Page 9 of The Demons of Wychwood

CHORES

I stood in the grand foyer, and as was my routine, listened to the sounds of the house to hear if there was anything out of the ordinary. All was as expected, the silence only broken by the ticking of clocks. I removed my employer’s letter from my pocket, unfolded it, and read the list of requirements, then startled at hearing the tip-tap of footsteps. On turning toward the sound, I saw Kit had paused on the stairway from the kitchen. He’d finally removed his greatcoat, so I supposed he was stopping for a while. The thought of that sent a shiver through me. I was curious as to why he’d wanted to stay after getting answers to his questions. No, I ain’t a spy. No, I ain’t going to tell anyone about your fancy, and I mean you no harm.

Hadn’t he found the information he wanted? Was he not satisfied? I guess that discovering it was little old me, and not his Edward who had saved him from bleeding to death must’ve been quite a surprise. Did he want something else from me? It’s not as if I had anything else to give. I was here at Wychwood to do my job, and then I was supposed to go home to Elowen and Bess, and carry on my, what did he call it, oh yes, my ‘mundane and ordinary’ life. While we appeared to like each other’s company, milord and I were from different worlds.

I couldn’t deny that Kit was bollock-achingly handsome in his navy frock coat with shiny gold buttons. Beneath was a lovely purple and gold embroidered waistcoat and white lawn shirt. He looked at home in this house, like some men really are born to fit into such grandeur. His dark curls were a little longer than was fashionable, but it all added to the picture of the troubled romantic hero I’d read about in the storybooks I got for Elowen. My sister was word blind, and so I read stories to her most nights before we turned in, just as I’d read to the men in my regiment. Our captain had brought a whole trunk of books on our sea journey that included Byron, Shelley, Austen, and Sir Walter Scott. As many of the men couldn’t read, I became the regiment’s storyteller. I hope that those stories gave a little comfort to boys so far away from home.

Kit was staring at me with those dark brown pools of eyes and seemed unsure about what to do next. I was frozen in place for a moment, my thoughts washed away as our gazes trained on one another. One of the mantle clocks was running fast and sang out for the half- hour early. That shocked me from my trance. I hurriedly checked my watch and was relieved to see I had a couple of minutes before Jim arrived. I silently turned away from Lord Penhelligan’s stare and strode into the gentleman’s parlor where I lit the fire and checked that the maids had dusted properly. Then I continued moving from room to room, lighting the fires and ensuring all tasks had been done to the standard expected by my employer.

As I passed the parlor on the way back to the kitchen to bring in the deliveries, I saw that Kit had taken a chair by the hearth. He sat with his fingers steepled, and his eyes closed as if he was deep in thought, or asleep. I left him to his business while I got on with mine.

Jim delivered the wares as usual and when he’d gone, I got to work displaying the platters of food for the party. I was very aware of the fact that Kit was in the house. I didn’t understand why he was still here. Surely, he must have somewhere to be, some lordly duty, or meeting, or a gentleman’s club he could attend if he wanted to hide from his responsibilities. The doors of Wychwood were not open to members until seven-thirty, so why was he lingering? As if he knew that I was thinking about him, I looked up from working on a floral display and there he was standing silently in the doorway, watching me again with curious eyes .

“Isn’t there somewhere you’re supposed to be, milord?” I poked. Kit smiled but didn’t move further into the kitchen.

“There is, actually,” he admitted. “I was supposed to be at a debate in the Lords, but I can’t quite bring myself to be bothered today.” He paused and leaned on the doorjamb, making an attractive silhouette. His curls hung loosely nearly to his shoulders, and I remembered the scent of lemon pomade in his hair and felt the urge to run my fingers through those lovely shiny curls again. I’d never been too bothered about a man’s hair before, but Kit’s curls drove me crazy with want. As I pushed stems into the vase to make my display, I saw I was trembling. I didn’t want him to see how his presence affected me.

“That sounds terrible, doesn’t it…me with the privilege of voting to change the laws of the land, and not bothering to attend.”

“It does sound terrible,” I agreed, giving him a mischievous smirk.

“It‘s rather tedious, you know, at the House of Lords. Braying old men bellowing at one another, the pomp, and stifling rules. I hate it,” Kit admitted.

I was pleased that he seemed comfortable enough to tell me this and hoped he was warming to me, and not just being nice to encourage me to keep his secrets .

“What would you rather be doing?”

Kit appeared thoughtful for a moment and then smiled. I had to look away cos he looked so lovely my knees felt like they would buckle. I’d never had a cove make me feel like this before, and it was ridiculous that I wanted to drop what I was doing, step up to him, and clasp his face in my hands. I wanted to kiss him, which was strange, cos I didn’t have much experience of kissing neither. There was no time for something so intimate when giving a fellow soldier a quick rub in the shadows.

“I’m an architect,” Kit admitted. “I’m working on plans for the renovations of my family estate in the West Country. I haven’t visited the estate in many years, and I fear I’ve neglected my responsibilities there for far too long.”

