“You don’t know when to stop, do you?” Ned asked sternly, but even he heard how hoarse his voice was.

“Stop me then.”

A heartbeat passed in absolute silence. Then a pleasant, warm weight settled on Ned’s lap. Soft lips brushed his cheek before they captured his mouth. He raised a hand, half determined to push the man away, yet it disobeyed and found its way into the golden-brown hair.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this,” St Clair whispered breathlessly between two tender kisses.

Ned opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but a sweet tongue tapped against his own, entangling it in a deliciously erotic play. A lustful moan resonated in his ear, but he was so dizzy that he couldn’t tell if it was St Clair’s or his own.

The firm bottom wriggled against his throbbing flesh, making him blind with lust. The fingers of his right hand tightened their grip on the thick hair, while his left sneaked under the cotton undershirt, eager to feel the warm skin underneath. The supple body leaned eagerly into his touch with a beguiling little cry of pleasure.

A police whistle shrieked in the street below, breaking the enchantment.

The shrill sound brought Ned to his senses. What was he doing here? Taking advantage of an unhinged young man. He pulled back. St Clair let out a sound of protest, closing his arms more firmly around him.

“I think your five minutes are up,” Ned said hoarsely.

“This counts as cruel and unusual punishment,” St Clair complained.

He looked so enchanting with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks that Ned almost became weak again. The whistle outside continued to shriek as if in warning. Surely that was a sign if he ever needed one. Scratching together all his self-discipline, he motioned for the younger man to get up.

St Clair sighed like a man forsaken by god and betrayed by the world, but he got off obediently enough. He glanced at the window as if it were all its fault, then walked over to it and tore it open with a bit too much force.

“What the bloody hell is it now?” he called out to someone on the street.

Ned pressed his fingers against his eyes and suppressed a hysterical laugh. For a moment, he wondered if the brat was really who he said he was. Surely no earl’s son would behave like this. A part of him even wanted it to be a lie. It would make things less complicated. More ... possible, perhaps. But no. It was just all those months of celibacy demanding their toll at the most inconvenient moment. Even the cold air rushing into the room didn’t help against it.

St Clair bent out of the window to listen to the shouting voices. The tweed stretched taut against his perfectly rounded bottom. Ned forced himself to avert his eyes before it made the ache in his loins worse and took another sip of tea. Maybe it would be best if he left. He was in no state to deal with this young troublemaker right now.

The windows slammed shut again, and St Clair rubbed his arms against the cold.

“It’s just a gang fight.”

He stayed by the window, not turning around. Ned swallowed nervously, trying to cover his embarrassment.

“I know. The whistle blows are too long. If it were something serious, they would be short and sharp,” he said.

St Clair nodded, straightened his shoulders and finally turned around. The flush was still high on his cheeks, and he wouldn’t meet Ned’s eye.

“You must think I’m ridiculous. Throwing myself at you like a common tart.”

Ned felt like an idiot. He was the one who bore the blame here. He should have put a stop to St Clair’s antics at once.

“I think you are young and impulsive,” he finally managed.

“I am twenty-one. You are barely five years older than me,” the young man pointed out stubbornly.

Ned thought he was never that young. At least not in the same spoiled way St Clair was. But all he said was, “Five years is a lot.”

He got up and reached for his coat and shawl. He had to leave here before he got himself into trouble that would make his suspension look like a minor inconvenience. What he’d done was unforgivably stupid. This was still a public room, and people around here knew him. Had anyone seen them, he would be ruined. An earl’s son could probably get away with it. They’d just ship him off to the continent for a while until the scandal blew over. Policemen did not enjoy the same indulgence.

“Don’t go. I am sorry I got carried away, but I still ... I promised to answer your questions,” St Clair said quietly.

“All you’ve done so far is stall with stage magician tricks,” Ned said and searched his pockets for his gloves.

The words sounded crueller than he intended them to be, and St Clair’s face darkened.

“I was trying to tell you the truth. But I can’t explain anything if you won’t accept the simplest fact that magic is real.”

Giving up on the young fool, Ned rolled his eyes and pulled the gloves from the inside pocket of his coat too forcefully. The notebook dropped to the threadbare carpet, falling open to the last page.

St Clair moved to retrieve it, then stopped mid-motion. A shadow crossed his face, and his eyes hid behind the dark lashes again as he stepped back, his whole body suddenly tense.

Ned picked up the notebook. When he straightened himself, the young man’s expression was calm and collected. The naked vulnerability was gone from it, the charmingly flushed cheeks turning pale like marble again.

He pointed at the notebook and said, “My name is in there, isn’t it?”

Ned stuffed it back into his inner pocket. St Clair seemed to have sobered up. Maybe he could be of some use after all. He pinned him down with his sternest look.

“Yes. Do you know what it is?”

Fear flashed up in the handsome features, but was gone so soon that Ned wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it.

“A kill list. That is why you came here with me.”

Ned nodded coldly. “Now quit playing your little games and tell me what you know.”

St Clair’s lips turned up in a sweet smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He raised his hand and cupped Ned’s cheek.

“Will you spare me if I do?”

The brat was really getting more insane by the minute. Ned sighed and moved his head. “I told you to stop playing.”

The hand slid down, and Ned winced as something sharp scratched his skin just below the jaw. When he touched it, a trace of blood remained on his fingers.

St Clair stood still, the silver raven on his signet red with blood. The amber eyes that had been so full of warmth just moments before flashed golden again. The eyes of a predator watching his prey.

A strange heat spread from the scratch. Ned opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but the words came out slurred. His body turned heavy, dragging him down. He grabbed for the chair and missed.

St Clair caught him before he could fall and lowered him gently to the ground, then knelt next to him. The beautiful face blurred in front of Ned’s eyes.

“None so blind as those who don’t want to see,” St Clair whispered, sounding almost heartbroken.

Something wet and warm dropped on Ned’s cheek before darkness enveloped him.