Peter and Wendell

By Bonnie Dee

A historical romance with a wink and a nod toward Peter Pan.

Peter Woods is content to live a gadfly life, darting from one experience to the next with no thought of responsibility, commitment or the future. He has no desire to grow up.

Stable, sober banker Wendell Rhodes has only recently discovered an underground London club where men meet and briefly mingle. At Ever Lads, Wendell encounters Peter and flint strikes tinder. The two opposites discover in the other what each lacks, but the journey from lust to love isn’t easy.

Determined to make a man of his son at last, Peter’s father attempts to curtail his hedonistic lifestyle. When Wendell’s reputation is threatened, will Peter sacrifice his freedom to protect the man he’s grown to care deeply for, or is there another way for crafty Peter to save the day?

Previously published as Loving Peter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bonnie Dee
• Release date: Jun 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310991202

Bonnie Dee

Whether you're a fan of contemporary, paranormal, or historical romance, you'll find something to enjoy among my books. I'm interested in flawed, often damaged, people who find the fulfillment they seek in one another. To stay informed about new releases, please SIGN UP FOR MY NEWSLETTER. Help an author out by leaving a review and spreading the word about this book among your friends. You can join my street team at FB. Learn more about my backlist at http://bonniedee.com or find me on FB and Twitter @Bonnie_Dee.

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PETER AND WENDELL

by Bonnie Dee

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright © 2014 by Bonnie Dee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords License Notes

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Chapter 1

All children, except one, grow up.

--Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie

* * * *

London, 1901

Lord, but he was a handsome devil. Peter studied his reflection in the looking glass and straightened the knot of his tie. His peacock blue waistcoat made a striking contrast to the bottle green jacket cut to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders. Hawkins had been his tailor since Peter outgrew short pants and the man was worth every penny of his exorbitant bills. It really was time to make a few payments before he lost Hawkins's services.

Leaning close to the glass, Peter rubbed a fingertip delicately beneath one kohl-rimmed eye in an attempt to wipe away a smudge. Then, deciding he quite liked the slightly smeary effect, he duplicated it on the other. The thick liner made his green eyes glow like the hearts of emeralds. Of course, the dramatic arch of his black brows and the raven hair framing his face also enhanced the color. He was every inch a Byronic hero, the sort to make ladies both young and old swoon--as well as capturing the attention of a certain type of gentleman. And it was the men he was dressing for tonight.

He picked up a vial of cologne and squeezed the bulb, sending a burst of spice into the air, then stepped into the vapor cloud, allowing it to settle on his clothing. He picked up his pocket watch, kissed the golden case, and fastened the fob to its chain.

After a last brush of his hair, he snatched up his walking stick and hat. A night out was just the thing to distract him from the bad news he'd received concerning his allowance. And if he happened to make a special friend tonight who was willing to spot him a few pounds--say enough to reduce his tailor bill a bit--then all the better. Youth and beauty were his stock and trade.

As a nod to his strained financial circumstances, Peter elected to walk rather than hire a cab to take him to Ever Lads. The club was so exclusive no one outside a close-knit set knew the secret location or frequently changed password. The place was the opposite of counterparts such as White's or Brooks's, where a gentleman could gamble and drink the night away while discussing politics, horse racing or hunting. Of course there was plenty of drinking and gambling at Ever Lads, too, but in most other ways, it was a warped mirror of those other stodgy clubs, for it was a true man's club--meaning that the men who went there sought the company of other men.

Handsome boys like Peter--all right, so maybe he wasn't so much a boy any longer but he was remarkably handsome--could always find good company at Ever Lads, friends to play and laugh and sport with. And wasn't that what life was meant for, giving and receiving pleasure?

Peter hurried along, his feet so light they fairly flew over the pavement. It felt good to stride along, breathing the night air, feeling the sharp edge of anticipation as he rushed toward a new adventure. Besides, he needed the exercise since he wasn't able to fence on a regular basis any longer, his membership at the School of Arms having been revoked due to nonpayment. Finances could be such a bore. Peter was not overly athletic but he liked to keep his body in fighting trim.

Or loving trim, as the case may be. He grinned at his own clever word play and fantasized about the cock he'd have tonight. Long or short, thick or lean, didn't matter. It was the skill of the man wielding it that counted. One never knew by the shape of a body or the cast of a face what treasures lay beneath. Uncovering them was the exciting part. A man some might declare ill-formed or graceless, too hairy, too fat, too thin, utterly unprepossessing in appearance, dull in speech, witless in brain--this might be the very man who harbored amazing bedroom skills. And as much as he adored beauty, Peter loved adventure even more. He was willing to give anyone a go if the fellow entered into the fray with gusto and passion.