“That is interesting. I’m rather familiar with architecture myself,”

“You are?” Kit sounded bemused, as if a man such as me wouldn’t know the difference between a Corinthian pilaster and architrave.

“My old man taught me how to read architect's plans,” I admitted proudly, “which came in handy when—” I paused, wondering why my lips were so loose around this man. I didn’t want Kit to know that I was the son of a thief and that learning to read plans was part of my training. I’d tried hard to make a new life for Elowen and me, and we didn’t want any association with my Pa or his crimes. Ferron Lazarus was, as far as I knew, still rotting in a cell in his native Devon.

“Yes?” Kit prompted excitedly.

“Oh, nuffin’…nuffin’,” I excused. “Look, as you’re here you might as well make yerself useful. Take that vase—” I instructed. I knew I was out of order bossing a lord around, but we were on friendly terms now and I couldn’t let him distract me from my tasks no more. Like a good boy, Kit did as he was told and lifted the crystal vase brimming with hothouse roses and lilies.

“Follow me.” I picked up the twin display and carried it out of the kitchen and up into the drawing-room.

In the drawing-room, I placed my vase on one of two console tables on either side of the fireplace. Kit placed his vase on the other without the need for instruction.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Kit said, sounding all keen innocence.

“You must have something better to do, milord!” The man was a distraction and quite frankly, my usual focus and attention to detail had flown the nest and my noggin was befuddled by his presence.

“I have a hundred other ways I could be spending my time, but I’m here, and as we have an understanding, I’d…like to get to know you a little better, Felix.”

“Oh!” Now I was even more befuddled.

“We’d might as well complete your tasks together while we talk, yes? So, is there any way I can make myself useful?”

My eyes appreciatively roamed up and down Kit Havelock’s form and couldn’t hold back my filthy grin. I could think of many ways he could make himself useful. But no, not on my employer’s time. This job was a gift, and I still had lots of work to do.

“I’ll sort out the fancies, but it would be a help if you could go to the wine cellar and pick out some bottles you think your highfalutin friends would appreciate,” I suggested. Having him out of my sight for a while would do me the world of good.

“Excellent. How many bottles do you require?”

****

It pleased me to see Kit as he hefted crates of bottles up from the cellar like he was a common servant. His posh garments were off, and his white lawn shirt sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. He may have been lean, but he was tall and strong. The flexing muscles in his forearms and popping veins on the backs of his hands were a sight for sore eyes. A light sheen of sweat made his face glisten. Stray curls stuck to his brow, and every time he trudged up the cellar steps with his load and his eyes met mine there was a dart of lightning between us.

“Regret agreeing to help yet?” I snickered at seeing him straining with a heavy wooden box full of bottles of Claret. He settled the box on the flagstones of the kitchen floor and wiped the back of his hand across his brow leaving a smear of dust. I couldn’t help the wide grin that plastered itself across my face.

“What?” Kit queried, looking perplexed.

“You’ve got a little something…” I gestured to his brow and using the cuff of his shirtsleeve he started to rub the area, missing the dust completely.

“No, left a bit…come here!” I said. I stepped to the chair over which he’d placed his garments and picked the purple linen pocket square from the breast pocket of his frock coat, and then strode toward him. Standing in front of Kit I noticed we were nearly the same height, and his eyes warily met mine. I gripped his chin with my left hand as if he was a mucky child, and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. My cock liked the sight of that very much.

“Hold still,” I directed. I knew I was being far too familiar with him, but it felt…natural and there was not a word of protest from Kit. I didn’t want to look into his eyes at such close quarters though cos I wasn’t sure what I would do. I absently wet the fabric with my spit, and before he could squirm and protest, I rubbed the wet corner of the pocket square on his brow to clean off the smear of dust.

“There you go. Perfect!” I said with satisfaction, only then meeting his brown eyes. The heat between us was blistering, like we were standing on top of the kitchen range, and that unfathomable stare was back, the stare that made my knees weak and my bollocks ache something awful. I was still holding Kit’s chin, and my eyes darted again to his mouth… oh that delicious mouth . The longing erupted in me and it was as if Kit could feel my need through my fingertips, cos his eyes widened in understanding. He didn’t step away, and his breaths were nasal, like a horse on the gallop. In the silent kitchen, the ticking of the clocks around the house sounded like hammer blows in a forge. Kit’s hand gripped the wrist of my hand that still held his chin. It was a soft clasp, another connection between us, another flash of lightning and need. I licked my lips, and his eyes darted to my wet mouth. We remained there as if frozen in time with the scents of his sweat and lemon hair pomade in my every inhalation, and all it would take was a little nudge for my lips to land on his. I wanted it, hungered for it like a starving man.

“You’re…you’re wearing a ring on your wedding fi nger,” Kit said softly, and that astute observation shattered the spell between us. I pursed my lips and stepped back, pulling my hand from his grip. I couldn’t tell him that I wasn’t really married, or that my sister Elowen was my fake missus. No matter how attracted I was to Kit Havelock there was no way I’d put my family in danger for a fuck, no matter how glorious that fuck might be!

“Observant,” I said tartly, “I’d best get back to work then, milord,” I said and turned from him.

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