Chapter 13 #2
The game lost its appeal. Jonathan played out the rest of it, going after balls that were out of his reach and swinging wildly when he could have just volleyed. He was still a better player than any of the gentlemen around him, but the game was no longer fun.
As soon as it was over, despite the cheers and congratulations of the men around him as he made his way to the side of the court, Jonathan took himself away from the others.
He was lucky that a table of refreshments was set somewhat apart from the court and that his excuse of helping himself to one of the glasses of lemonade waiting there meant his separation from the others wasn’t suspicious.
“Won’t you play again?” Blythe called out from the side of the court as a new set of gentlemen took up rackets and made their way out to the grass.
“Not this time,” Jonathan said, smile still in place, trying to be as affable as possible. “I will defer to better men than me this time.”
Flatter. Flirt. Be as agreeable as possible. It was the only way to stop the flood of grief that had been looming over him for nearly a decade.
“Perhaps you need another dose of jellied eels to fortify you,” Copeland said, more to the other gentlemen than to Jonathan.
They all laughed. More comments were made about the eels and how, surely, that was all Jonathan needed to regain his strength.
The lemonade Jonathan gulped down nearly came back up again. He was nothing but jellied eels to these men. He was the diversion, not part of the company. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. He’d been invited to perform a task, not because anyone wanted his society.
His father’s cautious looks over the last day and a half suddenly made sense.
The man wasn’t monitoring him to see whether he could be reformed and rejoin polite society, he was waiting for the moment when the entertainment would be over and the embarrassment he’d created could be sent back to the darkened outskirts of society again.
It stung. More than Jonathan wanted to admit. Worse still, all the feelings of rejection he’d glibly pushed aside as he’d woven his narrative of claiming his freedom and the life he wanted came crashing back in on him.
He was lonely. He’d been cast out into a cold world with nowhere to go and no friends to embrace him.
Just like Charlie.
He put down the half-empty glass of lemonade he’d been holding as his thoughts washed over him and turned to march over to where his jacket had been draped over a chair.
The next tennis match had begun, so no one was paying him any attention as he plucked his jacket from the chair, then turned to walk away.
His father noticed him leaving, but he didn’t say a thing. The corner of the man’s mouth twitched as he met Jonathan’s eyes, as if he finally approved of something Jonathan was doing, walking away.
He was a fool to think he could ever win his father’s approval again in any way.
“No longer in the mood for company?”
Jonathan nearly stumbled over his own feet and wheeled back when Hammond’s question caught him by surprise. He’d cut through the rose garden in order to make it back to the house faster, and he hadn’t seen the man standing there.
“Hammond,” he said with a nod.
“Has the sun become too much for you?” Hammond asked on.
Jonathan suddenly felt free to admit he didn’t particularly like Hammond. He was no longer disposed to pretend friendship with any of Frome’s guests, so he did not feel at all guilty for replying with a curt, “I’ve exhausted myself playing tennis and wish to retire to my room for a wash.”
“Ah, I see,” Hammond said, nodding as if he understood more than that. “And this wouldn’t have anything to do with your fetching apprentice, would it?”
Jonathan didn’t like the implication of the man’s words or the sly glint in his eyes.
“Charlie and I have work to do,” he said, deflecting the deeper question in the man’s look as best he could. “If you will excuse me.”
He tried to move on, but Hammond stepped into his path.
“Lovely boy, Charlie,” Hammond said. “Though he seems a bit highly strung.”
“Charlie is wonderful,” Jonathan defended him. “He is intelligent and helpful in every way.”
He was a great deal more than that, but Jonathan didn’t have the words for it.
He’d let Charlie down. Even though the things Charlie had asked of him had made him feel helpless and frightened, he shouldn’t have simply dismissed the help Charlie needed.
Charlie was the only person in all of Wiltshire, perhaps all of England, who genuinely cared about him, and he might have just destroyed that. He had serious apologies to make.
“How much do you want for him?” Hammond asked.
Jonathan wasn’t certain he’d heard the man correctly at first. “I beg your pardon?”
Hammond’s grin turned devilish. He lowered his head and sidled closer to Jonathan, picking a stray piece of grass from Jonathan’s shirt. “I believe we understand each other,” he said quietly, peeking up to meet Jonathan’s eyes.
Jonathan’s jaw dropped for a moment before he found the words to reply. “I do not believe we do,” he said hoarsely.
“I would pay handsomely for him,” Hammond went on, as if Jonathan had agreed with him instead of putting him off. “You would have enough to buy two or three boys for the price I’d be willing to part with.”
“Charlie is a man,” Jonathan said coldly. “He is not a commodity. I do not own him.”
“Are you certain about that?” Hammond asked. He waited for Jonathan to reply, and when he didn’t, he went on with, “I believe we understand each other, Mr. Moorgate, and where we are both coming from.”
The Zagreus Den sprung instantly to mind. That was the world Hammond meant, the place they both came from. But Jonathan wasn’t a member of the Den, and something in him doubted Hammond was either. He didn’t feel the same way Brutus and Titus had.
That notion was ridiculous in so many ways, but it stuck with Jonathan. Hammond might have been a part of the same underground world as Brutus and Titus, but he wasn’t from the Den.
A worse thought struck him as soon as that certainty settled in his mind. What if Hammond was the man Brutus and Titus wanted him to photograph specifically? What if he and Charlie had been unwittingly lured into some sort of war between two rival factions…of what? Two brothels? Two criminal gangs?
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said, stepping aside so he could pass Hammond, his heart racing. “Charlie is not for sale. If you will excuse me.”
He walked on quickly, hoping he was fast enough that Hammond couldn’t grab him or stop him. He needed to get away as fast as possible. From everything.
He found the closest door into the house and rushed through, nearly knocking over the pale-faced maid as he went.
He couldn’t stand to be in anyone’s company anymore, not the gentlemen of his father’s acquaintance, who laughed at him for sport, nor Hammond and his sickening offers.
If Brutus and Titus had been there, he would have run away from them, too.
He was not prepared for this, not for any of it.
He was a photographer, a pornographer, nothing more.
He wasn’t a spy who could capture the likenesses of The Zagreus Den’s enemies or a hero who could rescue young lordlings who may or may not be being held against their will. He was nobody with no power at all.
His heart was heavy by the time he made it to his room. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do or where to go. Not only did he not know how to do the right thing, he didn’t even know what the right thing was.
Charlie was waiting for him in their room. He was seated in one of the windows, knees drawn up, arms around his legs and forehead resting on his knees. As soon as Jonathan entered the room, he started, then unfolded himself from his protective position and scrambled to stand.
The sight of his boy, looking so pale and anxious, but with a hint of hope and longing in his eyes, was too much for Jonathan.
Neither of them said a word, but as soon as the door was shut, Jonathan tossed his jacket carelessly aside and strode toward Charlie.
“What—” Charlie whispered.
Jonathan didn’t let him finish. He reached Charlie and threw his arms around him, clutching him tightly to his chest. He bent his head and buried his face against Charlie’s hair, breathing him in shakily as the two stood in each other’s arms.
Jonathan had never been so lost. The only thing that felt solid to him was Charlie, but he knew he would never be able to live up to the young man’s expectations.