Page 8 of Once a Rogue
Sebastian paused. But no, of course they were all just friends, Wesley would have said if it was anything else. “Yes.”
“If you say so.” Mateo jerked his head toward the door. “Get out of here already; if Mr. Zhang is looking for us, he can’t find me if your tattoo is screwing up his astral walking. Go try to call Miss Robbins again.”
Sebastian couldn’t argue with that.
Chapter Three
NEED TO MEET IN NEW YORK STOP CALL ME AT THE WALDORF STOP
Wesley stood in the parlor of his suite, a corner room furnished in a mix of practicality and luxury designed to appeal to a wealthy traveler. His eyes skimmed the telegram a second time.
The first message he’d received on the pier when he’d disembarked from the ship had been easy enough to dismiss. That had been an invitation for cards and smokes with Sir Ellery Penfold, a baronet Wesley knew well. Sir Ellery had been with Wesley on that godforsaken trip to New York in February, part of their group that had come from London for Lady Blanche’s wedding to the New York governor’s son. Wesley had used the wedding as a flimsy excuse to come chasing after Arthur and had never intended to return to New York, but apparently Sir Ellery hadn’t had his fill and was back in Manhattan, making friends who owned interesting establishments, according to him. Wesley still didn’t need to see him.
This telegram, however, waiting for him at the front desk here at the Roosevelt, was from Major Charles Langford.
A much harder man for Wesley to ignore.
He lowered the telegram. It had been some months since he’d last seen Major Langford, but Wesley didn’t forget anyone, let alone a former commanding officer. Langford worked for the War Office now. Their post-war relationship was cordial enough, although on the occasions they still crossed paths, Langford would often imply that civilian life as a viscount was a waste of Wesley’s talents and unsubtly mention they were recruiting. Wesley had never taken the bait; he might have felt useless and stagnant, but avoiding society was still preferable to returning to anything related to the war. He’d been a hard man most of his life, but never more so than under Major Langford.
Need to meet in New York.
Why? What was Langford doing in America, and how had he learned Wesley was here? What did he have to discuss that was so urgent it couldn’t wait for London?
Wesley looked across his suite’s parlor, to the candlestick telephone on the table next to the settee. He didn’t have to see Arthur or take Sebastian to dinner. He could call the Waldorf, and spend his singular evening in New York with Langford instead.
But Jade had wanted to see them, and whatever Langford wanted to discuss, Wesley highly doubted it would be on the level of telekinetic bootleggers and fifteenth-century supernatural relics.
And the circles beneath Sebastian’s eyes were only deepening as the days went on. And yes, Sebastian was the paranormal, not Wesley—a dangerous one, Jade had once pointed out. But, as Jade had likewise pointed out, Sebastian was also a marshmallow. One who needed help but was, frankly, shit at asking for it or accepting it. Wesley didn’t have magic, but there was plenty else he could do, including finding answers to why the brooch was running a dangerous marshmallow into the ground, and their best lead right now was tracking down the other paranormals and Arthur.
He and Sebastian would only be in Ohio a few days before returning to New York; if Langford was still in the city, Wesley would get in touch with him then. He set the telegram aside, picked up his walking stick, and strode out the door without touching the phone.
He skipped the elevator, choosing instead to descend the wide, carpeted staircase that led to the lobby. He spotted Sebastian right away, once again on the phone, this time at the hotel desk. Wesley automatically slowed his steps to enjoy the view, because Sebastian took the damnable trend of dinner jackets instead of proper tailcoats and made it attractive.
Wesley had seen the suite’s bedroom, which had a larger bed than a ship’s cabin. It was going to be a good night, once they were done with said paranormals and Arthur.
But won’t it be awkward?Sebastian had said.
Why should it? Yes, he and Arthur had fucked for six months, then Wesley had come to New York in February to try to win him back. And yes, that had been a humiliating mess, but Wesley had actually—ugh—learned something from it. And now he knew the difference between a partner he had no emotions for but made a convenient accessory, and—well. Sebastian.
Granted, it was perhaps admittedly a touch out of the ordinary to discover one’s ex-lover was now shagging someone who could see history and control the wind, but Wesley had found a man who could destroy magic and pin him to the bed with his mind.
Lunacy all around. No cause to be awkward.
Sebastian hung up the phone just as Wesley reached him, a frown on his face.
“No Miss Robbins or Mr. Zhang?” Wesley guessed.
Sebastian’s gaze darted toward him, and then Wesley was suddenly the recipient of a long look himself. And wasn’t it ridiculous, for a man as effortlessly beautiful as Sebastian to find anything to appreciate in Wesley’s crustiness.
“No.” Sebastian sighed. “I don’t suppose your telegram was from either of them?”
“Wouldn’t that be refreshing, to get mail I actually wanted?” Wesley said. “Sadly no; it was from an army major who’s apparently in town. Absolutely no reason for us to speak here instead of London; I’d prefer to finally have a meal on a table that’s not moving. And speaking of tables.” He tilted his head toward the concierge. “Can you recommend a place for dinner?”
“The Plaza, sir,” the concierge said. “I can arrange for a reservation. How many?”
They’d have Arthur, which almost certainly meant Brodigan as well, and hopefully Jade and Zhang. “Could be six.” Wesley tapped the counter. “I also need an extra blanket sent up to my room.”
“You think you’ll be cold in New York?” Sebastian sounded surprised as the two of them crossed the lobby toward the door. “Is it not colder in England?”