Evening, sport. A hand clapped on Peter's shoulder, startling him.

Steadman! Don't sneak up on a chap.

Aren't you the one with hearing as keen as a dog, reflexes like a cat, and the fighting skills of a lion? That's what you tell everyone.

I never did. That's just what they say about me. Can't help it I loom a bit larger than life in people's minds.

Oh, and modest as a mouse. I forgot that part. Barnaby Steadman lurched alongside Peter with his uneven gait. At any other time of day on any other street, the men would never walk along together. Steadman was no gentleman. He'd been a gunnery sergeant in His Majesty's army. But they were heading toward a place where rank and social position meant nothing and it was the kind of position one took during sex that mattered. Invitations to join were based on qualities other than status or wealth and were offered directly by a member to a club-approved candidate.

Hope to see fresh blood tonight, Peter said. The same old faces get dreary.

The same old faces are safe. At my time of life I'm more interested in security than adventure. If you crave a thrill, you could angle at the churchyard and hope the beak doesn't catch you.

Peter didn't mention he'd done just that many a night in the past. But as much as he loved adventure, that wasn't a type he wished to pursue any longer. Not for fear of discovery, which actually added an element of excitement to the proceedings, but because many of the lads who plied their trade in the churchyard were so desperately, pathetically poverty-stricken. They weren't there to have fun but to put bread in their bellies. Their hollow eyes were too sad, a reminder of mortality which Peter didn't care for. These days he preferred the club with its fantastical, fairytale trappings, the sense of entering another world entirely in which mortal rules no longer applied.

Now here they were at the gates of Paradise, so to speak.

Steadman stepped up to the door set in a brick wall and rapped the knocker. Once hard. A pause. Then three in quick succession. Oh, how Peter loved the intrigue. It was like playing at being foreign spies, a game he'd adored as a boy.

The grille over the window slid back and Peter murmured the password in a low voice. Pandemonium.

The grille slid shut and a moment later the door opened as if by magic, the guard remaining hidden behind it. Steadman and Peter hurried into the walled garden.

The sharp scent of the evergreen hedges, mingled with the equally potent smell of lavender, stung his nose. Peter wondered who cared for the garden and cleaned the establishment, for servants weren't seen during evening hours. The club members served themselves or each other the delicacies provided, increasing their sense of insularity from the outside world. But, of course, someone had to have prepared those delicacies, laid the fires, changed the bedding, cleaned the rooms. Did the servants have any idea of what took place in the house after they left for the day?

How's your leg, Steadman? Peter asked, not because he was particularly interested but because it was good form to care for one's friends and he did consider Barnaby Steadman a friend.

Pains me when the weather's damp as it's been. Some shrapnel still trapped near the bone and I can feel it pressing some days.

Price of war, eh. Peter shook his head. It's a terrible thing.

Terrible but necessary.

I suppose. Peter lost interest as they entered the front hall draped in a sultan's harem worth of colorful silk and gauze hangings. His gaze darted around, searching for a sight he hadn't seen before.

And there he was--a handsome young blond with full, kissable lips and eyes as wide and dewy as a country maid's. As much as Peter told himself he didn't care about looks, he couldn't help but be drawn to someone so pretty and think what a handsome couple they would make together. Alas, his vanity got the better of him sometimes.

'Scuse me, Steadman. I see a young bird that appears to have fallen from its nest. Peter wove his way through the clusters of men in the antechamber off the main room and stopped beside the newcomer. Your first visit?

The curly head bobbed. I'm with... He stabbed a finger at a distinguished silver-haired gentleman whose name Peter couldn't remember at present. "But I'm not with him, if you take my meaning. The blue eyes seemed suddenly much less innocent as the youth swept a hungry gaze over Peter. I'm Tom Tinker."

Peter Woods. He held out a hand and a soft palm slid across it. Peter shivered in anticipation. This was how it began, a simple brush of skin against skin, an exchange of glances, lowered eyelids, husky voices. The game of flirtation always began the same and, to be honest, concluded the same. But the play along the way might take any number of different directions--rough, sweet, experimental, humorous. Peter guessed young Tinker would be of the experimental sort, willing to try new positions, new toys, and be pushed to the limit.

What's your pleasure, Tinker? Peter paused to let the double meaning settle, then continued. We have wine, whisky, any bottled ale you might like as well as more exotic liqueurs. Ever try absinthe?

I've heard of it. And opium. Have you a smoking den here?

