Sawdust and Stained Glass #2
Three stewards emerged from the west wing in polished shoes and silken cuffs, sleeves rolled neatly to their elbows. One of them paused to relight a pipe, then passed it to the others. Nic recognized the tall one in the center instantly, Steward Jacob, Helen’s father.
Hair just beginning to silver, still parted sharp as a blade. His waistcoat was dove gray, not a thread out of place. His signet glinted at the wrist, catching the sun like it was meant to blind.
Nic cleared his throat and nodded with a small smile.
“Good afternoon, Steward Jacob,” he said, straightening without thinking. “Lovely day.”
Jacob glanced at him—barely. Just enough to register him like one might a stain on a rug.
“Hmm,” Jacob said. Then, without breaking stride, he turned to the man beside him. “You’d think with all the taxes they collect, they could afford proper uniforms for the help.”
The stewards chuckled, a low, muffled sound. The gravel under Nic’s boots felt suddenly harder than ever.
He didn’t respond. Just dropped his gaze and rolled his shoulders back, forcing the tension from them. His teeth ached from clenching.
He had charm. Wit. A killer jawline.
He could talk circles around half those stewards and build a house from nothing but rot and rain.
But none of that seemed to count for much when his boots tracked sawdust into marble corridors.
To them, he’d always be someone who didn’t belong—someone who came in through the servant’s door and left dust behind.
An hour passed before the doors creaked open and a rush of girls spilled out onto the path, satin slippers scuffing the stone, voices rising like birds startled from a tree.
Nic had nearly convinced himself she wouldn’t come. That maybe she’d slipped out another way. That maybe she’d changed her mind.
Then he saw her.
Helen stepped into the golden light, flushed and breathless, hair pulled back with strands slipping loose around her temples. She looked lit from within—like the dancing hadn’t tired her at all but fed her, warmed her from the inside out.
And bounding ahead of her, ears flopping and tongue lolling, was Dolly.
The beast made a delighted beeline for Nic, launching herself into his shins and nearly knocking him off balance.
“Easy, you little menace,” Nic muttered, grinning as he crouched to ruffle her silken fur. “You’re lucky I like you more than half the people I work with.”
Helen reached him just as he stood. She didn’t speak. Just tipped her face up and kissed him—sweet, lingering, sun-warm.
He blinked, hands splayed across her hips. “You kiss all the sweaty tradesmen loitering around your dance hall?”
She reached up, brushing a lock of hair from his brow and tucking it behind his ear. “Only the ones who look like trouble and still show up after work,” she said, smiling at him like she hadn’t seen him in weeks, and the look in her eyes made his ribs go slack.
His lips curved upward, ready with another joke—but when Helen laughed, really laughed, it stopped him cold.
Not because it was loud or graceful or particularly rare.
But because it was hers. And for a moment, it was like he’d built a thousand things—arches, beams, staircases—and none of them had ever landed quite as solid as that sound in his heart’s lake.
He gazed at her.
The fading sun caught the curve of her cheek. She was still smiling, tugging her hair off her neck, completely unaware of what she’d just done to him.
He swallowed. Tilted his head. Tried to shrug it off like heat.
But it wasn’t just his mood that had shifted. It was his footing.
They walked slowly together down the garden path, brushing shoulders now and then. Dolly scampered ahead, nose in the hedges.
“You’re in a good mood,” he said lightly.
“I danced for three hours and didn’t mess up once,” she replied. “Plus, you’re here.”
He gave her a look. “Careful. Say something sweet like that again and I’ll start getting ideas.”
“I thought you already had ideas.”
“Terrible ones. But they involve you, so I consider them worth the risk.”
Helen’s fingers slipped between his, her eyes glinting. She gave a little tug, not even looking back.
Nic followed, boots crunching over gravel, her pace just ahead of his, her laugh still lingering in the air like sunlight.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t tease.
Just kept walking, hand squeezing hers.
The path opened into reeds and still light. The lake caught the late sun in ripples, gold running like oil over the water. Dolly charged ahead and leapt in without hesitation, a splash followed by rhythmic paddling and sharp snorts as she chased her own reflection.
