During the final week of February in 1808, Clement Metcalfe has a brief and heated encounter in the back room of a busy London coffee house with bashful gentleman Humphrey Atkinson. Clem, a private secretary, is accustomed to grabbing random interludes to brighten his tedious and underpaid working days following a professional fall from grace. But Humphrey seems to hanker after more than one taste.
So Clem introduces Humphrey to Abe Pengelly, the other semi-regular man in his life. Imposingly dark and dangerous, Abe is an enigmatic figure, with his operations based at the decaying and infamous Old Red Lion Tavern. His endeavours, if not blatantly lawless and criminal, are definitely murky.
There’s an undeniable attraction between the three men that promises passion. However, Clem discovers his lovers are also willing to exert themselves on his behalf to right past wrongs. Might this be a case where three is not a crowd but the perfect number?
Humphrey had tried and failed to forget the episode in the coffee house the week before. It wasn’t as though he had the excuse of no other distractions. He barely had a free minute given the number of house guests arriving for the start of the Season. There seemed to be a constant round of relatives expecting him to conduct them in the social round.
At Drury Lane Theatre, Humphrey was entirely distracted during a performance of Hamlet, simply because one of the supporting actors bore a faint resemblance to the man from the coffee house. Only then did he admit he was a lost cause. In conversation with his cousins afterwards, he tried to hide that he couldn’t remember a single scene from the play, even though he’d studied it at school.
So after dinner one evening, when he wasn’t required for an hour or two, he audaciously decided to beard his seducer in his den, or rather the Fleet Street tavern he frequented.
Humphrey was so flustered by his uncharacteristic decisiveness that he changed his waistcoat three times. Although the blond had seemed more interested in what lay beneath Humphrey’s clothing.
He eyed his modest supply of coats with trepidation. Is the green too sober, the blue too frivolous and the buff-coloured one too plain?
In the end, he solved the problem by closing his eyes and picking a garment at random. He didn’t dare glance at the mirror in case that prompted more equivocation.
When downstairs, Humphrey hesitated by the drawing room door, lured by comfortable congeniality versus the pursuit of illicit pleasure. One minute he was about to enter the room and in the next, he was haring out of the front door and down the steps to the street.
He calmed his pace when he reached Holborn, slowed by a steady trickle of early evening foot traffic that thickened as he made his way towards Fleet Street.
I’m just going for a quiet drink, he thought. He might not even be there.
Humphrey halted at the entrance to the tavern, his resolve failing him. His vacillation was overcome by pure coincidence. A group of men required access and their impetus carried him over the threshold. Humphrey removed his crown beaver hat and looked around the unevenly shaped room.
With a combination of disappointment and relief, he concluded that his quarry wasn’t present. Then he spotted him in a corner nook. A second glance proved that he was not alone.
Humphrey shifted from foot to foot. In any given social situation he was a reliable sort of fellow, or so Aunt Cece reassured him. But etiquette couldn’t guide him in this particular situation.
It didn’t help that the man seated beside his acquaintance was equally attractive; well-built and with deep olive toned skin. He made a pleasing contrast to the other’s fair slenderness. His massive build reminded Humphrey enticingly of a bare knuckle boxer in an exhibition bout at the Lyceum.
Humphrey was dawdling indecisively when the blond looked up. Humphrey was neatly hooked by that sultry grey gaze. The man nudged his friend. He whispered a few words in his ear, from which hung a gold hoop. The other man grinned and looked Humphrey up and down in a far too knowledgeable way.
Oh good heavens, has he told him? Humphrey felt hot and cold and flustered all at once. He didn’t know whether to be flattered, alarmed, or horrified. He stood stock still, to the annoyance of another patron, halted in the course of reaching the bar.
“Scuse me, squire.”
“Beg your pardon,” Humphrey said immediately. Unfortunately, his reflex response brought him in front of the table occupied by his coffee house companion.
“Care to join us?” The dark-aspected man asked.
The invitation seemed to be loaded with meaning.
