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18-something or other (who could really keep track of every year?), the grand ballroom of Chalfield Mannor was decked to the nines, with all the carefully curated glamour and glitz befitting the English countryside. The band played something jaunty, the prelude before a proper dance, and the floor was dotted by English gentlemen and their accompanying roses. Every respectable family with a carriage and common sense would be rubbing elbows with Lord Chalfield, and they were hoping one Percival Blathe would be in attendance, another monster with the law in his back pocket, and too high of a body count.
"All we need to do is get him alone," Andromache had said, earlier that week. "If we keep it quiet enough, we'll be across the lake before anyone notices. It should be easy."
"Easy except for the part where we must break into a nobleman's estate," Joe had pointed out, knowing the best way to her smile.
"Are you saying you can't handle it?"
"No, I just want to remind you of how impressed you should be."
He'd gotten a gleam in his eye, clever and no less wicked for it. It was the one that said that Joe wanted to have fun with this, that it was still possible about so many years of death and loss. Killing a man should not have incited that expression, but accustomed to them both, Nicky chose to be shamelessly charmed. He should have known better, but he'd always put too much faith in Joe, (and often reaped the benefits).
They fit too well in the middle of glittering room. Nicky had been polished and poured into a ridiculous pair of trousers and a too tight waistcoat to look the part of an Italian nobleman. He had enough of an accent to draw an eye, and enough eloquence to avoid too much scrutiny. His team was scattered to the wind. They'd arrived separately, and Nicky kept his eyes peeled for them and their target, stopping only to collect a flute from a passing waiter. He indulged in a sip. When a familiar voice called for him, Nicky needed a moment to place him.
"Excuse me, signore. That drink is mine."
The last he'd seen of his beloved was when Nicky had kissed him goodbye, still concerned about where his pistol could avoid suspicion in a jacket that fit so well. Joe hadn't been dressed for the mission. He was now.
Fashions came and go, and Nicky barely thought about the specifics unless there was a reason. Comfort and function, that was all he really needed and the upper classes rarely went in for either. He'd lived through tight hose and tighter jackets, slashed sleeves and curled toe shoes. These Georgians were especially uptight, tying social status and a whole level of complicated communication into their choice of fabric down the placement of the jewelry they wore. It was exhausting to try to keep up, but Nicky had to admit-
Joe looked damn good in them.
Of course he did, he always knew the right cut to flatter his body and took great pride in using it to his advantage. Nicky knew exactly what he was doing and scowled just a little.
"I'm sorry sir, you must be mistaken." He said, accent pronounced as he played up his role. "And you are?"
"Joseph Cherif. It's an honor meet you, sir...?" He said, drawing the name with rounded syllables and a playful tongue. It was foreign enough that any British rose would wish to drip with the honey in his tone, even if Joe always managed to sound like one of them.
His soft black curls had been artfully smoothed back, his beard trimmer and handsome. There was something wrapped around Joe's neck, and he didn't know if it was an ascot or a scarf or what the difference was, but Nicky wanted to pull on it with his teeth.
"Pecci. Nicholas Ludovico Pecci, it's my pleasure."
"I intend to make it so." Joe said, eyes bright like he knew a secret he didn't want to share, but Nicky was always the best at picking those apart. He reached across them to pluck Nicky's glass out of his hand. Their fingers brushed in a whisper of motion. Nicky let him. "You are a long way from home, Signore Pecci, to be stealing other men's drinks."
He was doing this on purpose. He didn't even drink.
Nicky scowled deeper, resisting the urge to make a scene for the sake of it. He was never one to enjoy being baited, but it was only his partner who knew how to get a rise out of him. And it was only Nicky who knew all of Joe's tricks. He offered him a sweeping bow, all courtly grace.
"My apologies, sir, I meant no offense. Please forgive me."
He took another glass from one of the servers circulating throughout the room and held the crystal up to his adversary in a salute. "May I drink to your health? Though perhaps it is not so needed, you appear to be quite robust as it is." He skated on the edges of impropriety, saying as much through polite innuendo as he did through his seemingly innocuous words. He even risked a quick wink as he took a sip.
It earned him a grin. He could see it in the challenge in those bright, brilliant eyes. Nicky held firm, tried not to think of uncomfortable similarities between him and a lone sail in a storm.
"You may. The seasons has left me well enough to indulge," Joe said, mouth curled. "Though I have never found wine as sweet as that which has touched your lips."
Their glasses clinked. Nicky couldn't look at him or he would smile and give it all away.
"Bold of you to assume what my tastes would favor."
"I invite you to confirm my suspicions."
Nicky didn't know if he wanted to kiss him or smack him. It was par for the course.
