Spectred Isle (Green Men #1)(77)

“Treachery.” Something in the timbre of Barney’s voice sent a decided and unpleasant crawling sensation down Saul’s spine. “A fool and a knave may do what an emperor could not. Peabody was a fool. Who’s the knave?”

Sam massaged his temples. “I don’t suppose anyone has any bright ideas?”

“Not so far,” Randolph said. “We’d better find out. Saul and I will be putting the Moat back together, insofar as that’s possible, and I am going to go through the Ministry like a particularly nasty dose of clap. I’ve an appointment with Sir Ranjit tomorrow to stir him out of his torpor, and I will see Delingpole and Bracknell hung out to dry, and dig out any malicious intent while I’m at it. After which, gentlemen, we are going to find this cross or whatever it is, and the thieves or traitors who took it, and make them regret this. All the while keeping London ticking over, naturally. Any questions?”

*

They ate together—Max was quartermaster of the household—talking out the problem until the clock struck nine.

“Enough of today, I was up at five,” Randolph said with a yawn. “Coming, Saul?”

Saul followed him out, feeling his face heat. He cast Randolph a look in the hall, and received a tilted brow in return. “Problem?”

“You weren’t terribly subtle.”

“We don’t have to be,” Randolph said. “Isaacs doesn’t comment, Sam doesn’t care, and Barney doesn’t notice. This is a safe house, my dear, and you may do as you please. I rather wondered if we could have a word about that.”

Saul led the way up to his room, waving Randolph to a chair. He couldn’t help the twitch of nerves, despite everything said and done; he made himself sit, and wait.

“This is pleasant,” Randolph said, looking around. “In its way. A little Spartan, perhaps. Can I offer you a Futurist painting to liven it up?”

“No, you cannot. It’s a lovely room. You’re just a sybarite.”

“And proud of it. Saul, I wanted to speak to you. We rather fell into each other’s arms at a fairly vile time. Well, it’s been fairly vile for years. And I felt that I ought to raise the question of, let us say, the heightened emotions, the natural reaction to danger and so on—”

“Yes,” Saul said, stifled. “Of course.”

“Except that we were safe as houses dining in the Cafe Royal, and I will treasure that evening all my life.” Randolph gave him a crooked smile. “I am not going to assume anything, my dear. You’ve had a hell of a time and, as Sam so rightly observes, I’m no prize. But Jo Caldwell was on the button about you. You bring light, you have brought me more light than I had thought would ever be possible. I didn’t know there could be someone like you, I had no idea at all, and if you should choose to be rid of me tomorrow I shall nevertheless and always be bloody glad we met.”

“And if I don’t choose to be rid of you, tomorrow or later?”

“Well, that would be significantly better.”

“I’m not sure how you think I could,” Saul said. “The way you’ve stood by me, the way you’re just—just there—” He couldn’t find words for Randolph’s unsentimental generosity, his acceptance, as strong and supple and steadfast as a blade. He’d looked past everything, and seen a light that Saul had thought gone out for good.

“I feel like myself again, with you,” Saul managed. “I feel as though you gave me back myself.”

“That would be a rare gift indeed, because you are quite exceptional. May I stay?”

“I hope you will.”

“May I continue to stay?”

Saul smiled into his eyes. “As long as you like.”

“Does the bed creak?”

“Let’s find out.”

There was no palaver with clothing this time. Randolph stripped off his shirt, perhaps with a fractional hesitation but not enough to need comment. He straddled Saul, supine on the quilt, with a meaningful expression, splaying his hard hands over Saul’s chest as though he wanted to own everything within.

“My God, you’re beautiful.” He leaned forward for a kiss, and Saul met his lips, wrapping his legs around Randolph’s waist, pulling him close. “I believe I promised to tell you all the ways in which I adore you. It may take some time.”

Saul looked up into his dappled hazel eyes. Randolph looked back, and for once there was no irony, no tilted brow. He seemed raw, almost vulnerable. “I dare say it’s absurd. We haven’t known each other very long and so on and so forth. But I refuse to fuck under false pretences. I have a sinking feeling, based on no prior experience whatsoever, that I love you, you damned inconvenient turner-up in all the wrong places, and it’s only right you should know, and—well, good luck with that. Ah, you aren’t obliged to reciprocate,” Randolph added. “I just thought I’d mention it.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Saul said. “You’ve devastated me in the best possible way from the moment we met, and if you don’t know that, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“I’ve been busy.” Randolph pulled him close, burying his face in Saul’s neck. “Saul, my Saul, my lightbearer. I sincerely hope this can survive us working together.”