35
plunge across the busy street to shadow his quarry from behind, when von Binder and company elected to cross the road in his direction.
They were at a corner. A uniformed police pointsman directed traffic, his white gloves conducting the vehicles in a sedate waltz. There would be no collisions on his watch, his assured hands seemed to say. Spotting the pedestrians waiting to cross, and clearly well-off ones at that, the copper held up his hand. A huge dray horse pulling a canvas-covered wagon obeyed the tug of its master"s reins and stopped.
Other conveyances also slowed and stopped while Herr von Binder and his entourage hurried across the street.
Reese saw the lightweight phaeton careening around the stalled traffic before the policeman did. The high flyer, with its huge wheels, was built for speed, not balance. The driver should never have had the vehicle out on such a day, on slick roads amid slow-moving traffic. And he certainly shouldn"t have been speeding like an entrant in the Newmarket races.
Reese"s stomach lurched as he leaped into action and raced for the corner. Karl and his men were nearly across, but the phaeton was coming on fast, barreling right toward them. The driver tried to slow the horse while dodging past other vehicles.
The animal"s neck arched as the reins pulled its head back. With front hooves pawing the air, it came to a halt, but the carriage itself was out of control. The phaeton slewed to the side, and a basket flew from the back as the straps broke.
All this happened on the periphery of Reese"s consciousness while he ran toward Binder. The entire focus of his being was on getting the man out of the way of the unfolding accident. It didn"t matter if it was his assignment or not. His instinctive response was to stop the accident unfolding before him. He barreled into Binder, threw him to the pavement, and landed hard on top of his body. Meanwhile the high flyer crashed onto its side, slid, and skidded to a halt a few feet away from their sprawled bodies.
Sharp pain skewered through Reese"s arm from where his shoulder had hit the pavement. Karl"s solid body moved beneath him, and for a moment the thought 36
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darted through his mind that this wasn"t what he"d hoped to be doing if he ever lay on top of Karl von Binder. He glanced over his shoulder to where the horse was screaming and struggling to get free of its traces, and the driver of the phaeton was lying facedown in a puddle on the pavement.
The world around them was a blur of motion and noise. Karl"s lackeys clustered like worried hens clucking their concern. Other drivers and passengers stepped from their vehicles, and pedestrians gathered to watch. A few went to check on the injured driver. The policeman shouted for people to return to their business.
In his mind, everything was still under his control.
“Are you hurt, erbgraf?” One of Binder"s men unceremoniously pulled Reese off Karl so he could help his master to rise.
“Fine, Cohen. Stop fussing.” Karl impatiently waved away the lanky man with the shadowed eyes and turned to Reese. “Are you all right?”
Reese grunted an affirmative as he climbed to his feet. He looked again at the phaeton"s driver, who lay absolutely still, blood staining the puddle beneath his head. One of the onlookers turned the man over and dabbed at his face.
“Herr Smelter, will you tend to that man?” Binder"s voice was imperious, every bit the regal nobleman. Reese hadn"t heard him use that tone before.
A portly man wearing a black top hat and caped greatcoat went to do his master"s bidding.
“Smelter is my physician,” Karl explained to Reese, then held out his hand. “It appears you"ve saved my life, for which I owe you a great debt of gratitude. I am Karl Johann Peter, Erb-Pfalzgraf von und zu Neuschlosswold-Binder, but you must call me Karl. And you are…?”
Reese reluctantly took the gloved hand, remembering distinctly how the bare palm had felt sliding over his skin and the fingers gripping his cock and touching his anus. Good Christ, could this day get any stranger? “I"m honored to make your acquaintance, sir.”
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The erbgraf gave him a measured glance, and Reese guessed what he was thinking—
Why was this man on hand to save my life? Why is he following me?
As Reese took back his hand, he winced at the pain that shot once more through his arm.
“You"re hurt.” Karl frowned and stared at his shoulder, as if he could see the injury through Reese"s sodden coat and all his layers of clothing. “You will come back to my rooms and allow my physician to examine you.”