"Unfortunately, I am indisposed this evening. I have a business partner to meet, but..." Joe said. His voice softened, and Nicky found himself leaning closer, as if he couldn't quite help himself. "Perhaps you can help me. And perhaps the first person make to his acquaintance will find 20 pounds."
"I see." Now Nicky's eyes were gleaming, no matter how he wrestled his expression into one of indifference. If there was one thing he couldn't resist, it was a good bet. (If there were two, it would be Joe, so that just made the whole affair doubly troublesome.) If he won, it would be sweeter to peel Joe out of that ridiculously complicated outfit with too many tiny buttons. When had buttons become so fashionable? Nicky was a patient man, but no man was that patient.
He was wary. They knew each other too well. Joe was playing an angle. He knew Nicky was competitive, and he wasn't going to rise to the bait, perhaps solely just to be contrary, perhaps because he liked it when Joe convinced him. "I'm afraid you may need to reschedule your appointment." He said coolly. "My business takes precedence and I've already secured an invitation for a more... private audience. Besides, I would feel bad taking your money without a fight."
"Oh, of course." Joe said, with an exaggerated hand motion that conveyed, approximately, What're you gonna do? "I'm sure sealing the deal has never been an issue for you.."
"Sir, you are out of line." He said, mild at best. If not for the way his eyes widened, a fraction of a sliver, as subtle as a heartbeat, there would be no indication of how grating the other man's gall was.
Joe's expression sent liquid warmth down his spine, and Nicky knew his wine would never compare. He wanted to see it bloody. "The best way to silence me is to put your money where your mouth is." Joe demanded, chin raised like he was begging for a blow. A single step forward, and Nicky wanted to watch every muscle beneath his skin sway.
"I have nothing to prove to you." Joe scoffed. Nicky ignored him, "Your paltry favors won't do more than waste my time."
"Then we sweeten the pot." Joe leaned forward. His voice was a purr, close enough now that Nicky could feel his warmth through too many layers, and he wondered if it was his mind playing tricks on him, or if he could feel the brush of his beard tickling his cheek with each word. All he had was the memory of Joe's fingers between his, the smoothness of his glass, and Nicky stood stock still, helpless to remember how quickly Joe could hide a dagger between a man's rib like this. "Winner gets to be on top."
He was sauntering away before Nicky could recover, hips swaying with an easy confidence that had made him such a bothersome enemy all those years ago. Nicky mentally cursed that bastard in four different languages. He didn't look away. Nicky had never run from trouble before. He wasn't going to start now. When he downed his wine, it went down smooth.
He needed to find Blathe.
Fortunately, he hadn't been bluffing. He'd asked one of the footmen to inform him of the arrival of Blathe's carriage, and paid handsomely for their eye. He couldn't wait. Joe was always so petty when he lost. He was going to send those buttons flying.
He must have given something of that away because when Andromache passed, she sent him a suspicious glance. She was in more ruffles than Nicky thought a body could carry. It was its own tragedy, but her eyes danced the way they used to back before-, back before. They didn't talk about it much, but even after so many years, the wound was still raw. It was nice to see that old spark of the warrior Nicky had known all those centuries.. "Joe?"
"We cover more ground separately." Nicky explained, and he was struck by how badly he missed her, all at once, like she wasn't within his grasp.
"For?"
He didn't even consider lying. "Twenty." A beat. "Bragging rights."
Andromache laughed, and Nicky would have lingered, but his contact poked his head through the side entrance, as inconspicuous as only a servant or a spy was taught to be.
He didn't have to share the rest. He trusted Andy knew. She had an extremely annoying talent for knowing just about everything, especially when it was embarrassing. Nicky moved through the crowd with an easy grace, giving other a small nod or a pleasant greeting. Just enough to be polite, but not enough to try and catch anyone's eye too long. These weren't his usual methods, too messy, too temperamental, but always pushed him to new heights.
"News?" He leaned casually against the wall, not looking at the footman beside him.
"He's here." The footman seemed a little nervous, but another quick flash of coin helped to solve that problem. Nicky was coming into a small fortune at the end of the night. He didn't need to be stingy. "He's in the library, not sure why."
"Graci."
Nicky walked away before anyone could protest, and it felt good to hunt down the beasts that wore human skin. It was better to get one over the love of his life though, as only those in a long term relationships would truly understand.
He would have whistled if he considered himself a whistling man.
Turning a corner to make his way to the ballroom, he froze mid-step. Blathe had his back to him, and he wasn't alone. Joe was already talking to him. He watched as the love of his life made their target laugh, and Nicky almost sighed.
