8. An Unwanted Re #4
Aria picked his words carefully, his heart battering against his ribs like one of those ghosts had been trapped inside of him.
“You should. A date will do you good, Noble.
You'll see how desirable you are. A great many would be happy to have you as a husband.” May the devil take Virginia for what she'd done to him.
Noble's eyes met Aria's in a flash of emotion he couldn't quite grasp. “Many would. You're right.”
NOBLE
Noble's heart and mind scarcely communicated these days. How foolish he'd been to spend that week at Aria's side, waiting for a sign that Aria felt it too. And every day, he encountered it—that affection. That love.
He'd almost declared his love in the morning, on the same day they took the potato bake to Romy's place. On the same day, Aria pulled his candlelit heart from his chest and blew out the flame. Poof.
Noble was in the bath, and he'd managed to convince Aria to sit on a cushion by the tub. He had a curtain to hang between them—
They sat in the bathroom, with Noble pulling a wet cloth over his skin, and Aria's shadow was visible through the curtain between them, and Noble nearly said it. Aria read the book, read a passage about Eleanor kissing her beloved prince, and sighed wistfully.
“I miss being kissed like that,” said Aria.
Noble said, “We could pretend it's your birthday again.”
Aria laughed and tapped the curtain playfully. “I mean it for real. I wonder, at times, if I'll ever be kissed in such a way that he, the man who kisses me, will want to be the only one that does so for the rest of our lives.”
Me, Noble nearly cracked. Me, I do, I will, if you'd let me, please.
The words caught in his throat. Because he still had no plan.
What would his future look like, standing at Aria's side?
His family may not give him a title. May not give him land.
They could perhaps remove him from succession.
Speaking the truth of his feelings seemed akin to standing at the edge of an abyss.
Within, he could hear Aria's beautiful voice, but he couldn't see anything but an extending darkness below.
He just needed to know what was down there, and he needed to know that Aria was willing to catch him, should he say those three words.
I love you.
And Elys had blessed him with foresight in that moment, because later that same day, Aria spoke of Hampenstead, and the abyss fell silent at his feet.
Standing in the kitchen of Romy's new home, Noble's last-minute date had on a lovely black dress that framed her ample decolletage. “I've heard some rumors about you,” she said, grinning into her glass of champagne.
Noble hadn't the energy to flirt. He simply replied, “Oh?”
“Calinda said you made her finish thrice in a night. Said you lasted hours without stopping once.”
Under any other circumstances, Noble would have had quite the reaction to such an admission.
Pride that his prowess in bed had become gossip above his divorce.
Arousal that someone had heard the gossip and wanted to test the truth behind such rumors.
Flattered that this beautiful young woman, with her auburn bun, and rosy cheeks, and—again, ample decolletage—had found him agreeable enough to take to bed.
But at this same moment, through the archway that connected the kitchen to the informal dining room, Aria stood, framed perfectly center and surrounded by glittering lamplight.
His long white robe opened enough at the front to reveal a small strip of skin where his short fitted undershirt slid up above his belly.
His hair pooled over his shoulders, thick and glossy and touchable, and his small, sweet hands held his own flute of champagne.
The vision broke in two as Hampenstead approached.
Noble couldn't hear them speak, but he'd stared at Aria's mouth with such singular focus over the last few months that he recognized the words.
“Are you alright?” Aria asked.
Hampenstead replied.
Aria smiled. And Noble read his words again: “Then… You should.”
They kissed. Their mouths met, and both Hampenstead and Aria grew flushed in the face at the tender, chaste touch between the two, and when they parted, the joy radiating from Aria could have powered the sun.
The Sun God had nothing on him. Worshippers should be falling to their feet around Aria Charms of Highfell—the golden, Elys-sent bard.
That smile—would he gaze at Hampenstead like that when they went to bed together?
With his face flush and his eyes warm and—
“Hey. Is everything alright?” asked Noble's lady date, brows raised in concern.
Noble tore his eyes away from Aria, back into the kitchen.
He could barely walk; could scarcely talk.
Dazed, he tried to look into the eyes of his date.
He couldn’t recall her name. “Sorry. I’m drunk.
” He was lying. But nonetheless, Noble dumped his full champagne glass into the sink and said, words clipped, “I'm afraid those are simply rumors. Let me fetch you a carriage home.”