Page 38 of A Gathering Storm
Nick obediently lowered his head and brushed their lips gently together, even as he murmured, “We have to stop. It’s madness doing this out here in broad daylight.”
“You started it,” Ward said, arching up his hips for more contact. Nick could feel the subtle prod of his prick, muffled by layers of clothing. He moaned softly, shifting his own hips away.
“You’re right, I did,” he said, pressing his forehead against Ward’s before adding, “I think I lost my mind for a moment. I thought— Christ, Ward, I thought you were going to fall. I thought you were going todie. Whatpossessedyou? I’ve never been so damned relieved in all my life as when you finally dragged yourself out of there!”
Ward gave a breathy chuckle. “You kissed me because you thought I was going to die?”
Nick smiled, but he was serious when he answered. “I wouldn’t have had the nerve otherwise.”
Ward was silent for several moments. Then he swallowed and whispered, “In that case, it was worth it—almost dying, I mean.”
Nick’s heart thudded so hard he was sure Ward must feel the beats as well as he did.
“It was very foolhardy of me,” he said. “I had no reason to believe you were like me. You’ve never—” He broke off suddenly, eyes widening. “That is— Oh Christ,areyou like me?”
Ward’s green-gold eyes danced with amusement and he gave a croaky laugh. “Oh, yes. You don’t need to worry about that, Nicholas.”
God, but he was comely.
Nick stared at Ward, unable to drag his gaze away, even as he said faintly, “We need to get up. What if someone sees us like this?” Ward didn’t argue with that, but when Nick made to shift away, Ward lifted a hand to his face, halting him. Keeping their gazes locked.
“All right,” he whispered urgently. “But stay with me tonight. Instead of going home after dinner, come to my bedchamber.” When Nick hesitated, he added, “Pipp is the soul of discretion, I promise you. All my servants are.”
Nick closed his eyes briefly. It was a terrible idea. He had a score of objections. And yet he found himself yearning to agree.
He settled on a compromise.
“I won’t stay the whole night,” he said at last. “But I’ll stay for a while after dinner. How’s that?”
Ward’s smile was dazzling.
“Wonderful,” he said.
FromThe Collected Writings of Sir Edward Fitzwilliam, volume I
From time to time, my father would ask me to perform some of my experiments for one of his guests or a curious neighbour. It felt rather like conducting a magic show—I must admit I rather enjoyed provoking gasps of surprised delight with my demonstrations of static electricity and electromagnetic current and Leyden jars. The difference between a scientist and a magician, however, is that while the magician’s purpose is to pretend he is producing things out of thin air, a scientist’s purpose is to explain that there is no such thing as “thin air.” To show instead that the air around us is a complex, luminiferous ether through which invisible forces and subtle bodies move, if we could but see them.
Ward didn’t taste a single bite of his dinner. He put food in his mouth, chewed and swallowed, and nodded his agreement when Nicholas asked Pipp to pass his compliments on to Mrs. Waddell. But once it was over, he couldn’t even have said what he’d eaten. Instead, he spent the whole meal dwelling on what was to come after, his stomach knotted with nerves and excitement.
“We’ll take our port in the study,” Ward told Pipp as he cleared their dishes away.
Pipp was expressionless. “Very good, sir.”
Ward’s nerves had grown more and more jittery throughout the meal. By the time he and Nicholas were climbing the stairs together, he felt positively tongue-tied. Nicholas was equally silent, a serious expression making him look somewhat grim.
Was he having second thoughts?
Ward opened the study door and gestured for Nicholas and Snowflake to precede him into the room. Nicholas didn’t even glance at Ward as he entered, but despite that, despite the fact that his sleeve did not even so much as brush Ward’s as he passed him, Ward couldfeelhim, as though Nicholas’s life force pulled at Ward like a magnet. Or perhaps his presence influenced Ward’s world in some unmistakable way, like the weather. Like when the air grew thick and heavy with the promise of an impending storm.
“Pipp’ll be up with the port in a minute,” Ward told Nicholas. “Then we’ll get some peace.”
Yes, they’d be alone at last, after the torture of sitting through too long a dinner, too many plates being put down and taken away again, when all Ward had wanted to do was push everything off the table and crawl over the polished wood to get to the man sitting on the other side.
Nicholas gave a strained smile and went to examine Ward’s bookshelves. He looked like Ward felt—nervous with expectation and impatience, unable to settle to anything but the long-delayed promise of what was to come. He stared fixedly at the spines of the books, but Ward would have wagered he did not see any of the words.
When at last Pipp came, Ward watched with sorely tried patience as his servant unhurriedly unloaded the contents of his tray.
“Will that be all, sir?” Pipp asked at last.