Page 38 of The Labours of Lord Perry Cavendish

Jonny sighed, but he forced himself to uncoil his somewhat rigid limbs and lie down properly next to Perry, on his back. The bright sun made him squint, and he lifted his arm to half-cover his face.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the light, and with his forearm blocking out the sun, he spied the tiny forms of two birds high above him. He watched them for long minutes, mesmerised by their steady circling and swooping. Beside him, Perry’s breath was slow, and somewhere nearby, in the long grass, a grasshopper rubbed its knees crisply.

“You’re right,” Jonny murmured after a while. “Itisglorious.”

Perry made a drowsy noise of contentment. After another few minutes of lying in companionable silence, Perry sat up and reached for the cheese. Jonny watched him pull out a pocketknife and cut himself a piece. He ate it with relish, washed it down with more beer, then helped himself to a plum, sinking his teeth into the purple flesh.

Jonny sat up too then, picking up his slice of pie again and eating a few bites before setting it aside.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Perry asked, licking plum juice from his hand.

Jonny shrugged. “Not especially. It doesn’t feel so very long since breakfast.”

Perry’s eyes widened. “Are you joking?” he asked. “Breakfast was hours ago!” He helped himself to another plum and ate that in a few bites too.

“I don’t have your vigorous appetite,” Jonny said.

“Is that a polite way of saying I’m greedy?” Perry said, sounding half-offended and half-amused.

“Not at all,” Jonny said, smiling. “You haven’t a spare ounce of flesh on your delightful body, my dear.” And just to underline the point, he gave Perry’s muscular form a blatant and lingering appraisal, from head to toe.

Perry’s eyes widened. Then, predictably, his face heated.

Jonny couldn’t help but chuckle. “I do like when you blush.”

“I know,” Perry said tightly, and Jonny realised, with something like horror, that Perry was unhappy.

“Oh,” Jonny said. “You don’t like it. I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”

Perry shrugged. “I’ve always been teased about how easily I blush. You’re hardly the first. It’s only that… it makes me feel stupid.”

Jonny flinched. “Peregrine,” he said helplessly. “I don’t”—he broke off, swallowing hard—“I wouldneverwant to make you feel stupid. Have I done so?”

Perry got to his feet. “It’s fine,” he said. He offered Jonny a twisted sort of smile. “Should be used to it by now.”

“Perry—”

Jonny wanted to lay out all the reasons he could say with certainty that Perry wasn’t the least bit stupid, but Perry was already walking away toward the horses and calling over his shoulder, “If you’ve finished eating, we’d best get moving again.” Jonny watched him go, then sighed and began packing the food away.

His chest ached to think of Perry feeling stupid, whether because of his tendency to blush, or because his handwriting was poor, or because he didn’t know who some godforsaken ancient Greek nobody was. The truth was, none of that mattered. Not in the least. Perry was perfect in all the ways that did matter. Goodhearted, kind, perceptive.

Ah hell. Had Jonny thought he could avoid another emotional entanglement by keeping Perry Cavendish out of his bed?

What a fool he was.

13

Perry

The Fighting Cock Inn was, despite its confrontational name, a comfortable and well-run establishment.

When they arrived, Jonny explained to Mrs. Gardiner, the innkeeper’s wife, that his friends had reserved one bedchamber but they’d need a second one.

Mrs. Gardiner smiled pleasantly and bid a maidservant take them to her best private parlour for cake and wine while she saw what she could do.

The parlour they were shown into was cosy and comfortable, and the ginger cake which the maidservant brought them was delicious—Perry had three large slices. The wine was sweet and syrupy—a bit too sweet for Perry, but it did taste nice with the cake.

At length, Mrs. Gardiner returned. This time, her expression was apologetic.