Page 57 of A Gathering Storm
Gabe waited till they were settled in a private little nook in the White Hare with two tankards of froth-topped ale in front of them before he mentioned Ward.
“So, what’s going on between you and Fitzwilliam?”
“Nothing,” Nick replied. “As I said, I’m helping him with his work.” He’d already told Gabe that the man was a scientist and that Nick had agreed to be his subject. In fact, he’d babbled about electricity and ozone and lightning rods nonstop all the way from the bookshop to the White Hare in an effort to avoid precisely this question. Which was absurd, since there was plainly no avoiding it.
Gabe chuckled. “Come off it. He was practically pissing a circle round you in that bookshop.”
“Oh, bugger off,” Nick replied uncomfortably.
Gabe raised his eyebrows and reached for his ale, tipping his head back to take a long drink. His strong throat bobbed as he swallowed, and it occurred to Nick that once upon a time, just that sight would have be enough to get him hard. Even the last time he’d seen Gabe, down at the mill stream on May Day when they were already finished, he’d still felt a strong pull to him, one that had gone beyond simply finding the man attractive. But now, today, it finally felt as though those feelings were well and truly in the past.
“How’s Jenny?” Nick asked when Gabe put his tankard back down on the table. “And little Peter?”
Gabe looked away. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not,” Nick said. “I’m asking because I want to know. You can’t think I wish them ill, Gabe. I wish you all happiness, I really do.”
It was true. Even in his darkest moments, he’d never borne Gabe’s wife any ill will. If anything, he felt sorry for her. Hoped that Gabe would treat her better than he’d treated Nick, though judging by Gabe’s behaviour the last time he’d been in Porthkennack, that seemed unlikely.
“All right,” Gabe said shortly. “Let me tell you how we all are. Jenny and Peter are well. Peter’s started babbling. He saysDadaa lot. AndMama. Jenny wants more babies, but I’d rather wait and save for a bigger house first. I’ve taken on two private students three evenings a week—working men who want to improve themselves. That’s a help with money. Jenny’s mother’s staying with us just now, which is driving me slowly mad, but she’s going home on Thursday, thank heavens. And Jenny’s cooking is getting better, which is a relief since I thought I’d expire from hunger when we first got married, and—and bloody hell, Imissyou, Nick.” He stared into Nick’s eyes as he whispered those last words, his expression agonised, the hand clutching his tankard white-knuckled.
“Gabe—”
“I know you hate me,” Gabe went on in a low voice. “And I know I deserve your hatred, but the truth is, even now, I still think about you. Every day, Nick. That’s what I wanted to say that last time I saw you in Porthkennack. That’s what Ishouldhave said.”
They stared at each other for long moments, till Nick looked away, shooting a quick glance about to check no one was paying them any attention. No one was—there were only a handful of others in the taproom and none of them were even glancing their way.
As used as he was to the endless need for watchfulness, Nick still hated it. Hated having to be always prudent, always aware, always lowering his voice even when he wanted to shout his frustration to the world. To justbeanddowithout always second-guessing himself.
It was a feeling he’d been able to shed, for a few perfect hours, with Ward. First at Varhak Manor and again last night. Wealth gave you the luxury of privacy. If Nick had arrived at the Fox and Swan with Gabe at his side, Mrs. Bassett would likely have wanted to know what they were about, instead of simply assuming their business was respectable and offering them her best parlour to dine in. That was a reality that Ward didn’t even begin to understand. He was so used to his privileged position, he had no idea what it was like for others. And perhaps it was unfair to resent Ward for that privilege, when Nick himself had relished the brief, heady freedom it had brought him last night.
Nick dragged his gaze back to Gabe’s. “I don’t hate you, Gabe,” he said wearily. “But we can’t be to each other what we once were. You know that. You have a family now, and you need to look after them.”
Gabe swallowed and nodded. “I do love them. Jenny’s a good mother, and a kindhearted girl, but I—I just didn’t realise how much I’d miss you. And I don’t just mean the physical, Nick. You were my only real friend in Porthkennack. I likedtalkingto you.”
“I know. It was the same for me. It was hard when you left. I felt . . . very alone.”
“Christ, Nick.” Gabe’s voice was pained. “I’m so sorry. Ileftyou—”
“It’s all right,” Nick said. “I’m all right now.”
“Are you really?” Gabe asked. He smiled sadly. “And is it terrible that I’m hoping the answer is no?”
Nick’s mouth quirked in a rueful smile. “Yes, it’s terrible,” he agreed, then more gently, “And yes, I think I am.”
“Because of him?” Gabe asked. “Fitzwilliam?”
Nick thought about that. These last weeks, getting to know Ward, their growing friendship and intimacy—it had been so consuming that there had been no room in him for loneliness or regret or bitterness. As for Ward’s physical interest in him, his frank admiration, hisdesire. . . That had fed something in Nick that was utterly parched. What had passed between them last night had drenched the dried-out cracks in his soul, filling up every cavity and hollow so that, maybe for the first time in his adult life, Nick had felt . . . happy, however momentarily.
Frowning, he met Gabe’s gaze. “Yes. Because of him, I think.”
“You love him then,” Gabe said. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
Nick searched the other man’s face. “Is that what this is? I don’t know, Gabe. I’ve never felt anything quite like this before.”
Gabe gave a huff of unamused laughter. “Not with me, I take it?”
Nick scowled at the table, irritated by that. “It’s not quite the same, no.”