Helen dropped to sit in the grass by the bank, pulling off her shoes and dipping her toes in. Nic stood a beat longer, watching the shape of her back, the way her bodice clung to the small of her waist.
He sat beside her and brushed her hand with his. She laced their fingers together.
He turned his head to kiss her.
It started soft—just mouths meeting in the hush of golden light. But then Helen leaned in, bold and sure, and her fingers slid to his jaw, then into his hair, tugging lightly like she already knew exactly how he liked to be touched.
Her lips tasted of honey and butter and sunlight on water. He didn’t mean to make a sound, but he did—a quiet breath that caught in his throat.
She kissed him again, slower now, like she meant it. Like she wanted it as much as he did.
His pulse kicked. A low ache curled at the base of his spine, hunger rising sharp and sweet. He shifted closer, hand sliding around her back, ready to deepen it, to pull her fully into him and lose himself in the heat of her—
Crunch.
Footsteps, sudden and steady, on the path behind them. Voices—two, maybe three—floating closer like a curse.
Nic froze. Jaw clenched. He didn’t pull away, not at first, not until Helen tensed and broke the kiss with a groan of frustration, hiding her face in his shoulder.
“Of course,” she muttered.
Nic swallowed, tried to school his face, but it was no use. The heat hadn’t left him. His fingers twitched at her back, unsure what to do now. His skin still buzzed from where hers had been.
He looked down at her—at her parted lips, the glint lingering in her eyes—and knew exactly what he wanted.
But not here. Not with boots crunching past and laughter echoing from the trees.
Not when he had so much more of her to learn.
“I wish people would just vanish,” she muttered.
Nic grinned. “Tempting idea.”
Her brow furrowed, and he could see her already folding inward, retreating from the moment. That wouldn’t do.
He stood, brushing off his trousers. “Come on, Biscuit.”
“What?”
“I know somewhere better. No interruptions.”
Helen looked up, hesitant but curious.
He motioned toward the dock, where a little rowboat bobbed lazily under the cypress branches. “Collin and Aries keep it tied up right there. Probably forgot to lock it again.”
Helen followed his gaze, then looked back at him, frowning. “Nic...”
He stretched out a hand, grinning. “Just imagine it—sunlight, open water, no stewards, no footsteps, just you, me, and that smug little seadog chasing frogs.”
She crossed her arms. “We’re not stealing a boat.”
“It’s borrowing. Temporary liberation. Revolutionary romance. You said you wanted privacy, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t say I wanted to commit a crime.”
“Not a crime if we bring it back better than we found it. I’ll even polish the oars.”
Helen rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “You’re impossible.”
“Admit it,” he said, already tugging her toward the dock. “You love that about me.”
He gave the chain a gentle tug. Damn, locked, but the latch on the storage box nearby wasn’t. He rummaged through the box and found the nail he'd been using as a pick for months. With a little finesse and a few well-chosen curses muttered under his breath, the lock popped with a soft click.
“Hop in,” Nic said, offering a dramatic bow. “Your private carriage awaits.”
He rowed slowly, Dolly curled between them like a mop come to life, tail wagging lazily each time Nic dipped the oars.
The lake was still and blue as melted glass. As they neared the far shore, trees closed in around them, dense with green. A narrow inlet opened into a hidden lagoon, shaded and quiet.
Nic beached the skiff in the silt and offered Helen his hand as she stepped out.
She took it. And didn’t let go.
They moved together into the tall grass by the shore, cicadas humming softly in the trees. Nic kissed her again—deeper this time. He ran his hands along her sides, pausing at her hips, letting her move closer at her own pace.
She pressed against him, her fingers curling around the collar of his shirt.
“You alright?” he murmured, brushing her flaxen hair back.
Helen nodded, eyes bright.
His mouth returned to her, slow. His lips found the edge of her jaw, then lower, her collarbone. His fingers traced the embroidery of her bodice until he reached the swell of her breast. Her heart pounded a stuttering rhythm beneath his palm.
