Chapter 23
Nic didn’t wake when Ambrose brought his breakfast tray, nor when he brought his shaving water, but eventually his young valet’s insistent pottering gnawed through the exhaustion.
“Good morning, my lord.”
With a weary groan, Nic blinked into the sunlight, only for a smile to spread his lips as memories of the previous night returned in exquisite detail.
Once Dashiell had locked the door upon the world, they had existed outside of it.
There they had needed fiercely at first, before the realisation they had time crept upon them and they’d taken it, the night filling with lingering kisses and the kind of slow undressing where every piece of skin became a new, delightful discovery.
They had gotten to know one another again, but while every new familiarity was shadowed by past or future heartache, that knowledge had invigorated rather than diminished them, like a pair of flames determined to burn bright and furious before the end.
An hour before dawn, Dashiell had dragged himself back to his own bed, leaving Nic to a deep if short sleep he would happily have given up entirely.
“Good morning, Ambrose,” Nic replied with a yawn. “I hope that breakfast tray has very strong coffee on it.”
“I’m afraid not, my lord, but I can go ask the kitchens for some?”
Nic waved a hand. “Don’t trouble yourself. There will be some in the breakfast parlour once I drag myself out of bed.”
“I’m afraid the breakfast parlour is locked this morning,” Ambrose said, laying out Nic’s clothes. “It seems there was something of an accident in there yesterday and the carpet is being cleaned. Although with how few staff we have, I don’t know when that will get done.”
“Oh, another accident. We’re having poor luck losing so many rooms.”
A knock sounded on the door. Ambrose made no move, no doubt expecting Leaf to let herself in, but when she didn’t, he set down Nic’s waistcoat and headed out. He returned a few moments later, his face an expressionless mask.
“Master sa Vare is here to see you, my lord.”
“Oh. Right. Show him in.”
Nic suddenly wished he was already up and dressed, but when Dashiell strode in—neatly attired in his black vowsmith’s garb and perfect in every way—the vowsmith’s eyes brightened.
“Well, hello, darling,” he said, the words almost a purr. “Look at you still lazing in bed.”
A quick glance found that Ambrose had thankfully remained out in the sitting room, and Nic could only hope he would stay there feigning a complete inability to hear.
Dashiell didn’t seem troubled by the valet’s existence, and sat on the edge of the bed, his lips curving as he pressed them to Nic’s in a lingering kiss.
“I wish very much I could join you,” he murmured.
“Well, I wish I had gotten up and didn’t look such a mess.”
“You look delightful.”
“Haystack and all, I suppose.”
“If someone ever succeeds in taming your hair, I will have very strong words to say in their disparagement.”
Pulling back, Dashiell set one knee on the bed and threw the other over Nic, his breeches pulling tight around his thighs as he straddled Nic’s hips.
The sight of Dashiell sitting there atop him—all crisp black coat and perfect neckcloth, his beautiful features alight with an impulsive grin—was enough to make Nic sure he was dreaming.
“How do you look this good on so little sleep?” he asked.
“If this job teaches one anything, it’s the ability to go without sleep.
Now, I only have a few minutes until I have to run and you cannot mess me up,” Dashiell added while pressing a series of kisses to Nic’s lips, each a little deeper than the last. “But I refuse to go down to the chamber without—” The words vanished into a kiss, through which Dashiell drew a deep breath as though to inhale every shred of Nic’s being and carry it away with him.
What started as playful kisses took on heat, and it was all Nic could do not to grip that fine coat, not to tear at Dashiell’s neckcloth or run hands through his oiled hair.
“This is unfair,” he said, the words ending in a moan as Dashiell ground against his stiffening cock. “Extremely unfair.”
“Is it any satisfaction that I am torturing myself too?” came Dashiell’s breathless reply. “God, I just want to eat you!”
He nipped at Nic’s lip and, pressing his hands to Nic’s chest, sat back with a growl.
The movement rocked them against one another and Nic couldn’t help but slide his hands up Dashiell’s breeches, over tight muscles and smooth fabric to his hips.
There he dug his fingers in, half in lust, half in a desperate desire never to let him go.
For a few glorious seconds, Dashiell sat there like a manifest god. Then with an indignant roar of frustration, he threw himself off the bed to stand staring down at Nic like he really did want to eat him whole.
“Damn.” He winced, adjusting himself and his breeches to hide his arousal as best he could. “I have to go, but you had better be here when I get back.”
