The Taker

seemed shocked, it’s because, well, I didn’t expect this Adair to make the offer he did.” Jonathan cleared his throat. “You’ve always been a good friend to me, Lanny…”

“That hasn’t changed,” I said.

“… but I would not be speaking the truth if I said his words didn’t shake me. He doesn’t seem the sort of man a woman should allow herself to love.” It seemed to bother him greatly, to say that much to me. He kept his gaze on the table. “Do you love him?”

Could Jonathan think I could love anyone but him? He didn’t sound jealous, though; he was worried. “It’s not about love,” I said grimly. “You must understand that.”

His face shifted, as though a thought had just come to him. “Tell me that he doesn’t-force-you to do these things.”

I blushed. “Not exactly.”

“Then you want to be with him?”

“Not now that you’re here,” I said, and he squirmed, though I wasn’t sure why. At that moment, I wanted to warn Jonathan about Adair’s possible intentions toward him. “Look, there’s one thing I must tell you about Adair, though you may have guessed it now that you’ve met Dona and Alejandro. They’re-” I hesitated, unsure how much of a shock Jonathan could take after all he’d been through in twenty-four hours.

“They’re sodomites,” he said plainly. “One doesn’t spend one’s life around men like the axmen, who have only other men for company, without picking up something about it.”

“They consort with Adair. You’ll see, Adair has a most peculiar nature,” I said. “He is mad for fornication in any form. But there is nothing loving about it, or tender.” I stopped short of telling him that Adair used sex as punishment, to exert his will over us, to make us obey him. I said nothing because I was afraid to, just as Alejandro had been afraid to make me aware of the truth.

Jonathan looked at me directly, a frown firmly creased across his mouth. “What have you gotten me into, Lanny?”

I reached for his hand. “I’m sorry, Jonathan, I truly am. You must believe me. But… though you may not wish for me to say this, it is a comfort to have you with me. I’ve been so alone. I’ve needed you.”

He squeezed my hand, though reluctantly.

“Besides,” I continued, “what was I to do? Kolsted had shot you. You were bleeding to death in my arms. If I didn’t act, you’d be-”

“Dead, I know. It’s only that… I hope not to be in the position, one day, of wishing that were so.”

That morning, Adair sent for the tailor. Jonathan needed a wardrobe, Adair decreed; his new guest could not continue to be seen in public in mismatched, ill-fitting costumes. As every member of the household was a clotheshorse and had enriched the tailor greatly, Mr. Drake rushed over before the breakfast things were even cleared away, bringing with him a train of assistants carrying bolts of fabric. The latest woolens and velvets, silks and brocades, from European warehouses. Tea chests filled with expensive buttons made of mother-of-pearl and bone, pewter buckles for a pair of slippers. I sensed Jonathan did not approve and didn’t want to be indebted to Adair for an extravagant wardrobe, but he said nothing. I sat on a stool at the fringes of the activity, ogling the lovely fabrics, hoping to get a dress or two out of the fitting.

“You know, I could use a few new things,” I said to Adair, holding a strip of pink satin to my cheek to see if it suited my complexion. “I left my entire wardrobe behind in St. Andrew when we fled. I had to sell my last piece of jewelry to make passage on the ship to Boston.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said drily.

Mr. Drake had Jonathan stand on his tailor’s box in front of the biggest mirror in the house and began taking his measurements with a length of string, clucking to himself over Jonathan’s impressive proportions. “My, my, you are a tall one,” he said, running his hands up the length of Jonathan’s back, then over his hips, and finally-nearly causing me to swoon-up his leg to measure an inseam. “The gentleman dresses left,” Drake murmured, almost lovingly, to the assistant scribbling down the numbers.

