Moon Flower

“The love potion. Which is in name only, obviously,” he replied, clearly frustrated. “Madam Langley is experimenting with quelling the constable’s desires.”

Galen couldn’t hide his surprise. “So that he no longer yearns for gentlemen?”

Azriel placed his finger to his lips and nodded.

“Is that even possible?”

“It’s only an experiment, but she’s at her wits’ end.” He leaned closer to his ear, and Galen shivered. “He’s becoming increasingly desperate and angry. If she cannot create something to keep him at bay, he will, at the very least, be sure to visit again.”

A thread of panic laced through Galen as he thought about that leering look the constable had given him earlier in the day.

“Does he choose the same man each time?”

Azriel shook his head. “There are times when he enjoys…being on the receiving end. Normally he requests Bellamy for that.”

Galen’s eyes wandered across the room to his bed. “Bellamy?”

“He enjoys giving. Very enthusiastically, I might add,” he said with a smirk.

“Will wonders never cease.”

“Oscar, of course, teases that it’s the wolf in him.”

Galen smiled. Oscar and his ridiculous embellishments, which in their own way, were romanticized as well.

“Is that something you enjoy?” Galen asked before he could stop himself. “Giving, I mean.” He’d already been intimate with Azriel and couldn’t help wanting to know more.

“I…enjoy both,” he replied, and Galen could see the blush crawling across his cheeks. “But I suppose it depends. On whom it’s with and whether I feel safe.”

When he felt Azriel’s knee pressing against his own, he began plumping up. Did he mean to say he felt that way with Galen, or was he reading too much into it?

“And you?” Azriel asked in a hoarse voice.

“I suppose it’s the same, though I haven’t had much opportunity to compare the two.”

Azriel made a noise in the back of his throat as the air thickened and swirled around them. Galen wished they were alone, that they could have the time and the space to explore each other without being within earshot of anyone else. But that was rare in such a place and under these circumstances. Besides, the situation was too precarious, and it would only lead to trouble. And more anguish.

Galen cleared his throat. “Perhaps it’s time for a subject change.”

“It might help.” Azriel groaned a little, which was gratifying because it meant Galen wasn’t in this alone.

“Madam Fairborn seemed nice,” Galen offered as a segue.

“She’s quite charming.”

“She didn’t have any lavender for you.”

Azriel frowned. “I thought not.”

After another lingering moment, Galen asked, “Do you think she and Madam Langley yearn to spend more time together?”

“I’m sure they do. But they also feel their work is important. These rooms were originally a molly house,” he said, and now it made sense why some of the gentlemen met here to rent a space together. “But Madam Langley realized some men might benefit from other arrangements, such as the ones provided by a bawdy house.” His gaze swept toward the window. “She began rescuing men like us from the streets and giving them a roof over their heads, and that’s how all this came to be.”

That explained Madam Langley’s strictness about whom she allowed under her roof—tenants and customers alike.

Azriel yawned and stretched his neck. “But I also believe they dream of a different future together. Someday.”

“That sounds lovely.” Galen sighed and pressed against his shoulder. “I have dreams too. Small ones. But dreams nonetheless.”

Azriel yawned again and tilted his head against Galen’s shoulder. “Tell me about them.”

So he did. He told him of viewing the countryside by railway, even though Azriel had already fallen asleep and heard none of it.

Chapter 19

The evening with the gentlemen was going splendidly, especially since Mr. Blackburn was in attendance, and Galen felt more charmed by his calm, mild manner with every visit. And, of course, he could only dream of spending more intimate time with Azriel, so his nerves were fraying with anticipation.

But just as they lined up in the vestibule, the footman ushered a late guest through the door. Guest was too kind a word to use for the constable, and as the footman hurried off with his hat and overcoat, the energy in the room changed. Galen did not immediately recognize the constable because he was dressed as a gentleman—if a bit disheveled, as though attending had been a last-minute, impulsive decision. And Galen could only imagine how it would be, given the man’s resistance and barely concealed vehemence regarding his proclivities. It made him unpredictable, his gray energy a threatening storm, and that worried Galen immensely.

The constable was gruff in his greeting to Madam Langley and ignored the others in the room, as if they weren’t worth his time or energy. And why would they be, when he was only in attendance with one purpose in mind—and according to the others, only when he felt desperate enough. Galen attempted to stand taller, unwilling to cower before this man, even if his presence made his stomach churn.