Nic groaned, rock hard now beneath the covers. “Where exactly do you think I’m going to go?”
“That had better be a promise.”
The vowsmith lingered, his gaze locked on Nic with an intensity that seared, before he turned away with a final, frustrated growl.
“All right, I’m going. But I want you to know that I don’t want to.”
“Duly noted, Master sa Vare.”
With a snap of his jaw, Dashiell strode out, leaving Nic buzzing head to toe. As the main door closed behind the vowsmith, he buried his face in the pillow, smothering a laugh that was half groan as he sought to commit every detail to memory.
Ambrose cleared his throat. “Are you ready to dress, my lord?”
Nic rolled over. “Oh, I probably should, shouldn’t I?” He looked up into his valet’s troubled countenance. “Please don’t tell anyone Master sa Vare was here this morning.”
“Oh no, not a word, my lord. That’s one of the first things Rowerre taught me—that a good valet is both discreet and loyal.”
A simple declaration, yet it twinged Nic’s heart with both sadness and gratitude. Rowerre was gone and yet still, in his way, was looking out for Nic all the same.
“Thank you, Ambrose, that means a lot to me.”
“You’re very welcome, my lord. I believe the shaving water might still be warm.”
With Ambrose’s increasingly skilful assistance, Nic was soon neatly attired, though his hair remained as unmanageable as ever.
Glancing in the mirror, he assessed his appearance based on Dashiell’s imagined reaction when he returned, and couldn’t contain an amused smile—a smile that dimpled one of his cheeks and not the other.
When you’re mischievous you only have one dimple, did you know that?
For the second time that morning, a knock sounded on the door, but this time it opened almost immediately.
“Nic?”
He stepped out into his sitting room to find Leaf hovering just inside the door, her maid a wary shape behind her.
“Ah, you are up,” Leaf said. “I was going to leave you be in case you were still suffering with that dreadful headache, but I needed a few minutes away from Lizzy, so here I am.”
She looked more exhausted than Nic felt, with dark circles under her eyes and a grim set to her mouth. Guilt at having stolen so much joy for himself while she went on suffering couldn’t but weigh him down.
He went to her, taking her hands in a reassuring grip. “I am perfectly well this morning, but you look dreadful. Is Lady Lisbeth still overset after last night?”
A flicker of amusement crossed Leaf’s face at his unflattering observation on her appearance, but it vanished just as quickly.
“She is a little calmer this morning, and Dr. Fanshaw has given her something to help her rest, but I fear between her distress and my own I barely slept last night. And all I can think about is how good Millie always was at cheering us up.”
Determined to keep his own evening activities to himself, Nic wrapped his arms around her, earning a glare from the maid still standing in the open doorway.
“I’m sorry,” he said into the soft curls of Leaf’s hair, all other words seeming insufficient and trite.
“I hope you know if there’s anything you need of me you only have to ask. ”
“I know,” came her muffled voice from the breast of his coat.
“But in truth I don’t know what I need. I want to be alone and yet I hate the silence.
I want to find out who did this, yet I know it won’t bring her back.
Right now, I think I just need a few minutes not having to worry about someone else.
” She looked up. “I left Lizzy with Aunt Theresa so I could escape. I hope you don’t think that’s heartless of me. ”
“Not at all. I imagine it’s hard enough to grieve such a loss without having to care for someone else’s grief at the same time.”
Leaf stepped out of his hold with a sigh.
“You do understand. I knew you would. I will go back soon, but for now I just need a few minutes without having to hear about how close she came to her own death.” Confusion must have shown on Nic’s face, for Leaf added, “That ghost, you know. The one Aunt Theresa saw in her chair, she is determined it was a portent.”
“I saw one last night,” Nic said. “A ghost.”
“Was it the Faceless Man too? Where?”
“Just the other side of the landing, after I came up the stairs. Scared all hell out of me because I thought it was someone lying in wait, but then it ran.”
“Ran?”
“That might not be the best word,” Nic admitted, and explained how he had heard it, had followed it, had called after it. How he had put his hand right through it.
Leaf shivered at his description. “You think it was running away from you?”
“It felt like it, but I suppose it could have just been going that direction along the passage.”
“What else is even up here except for your rooms?”
“All the family rooms used to be up here. The ducal suite and the duchess’s official rooms are down that way; my parents just don’t use them. I’m not sure whether they ever did before I was born, but Uncle Francis definitely used the rooms at the other end.”