Free Speak Its Name: A Trilogy by Lee Rowan, Charlie Cochrane, Erastes Page B

but that would be a betrayal of trust. Better to wait, observe, and see if he could eventually solve the mystery on his own. He hadn’t really made an effort in that direction, though. There weren’t many clues.
    Darling had made the transition to civilian life without so much as a blink. His careful attention to uniform regulations and placement of insignia was transformed into a scrupulous exactitude regarding what a self-respecting gentleman was required to wear, enforcing his dictates with a deference that held a touch of gentle mockery. Always inclined to comfort rather than fashion, Scoville allowed himself to be bullied in matters of haberdashery. Darling’s taste in such matters was impeccable.
    Darling himself was no chore to look at, either—strongly built without being bulky, thick dark hair neatly trimmed, eyes a surprisingly dark blue, a pleasantly shaped mouth in a pleasantly arranged face, and throughout it all a spark of intelligence and humour that belied the man’s less than lofty occupation. He moved with the grace of a dancer or an athlete; he would have looked perfectly at home sitting in Parliament or at the head of his own firm. Why he chose to devote his considerable talents to making Lord Robert Scoville’s life comfortable was another minor mystery, but his lordship was content to let that one lie. A pity he couldn’t just marry the man—Darling would have made a splendid life’s companion, without the trouble of children or feminine vapours.
    Scoville warned himself off that line of thought. Discreet Darling might be, a pleasure to gaze upon, loyal as a bulldog, even willing to turn a blind eye to his master’s occasional male guest who stayed the night and shared His Lordship’s bed. That was more than a man of Scoville’s unconventional sexual habits could reasonably expect, and Darling had never given any hint that he might be willing to consider a more personal sort of service.
    And that was just as well, wasn’t it? If that particular question were ever raised, it would forever affect their relationship, might even destroy it. The principle that Scoville always followed in the army, A good officer keeps his hands off his privates , was just as sensible a maxim in civilian life. One did not make advances to an employee whose livelihood depended on pleasing his employer.
    Lord Robert had an ingrained awareness of his own privilege—not a sense of entitlement, but the sure knowledge that he’d done nothing to earn the good fortune that was his by birth. He had seen too many working-class heroes to think that his title made him better than the soldiers who had fought and died beside him, and he abhorred slavery, whatever its disguise. He might have paid for sexual services on occasion, but only in fair trade; he had never bedded an unwilling companion and never intended to.
    Particularly not someone whose friendship he valued. If he looked at the matter squarely, Darling was perhaps the best friend he’d ever had. He could think of no one he trusted more or would rather have at his side in a tight spot. If he asked Darling for more than the man was willing or able to give, he’d lose him, certain sure—and he did not want to lose Jack Darling. How could one replace the irreplaceable?
    This would all have been so different if they had met as equals. He could give the man a look, say, “Well, Jack, how about it?” and go from there—or go nowhere at all.
    But at least that way he would know. As it was, the forces of social convention could be a straightjacket for a man with principles.
    Still, there were things one couldn’t alter, so any invitation would have to come from Darling himself, and Scoville wasn’t about to hold his breath waiting. Darling had never given the slightest indication that he might dance on that side of the ballroom; he always seemed to have a flirtation going with some pretty housemaid or shopgirl, and he came home very late on his nights off.
    Scoville