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“Earl Crane. Shouldn’t there be an ‘of’ in that?” “No. It’s like Earl Grey.” “The tea?” “The lord.”
“Lucien, do you know what I have? In life?” “What?” “My profession. That’s it. I’ve no family, except my aunt, and she’ll never speak to me again. I live on the pittance they pay justiciars. My friends are all justiciars, or married to them. Everyone else hates us. If I couldn’t be a justiciar, I... God, I don’t know what I’d do. If I lost that, I’d have lost everything.” “I’m here,” Crane observed, without inflection.
No, let me finish. I’m not complaining. I...like you, I like spending time with you, but you’re not going to tolerate this life forever, or even for much longer. Why would you? I wouldn’t stop being a justiciar. And that’s the point. You have your life in China, and I have my profession. So I have to make sure I don’t lose that profession, and my friends, over this. Over you. I don’t want it to come to a choice, but if it does, then I have to choose with the rest of my life in mind.”
“One might wonder why Steph would enter into a, er, liaison under such unpromising circumstances.” “You’d need to speak to him about it.” “I’ll do that, the next time I want to hear a pack of bare-faced lies.
“Oh God, Lucien. God. I was so frightened.” “I know. You looked a great deal less scared when we were about to be murdered by warlocks.” “That was only death. This was Esther.”
“Since when did you talk to the law?” demanded Leonora in Shanghainese. “Since his nobility’s been fucking it,” Merrick returned. “You want the shortarse on your side.”
“Look. I am quite sure I’ve told you how remarkable you are. I know I have. Magical, and infinitely fuckable, and extraordinarily brave. I’m also well aware that you’re a better man than I will ever be. I’m fairly sure you have no idea just how glorious you are, which is fortunate for me, because the more time I have with you, the more aware I am of my own very obvious flaws. And I realise you don’t entirely trust me—no, let me say this,” he insisted as Stephen tried to interrupt. “I realise that and I don’t blame you, but I want—I would like—you to give me a chance to demonstrate that you
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“Is there a reason you did that in public, when I can’t even touch you, let alone—let alone say anything properly?” “Well, yes. I already know what your cock thinks. I’d like to hear from your head as well. Or your heart.”
“Oh God,” he said at last. “I’m pathetic. You know perfectly well that I’m all yours, Lucien, or you should. I’ve got your tattoo, for heaven’s sake. I’m marked for life. And I’m scared by that, I’m terrified. I have no idea why you think I’m brave, I’m an abject coward. I’m too frightened to believe this, you and I, can last because if it doesn’t, I don’t think I can bear it, so it would be easier not to start, but it’s too late now.”
“Who cares about them?” Town snapped, but his eyes flicked away as he spoke. “Stephen Day does. Remember him? Short chap, reddish hair, one of the most dangerous men in London, on his way here right now to rip your spine out through your arsehole. So, who’s in Monk?” Crane looked over at the man’s awful, mad twitching.
They might look on the face of it like easy pickings, the short man, the rich man, and the woman, but purpose rang in the justiciars’ strides and showed in their faces. You would have to be suicidal to cross Esther or Stephen tonight, but Crane almost hoped someone would try. He needed a target.
