesley’s neck rise, like an ocean breeze changing before a summer storm rolls in.
“I’m not disparaging medics, of course,” Langford went on, unaware that he was pissing off a magical being with tenuous control on said magic. “Good place to be if you haven’t got the stomach to be on the front lines with someone like Fine.”
“There are people who would consider themselves lucky to be with Lord Fine.” Sebastian’s voice had gone quieter, which was actually quite a bit more alarming than if he’d yelled.
“Not anyone who’s faced him in battle.” Langford turned to Wesley and raised his cigar in a mock-toast. “It’s a compliment. The world’s gone too fucking soft. They don’t make men as mean as Fine anymore.”
Sebastian’s eye twitched. Was it Wesley’s imagination, or had his knees just felt a bit weak? “All danger, no marshmallow,” he muttered.
“What?” said Langford.
“Nothing.” Christ, was Wesley going to have to be the reasonable, subtle one this time?
“Why were you waiting for Lord Fine?” Sebastian said, still quiet.
“To talk.Privately.” Langford sat back in his seat, narrowed eyes on Sebastian. “You know, this hotel didn’t have a room registered to a Sebastian de Leon.”
“I travel under my second name,” Sebastian said.
“Oh, do you?” Langford said. “You know, I actually couldn’t find any information about you at all, not at the hotel, not in any records. Almost like you’re a ghost.”
Langford might have been trying to put Sebastian on the back foot but he was failing spectacularly. A man who’d been able toflatten a room with his mind since he was ninewasn’t going to scare easy, and Sebastian’s expression clearly said he didn’t give a damn what the major dug up or how he spoke to him.
But Wesley cared. “Major, why the fuck are you digging into my personal affairs?” he said, as he tapped his cigar into the ashtray.
“I wasn’t planning to talk about it for an audience.”
Sebastian’s mouth was opening, so Wesley cut in first. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Sebastian.”
“Really.” Langford picked up his drink. “Still have that soft spot for the Spaniards, then? You know, he seems to have such a rosy picture of you, maybe he does need to hear some stories. Should we start in the trenches? Or maybe with interroga—bloody hell,” he swore, as his arm seemed to give out and the drink sloshed all over his lap.
But Wesley had felt it too, had nearly dropped his cigar.
Sebastian had shot to his feet. “I should—I think—the bar, I’ll go get a new drink.”
He didn’t look at Wesley as he slipped away.
