Page 57 of The Bright and Hungry Future of Hawks

He wasn't even bothered by the fact that he knew Nik would probably prefer to be down on the sand with Molly, hollowing out the grains beneath the drawbridge—the knowledge that at this moment Nikolas possibly wanted someone, something, more than him. Ben relished the fact that Molly enthralled Nik. This tiny flesh of his flesh held Nikolas Mikkelsen captive just as effectively, albeit in very different ways, as he did. Between them, father and daughter, Nik hung suspended by the bonds of love.

PB's growling intensified, and Radulf turned from his examination of the rock pool, now oddly missing the small crab, to face any perceived threats. Ben screwed up his eyes against the low sun and commanded firmly, "Stay."

The ornithologist had moved closer, but just as Ben was about to rise and shout a warning to him about the dogs, who could both be unpredictable if they thought someone's day needed a little more hilarity, Molly's carefully sculpted bridge collapsed. After a brief moment while she apparently considered what emotion to allow, her chin wobbled and, blinking rapidly, she lifted her arms to be picked up and comforted.

Nikolas swung her up, at the same time as pointing out to her all the faults of her design, which had contributed to the collapse. Ben was torn between remonstrating with him for this and keeping a wary eye on the dogs and the approaching stranger.

When PB's hackles rose and Radulf stepped between their little party and the walking figure, Ben decided enough was enough. He wasn't so amused by Radulf's collar notches as Nik, despite being a grateful recipient of the loyalty that had earned him such trophies. He grabbed PB's collar and then Radulf's, which immediately made both dogs surrender to their natural protective instincts and rise to their hind legs, straining, as if Ben's restraint was actually nowpermissionto begin frantic barking at the unwarranted intrusion.

* * *

Chapter 29

Nine years Three Months Ago

He wouldn’t have called it blackmail.

Aleksey could have handled that his own way.

He wouldn’t have called it owing the other man, either.

Such debts were only paid by the strong to those they honoured.

Agreeing to a meeting was more curiosity on his part, as if a cat had been asked by a mouse to meet him outside. What the fuck did the mouse think he was doing? What cat could resist going to find out?

Aleksey had received a text on his private phone: “Meet me. Our fav place. Usual time. G.”

He wasn’t aware they had enjoyed afavouriteplace, but he did recall that he preferred a certain hotel because they’d stocked a New Zealand Pinot Noir he was particularly fond of. Not surprising really; he owned the vineyard.

He was late, which was his prerogative, and because he’d actually gotten there very early, taken the room next to the one where they were due to meet, and had then proceeded to observe the comings and goings during the day. He’d clocked The Honourable MountB arriving, had watched for another thirty minutes or so, and had then gone to join him.

This wasn’t the first time they’d seen each other since Gustav’s unexpected arrival at the party with his husband. The annoying one was now working at the embassy in London as a Whitehall liaison. They occasionally bumped into each other at art galleries, or the opera—places they’d gone together once or twice in the past. Now on these outings, however, Gustav was always with his large encumbrance, Aleksey on his own. Which wasexactlyhow Aleksey liked it.

“Hello.”

Aleksey merely nodded and went straight to the mini bar.

“I needed to see you.”

He’d worked that out for himself.

“Things aren’t going very well. Between me and Sherman.”

Sherman? Even better than he could have made up.Tank Boy. And why was that news not a surprise?

He switched back to The Honourable reluctantly and caught the end of a speech that confused him, “…can’t leave him of course.”

Gustav must have read something in his face, for he added with considerable asperity, “Because we had a pre-nup! He’s American? Hello? I’d get nothing.”

Aleksey didn’t know what any of this meant but wasn’t about to ask. He was saved the trouble contributing to Gustav’s self-pity when the younger man dropped onto the end of the bed, face in his hands and continued gloomily, “I won’t go back to…dear God, the old pile hasn’t even got central heating or hot water! Pater’s letting bloody peasants into the gardens now to raise a bit of dosh for the roof. I’m not going to be poor again! Well, you know what it’s like—our shabby, aristocratic pretence at wealth.”

No, actually he didn’t. He only feigned being modestly wealthy. It wasn’t one of his best deceits.

But even he’d given thismarriagea little longer. It was pathetic, and a sad statement on true love, in Aleksey’s humble option. He sighed deeply, and it wasn’t wholly faked—he’d really hoped the mouse might say something genuinely intriguing.

“Please, spare me the details. Let me guess. You have come to the conclusion that being a rich husband is not nearly as attractive as being a rich widower. Am I correct? And you come to me to provide this service for you.”

Gustav’s expression of horror made Aleksey reconsider his supposition. He allowed for the fact he might have a slightly unique take on the world. “I mean, of course, not as attractive as being with someone else wealthy. My English…” It was a pretty lame rebound for him, but it seemed to work. He downed his drink. “This is pathetic. I do not have time for this. I do not have time foryou.”

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