Page 39 of Once a Rogue
Wesley opened his eyes, which were only a little fuzzy. “Of course I am,” he said. “I told you: I’m your lion’s favorite.”
Sebastian let out a quiet laugh of surprise and relief. Then he was kissing Wesley, needing the last inches between them to be gone. Their lips were also wet and cold, and they tasted like rain, and maybe like the magic that still crackled in the air. He threaded his arm around Wesley’s neck, a barrier between his head and the hard bricks, trying to sayI’m so lucky to have youthrough the kiss.
Sebastian finally pulled back, keeping his arm draped around Wesley’s neck as he brought their foreheads together. He was soaked through his clothes to the skin, but his magic hadn’t felt this stable since he’d taken control of the brooch relic. “That was such a good idea, Wes.”
“Did it help?” Wesley whispered, his breath a puff of visible mist in the cold air.
“It did,” Sebastian said, his own whisper into the private world made by their bodies. “I feel better.”
“That’s good.” Wesley sounded a bit dazed, and his expression was soft in a way Sebastian had only seen in darkened bedrooms. “I wanted to make you feel better.”
He wrapped his hand around Sebastian’s wrist, over the tattoo, and Sebastian felt the touch ricochet through his blood.
He took an involuntary breath. “Let’s go back to the room,” he said, as his mind began to consider possibilities that involved more of Wesley’s touch. “You can fill me in as we walk.”
Chapter Ten
The last of the watery sensation had left Wesley’s limbs by the time the elevator brought them back down to two. Wesley led the way to his suite, quietly recounting his conversation with Major Langford.
Sebastian was frowning again as Wesley opened the suite’s door. “So Sir Ellery is related to the man who stole the pomander from the Earl of Blanshard? And Alasdair sent you the letter to—what? Warn you?”
“So it seems.” Wesley held the door for Sebastian. “Major Langford did say the man isn’t quite right in the head.”
Sebastian slipped into the parlor. “Sir Ellery and Alasdair said they were going to Tarrytown today. That’s where Arthur’s inn is. I don’t like the coincidence.”
“Nor do I,” Wesley said, stepping inside and closing the suite door.
“I don’t like Major Langford either.”
Wesley snorted. “You weren’t particularly subtle about that.”
“He’s an asshole to you,” Sebastian said, with feeling, as they stood in the tiny foyer and began peeling off wet coats and hats. Sebastian looked soaked all the way through. “I can’t believe you talk to him.”
Wesley hesitated, then admitted, “He did me a favor once. He’s never let me forget it, but he did grudgingly do it.”
Sebastian glanced at him. “Is this about the interrogation?”
“No,” said Wesley, keeping his voice steady. “No, that was done on his orders.”
Sebastian stiffened. “Langfordmade you do that?”
“It was war,” Wesley said. “They had our soldiers; he hardly had much choice.” He’d recommended Wesley for a medal afterward. Wesley had donated it, had never wanted to see it again.
“I don’t care if he thought it was his only option.” Sebastian’s voice had gone very quiet again, and for a moment it was hard to reconcile the sweetheart who doted on animals with the paranormal taut with anger in front of him. “He shouldn’t have given a command like that to someone under him.”
“There’s no point getting angry on my behalf,” Wesley said. “I’ve told you I’m not a nice man. I did a lot of bad things during the war. And I was never under blood magic.” He went on before Sebastian could argue. “The favor wasn’t related. We had two soldiers in our platoon who were caught with each other.”
Sebastian stilled.
“They were young and working class. Defenseless.” Wesley’s fingers twitched for a cigarette, as they always did when he didn’t want to think about something. He curled his hand around the brim of his hat instead. “Major Langford was disgusted. Furious. Wanted every punishment in the book thrown at them, to have them flogged and sentenced to hard labor. And I—interfered.”
Sebastian looked ill. “Did you succeed?”
Wesley gave a single, jerky nod. “I argued McGregor and Reyes should only be transferred to another platoon under other pretext and the matter hushed up.”
He took a breath through his nose. “Langford might have been my commanding officer, but he knew who my father was. We’d heard just the previous week of my older brother’s death, so when I held my ground, Langford wasn’t fighting his captain but the future Viscount Fine. He refused to transfer them to the same unit, there was no changing his mind there, but—he left them alone.”
“That was good of you,” Sebastian said.
