John was seething with rage. He’d heard enough to know precisely what Claridge’s game was. And he wanted to bloody well kill the man.
Claridge spun around, still holding his side where Alec had given him a well-deserved jab. He glared at John, his spine going stiff and his nose raising haughtily. “Trent. If you’ve the least interest in not going to prison, you’ll leave now.”
“John, please,” Alec said, his face tortured. “He means it. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”
“Alec,” John said calmly. “He’s bluffing. Entirely. Do you trust me?”
Alec hesitated only a moment before nodding.
“Then come to me.”
John held out his arm. He couldn’t bear the look of agony on Alec’s face and wanted to reassure him. But there was also a modicum of possessiveness in the gesture too. He wanted to show Claridge where things really stood.
Alec came, dipping under his shoulder and wrapping an arm around John’s waist.
Claridge’s jaw tightened. “You will both regret this when you’re gasping for breath at the end of the hangman’s noose.”
John laughed. He couldn’t help it. Claridge was such a pathetic nob.
“John?” Alec sounded worried.
“I should have thought this obvious, but any word against Alec or myself would be digging your own grave. The first thing that would come out is the story of how you adored and courted Alec when he was a mere sculptor’s apprentice. All those words of love. All those sighs.”
He said it mockingly and Claridge went a gray color that matched his silver ensemble. “I’d simply deny it! You have no proof. No one will believe you.”
“On the contrary. Everyone will believe it. Because that’s the sort of scandal the beau monde lives for.” He gave Claridge a shark’s smile. “You’d never escape the gossip. Never. It would follow you, and your wife and children, to the end of your days. And then there are the courts. They’d convict you as readily as us. Besides, we do have proof.”
“What do you mean?” Claridge looked at Alec, his expression somewhere between outraged and pleading.
“Of course Alec saved some of your precious letters,” John huffed. “And of course I have secured them where you won’t ever get your hands on them.”
John squeezed Alec’s shoulder in warning, but Alec caught on. He gave Claridge a shy look from under his eyelashes. “I know we promised to burn them after they’d been read. But I just couldn’t. I saved my favorites. I couldn’t bear to part with them.”
“You—You devil!” Claridge sputtered.
John released Alec and went to the door. He held it open. “Good day, Your Grace. Oh, one more thing. If you ever come here and force yourself upon Alec, or do anything else to harm him, me, or mine, I will not only send those letters to every newspaper in the British Empire, but I will also hunt you down personally and make you regret it.”
Claridge strode to the door. He turned in the doorway, ignoring John with a haughty lift of his head, cutting him. He focused a searing gaze on Alec. “You were always beneath me. Now you’ve proven it by rolling in the filth where you belong. I wash my hands of you, Alec Allston. Now and forevermore!”
Alec smiled. “Merry Christmas.”
Claridge left, his posture reeking of disdain. John slammed the door on him.
Alec began to laugh, a nervous, tension-bursting sort of laugh that was nearly hysterical. John locked the door, then went to him, pulling him into an embrace. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
Alec kept laughing. “No. No, I—God’s teeth! How did you guess about the l-letters?”
“Of course he wrote letters,” John said with an eye roll. “That’s about all his kind are good for.”
Alec wiped his eyes and took a calming breath before returning the embrace. His warmth settled against John’s chest. “I didn’t, you know. Save any of his letters.”
“It doesn’t matter. He won’t dare test it.”
“No. No, he won’t.” He sighed. “Zounds, when he threatened you, I thought—”
“I know.”
“I thought I’d have to give you up. I would have, to protect you. But—”
“I know.”
Alec was still shaken. John took his hand and pulled him into the workshop in back. There were far too many windows out front, even if they were mostly obscured by carvings. Once there, he kissed Alec soundly, and for long minutes, until the anger and fear had leached out of both of them, and all they knew was each other and desire and a flood of sentiment they had yet to name.
When they broke off the kiss, Alec pushed away slightly, smoothed down his hair queue, and rubbed his glowing face. “My stars. This has been an exceedingly eventful twenty-four hours.”
John chuckled. “I’ll say.”
“I could do with a bit less excitement, I think.”
“Mmmm. Then Christmas Day at mine will do rather nicely. There’ll be endless games of whist after dinner. And Mr. Simpson snoring on the settee.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Alec smiled.
“Let’s go, then,” John said with energy. “Shall I see if I can get a hackney?”
“I wouldn’t mind walking. But I need to make up some gifts. That’s why I came home.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I want to,” Alec said firmly. “Give me half an hour?”
“Of course.”
To pass the time, John went out and found a hackney anyway. Because Alec had already walked that distance once. And because he was probably still shaken by Claridge’s visit. And because any small thing he could do to make things a little easier for Alec, he would do.
Which was when he realized that, yes, he really was in love.