Page 5 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

“They do not see street trash as people,” Derrek said. “They don’t see men like us as people either, no matter what sort of money or title we have.”

He glanced at Cecil, who pinched his face in distaste. The others looked sour as well, but they all knew the truth. It was a sad and sorry state of affairs that the people who held all the power were cruel and stubborn and narrow-minded in their opinions.

“To be honest,” Derrek continued slowly, “I’ve been thinking of leaving the Met.”

The others reacted with surprise.

“You love your work,” Cecil said with a frown. “Did you not once tell me that you consider yourself to be the barrier between some people’s hopelessness and their chance at a better life?”

“That’s exactly how I see myself,” Derrek said with a nod. “Which is why I’m considering leaving the Met to go into business for myself.”

“As what?” Jack asked curiously.

“As an investigator. Perhaps as a protector of those who cannot protect themselves.”

“A personal guard?” Austen suggested.

“If you like,” Derrek said. “Though I imagine it being something bigger than that. I’m still forming the idea, but I believe I could?—”

He stopped as his and several other people’s attention was caught by a man running into the doorway of the ballroom-cum-dining room.

Derrek caught his breath. He recognized the man who had just made such a startling entrance. He was that tailor that everyone was mad about, Wilkes.

There was a reason everyone was mad about Wilkes, and it had nothing to do with the quality and style of the clothing he created for some of the most celebrated men of theton. Wilkes was one of the most beautiful men Derrek had ever laid eyes on. Beautiful was the only word for it. He had an expressive face with fine, patrician features that were almost feminine. He was definitely male, though, only in the softest way possible. His lips were absolutely kissable and he had long lashes that framed his soulful, brown eyes.

Derrek had only met the man on a handful of occasions in the past, but he had most definitely left an impression. An impression that had led to more than a few nights of handling himself as he imagined Wilkes’s sweet mouth wrapped around his cock.

At the moment, however, the impression that Wilkes gave him was of a man in trouble who needed a savior.

He rose to his feet before he bothered to pause and consider whether Wilkes might actually want his help. Cecil rose as well, and together the two of them made their way across the room to where Wilkes stood frozen, like a deer caught out in the forest, a bag clutched to his chest.

“Mr. Wilkes,” Cecil greeted him. “How wonderful to see you here, but are you quite well?”

Wilkes swallowed. Derrek watched his Adam’s apple bob and felt his breeches tighten. Even more so when Wilkes turned his unsettled gaze on him.

“I…I am not certain,” he said, breathless and tight.

Derrek began to notice things about him then. Things beyond what he usually noticed about a man he wouldn’t mind biting his pillow. Wilkes was flushed from exertion of some sort, likely running. His cheeks were pink and his hair was disheveled. A man like Wilkes never walked around looking disheveled. Or without a hat.

There were more hints that the man was in distress. Dark spots were just barely visible under the arms of his grey jacket. His boots were dull with dirt, as if he’d run through grass. And despite the chill Derrek knew was in the air outside, Wilkes wore no sort of outer coat.

“What has happened?” Derrek asked, widening his stance and crossing his arms, determined to get to the bottom of things.

Wilkes glanced at him, and his fearful look contained the stirrings of trust. “I was just at Kensington Palace,” he said quietly. “I had an appointment to measure Sir John Conroy for a new wardrobe, or at least parts of it.” He glanced to Cecil, then dragged his worried gaze back to Derrek. “I believe I just heard him plotting to poison King William.”

Derrek’s gut tightened and he wanted to growl. Plots against the king were common enough, but to hear one coming out of Kensington Palace, one that was attached to Sir John Conroy, was another thing entirely.

“Are you certain?” Cecil asked, shock making his face flush.

“I…I do not know,” Wilkes said, shaking his head and hugging his bag tighter. “There was another man there who arrived shortly after I did. I had left the room for a moment, but I heard the other man enter and say he had obtained poison to kill the king.” He lowered his voice to a whisper at the end.

Derrek glanced over his shoulder into the ballroom and could see why. Wilkes had garnered a large amount of attention. Most of the men in the room likely knew him, and as his reputation was good, they were likely concerned for his sudden, anxious appearance.

“Come to the sitting room so that we can discuss this more,” Derrek said, extending an arm toward the hall and starting forward. He rested a hand on the small of Wilkes’s back to push him along…and rather liked the feeling of touching the man.

Cecil came with them as they went out to the hall, then down to the larger of the sitting rooms on the ground floor. As it was luncheon time, the room was empty, which saved Derrek the trouble of having to clear it out. They had their pick of several clusters of comfortable chairs and lounges to choose from.

“Tell me from the beginning what you saw and heard at the palace,” he said once he and Wilkes were seated on a settee toward the back of the room, near a window that looked out to the back garden, with Cecil in a chair across from them.

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