Chapter Twenty-Three
Seph had gone up first, at Rhys’s insistence, to soak for a little longer in the bath.
“I just want to ask a few questions and move those two extra frames down here,” he reasoned with her as they stood among the little crowd of contemporaries in the wake of Merlin’s performance.
“Besides, we moved around a lot today and I didn’t have to do it in stays.
Go enjoy the hot water. I’ll be up presently. ”
And, to her surprise, she hadn’t even had the urge to argue. Instead, she’d given his hand a discreet squeeze and spun on her heel, eager to do exactly as he’d suggested.
For close to half an hour, she’d floated in the hot water, scrubbed the road from her skin and hair, and idly thought about the odd house party she’d found herself attending.
She crawled into her favorite pajamas, warm from having been draped over the chair by the fire, and sat in the same chair to comb out her damp hair and let it dry, loose around her shoulders, as she unpacked one of the books she’d bought in the Twittens two days prior.
Rhys had mentioned that he hadn’t gotten a chance to look at her choices at the bookshop.
That had been intentional. She’d been embarrassed by choosing this particular book at the time, which was odd, because she couldn’t even feel the shame or panic in memory now, in the aftermath of just the last day and a half.
Changelings, read the title, with a small post-script underneath that promised: Strange and curious accounts of those altered.
She had never heard of the author, and once she’d tucked into the first chapter, she found that it had been written much like a newspaper article, with alternating installments that first established oral history and local lore and then followed with an account related to the information provided prior.
Much of the book was transcriptions of interviews the author had given to rural folk far from the cities of Britain, as well as otherwise dry and cursory descriptions of nurseries and woodland altars and so on.
As stilted as the writing was, she was so engrossed in it that she didn’t even hear Rhys enter the little conjoining room on the other side of the bedchamber and take his turn in the bath.
It wasn’t until he’d been leaning against the doorframe for some time, his curls and throat still damp with sweet, scented water, wearing a loosely-knotted dressing gown in dark green, that she realized he was there with her.
She blinked, closing the book and holding it to her chest. “How long have you been standing there?”
His teeth flashed, his smile broadening at the question. “A little while,” he admitted. “But I’m happy to go on like this for longer if you wish. You make a lovely image.”
She could feel herself blushing, drawing her legs up with her on the chair and setting the book off to the side. Her bare toes were cool against the thin fabric of her pajamas, a baggy linen printed with green and purple songbirds. “Is that why you’re still half-naked?” she teased.
“It has contributed,” he admitted, looking down at the lush, green fabric of his robe and running his hands down either side. “But I’d wager I’m wearing more textile than you are just now, if we’re being precise.”
“We’re not,” she answered. “Usually.”
“Unless we’re on stage,” he amended, holding a finger up in the name of professional pride. “Then we are extremely precise.”
“We will be again, soon enough, I think,” she answered, tilting her head to the side and feeling some of the damp strands of her own freshly-washed golden hair trailing down over her shoulder, marking the linen with the soft impression of water. “Or I will be, anyhow.”
“Oh, I can be extremely precise,” he replied, pushing off the wall and striding toward her, the puffy lapels of his dressing gown parting with every step to reveal more of his lean, pale chest. “Shall I demonstrate?”
Her breath caught, whirring in her lungs as heat sparked and spread out from the center of her chest. He was still smiling, still moving casually, but his eyes were on her body, her hair, her face, and the green of the robe he was wearing only heightened the distinct glint in them.
The glint she had seen in the carriage today. The one she had discovered only one night ago, alone together in her shop.
She swallowed, her throat flexing over the warmth and flutter that had only been simple breathing just a second before. “Tonight? It has been such a long and tiring day, Rhys.”
He reached her, hovering over where she sat for a moment and smiling down at her.
He lowered himself carefully, kneeling at her feet, and reached out to rest the warm and dry palms of his hands on her tucked legs, one on her knee and the other a little lower on the curve of her calf.
“If you are too tired,” he said, settling his weight down on his heels, “that is all right. Though I will still attempt to find a spot on that feather mattress rather than make a nest on the floor.”
