15. Sage
SAGE
Sage fell asleep with his cheek against Conrad’s chest and perplexing thoughts of pilfered wine.
He woke with a start out of a dream that had come to haunt him.
It was that dratted lavender pillow. The staff had freshened the pillowcase for him, and the scent was as strong as the first night he’d used it.
With a groan, Sage swept his arm at the pillow in one easy motion and it fell off the bed onto the floor. He turned over to face his bedmate.
It had become so common to find Conrad reading in the early morning light that he was surprised to see the man’s eyes closed, though a small, peaceful grin was settled at the corners of his mouth. Sage nearly rolled his eyes. Even unconscious, he still found something to smile about.
“Are you asleep?” Sage whispered at him.
The grin grew slightly. “No,” Conrad whispered back.
“Gleaned all the information you were hoping for out of that stack of books, have you?”
“Wyndham told us to get plenty of rest for today,” Conrad explained.
Sage snorted. “You can stop trying to win his favor now. If Roger likes you, that’s all you really needed to accomplish.”
“I am simply taking his advice. He’s rather brilliant.”
Sage’s magic curled tightly in his chest, nearly to the point of pain. Whichever way Conrad meant for that word to be taken—intelligent, exceptional, marvelous—it was the truth.
“Indeed,” Sage said, still in a whisper, though this time he knew he couldn’t have managed more. Conrad seemed to notice. He opened his eyes and turned his head against the pillow to give Sage a curious look.
“You’re very fond of him.” It was an observation, not a question.
Under normal circumstances, it would’ve set Sage on the defensive immediately.
He had enough people speculating about his private affairs.
But there was something in the way Conrad said it, perhaps the sincerity in his voice, that kept him from reacting so strongly.
Combined with his lingering dream and his thoughts still being foggy with sleep, he found himself being far too honest.
“I am in love with him,” Sage admitted into the quiet space between them. “Or well, I was. For a very long time.”
He braced himself for Conrad to laugh at his misfortune, or make a quip about how obvious it was.
Pathetic was the word he used most often against himself when he had this recurring dream—the one that had woken him—of the night he finally confessed his feelings to Wyndham at Vauxhall.
With how much drink he’d consumed that night, it was astonishing he remembered any of it at all.
But there were parts that stood out: shouting in an alcove, a smashed wine glass, Sage being on the verge of tears, and Wyndham being infuriatingly logical about the whole thing.
Sage was entirely unprepared for the reaction he actually got.
Conrad rolled onto his side to face him and lifted his hand to Sage’s hair, running his fingers through it in the most comforting sort of way.
“I am sorry,” he said softly. “That must be so difficult.”
Sage found that he could not look Conrad in the eye. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on Conrad’s bare chest as he continued to stroke his hair.
“I do not know how much everyone else has told you about me,” Sage went on, for at this point there was no use in keeping it to himself.
“Very little,” Conrad said plainly. “I have never cared much for gossip. I prefer to learn about people directly from the source.”
“How refreshing.” Conrad’s hand moved from his hair to his shoulder, thumb sliding idly against the skin there as Sage continued.
“I have a bit of a reputation in London. I will admit it has been well-earned, but in conjunction with my name constantly appearing in the Tribune , I believe most everyone has forgotten I am more than a few lines of scandalous entertainment to talk about amongst friends.”
Conrad gave a slow hum of what sounded like understanding, probably making connections with the things he had been told.
Not for the first time, but for the first time in a long while, a rivulet of shame streaked through Sage.
What must Conrad have thought of him that night when he’d brought the oil to bed?
It had become so normal to assume that any man with an inclination toward him would want to use him that way.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Sage’s gaze flicked to Conrad’s at the question.
“Do I enjoy being talked about? Absolutely not.”
“I mean, do you enjoy the activities that have earned you a reputation?”
Sage bit back on the yes he wanted to say.
It was the answer he would give anyone else if they asked.
It was the answer he had convinced himself to believe.
In his youth, of course, there was no greater thrill than a handsome gentleman taking him to his bed, or an empty room at a ball, or a darkened alleyway in a questionable part of town.
But he discovered that as his feelings for Wyndham grew, his interest in anyone else became less about the excitement and more about filling the emptiness in his chest that the man he loved would not.
And the men he’d been with since Wyndham and Roger’s wedding?
They were nothing more than attempts at distraction. Salve for his wounds.
“At one time, I did,” he said finally. “That is, I still take pleasure in the act. Finding a pleasurable partner has been the challenge.”
“I would imagine so, after falling for a man like Wyndham.” Conrad slid his hand from Sage’s shoulder to the sway of his lower back. Thoughts of shared wine came rushing at him once again.
Sage was aware that he really ought to stop talking.
“Stealing Wyndham’s wine glass was my specialty,” he said. “In the beginning, I thought it was great fun to see his reaction, because he would get so flustered about it. Eventually, he did not seem to care at all.” Sage was quiet for a moment. “I wondered if he would notice last night.”
“And did he?”
“I cannot say.” Sage wet his lips before lifting his eyes to meet Conrad’s again, holding the connection this time. “When you took the glass back from me, I forgot I was meant to be watching him. I was…surprised. He never wanted it back.”
Conrad gave a gentle laugh. “I apologize. But you know, perhaps it is not the best idea to do things only to see if Wyndham notices. That’s no way to heal. So tell me, is sharing a glass of wine something you like?”