It took Reese a moment to remember that he should not know their party had come from the hotel, not in front of Karl"s staff. He glanced at the front of Claridge"s, then at Binder. “But it appears you were heading somewhere else.”
Karl waved a hand. “Not at all. I was merely taking my afternoon constitutional. Rain or shine, I walk for my health. Keeps a body fit.” He smiled grimly. “Unless, of course, one is struck by a runaway carriage. I must thank you again for possibly saving my life.”
Reese bowed his head and stepped backward. Now that the crisis was averted, he wanted nothing more than to slip away into the crowd and disappear, but Karl seemed to sense his readiness to escape and gripped his good arm firmly. “Come with me now, my good man, and let me help you. I insist. Cohen, please bring Dr.
Smelter back to the hotel when he"s finished tending the poor sod who crashed his carriage.”
Before they could walk away, another policeman who"d joined his traffic-directing colleague insisted on taking down their statements concerning the accident. It was some time before the mess was sorted out and they were allowed to leave the scene.
Karl walked close by Reese"s side on the way to the hotel, his entourage trailing behind him. “We have some more talking to do, you and I,” he muttered. “I do believe you are a very good friend. That, or yet another agent sent by my father to look after my interests. Which is it?”
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Reese thought fast. If Binder wanted to attribute his spying to intervention by an overprotective father, why not let him? Eventually he"d find out the truth—that the count hadn"t sent Reese to shadow his son—but for now it was as good a cover as any.
“Your well-being is of importance to your family,” Reese said. “You should be glad of that.” There, that was vague enough. He admitted to nothing but the truth.
For once Karl said nothing, but his brow was furrowed and his lips tight as he strode quickly beside Reese. It seemed Binder was not necessarily on good terms with his father. Reese wondered why, but supposed it really didn"t matter. The familial relationship had nothing to do with his assignment—to keep an eye on Binder"s movements and those who might harm him. Well, he was certainly close to his quarry now, practically in his hip pocket after his actions today. He"d saved Binder"s life, and Reese wasn"t going to explore whether he"d been following a directive to get close to the man or if he instinctively couldn"t have borne to see him injured.
As they entered the foyer of the hotel, then climbed the stairs to Binder"s rooms on the third floor, Reese took mental notes on the members of the erbgraf"s entourage. He had already been watching them from afar, and even from quite close up on occasion, as he"d blended into nearby crowds to listen in on their interactions.
He already knew that Karl"s most-trusted confidante was Cohen, the tall, thin manservant. The man wasn"t afraid to speak what he perceived as the truth to his master. Reese had observed the erbgraf"s personal physician, Herr Smelter, spending much of his time in the hotel dining room, drinking beer, snacking on sausages, and smoking his pipe. He was a man who appeared to love his small vices.
Reese wasn"t yet clear on the identities or duties of the other men in the party, although he knew them all by sight.
At last they reached the top floor of the hotel, the deluxe accommodations fit to host traveling titled individuals or the very wealthy. Karl was both.
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Reese waited with the erbgraf while Cohen unlocked the door and gave a quick glance through the rooms. Then the man ushered them inside. The ache in Reese"s shoulder was spreading down his arm. He"d wrenched it somehow while tackling Binder to the ground. No doubt the other man"s rib cage was hurting him, since he"d hit the pavement hard.
The assortment of servants went about their duties, ringing for hot tea from the hotel kitchens, poking up the fire, taking wet coats and hats to hang in another room to dry, drawing off the master"s boots, and pouring brandy for both Binder and his guest.
Beneath his topcoat, Karl was as fresh and well groomed as when Reese had first faced him. Although his fair hair was darkened by rainwater and his trousers damp, his white shirtfront was still pristine and his expression unruffled. He stood before the fireplace as the flames began to crackle. In contrast, Reese knew he was as bedraggled as an alley cat dragged in from the rain. Somehow his coat had not protected his clothing. His shirt, waistcoat, and trousers were sodden and dirty.
