Free Brook Street: Thief by Ava March

crept into Sam’s voice, replacing the confusion.
    “Better that than being dragged to a prison hulk. Don’t worry. I’ll explain it to Hale. I never found the painting, so it’s likely not at the house. The owners probably took it with them to the country.” The last thing he wanted was for Hale to push him to return tomorrow, servants in the house be damned. Hale knew he could move quiet enough to slip a ring from a sleeping man’s hand. Cavin leaned forward and glanced around the bushes. Satisfied by the empty street, he stood. “Let’s go. Keep to the shadows and keep your eyes open for a hackney.”
    They spotted a cab a street from the pleasure gardens and were able to take it most of the way home, saving them what should have been a long walk, if the night had gone as Hale had planned. As Cavin had expected, Hale wasn’t pleased to see them arrive empty-handed. Sam and Jim wisely scattered the moment they walked through the door. Cavin got a fist to the jaw, but it could have been worse.
    As he crawled into his narrow bed in his tiny little room, random shouts and curses from his neighbors drifting in through his window, he couldn’t help but wish he was in Benjamin’s bed. The man’s arms draped across his back, holding him close, the steady beat of his heart lulling Cavin to sleep.
    With a shake of his head, he closed his eyes. Instead of wishing for something that could never be, he turned his mind to figuring out what he would do tomorrow and the next day and the day after. He’d get far more than an aching jaw if he returned empty-handed again.
    * * *
    Benjamin scanned the room once again, careful to check every table, along the walls, and by the cashier’s cage.
    Damn.
    He had known the probability of finding Cavin at Clements had been slim. Surely the man didn’t visit the hell every night. Still, the possibility he might be there, no matter how small, had pulled Benjamin to Silver Street. Now he had no one to blame but himself for the disappointment that draped over his shoulders.
    Maybe Cavin had already come and gone, taken another man to that shabby hotel. Jealousy and hurt began to fill his throat. With effort, he tamped it down. Cavin knew where to find him. If all Cavin wanted was a tumble, he could get it from him. Hell, if the man was in need of anything, no matter how great or insignificant, he could get it from Benjamin. He’d made that clear enough to him.
    And if Cavin didn’t wish to see him again, the least he could do was send Benjamin a note. Something, anything to quell the worry that had been building in his gut over the man’s absence.
    Five days had passed since Cavin had walked out his front door. On the remote chance Cavin showed up on his doorstep again, Benjamin had deliberately stayed home more often than not, eschewing his club and his friends in favor of his own empty house. Even informed his servants that if he was out to immediately send word to him if the man called.
    But nothing.
    He took up a place at a nearby roulette table. Might as well stay for a bit. If Cavin made an appearance later that night, he sure as hell didn’t want to risk missing him.
    As he pulled a few coins from his pocket, his elbow bumped the arm of the man beside him. “My apologies,” he murmured, glancing to his right.
    Handsome, tall and strong, the man arched a brow as his gaze traced Benjamin’s body, interest sparking in his brown eyes.
    Benjamin turned his attention back to the table, dismissing the man as politely as possible. He knew exactly who he wanted, and it wasn’t the man next to him.
    Maybe he was being a fool, trying to cling to someone who didn’t want him in return. Maybe he was being impatient—it had only been five days. But he couldn’t ignore the feeling lodged in his chest. That feeling that pushed him to decline an invitation for a dinner party at his sister’s and instead go to Silver Street tonight. That feeling that whispered if Cavin would but give them