Page 48 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

“Yes, sir, I do realize that?—”

“Furthermore,” Mr. Anderson interrupted him, “Rumors about Conroy’s plot, with or without the Duchess’s involvement or approval, have been bandied about and summarily dismissed. Quite a few months ago. I must question the judgement of anyone who believes that any such thing is remotely possible, let alone worthy of two months of absence from one’s position.”

“Someone attempted to run me over with their carriage,” Jeremy insisted, horrified at how quickly something that was a true danger to him could unravel. “On a different occasion, someone attempted to poison me as well when I was discussing the danger with Detective Talboys at a coffee shop near my premises on Jermyn Street. That same premises was vandalized a very short time later.”

“Was the force called in to deal with the vandalism?” Mr. Anderson asked, seeming interested at last.

“I believe so,” Jeremy said.

“Yes, they were,” Derrek answered with more authority.

“Then this matter appears to be settled,” Mr. Anderson said with a shrug, reaching for his coat once more. “Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to go home, where my wife likely has supper waiting. But I wish to see you, Talboys, back here in my office tomorrow morning for a frank discussion about your future with the Met.”

“But, sir,” Jeremy protested, beating Derrek to it. “Attempts have been made on my life. I overheard a plot within Kensington Palace itself. Detective Talboys removed me from London to keep me safe.”

“Are you quite certain Detective Talboys did not take you off to the country for different reasons entirely?” Mr. Anderson asked, one eyebrow raised.

There it was. The death of all Jeremy’s hopes for safety, and likely whatever hope Derrek had left for a career as an officer with the police. The insinuation was bright in Mr. Anderson’s eyes. Like so many others before and likely after, the man must have looked at him and Derrek and made assumptions that could cost them their lives. Simply showing up at Scotland Yard to ask for help could very well have cost Derrek his position. If Mr. Anderson chose to talk about his suspicions and if those whispers somehow made their way into theton, Jeremy’s business would likely crumble as well.

It seemed as though there was a reason Derrek had taken matters into his own hands and a reason why any matter of justice for men like them whatsoever needed to be contained to an organization such as The Brotherhood. By attempting to find help, Jeremy deeply feared he had only made matters worse.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Mr. Anderson said, shaking Jeremy out of his thoughts. He’d put his coat on fully, had his hat in his hands, and looked as if he would march directly through Jeremy and Derrek if they waylaid him any longer.

“Good evening, sir,” Derrek sighed, stepping aside.

They stepped into the hall, then followed after Mr. Anderson at a slower pace, giving him time to get well ahead of them before they descended the stairs and exited the building.

“That was a colossal waste of time,” Derrek sighed once they were on the street where, fortunately, the carriage from The Chameleon Club still waited for them.

Jeremy said nothing as he climbed in and took a seat. Derrek was accusing him of not only wasting his time, but likely wasting his career. The horrific thing was, there was a good chance Derrek was right. All that and his life was still in danger, perhaps more than before.

Seventeen

Derrek made the decision to face the inevitable head-on as early as possible the next morning. He woke before sunrise, noting with an anxious knot in his gut that while they shared the same bed in their rooms at The Chameleon Club, Jeremy had not spent the night sprawled overtop of him. It was a certain sign that his dove was completely out of sorts that when Derrek awoke and reached across the bed beside him, Jeremy was curled on his side, facing away.

“Bugger,” Derrek muttered as he rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Jeremy, and slipped into the antechamber for his morning ablutions and to dress.

He understood Jeremy’s frustration with him, his frustration overall. Returning to London should have represented a return to his life and all the things that gave it purpose. His lover had made it clear that he wished to return to his home and his business as quickly as possible. The danger had not passed, however, and the necessity of remaining hidden meant his poor dove had traded a blissful escape for an unsatisfactory prison.

It was not the set of circumstances Derrek would have liked, but he did not see how it could be remedied while keeping his beloved safe.

He had just reached for the door handle to leave their gilded cage when Jeremy’s sleepy voice called out behind him, “Where are you going?”

Derrek tensed as though he had been caught in some nefarious act. He then blew out a breath and turned to face Jeremy.

“I am returning to Scotland Yard, as Anderson requested,” he said, deliberately not adding that the likelihood of him still having a position with the Met at the end of the meeting was slim.

“Give me a moment and I will come with you,” Jeremy said, turning back into the bedchamber.

“No,” Derrek called after him, raising his voice a bit too much. He let out a half sigh when Jeremy faced him again, a look of incredulous surprise on his blotchy, morning face. He was still the handsomest man Derrek had ever known, though. “No,” he said more gently, “I must face this alone. I’m likely about to be sacked, and I do not wish for you to see that.”

Jeremy’s expression shifted through multiple emotions before he gave up some inner struggle. “Very well,” he said, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “I shall make a quick visit to my shop this morning to see?—”

“You cannot,” Derrek stopped him, again too forcefully.

“I beg your pardon?” Jeremy asked, his arm dropping and his eyes going wide. His love was fully awake now.

Derrek huffed impatiently at himself and took a few steps across the room to Jeremy. “It is too dangerous,” he said. “Until I am able to assess Conroy’s current intentions toward you and whether he still has assassins lying in wait around every corner, I have no wish to let you put yourself in danger.”

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