Free A Charm of Magpies 03 Flight of Magpies by Kj Charles Page A

shrugged the hand off, feeling a pulse of annoyance at the blatant approach that he doubtless wouldn’t have experienced if he’d been able to take advantage of it. As it was, there seemed to be far too many people on the Strand to play silly buggers. Policemen, flower sellers, even the street artist who seemed to be constantly around these days, sketching under the gas lamp’s circle of light not six feet from him.
    “No, but good hunting.” Crane gave the young man a smile and a nod of farewell, and walked off without waiting for a response, stuffing the handkerchief into the pocket.
    Fidelity had never been part of his life before. Not that he’d rejected it as an idea; it simply hadn’t come up. Very few of his previous lovers would have batted an eye at his taking up the young man’s offer, nor would Crane have expected any of them to refrain. He wouldn’t, truly, have cared.
    Stephen would care. Stephen would care so much it hurt. Crane hadn’t ever discussed the matter with him, because—he realised with incredulity—this was the first time it had crossed his mind in eight months that he might bed anyone else, but he knew, without question, the flinching pain he would inflict if Stephen saw him with some bit of stuff.
    Good God, does he expect me never to fuck anyone else for the rest of my life? Crane thought, and then, No. Of course he expects me to fuck other people. He’ll be waiting for me to do exactly that . Waiting and dreading.
    One more obligation that came with Stephen, Crane thought as he entered his building and headed up the four flights of stairs. One more restriction, along with the secrecy and the life in England, and the demands of the bloody justiciary. Another set of chains.
    Admittedly, Crane had had all the lovers a reasonable man could ask for, and he was old enough to appreciate a pretty mouth without feeling compelled to put his cock in it. There was nothing the blue-eyed smiler could give him that Stephen could not, except, probably, the clap. Most of all, he could not imagine taking pleasure in an act that would cause Stephen pain. Nothing was worth that. But the realisation took him one more step away from China and home; bound him one notch tighter to England and duty and all the things that tied Stephen down, and Crane with him.
    If I’d wanted a life trammelled by obligation, I could have stayed in this bloody country in the first place.
    Then again, if I wanted a life without Stephen I’d be back in Shanghai already.
    Crane reached his front door and heard rapid footsteps behind him, hurrying up the stairs. He turned and saw Stephen sprinting up to catch him, face set.
    “Who the devil was that?” Stephen demanded.
    “Good evening to you too. I’ve no idea. He was returning my handkerchief.”
    “Really. Was that all?”
    Crane arched a brow at the expression on Stephen’s face. “As you saw.”
    “He didn’t look like he was returning a handkerchief.”
    Crane opened the front door, waved Stephen in, and shut it safely behind them. “Well, he also wanted to suck me off, but I just accepted the handkerchief. Are you jealous?”
    Stephen went scarlet. “No.”
    “You are.” Crane grinned at him, waiting for him to see the absurdity, for the familiar light of amusement in his eyes and the irresistible snag-toothed smile.
    It didn’t come. Instead, Stephen threw his coat onto a hook. “It’s scarcely jealousy if I expect you to be a little more courteous than to be fondling other men right in front of me.”
    “Oh, come. I did nothing of the kind. What’s wrong?”
    “What’s wrong ?” Stephen repeated angrily, and then flopped back against the wall. “Oh God, Lucien, what isn’t?”
    “Here.” Crane pulled him through to the sitting room, shoved him onto the sofa and poured them both a generous whisky. “Talk to me.”
    Stephen gulped half the drink in a single swallow, put the glass down and slumped forward, face in his hands. “Saint’s stolen my