She gave a little chuckle, reaching down to touch the soft, damp curls that were springing back into shape as the fire pulled the moisture from the top of his head. “I am not actually tired,” she confessed. “Just uncertain what comes next or how to behave once it begins.”
“You were doing very well before,” he told her. “In the shop and in the carriage. You seemed fully embodied. Confident. That is why I was so shocked when you said … erm … when you told me that …”
“I understand,” she said with a sigh. “So, I suppose it will fall to you to lead in this dance, Rhys Caradoc. Does the burden please you?”
“It would,” he answered, quirking half a smile onto his lips, “if I intended to accept it. Seph, this is already perfect for me. Knowing I will be the first person to … to witness you. To touch you. If you let me. What would please me the most is doing it in the way you wish, giving you exactly what it is you want, as quickly or as slowly or as varied as you want it. And so, my dear gwrach, I’m afraid I’m handing the burden back to you. I’m putting it right into your lap.”
She huffed as he tapped his hands, still holding her curled legs as though he were physically dropping it back into her custody, and shifted her weight, imagining such a thing as physical and tangible there between them, like one of Merlin’s cork balls.
“I don’t know what to ask for,” she said. “What would you ask for? Perhaps if I hear how you would behave in my place, it will give me an idea of how to meld the moment to my own particular tastes.”
He pressed his lips together, raising his brows. “I believe I already said quite a few things to you along those lines before I realized I oughtn’t have.”
“Oh, that,” she tutted, frowning. “I didn’t ask you to stop. What if I tell you to do that again? To speak to me in confessions and unfiltered truth?”
“Then I will find a way to do so that manages to avoid the earlier crudeness, I think,” he said, rocking his head back and forth like he were weighing his options. “Yes, I could do that.”
“What if I request the crudeness?” she said, giving his ribs a light kick with her toes.
“I won’t talk to a virgin that way,” he answered, catching her foot and tucking it back under her pajamas gently. “So, the obvious solution would be ridding yourself of the mantle as quickly as possible.”
“Hm,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Convenient. I’m not wearing a mantle, as it happens. But you are.”
He hesitated, looking down at his fluffy robe, which did indeed have a hood hanging off the back, and released a delighted, little bark of laughter. “So I am. Do you wish for me to rid myself of it, in the name of solidarity?”
She blinked a few times, her eyes trailing down the open collar of the robe and following the loose, tufted sleeve in that deep forest green to his hand, which was still resting on the exposed bones of her ankle, where he’d tucked her foot back onto the cushion.
Her breath quickened, short and somehow thicker in the warm, firelit air as she considered this offer, which had almost certainly been made in jest.
Slowly. Carefully, she nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I want you to take it off. For me.”
He was very still for a moment, his hands softening and resting where they were on her knee and ankle. His smile melted away, those glinting, green eyes tilting up to look into hers. “Very well,” he said. “If that is what you want.”
“It is,” she answered, quick and thin before she could lose her resolve.
She had seen naked men, of course. Sculptures and bathing caravan members and the odd sailor who got a bit over-comfortable on the Brighton wharfs after a night at the Crow’s Nest. She had seen male bodies.
But never his.
And never in this particular context.
He rose slowly, leaning forward to kiss her gently on the lips, sweet and without demand, his hands squeezing her legs.
He searched her eyes, as though he were memorizing her face in this moment, and then kissed her once more, on the forehead this time, before backing away, taking a stance a few feet from her and running his hands over his hair.
“This is a little ridiculous,” he told her, curls springing up between his fingers. “But I have a sudden case of nerves.”
“Do you really?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Haven’t you done this a thousand times already?”
He sputtered, a slash of heat appearing over the bridge of his nose and over his cheekbones. “Not a thousand. What do you take me for?”
She giggled, reaching up to cover her mouth. “I don’t know. Enough times, then.”
He frowned at her, though it had no gravity. “I’ve never been asked to make a show of disrobing. Typically, it is the woman whose body is revealed in such a way. Men are … erm …” He looked down at himself, shrugging. “Uninspiring?”
“Oh, I must disagree with you there,” she replied with a little, throaty sigh. “And you … Rhys, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Truly. I am already moved just by the bits of you I can see now that I never have before.”