He wouldn't go as far as to sabotage a mission, as tempting as it was, but he imagined he could be. Then a gaggle of guests turned the opposite corner, and Nicky watched as Blathe brushed Joe off.
He didn't quite smirk, but Joe caught his eye, and bristled anyway. Maybe Nicky would whistle.
Blathe was turning back to the party, one with the crowd, and Nicky vaguely considered shanking him as he walked, but they were trying to be discreet. Instead he slowed, falling into the nebulous path of Blathe's orbit, catching his eye once, just long enough to know that it could linger. When they returned to the ballroom, Nicky made a beeline towards him, smiled the way he knew could stop Joe's heart, and turned to the pretty young woman by Blathe's side with a deep bow. It only took a few words in smooth Italian before she giggled and offered him her arm, He led her to the middle of the dance floor making sure to position themselves at the very center of everyone's attention as the musicians struck up another waltz.
A handsome and unknown Italian noble in a well-tailored suit at the peak of fashion, Nicky knew that he could command a room when the situation called for it for all that he would have preferred to have worked at a distance.
He whirled his partner around in a flurry of skirts, leading her easily through the steps and doing his best to show off. It had taken him years to find enjoyment in this. Forced lessons in his childhood had fostered resentment, but this far away from them, even childhood tantrums were rose-tinted. He'd only truly found his footing once he'd found the right partner.
The young woman in his arms was witty and bright, with coquettish eyes and refined features. Blathe hadn't taken his eyes off them once. Then there was a tap on his shoulder.
"Excuse me, signorina. If I may?"
Nicky bit the inside of his cheek as polite confusion colored his expression, but Joe had already taken her place, slipping his hands into Nicky's grasp like they belonged there. Because they belonged there.
How scandalous.
They were going to be invited to the next soiree for sure.
"Mr. Cherif, are you lost?" Nicky clucked his tongue, but his traitor heart fluttered with contentment as his hand settled into the small of Joe's back. This was the only time he could ever consistently tell his beloved what to do. "I thought you had business to attend to?"
"I thought perhaps a change in technique." He gave his partner a wink. "Especially after watching your approach. Didn't think you'd cut in on my attempt."
Not that he was complaining. He would never let anything distract him from a mission, the target was always more important, but if anything could, Joe would come close. If he didn't have the strength of will, it would be so easy to lose himself in Joe's arms. In all the years they'd been together, he'd never lost that illicit thrill that came when his partner's body was pressed so close to his. He knew every inch, he'd mapped every line and every curve, and yet he always ached to keep exploring.
Nicky couldn't wait until he won.
"You're going to have to keep up." Nicky said in murmured Italian. He never got to be the wicked one, he was going to indulge. He made good on his threat and took the lead, whirling Joe around the room like he was wearing the same kind of silky skirts as all the other dancers, and he lost Joe's laughter to the wind. It was easy with Joe, but they'd paved their path with blood and tears, so they could dance upon its bricks like madmen out of time. Their frame was steady, but Joe was his answering breath, the beat between his pulse that gave them meaning. He moved like he already knew where Nicky wanted him, legs brushing against his thighs in a promise so clear it was obscene. His hand was steady in Nicky's, and Nicky knew how it felt when Joe pulled, when he demanded more.
"I would spend every lifetime trying," Joe whispered, breath a touch too rough. "I have stopped seeking the stars, now that I've found them in your eyes. I would never turn back."
Nicky could feel the scratch of his beard against his jaw, the warmth of his words across his cheeks. His knees buckled, but a minor miracle kept his pace steady. Nicky ached suddenly for the chance they could do this on their own. Perhaps they could crash a party without murder on the agenda. Some day.
"Problem?" Joe asked. Of course he noticed, and Nicky didn't know what gave him away, but he squeezed his hand.
"Thinking about later, when I win."
Joe laughed. "I was being sweet."
"You were trying to impress me. There's a distinction."
"Is it working?" Joe asked, just on the right edge of teasing, and Nicky was struck by a terrible need to kiss him. He didn't. He didn't reply either because Joe had enough encouragement as it was.
Damn him.
He knew exactly what he was doing, him and his romantic poetry. This was playing dirty, and Nicky was incensed. How dare he! Especially since they both knew it always worked.
Well, he had warned Joe to keep up.
With a sudden turn, he spun his partner in his arms, guiding him through a complicated set of steps that only instinct and practice allowed Joe to follow. He widened his stance, forced Joe to step between his legs, made him arch his back and skip his heel to keep up. Sweat pooled at the base of Nicky's spine, but he was grinning with too much teeth. It was much more of a flourish than this uptight British aristocracy was used to, right on the edge of scandal but an "exotic" hot blooded Italian could get away with much more. He sent Joe spinning away, watched his smart black shoes teased across marble, before Nicky turned with a flourish.