The order for the tailor was long: three frock coats and a half dozen pairs of breeches, including a pair of the finest doeskin for riding; a dozen shirts, including a very fancy one with lace for gala events; four waistcoats; at least a dozen cravats. A new pair of field boots. Silk and woolen stockings and garters, three pairs of each. And that was just to meet the immediate need; more would be ordered when new shipments of fabric arrived. Mr. Drake was still writing up the order when Adair placed a huge ruby on the table in front of the tailor; not a word was spoken but, by the smile on Drake’s face, he was more than happy with his compensation. What he didn’t know was that the gem was a mere bauble, plucked from a box containing many more, the box itself only one among many. Adair had treasure dating back to the sacking of Vienna. A gemstone that size was as common as a field mushroom to Adair.

“A cloak, too, I think, for my associate. Lined with heavy satin,” Adair added, spinning the ruby on its faceted end like a child’s wooden top.

The ruby attracted everyone’s eye, and I was the only one to see Adair take a long, appraising look at Jonathan, from his shoulders down to the graceful dip at the small of his back and over his trim buttocks. The look was so naked and heavy with intent that it froze my heart in fear for what lay ahead for my Jonathan.

As the tailor packed his things, a stranger arrived for Adair. A somber gentleman with two ledgers and a portable writing kit-ink-well, quills-tucked under his arm. The two went immediately to the study without a word to anyone else.

“Do you know who that man is?” I asked Alejandro as I watched the study door close.

“Adair’s taken a solicitor while you were gone. It is understandable: now that he is in this country, he has legal matters to attend to regarding his property overseas. These things come up from time to time. It is of no consequence,” he answered, as though it was the most boring thing imaginable. And so I paid no more mind to it-at the time.

“It is nonsense,” Jonathan said when Adair told him an artist was coming to the house that day to make sketches of him for an oil painting.

“It would be criminal not to have your likeness captured,” Adair argued back. “There are far homelier men who have immortalized themselves for posterity, lined the walls of their familial mansions with their sorry likenesses. This very house is a case in point,” Adair said, gesturing to the walls of portraits that had been rented with the house to provide a ready-made pedigree. “Besides, Mrs. Warner told me about the artist, quite gifted, and I want to see if he is worth the accolades that are being heaped upon him. He should thank God to get such a subject, I tell you. Your face may well establish this man’s career.”

“I don’t care to make anyone’s career,” Jonathan retorted, but he knew the battle was lost. He sat for the artist but was not exactly cooperative; he slumped in the chair, leaning with his cheek against his hand, face sullen, like a schoolboy being kept after class. I perched on the window seat for the entire session, seeing his beauty anew through the artist’s quick charcoal sketches. The artist clucked to himself throughout, undoubtedly pleased at his good fortune to be working on such a striking figure and getting paid for the privilege.

Dona, once an artist’s model, sat with me for an afternoon, ostensibly to study the artist’s technique. I noticed that he seemed to observe Jonathan more than he bothered with the artist.

“He’s going to become quite the pet, isn’t he,” Dona said at one point. “You can tell by the portrait-Adair only has likenesses done of his favorite. The odalisque, for instance.”

“And what does that mean, to be his favorite?”

He gave me a sly look. “Oh, don’t pretend. You have been Adair’s favorite for a short while. In some ways, you still are. And so you know, it’s onerous. He expects your attention all the time. He’s very demanding and easily bored, especially when it comes to sex games,” Dona said, lifting a shoulder archly, as though to say he was happy he was no longer pressured to come up with new ways to bring Adair to climax. I looked closely at Dona, studying his features as he spoke: he was a handsome man, too, though his beauty had been forever ruined by some unhappiness he carried inside. A secret malice clouded his eyes and twisted his mouth into a sneer.

“And he’s only had portraits done of these two?” I asked, taking up the conversation again. “Only Uzra and Jonathan?”

“Oh, there have been a few others. Only the stunningly beautiful. He’s left their paintings in storage in the old country, like the faces of angels locked away in a vault. They’ve fallen out of favor. Perhaps you’ll see them one day.” He tilted his head, studying Jonathan with a critical eye. “The paintings, I mean.”