Edith Layton by The Cad

black—like your hair and your soul—instead of the red when we’re together.”
    “Liar. How goes it with you?” Ewen asked lazily.
    “As it goes with you,” his friend said, shifting in his seat restlessly, “We helped get the cursed little emperor out of France, into exile, and on his new throne at Elba, but I swear if I’d known how dull it would make my life, I’d have given him a rifle, a fast horse, and wished him Godspeed.”
    “Yes, which is why you almost lost your life getting him on that new throne. How’s the arm?”
    “Still attached,” Rafe said with a scowl, “though sometimes I wish it weren’t. So. What’s there to do tonight, then? You may be content to just sit and dream, but I’m not.”
    “I’m not content to just dream, either. What have you got in mind?”
    “New things, untried things, for us bored old roguesto do. There’s a new farce at the Haymarket, there’s a new opera, too, and Freddy Winthrop swears that Madame Gold’s got herself a parcel of new stunners in her house. And aside from White’s and Brook’s and the usual gambling spots, I hear there’s a new hell where Hazard may actually be played honestly.”
    “Life’s a farce for me these days, Rafe. I have no ear for screeching. I don’t patronize houses of pleasure, even if they have the Venus de Milo and her twin sister in residence; I thought you knew that. Because however charming the merchandise may be, I don’t like to be next in line—at least, not so obviously. But as for high-stakes gambling…well,” Ewen said, a slow, sensuous smile curving his lips, “I’m doing that right now. It’s what I was thinking about. That, and other new things to do, too, should I win.”
    “You always win,” his friend complained. “Everyone thinks you’re so lucky at love, you should lose at cards, but you don’t.”
    “Lucky in what passes for love with us,” Ewen said softly, “but as for love —how should I know?”
    “Oh, philosophy, is it? Then I’m off to find more congenial company.”
    “My lord?” a footman said, bowing to Ewen. “Your dinner is ready to be served.”
    “Care to join me?” Ewen asked his friend. “The philosophy usually disappears along with the roast beef.”
    “Why not? It’s time to eat. Maybe I can talk you into doing something else after.”
    “We’re not joined at the hip, like a pair of babies in a bottle at a country fair,” Ewen said mildly.
    “If you’re going to cut up sharp, be damned to you!” Rafe snapped, jumping to his feet.
    “Softly, softly,” Ewen said, rising and putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Why do you redheaded fellows take that myth about your terrible temper so seriously? Or is it that it’s true?”
    “No calmer fellow on earth than me,” Rafe said grouchily. “It’s you who’s the firebrand.”
    “I apologize. Forget it, whatever it was, will you? We’ve worked together too many years for our friendship to fall apart now. Peacetime is hard on both of us. Join me. I need someone to talk to who knows what secrecy, stealth, and danger are all about.”
    “Ah, She’s married,” Rafe said.
    “No,” Ewen said, and laughed. “And I’m not ready to talk about her, remember? So forget that, too. I’d rather talk about the old days, since the new ones are so damnably dull.”
    “Aren’t they? Yes, I’ll share a bird and a bottle or three with you. Ewen, damme if I won’t! We’ll share some laughter, too, talking about the bad old days.”
    Their dinner was served with many courses and many wines. They talked about the old days in the past decade, when they both had traveled the Continent making public reputations as pleasure lovers and careless rakes. And private ones for boldness and valor, as they also made themselves busy evading foreign agents, freeing English ones, and ferreting out secrets to send home. But as the evening wore on, they laughed less and less, remembering those men who hadn’t been able to