There's a room for those so inclined. Let me show you around and then perhaps we'll share a pipe.

Tinker stared up at a painting of satyrs and brawny young men cavorting in a meadow and said in an awed voice, It's truly decadent.

That's only the beginning. Come. Peter led the lad into the main room where cards and dice were being played at numerous tables. Marble sculptures of sodomistic lovemaking graced alcoves between shimmering lights. Curtained antechambers offered a modicum of privacy to those who cared for it. Others had no such scruples, or perhaps craved the eyes of strangers watching them. There were several couples, kissing, caressing, stroking and straining together on the cushioned divans that rimmed the room. The scent of sex and the energy of passion were palpable in the very air.

Peter enjoyed the view as he saw it through the fresh eyes of his young companion. The place really did make one think of a sultan's palace in some foreign tale with the colorful carpets and wall coverings, plump pillows and half-clad men lounging in comfort. The sweet smoke of incense wafted from hanging censers. The lighting was muted along the edges of the room, brighter above the faro tables. In fact, the tables were the only similarity between Ever Lads and any other gentleman's club. If not for the gaming tables, visitors might truly be in another world.

Sir Henry described the place but I couldn't have imagined all this without seeing it with my own eyes, Tinker said.

I'm surprised he didn't show you around himself.

He had to speak to someone and left me to my own devices. Told me to find myself a bit of entertainment. Tinker shot him a sideways look. Guess I've done that.

Peter led his new friend to the bar where he showed him how to prepare absinthe. When the emerald green liquid was sweetened, they sipped the potent brew. Peter grimaced slightly as the fiery alcohol burned his throat, but Tinker didn't even flinch.

Mm. Tasty.

Peter chuckled. Now what would you like to do, join in one of the gambling games? Sometimes there's a wrestling or boxing match to watch in the other room. Or we could simply sit for a while and you can tell me about yourself. He gestured toward one of the vacant booths.

Sit, I think. I'd like to get better acquainted with you, Mr. Woods.

Peter. We're all equals here. You may use a man's first name or his last, whichever, but titles are unnecessary.

Commoners and kings all the same when stripped to the skin. Tom Tinker smiled and his angelic face lit up. Bet there's not another club in London the likes of this one.

Peter slung an arm around his shoulders and guided him toward the cushioned divans. "This is a special place, a clandestine world just for our kind where every night is play time and every man you meet is a friend. We all share the same secret and all agree never to divulge the location of Ever Lads. Do you make that vow?"

Absolutely, sir. Tinker spoke soberly, his cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol, his lips moist and shiny. Peter couldn't help but lean in and kiss them, tasting anise and fennel and the sharp bite of alcohol.

Good lad. Now let me show you more of the wonders of this place firsthand. Peter stroked a hand down Tinker's warm back and cupped his rear through tight trousers.

Eager to learn. Tinker slid a hand round the back of Peter's neck and plundered his mouth like a pirate. The lad was quite experienced for one so young.

Eager to teach, Peter gasped when his mouth was free again.

He took Tinker's hand and pulled him down onto the divan to play.

Chapter 2

If he thought at all, but I don't believe he ever thought, it was that he and his shadow, when brought near each other, would join like drops of water; and when they did not, he was appalled.

His sobs woke Wendy... Boy, why are you crying?

--Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie

* * * *

Wendell Albert Rhodes was not the kind of man who did anything lightly. Measure twice, cut once was an expression his father had been fond of using, although the man was a banker not a builder. Still, Wendell took the words to heart and never acted without carefully weighing the consequences first. Until tonight.

He stared at the door in a brick wall on a very unremarkable street and shivered a little though the night was not cold. He wrapped his arms around himself and faced the knocker. Perhaps he should come another time when, Stuart, the man who'd invited him to this elite club, could accompany him. It was too odd to turn up without a sponsor. They might not even let him inside.

Wendell cleared his throat, a nervous twitch that had plagued him throughout his school days until he'd outgrown it. Damn. He would not revert to being Whiny Wendy, the butt of his peers' jokes and pranks. That pathetic little lad was well behind him now. He was a responsible member of the community, a paragon of respectability--except for the secret vice that dwelled deep within him and made his nights a torment of unfulfilled desires. The games he'd got up to as a boy with other fellows in deserted hallways or empty closets continued to haunt him. Other schoolboys may have outgrown that phase but he'd never lost the desire to touch and be touched by those of his own sex.

Rather than diminishing, over the years the need had grown in depth and urgency until Wendell could scarcely function due to the clamoring need inside him. That was why he was standing