Right in front of Percival Blathe, skin flushed, breathing just hard enough to notice.
He watched as Blathe's eyes flitted over his face, before finding him again, open appreciation in his stare. Nicky met the eyes of a predator, and pretended he could be prey. "Good show, sir. Is that how they do it in Venice then?"
"How did you know?" Nicky asked, arching a brow.
"I am a man of discerning taste."
There were others, complimenting cheers and suspicious stares behind perfumed fans, and Nicky pretended to notice them before stepping into place beside Blathe. Nicky's smile grew sharp, something only Joe and his family ever really got to see, but he had to wield all of the weapons at his disposal. He hated to have to share something to personal with this mark and hoped Blathe cut himself on it.
"I'd be interested in what else you... taste." He said, Italian accent heavy. Joe was going to laugh at him, but his love had his poetry and his romance, Nicky had the direct approach. He held his hand out to Blathe in invitation. "Signore Nicholas Ludovico Pecci, I do believe we have an appointment."
He watched confusion then ambition break across his face, and he took Nicky's hand in a firm squeeze, like he was trying to break his knuckles. He pulled him that much closer, and Nicky didn't fight it. He could have the man on his back in two seconds.
Not here.
"That we do. Perhaps you will meet me in my quarters. I make use of the Reynolds Suite, on the second floor, when I travel this side of the country." He murmured, like he expected Nicky to be impressed. He hadn't let go of his hand. "I might see you at the top of the hour?"
Nicky's stomach fluttered. He stroked a wide streak across Blathe's knuckles, thought about breaking his jaw. "I will see you there."
He pulled away first. Crossed the room in a meandering path that brought him up to and away from Andromache, her curled lips hidden behind her glass. Ships that pass in the night, if not for the barbs they struck.
"9:00." He grinned.
"Good luck with your bragging rights."
He wished he'd stopped to see her smile.
He would have preferred a sword to this subterfuge. It was more direct and cleaner than using guile and seduction. Not that he objected on moral grounds, it was just easier to remove targets head on. And their heads. There was something more honest about the heat of battle, the blind rush and racing adrenaline, it had more to do with skill and practice than luck or those looks he'd rather save for Joe.
Ah well.
He melted back into the party, checked and rechecked their exit strategy. It wouldn't hurt to make a good impression, no sense in letting the opportunity go to waste. You never knew when you might need to resurrect an alias and a wealthy, connected dowager was always a useful ally.
He made his excuses and swiftly slipped away before the hour struck, and undid the first button on his waistcoat. It would be easier to twist his dagger that way.
The halls were winding, but once he reached the landing of the second floor, all signs of the party muted. The Reynolds Suite was in the south wing, where rooms grew more elaborate but hadn't quite reached the majesty of royalty. Nicky turned the corner just to see its door close. He rushed forward, didn't bother knocking, blade drawn.
His blade was stopped by its twin
The face in the antechamber was one he'd have moved mountains for, but right now, Joe was getting on his nerves.
"How-!"
"You're getting slow in your old age."
Nicky scowled darkly. "Infiltration? Really?"
"Nothing wrong with going old school." Joe whispered back, clearly enjoying myself.
"I have an invitation, I can take care of it."
Joe didn't seem bothered by that in the slightest. In fact, he only grinned wider as Nicky fumed. "You may have your invitation, but if you'd checked his library, this would be yours. All the invitations in the world won't stop a sneaky thief from getting the drop on him, cara mio."
Just because Nicky couldn't argue with that didn't mean he didn't want to. There were few in this world as skilled as his partner in stealth, and he knew all of them. In any other mission, it would have been easy for Joe to slip in and take care of things with no fuss, but Nicky had worked too hard to get his own foot in the door.
"I'm fully capable of taking care of him myself."
"I know you are, that was never in doubt. But I'll still get him first."
Nicky drew his dagger, not in threat, but with eerie similarity to a debutante stomping her heel. He was not above twisting it in for victory. He didn't run through the antechamber, but it was a close thing. Joe was right there with him. "First fatal throw at him wins."
They rounded the corner. Nothing went Nicky's way.
In a blur of grey lace and satin, Andromache dropped a bloodstained sword with unnecessary flourish, and reveled in their stunned silence. Behind her petticoats, Nicky could just make out a pair of shoes and an unfortunate puddle.
"So." She drawled, smiling like the Cheshire cat. "Does this mean I get to be on top?"
Joe booed at her, and Nicky couldn’t stop grinning.