Sage gave the question careful consideration. With Wyndham, it was a challenge, an attempt to capture his attention. The experience with Conrad had been entirely different. It felt easy. Companionable .
“It is,” he finally decided.
“Excellent,” Conrad said with a smile. “We are of the same mind, then.” The man’s fingers drummed against Sage’s lower back. “Thank you for telling me all of that. I could tell it was not easy for you.”
Suddenly, the touch was gone, and Conrad was out of bed, reaching for his clothes. Sage propped himself up on one elbow.
“Has it drastically changed your opinion of me?”
Conrad hauled his trousers up to his waist, but left them loose as he gestured wide with both arms, grinning.
“Your reputation is in London. We are not.” He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, stepping closer to the window to peer out behind the curtains as he began tucking his shirttails in.
“Now, why don’t you come down for breakfast?
You’ll need the energy to get us wherever it is we will be dining outside.
I can carry our blanket for us though, if you’d like. ”
Sage laughed and fell back against his pillow, wrist draped over his eyes.
“You expect us to carry our own blanket?” he asked incredulously. “The staff will do that, of course. You truly are the most puzzling creature. Go have your breakfast. I will arrive downstairs no earlier than necessary.”
As Conrad closed the door behind him, Sage took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
His magic stirred the air just enough to pull the sheer, feathery presence the man had left behind across the bed.
It was not nearly as comforting as Conrad’s touch, or his calm words, but he did not want to waste it.
Trust did not come easily to Sage. After so many years of being whispered about, he had become guarded and peevish.
It was far easier to ignore such behavior if he kept himself at a distance.
But he was beginning to realize that, with Conrad, it might be impossible to maintain that distance—not only because they were sharing a bed, but because Sage felt he might be willing to trust Conrad in a way he had never been able to trust anyone else before. The notion was terrifying.
* * *
Sage, along with several other members of the party, were pleased to discover that Roger and Wyndham had a preferred location for their al fresco meal that was within view of the main house.
As such, the kitchen was able to provide a spread nearly as impressive as what they normally managed indoors.
The only difference was that, rather than using a knife and fork, their hosts encouraged them to eat with their fingers.
Bowls of sliced fruit, raisins, and nuts were passed between the layers of blankets spread out beneath the shade of the trees. Servants made their rounds with trays of thinly-sliced meats and cheeses, small sandwiches, and a wide variety of cakes and sweetmeats. Lemonade was the drink of choice.
It came as no surprise that Emrys insisted on making a show of feeding Torquil like royalty, refusing to allow them even the opportunity to place a slice of pear or walnut into their own mouth.
Despite the audience, they were tangled like lovers atop their blanket.
The Ladies Fitzhugh only shared contact through an occasional affectionate glance and the plate they had filled with each of their favorite foods, passing it back and forth between themselves as they chatted about the weather and which birds they recognized singing in the branches overhead.
Miss Thackeray, Mx. Hillcrest, and Mr. Thompson might’ve done well to select a larger blanket to better accommodate the space needed for three people sitting together, but somehow they managed.
The only casualty was Mx. Hillcrest’s glass of lemonade when Miss Thackeray moved her foot without looking first. They’d laughed it off as Mx.
Hillcrest kissed Miss Thackeray’s cheek while Mr. Thompson patted her knee reassuringly.
Silas had grown restless and invited Keelan to walk with him. One of the servants stepped up to collect their blanket soon after, noticing the way it was ruffling at one corner thanks to the steady yet refreshing breeze passing over the slight rise they were resting on.
It had also started to tease at the pages of the book Wyndham was reading.
He was on his back, one knee bent with his head resting in the cradle of Roger’s lap.
Roger was a likeness of joy as he picked at sweets on the plate by his hip and tilted his face up into the sunshine peeking through the leaves.
“Shall I hold a strawberry for you to nibble on while I whisper sweet nothings into your ear?”
Conrad was entirely comfortable sitting on the ground, legs stretched out with his weight on his hands behind him, just as he’d sat for the first nights of charades. Sage gave him a dry look from where he was propped against a tree, knees bent and legs tucked to one side.
“You needn’t bother,” he told Conrad quietly. “Nobody is paying us any mind.” Sage forced his focus down to their empty plates rather than staring at Wyndham and Roger again. “Besides, one more bite of anything and I might need to be carried back to the house.”
Conrad laughed and patted his own stomach in apparent agreement.
“You might’ve been right about skipping breakfast this time.”
Sage angled a quick, self-satisfied smirk at his companion.
“You are not the only one in residence with bright ideas.”
With a soft grunt, Sage unbent his legs and stretched them out the same as Conrad’s were.
He adjusted so that his back was flat against the tree behind him.
There was no question that he would be requesting a tonic to soothe his aches when they returned.
Better yet, he would request the tonic and a hot bath.
They’d been lazing about for several hours, and it did not appear that anyone was keen to move any time soon.
Sage smoothed a hand over his hair where the breeze had blown a few dark strands across his forehead.
Keelan’s words fluttered back into Sage’s thoughts.
Conrad is rather spry, isn’t he?
Sage allowed his attention to slide toward the man beside him. He was certain that when it was time to get up, Conrad would be on his feet in a matter of seconds. As was his inclination, Sage began to silently wonder more about the life Conrad led, and how he had managed to look like…well, that .
Then he realized that there was no need to wonder. He could simply ask.
“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”