Page 46 of A Gathering Storm

They climbed out of the carriage, and Nick looked about himself curiously. The Fox and Swan was a large and bustling coaching inn, its courtyard thronged with carriages, horses, guests, and ostlers. Ward started across the courtyard, and Nick followed, watching as Ward gave his name to the slip of a girl who came to greet them. She scurried off, and within moments, the innkeeper’s wife was sailing towards them, a small, wide woman with a ruddy face and greying hair, mostly hidden beneath a lacy cap.

“Sir Edward,” she gushed, “it’s an honour to welcome such a distinguished guest.”

“Ah. Good evening, Mrs . . .?”

She blinked at the sound of his rasping voice, then seemed to collect herself, saying hurriedly, “Bassett. Mrs. Bassett.”

“Quite. Mrs. Bassett. Charmed,” he said, inclining his head politely. He gestured at Nick. “And this is my companion, Mr. Hearn.”

Nick inclined his head, and Mrs. Bassett did likewise, her gaze darting between himself and Ward.

“I’ve reserved you my best room, Sir Edward,” she said then. “If you’ll kindly follow me, I’ll show you up.”

She led them through two doors and up a flight of stairs, her step light for such a heavy lady, leading them to a pair of rooms joined by a connecting door. One of the rooms was large and well-appointed with a sizeable bed and a small writing desk and chair. The other was positively pokey with little more than a truckle bed in it.

She sent Nick a brief, apologetic glance as she showed them the smaller room. “I’d thought when Sir Edward asked for the second room, that it was for a manservant . . .”

She trailed off, meaningfully, glancing at Ward and raising her brows at him in silent query. But Ward, being Ward, didn’t take the hint and made no move to explain Nick’s position to her, though he had spoken of him in a manner that indicated a degree of equality between them.

Ward said merely, “Will this do, Mr. Hearn?” His face was expressionless. Was he thinking what Nick was thinking? That there was no need for Nick to use that truckle bed when they had locks on the doors that gave onto the corridor and a connecting door between the two chambers. That large bed in Ward’s chamber would do very well for two . . .

Unless Ward had no interest in repeating what they’d begun a week ago? Well, even if that was so, Nick had slept on far worse than that truckle bed.

“It’ll be fine,” Nick replied. “It’s only for two nights after all.”

He was acutely aware of Mrs. Bassett’s curiosity, could practically see the wheels in her brain turning as she tried to work out what Nick was to Ward. Astonishingly, Ward didn’t even seem to notice her interest. For a man who was incredibly observant about the tiniest of details in his field of study, he could be remarkably dense about ordinary, everyday things.

“If Mr. Hearn is content, that will be fine, Mrs. Bassett,” Ward said then, his rasping tone dismissive. “We’ll dine at seven, if that suits.”

Theif that suitswas a mere formality. There wasn’t so much as a hint of a question in Ward’s tone. These were the civil words of a man used to getting whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

She smiled politely. “Of course, Sir Edward. I will make arrangements.” She inclined her head and glided away, retreating downstairs again.

Nick chuckled as he closed the door of the little chamber, shutting them inside. “She can’t work out what I am to you, and it’s annoying her,” he observed.

“Do you think so?” Ward said.

Nick rolled his eyes. “For an intelligent man, you’re rather oblivious at times.”

Ward frowned, and all Nick could think about was how appealing he was with faint puzzlement pleating his brows. How ridiculously youthful.

Strange that this man—clever as an owl and rich as Croesus—looked like a boy sometimes. For some reason, it made Nick feel tender towards him, and when he stepped closer, he couldn’t stop himself raising a hand and brushing back the wayward lock of dark-blond hair that was always falling over Ward’s brow.

“How old are you?” he asked, curious.

Ward blinked, seeming surprised by the question, which had admittedly, rather come out of nowhere. “Twenty-six.”

“You’re a year older than me?” Nick said, wonderingly. “You look younger.”

“No, I don’t!” Ward protested.

Nick moved in closer. He slid his palms over Ward’s hips and tugged him forward so that their groins met, and he could feel the fronts of Ward’s thighs against his own. “Oh, but you do,” he said. “You look like a lad sometimes. A right handsome one.”

Nick saw that Ward liked that. Saw the gleam of pleasure in those tawny eyes before Ward’s lashes fell. The shy smile he immediately tried to bite off, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Oh yes, he was handsome, and there was that twisting feeling in Nick’s gut again, making him feel exposed as a shucked oyster. He barely knew what to do with himself. It was all he could manage to keep his gaze on Ward as he leaned forward to kiss him.

Ward met Nick’s questing lips with his own, and despite the urgent twisting desire in Nick’s belly, it was a sweet kiss. Ward’s lips were warm, and he yielded to Nick with unexpected hesitancy. Despite all his impressive carnal experience with the former lover he’d spoken of, it seemed that in this one activity, Ward was more than content to let Nick take the lead.

“Ayes, you’re a handsome lad,” Nick murmured against Ward’s lips. “And all mine.”