replied jovially. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Douglas Cannon from New York, his lovely wife, Abigail, and his charming daughter, Annamarie. And you know my son, Edward, of course.”
“Good to see you again, Edward.” Blake shook Edward’s hand, then proceeded through a round of introductions to the Americans.
Niall felt completely and utterly out of his depth. Although he did know Edward Archibald, at least on sight. The unassuming young man was a classmate, though Edward was apparently bound for a political career, whereas Niall’s course of study was geared toward his future on the stage.
He blinked as a few pieces fell together. Archibald. Ian Archibald had auditioned for him that afternoon. And he’d mentioned the Cannons of New York. As soon as the connection was made, Niall had to hide a grin. Ian had been uncommonly proud of himself for knowing the wealthy Americans, and now Niall could see why. They were every bit the New World aristocracy that nobs in England were falling all over themselves to become acquainted with.
“Thank you for the invitation, sir, but I already have plans for the evening,” Blake said, drawing Niall’s attention back to the conversation he’d drifted away from. Apparently, there had been an invitation to supper that Niall had nearly missed.
“Some other time, then,” Mr. Cannon said. “It’s not every day that a railroad worker like me gets to meet a future duke.”
Everyone involved in the conversation laughed, but Niall failed to see the joke. He didn’t like the way Mrs. Cannon casually fanned herself as she studied Blake either, as if he were a piece of meat or a pawn on a chessboard.
“Enjoy your evening, then,” Blake said, gallantly extracting himself, and Niall, from the conversation. “I’m sure my father will be in touch with you soon.”
They turned to make their way out of the lobby.
“You could have gone with them, you know,” Niall said as quietly as he could and still be heard over the chattering crowd lingering in the lobby and just outside on the steps.
“I already said I’d take you to supper.” Blake shrugged. “And I’d much rather wile away the evening in a cozy pub than sit around some over-decorated table in a stuffy old townhouse.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Niall laughed. “Those were important people.” He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the Archibalds and the Cannons stepping out into the spring evening.
“I’m with an important person,” Blake argued, nudging Niall’s arm as they picked up their pace.
Niall’s heart fluttered into a confused mess. He thanked the growing dark for hiding the blush he could feel coming to his face. “I’m not that important.”
“You absolutely are,” Blake argued, his smile accented by the colors of evening. “You’re a future famous playwright. Someday, I’ll be telling everyone I meet that the two of us are friends.”
“But we’ve only just met,” Niall said, stilted, yet hopeful.
“It doesn’t feel like we’ve just met,” Blake said, pointing across Niall to indicate that he should turn down a side road. Niall knew there to be several pubs along that particular street, but more importantly, the gesture forced them much closer together. “It feels like we’ve been friends for ages.”
“Yes, it does.” Niall had to agree. Though if they’d known each other for ages, he might have a far clearer picture of where the night and their friendship was headed.
Blake picked one of the smaller pubs for their supper, one that was hundreds of years old and contained numerous quiet alcoves with low ceilings and beams that concealed them from plain sight. The barmaid seemed to know him—a detail that had Niall’s heart momentarily sinking again—and brought them tankards of good beer as soon as they were seated at a particularly cramped and cozy table. So cramped, in fact, that their knees were squashed against each other under the table, no matter how they sat—something that had Niall soaring with possibility again.
“So how did you become involved in theater?” Blake asked once they had thick meat pies in front of them. He shifted slightly forward as he ate, which forced their knees together even more intimately.
Niall could hardly taste the food he put in his mouth. “I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t involved in some sort of theatrical production,” he replied, pretending not to be so excited his cock was straining against his trousers. “Apparently, my first role was that of our infant Lord in a Christmas tableaux the local rector organized when I was only a few