Noah nodded vacantly and allowed Beckett to lead him back to the bar. A few of the patrons near the bar who had watched the confrontation moved out of their seats, allowing Beckett to plunk Noah on one stool, then to take the seat next to him.
“Two whiskeys,” he said, barely registering that Graham was the one just a few feet away, taking his order.
Beckett kept his eyes glued on Noah as Graham fetched the drinks, trying to determine just how deeply his friend had been wounded. Noah seemed completely numb, as if he couldn’t see or hear anything around him. Beckett was surprised that he reached out for the tumbler of whiskey when Graham put it on the bar in front of him.
“There you go,” Beckett said, as though he were feeding pablum to a baby instead of watching a grown, heartbroken man down a large amount of alcohol. “That will help, won’t it?”
“Nothing will help,” Noah said, slumping on his stool to such a degree that Beckett wasn’t sure how he could remain upright.
“Sure, it will,” he said, affecting as much cheer as he could. “Get a bit of alcohol in you, then let’s go dance with the others. We put so much work into this ball, we should enjoy it.”
Noah turned his face slowly to look at Beckett. Beckett fought to maintain his smile as Noah studied him. Something was very, very wrong with his friend. Noah’s temperament was as changeable as the wind, Beckett knew, but now he felt as though a storm were blowing in.
Damn Marcus Albright for being so blunt. Didn’t he see that Noah was a tender soul who needed a softer touch than that?
“You’re right,” Noah said at length. He picked up his tumbler and drained the remaining whiskey in a few gulps. Then he smacked his glass down on the table and reached for Beckett’s untouched drink. He swallowed every bit of that as well, gasping a bit, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You are absolutely right, my friend. Let’s dance.”
Noah slid off his seat and nearly stumbled. Beckett leapt from his stool and caught him. To his surprise, Noah laughed out loud, though the laughter had an eerie, manic quality to it.
“Let’s dance!” Noah repeated in a shout, grabbing Beckett’s hand and dragging him through the crowd toward the dance floor. They bumped into several people along the way, nearly knocking one young man over. “This is our ball!” Noah shouted. “We made it, and we should enjoy it!”
As soon as they reached the edge of the dancers, Noah swept Beckett into his arms, his smile bright and his eyes glassy with…well, it was too soon for the alcohol to have taken full effect. Something had ignited Noah’s high spirits, though.
Beckett felt a frightening sort of exhilaration as Noah whirled him around the dance floor. He was heedless of the other couples, ramming into people as though it were funny and causing more than a few of the other patrons to growl and glare at them.
“Sorry,” Beckett apologized at nearly every turn of the dance. “So sorry. He’s had a bit much to drink.”
The other party-goers only accepted that excuse for so long, but it didn’t seem to matter. As soon as the dance was over, Noah dragged Beckett on to the table of specially prepared refreshments.
“Aren’t these marvelous?” Noah asked the men who lingered near the table. He grabbed one of the plates and offered it to those men. “Give them a try. These biscuits that look like severed fingers are to die for.” He followed that comment with a laugh that had the hair standing up on the back of Beckett’s neck.
Noah didn’t stop there. He took the plate of treats and began to circulate among the guests, handing them out indiscriminately and encouraging people to eat them right away, whether they wanted to or not. When his first plate was empty, he went back for more, encouraging Beckett to take a plate as well.
“I don’t think this is the way things are done in New York,” Beckett told Noah, panic closing in on him as Noah’s movements became more erratic. “We really should go sit outside for a moment, if only to calm down.”
“Calm? Who needs calm in the middle of a masquerade ball?” Noah asked. “What we need is excitement.”
Beckett had already had more than enough excitement for one night. “Maybe for a while,” he said, then glanced around desperately for any of his friends who could help. He’d never seen anyone behave the way Noah was behaving.
Fortunately, several of Beckett’s friends saw what was happening and rushed to the rescue. Lawrence Cowper left the man he was chatting up to come take the plates from Beckett and Noah. Kelsey and Robert pretended to engage Noah in conversation while drawing him closer to the club’s doorway. Duncan left his Cleopatra to join them in their efforts to move Noah toward the door.
“I can take care of him,” Beckett insisted, his heart pounding as though he’d rowed the length of the Hudson River. “I just need to get him outside, and then get him home.”
“Do you know what we should do, Beckett?” Noah turned to him suddenly. “We should have the entire street decorated for Halloween. Yes, let’s take some of these rosettes and place them all around the street.”
“I don’t think we have enough, Noah,” Beckett said, grabbing Noah’s hand to stop him from pulling down the decorations around The Slope’s door. “But let’s go out to the street and take a look, shall we?”
“Yes, that’s what we need to do,” Noah said. “That way, we can get an idea for the scope of the project. Come along.”
Noah grabbed Beckett’s hand and dragged him out to the sidewalk, nearly tripping Beckett in the process. Beckett sent a glance to Kelsey and Robert to let them know things would be alright as they left.
But if Beckett were honest, he wasn’t certain thingswouldbe alright. As they hit the street and Noah hurried from building to building, chattering about decorating ideas and settling on nothing as he did, a deep sense of worry filled Beckett’s gut. He worried that Marcus had been right in everything he’d said from the start. He worried that Noah really was mad.
ChapterSeven
Noah awoke the next morning in a sun-drenched room, snuggled in a soft bed, with a warm, firm body pressed against his back as he slept on his side. Marcus’s arm was draped around his middle, and the slow, steady puff of his breaths tickled the back of his neck. It was heaven, absolute perfection. He felt so loved, so cared for. It was everything he’d ever wanted and dreamed of, but knew he couldn’t have.
That final thought was like a dissonant note played in his lullaby. A moment later, he realized the body nestled against him was smaller and lither than Marcus’s. The scent wasn’t the same either. It was still very familiar, but it wasn’t Marcus.