Eight
True to his word, as always, Paul was waiting when Reginald woke up.
“Where…?” Reginald groggily scrubbed his cheek with the sheet and rolled away from the morning light. He buried his face in the pillow as he stretched, then pushed himself upright. “How did I get back in here?”
A faint snort from the window was all Paul had to offer. He was watching the traffic below. His trousers and coat weren’t wrinkled and Paul’s hair wasn’t at all mussed so it seemed likely that he’d spent the majority of the night at the window after he’d carried Reginald to bed. He needed a shave and Reginald’s cock throbbed as he longed to drag his tongue along Paul’s jaw. There wasn’t a chance Paul would allow that so Reginald got up and rang for Gates.
“Did you pretend to fall asleep so I’d stop talking?”
“You were exhausted and rambling, Marston. You needed to sleep off all that morphia,” Paul said as he crossed the room and got the door just as Gates arrived with a tray bearing a coffee pot and a covered dish.
“Mr. Sloan insisted that you eat before you dressed and I thought that was a very good…suggestion,” he said with a deferential bow of his head for Paul.
“Did Mr. Sloan eat?” Reginald asked as he went to the desk by the window and gestured for Gates to bring the tray. His stomach felt hollow and scorched from too much champagne and gin. He didn’t have much of an appetite but Reginald could feel his nerves skittering as the hallucination became too vivid and realistic around him again.
“He did, my lord,” Gates replied. He humphed in approval as he set a full English in front of Reginald and then began preparing his coffee.
“Black with lots of sugar, please,” Reginald said, causing Gates to pause as he reached for the milk. Paul noticed as well and was troubled as he watched Reginald poke at his kedgeree. “Aren’t there any beans?” He asked and Gates nodded slowly.
“Of course, my lord, but you never take them with your breakfast.”
“Well, I do now,” Reginald replied brightly. “Could you get me the morphia?”
“Yes, my lord,” Gates sighed and exchanged a wary look with Paul. He nodded at Gates, excusing him, before pushing away from the window.
“Can’t you wait until after luncheon to drown yourself? You have a gift, Marston. It’s a shame to waste it.” Paul pulled a chair next to the desk and sat facing Reginald. “Think of what you’d accomplish if you stayed lucid.”
Reginald used the side of his fork to cut off a piece of sausage and blinked at Paul as he chewed. He washed it down with a gulp of coffee.
“I hate eating, honestly,” he said but continued to shovel food into his mouth. “Thank you,” Reginald said to Gates when he hurried back in with a crock of beans before dashing out of the room to get the morphia. Hopefully. A piece of toast was torn and dunked into the bean sauce and Reginald inhaled contentedly as he chewed. “Aside from the nostalgia, it’s a tedious waste of time but it keeps me alive.”
“The morphia and the gin aren’t keeping you alive. If anything, they’re killing you.”
“Au contraire, mon amoureux,” Reginald said and wagged his fork at Paul. “I would spend a great deal of time screaming and throwing tantrums as my brain rips itself apart,” he explained calmly despite the winding up of his anxiety. He could feel himself getting warmer and his heart was beating faster. “I’m rather terrified,” he continued calmly while scooping beans into his mouth with a chunk of toast. Reginald’s hand trembled slightly as he picked up his coffee and Paul noticed but it couldn’t be helped. Reginald had no way of knowing how long he’d slept and how much time had passed since he’d eaten that gummy and fallen asleep. What if I’m in a coma? Paul’s probably waiting to strangle me. “And I’m feeling a bit…lonely and I just can’t—” There was a fresh burst of panic but Reginald breathed through it. “I really can’t handle being alone, Paul, and I’m not used to being stuck. I can always find a way out.”
“I promise you, you’re not alone,” Paul said as he snatched Reginald’s hand and held it tight. “I know it isn’t possible but I can see why I would have fallen in love with you and why I’d swear to protect you.”
“You’re just saying that because you know I’ll lead you to the murderer,” Reginald said cheekily but his voice wavered. He turned their hands and whispered a thank you as Paul allowed Reginald to kiss his knuckles. “I love you,” Reginald whispered.
“Marston,” Paul whispered back, gently warning him before Gates returned with the leather bag.
“My kit! Thank you,” Reginald said brightly as he turned in his seat. He popped to his feet and cheered as he took the bag from Gates. Lavender was right behind Gates and was frowning as he leaned against the door.
“Isn’t it a little early?” He asked. Paul made a disgruntled sound as he rose and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I’ve already tried,” he told Lavender. Reginald pointed at Paul as he hugged the satchel against his chest and backed through the bathroom door.
“You two catch up while I’m freshening up!” He said, then went off to numb as much of the fear as he could.
Reginald was more relaxed and reasonably contained when he strolled out of the bathroom an hour later with a glass of gin in his hand. He was shaved, dressed, and fully loaded.
“Feeling better?” Lavender asked a touch testily.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Reginald raised his glass before taking a large gulp. “Can barely feel anything now.”
There was a grumble from the window. Paul was back to watching the carriages and pedestrians but Reginald caught a few worried glances as he went to his desk for a cigarette.
“Sloan received a message from Scotland Yard while you were away,” Lavender announced. “Your mad ‘Many Eldon’ theory held up,” he said begrudgingly. He was reclining in Paul’s chair and reading the morning’s paper. “Think I’ll see what else Lady Coonan can remember about Lady Eldon’s mother and her people while we wait to see what Scotland Yard comes back with,” he said and sprang to his feet.
“Good idea,” Paul conceded. “I was thinking I’d take Marston to see Lord Carrick, in case he knows anything that might link his wife to the other Eldons or Lois Mara,” he said, which was almost exactly what Reginald was thinking. Minus a quick fuck but Reginald had a feeling Paul would nix the idea so he just held up a thumb.
“Sounds like a grand time!” He lied and turned on his heel. “Give me a quarter of an hour to pregame.”
“Pregame?” Paul asked as he started to follow. “Didn’t you just—”
“Mind your own business and wait for me in the car, Paul,” Reginald ordered as he pointed at the door.
“Wait in the…? What the hell is a car?” Paul asked and they heard Lavender laughing as he left them.