“Do take your shirt off, my friend, and let"s see what we have,” Binder suddenly said.
“Pardon?” Startled, Reese darted a glance at Cohen and the other servants, secretaries, attendants, or whatever they all were, who bustled around the room.
With a smile, Karl nodded toward the door through which the physician had just entered. “Dr. Smelter is here now. He will take a look at your injury.”
“Oh.” Reese hated the way this man was able to put him off balance so easily.
The self-contained, poised persona he"d developed over years of undercover work seemed to evaporate every time he came in direct contact with Binder. He"d certainly not meant to run into him a second time today, but here they were.
With slightly trembling fingers, Reese began to unbutton his shirt.
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Karl didn"t care for the way his mysterious new acquaintance made him feel—unsettled, excited, anxious, curious, and undeniably attracted and aroused.
Jonathan what? The man still had managed to sidestep giving any kind of surname, either real or false. He hadn"t denied it when Karl accused him of working on his father"s behalf, but now that he thought about it, Jonathan hadn"t really admitted to it either. Who in the world was he? Avenging or guardian angel? One thing was fairly certain: he was no assassin, or he would"ve let the phaeton do his work for him.
“Herr Smelter, how was the driver of the carriage?” Karl remembered to ask.
The physician removed his hat, coat, and wet shoes and surrendered them to a servant while he spoke. “I"m afraid he had expired before I was able to examine him, Hochgeboren.”
“Good riddance,” Cohen growled in German. “Idiotic young fool could"ve killed you with that ridiculous contraption. Such idiots shouldn"t be allowed on the roads, putting everyone in danger.”
“Cohen, a man is dead. Show respect,” Karl snapped, also in German, then continued in English. “And please speak in English for the benefit of our guest, Mr.… What did you say your name was?”
There was only a hairbreadth of hesitation before the brown-eyed man answered. “Reed, sir. Jonathan Reed.” He met Karl"s eyes, transmitting some silent message Karl couldn"t understand. This man"s mind and motivations were a mystery to him. All Karl knew was that he wanted to find out more about Jonathan Reed and to see more—literally.
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He watched with interest as his guest took off the waistcoat and shirt Karl had so recently unbuttoned. But this time, instead of merely a tempting slice of chest and stomach, Jonathan"s entire upper body was unclothed—his shoulders, arms, and then his naked back when he turned to lay his folded shirt and undershirt over a chair. There was a long, pale scar down Reed"s back that surely had a story behind it.
The shadows beneath his shoulder blades, the knobs of his spine, and the curves of his biceps sent a sharp pang of hunger through Karl. He would have liked to freeze Jonathan in that position to study the beautiful angles of his body. Except he would have him remove his trousers too, so he could view taut buttocks and solidly muscled legs.
Jonathan sat on an ottoman so Smelter could reach his shoulder to manipulate it. The doctor carefully rotated the shoulder in its socket, his pudgy, clever hands pale against Jonathan"s skin. “This hurts? What about this?”
“I"ve simply wrenched it,” Jonathan declared, pulling away from the doctor"s grip.
“That"s for me to decide, although I believe you are correct.” The doctor examined his collarbone, the top of his shoulder, and his back. “
Gut
. Nothing broken. You should rest. A warm compress should reduce swelling, and a headache powder will ease any discomfort.”
Jonathan impatiently rose and reached for his shirt.
“You heard the doctor,” Karl said. “You mustn"t hurry off. I"ve ordered tea, and the fire is lovely on such a chill day.” He lifted his glass. “Besides, we have our brandy to sip. You will stay and visit with me. I insist on knowing more about my rescuer.”
“There is someplace I need to be.” He pulled on his undergarment, then his shirt.
“I will send a messenger with a note. Please, humor me. Take a seat.”
Although spoken as a request, Karl imbued the words with command.