His breath came fast and ragged. The heat seeping through her dress wrapped around him, making his head spin.
She was flushed and focused, and slid her hands beneath the open edge of his shirt. One by one, she undid the buttons, then pressed her lips against his chest.
He stilled, his heart drumming like thunder in his ears.
Her fingers found the laces of her bodice. She worked them loose. He kissed her again, gently, then more deeply.
His belt came off, then his shirt, the warm summer breeze whispering across his bare shoulders. He helped pull her dress over her head. She giggled lightly as it caught beneath her chin. Then she was standing in just a lace-trimmed shift, her face flushed like sunset kissing her skin.
When she tugged up on the hem, he stilled her hands.
Not from hesitation—but from awe. Not from lust, but from the look in her eyes.
She trusted him.
More than he trusted himself.
He stood and tugged her to her feet.
“Come with me,” he said, voice a little hoarse.
She blinked. “Where?”
He nodded toward the lake, where the water lapped gently against the shore, sunlight fractured across its surface like broken glass.
“We’re overheating. And you’re dangerous like this.” His smile curled, teasing—but his eyes stayed soft.
Helen’s brow lifted in amusement. “So now I’m dangerous?”
“Absolutely lethal.”
She laughed and followed him down the bank, the grass cool beneath his feet.
He waded in first, the cold water swirling around his calves. He didn’t flinch—just gave a quiet exhale, like it grounded him.
She stepped in beside him, gasping as the water lapped up her legs. Her shift clung instantly, delicate lace edging gone transparent, clinging to the lines of her thighs.
He caught the breath in his throat before it could become a sound.
She was like every summer day he’d ever wanted to keep—wind-tousled, skin dewed with heat and water, that shy-smiling mouth curved now in a shape like challenge.
He looked—and didn’t look away.
“You all right?” he asked, voice low.
Helen glanced down at herself, then up at him. “A bit cold.”
He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Could warm you up.”
She arched a brow. “You offering?”
“Oh, I always offer.”
Before he could step closer, she splashed him—hard, a full wave across his bare chest.
He jumped back, sputtering. “You little traitor.”
She giggled—open, delighted, the sound high and bright as the sky. Her hair stuck to her cheeks and neck, wild. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
He stared at her a beat too long.
Was this really Helen? His Helen? With her soft voice and careful hands, darting glances and lowered lashes—was now soaked to the knees, laughing like a girl who didn’t care who was watching. Who’d followed him into a stolen skiff, into a hidden lagoon, into a lake without shoes or shame.
“Fine,” he said, recovering with a grin. “You want a war? I’ll give you a war.”
He splashed her back, aiming low. She shrieked. Dolly barked from the bank.
They lunged and twisted through the shallows, water slapping up in glittering arcs. She ducked under his arm, sent a sneak attack up his back. He chased her, stumbled, caught her wrist—only for her to twist away, laughing the whole time.
He lost himself in it. The wildness. The freedom. The way her shift floated around her like seafoam. The way his heart’s lake swelled—unwound, light, like nothing could touch him.
When he caught her at last, she was breathless, slick with water, curls pasted to her forehead. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her slightly, just enough to make her squeal. Then he stilled.
Her chest rose rapidly against his. Her hands settled at the base of his neck. Her laughter faded—but the glow remained in her eyes.
She didn’t pull away.
Neither did he.
He lowered her back into the water slowly, carefully, never letting go.
Then he kissed her.
Not with heat this time, but with reverence. Her lips were soft and wet, her mouth parting easily beneath his, and he kissed her like the whole day had been building to this—not the ache, not the teasing, but the stillness of the moment. The rightness.
She rested her head on his shoulder, arms draped around him, the water rocking gently at their waists.
Nic held her close, one hand tracing slow circles at the small of her back. His mouth found the curve of her temple, then the shell of her ear.
“How do you do it,” he murmured, more to himself.
Helen looked up at him, “What?”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “Nothing. Just trying to figure out what kind of danger I’m in.”
He kissed her—lightly, deeply. Then just held her, waist-deep in summer, neither of them in any rush to leave.