The older man started losing control. “Ohhh, Percy,” he panted. “Take it, take it all..."
"Ohh, I ... I'm so close,” he warned. He pressed his head into the carpet, pushing his ass up and back. “So good. So full ... I ... please..."
The duke slammed into Percy, and the idea that Percy was asking permission seemed to please him. “Yes,” he hissed. “Let me hear you, Percy. Let go."
Percy moaned loudly as he came. His body trembled hard beneath the other man. He jolted back against him as he found his release. The duke was not far behind. He groaned and shuddered as he stopped moving and filled Percy with his desire.
Percy stilled for a moment, panting hard. A shiver ran through his shoulder and he let out a satisfied sigh. The duke pulled out slowly and leaned down to kiss Percy's back gently.
Percy smiled and glanced over his shoulder. “Mm, that was lovely,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. He ached deliciously. “I expect your room is ready. It has an adjoining door to my room."
The older man grinned. “Oh, I like the sound of that.” He pulled Percy up and into his arms.
Percy leaned back against him. “As your host, I insist you make yourself comfortable and to wake me if you need anything at all,” he said.
"I shall take advantage of your more than generous offer,” he answered.
They made themselves presentable again, and Percy found the butler. He led the duke up to his room and left him with his valet to prepare for bed. As soon as the door closed, Percy felt a chill in his room, as if a stiff breeze picked up. He strode around to each window, though he could see clearly that the curtains did not stir. All were closed and latched securely.
Then the fire in the grate was extinguished suddenly. Percy sat on the foot of the bed, hugging his arms around himself. He looked around the room, feeling a growing sense of dread. “I'm not afraid of ghosts,” he said quietly. “You might as well go on your way."
"Percival,” the breeze hissed.
His eyes widened as his worst fears were confirmed. At long last the ghost of Elgin Castle was seeing fit to show itself to him. “What do you want?” he asked.
"Not worthy,” he whispered close to his ear.
Percy flinched. “The hell I'm not!” he sneered. “Have you any idea what I've done for this bloody place?” He felt offended at the suggestion. “Who are you?"
"Depraved,” it moaned, barely audible over the rustling of the bed hangings.
"Honestly, it's none of your bloody business what I do in private. You'll have a hard time getting me to cow to your morals."
And with that he decided that the only thing to do was to proceed as if everything was perfectly normal. He stood and started stripping off his clothing to get ready for bed. The candles blew out. “I know my way around my own room, you know. Good effort, though.” He changed quickly into a nightgown and crawled into his bed, pulling the covers up to his ear.
The covers were ripped off him, leaving him shivering. “Bugger off. You can't do anything to me. You are a ghost. I am an earl. And I shall do as I please.” He reached down and pulled the covers up over himself again, holding on tightly to them. “My father's lover told me all about you. I suppose you want the Elgin line to die out, then? Because there is yet to be an heir."
The wind abruptly stopped. Percy sighed. It was as he'd supposed. The ghost was railing against the curse as much as against him. That's why it had disliked Alan. That's why his father had spent so much time away from the castle. Suddenly, Percy felt rather bitter about that. It took him a great deal of time to drift off to a fitful sleep. He was somewhat relieved that the duke did not join him in the night. He didn't feel like making a new fire, and explaining why the room was so chilly. After a while, he warmed beneath the heavy velvet covers, and finally found some rest.
He returned to London as quickly after the holidays as he could reasonably do so.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-Five
He didn't often go to private soirees in the salons of single young ladies. To be honest, Percy was slightly astounded that John should know so bohemian a set of people. Their hostess was somewhat infamous of late, having written several articles under a male pen name, then being exposed by an ‘anonymous source’ at the newssheet in which she'd been published. Percy had not met her, but he was more interested in some of the poets and writers who seemed to flock around her and her intimate gatherings. Garnering an invitation was something of a social coup, albeit a risqué one.
They arrived fashionably late, and it quickly became clear that they were both the highest ranking attendees, though nowhere near the most notable. They were greeted at the door by a Miss Gwendolyn Masters. She was an acquaintance of John's and introductions were made all around.
The salon was cozy to put it nicely. His mother would have called it that. It was a small room, with exquisite if somewhat worn furnishings, unusually shaped chairs arranged specifically for private conversations, overstuffed settees with pillows of mismatched velvets and brocades. The colors were mostly darks and reds and purples. The guests appeared to labor under the poverty of the intelligentsia, in poorly-fitted coats, with overgrown hairstyles. Genteel and yet somewhat ragamuffin to Percy's eyes. It was a comfortable place, though not particularly fashionable.
Their hostess approached. There was no mistaking her, as all eyes followed her as she glided across the room. Her outfit might have been shocking in any other setting. Her gown was loose-fitting, of some exotic fabric of many colors, as if she was some princess from the West Indies, the impression belied by her perfectly English face and coloring. Mousy brown hair fell in loose curls to just below her earlobes, held in place by some sort of bead-encrusted headband covering much of her forehead. Nonetheless, she was lovely. She bowed slightly as she approached Percy. “My lord, it is an honor to welcome you to my humble home. I am Miss Zelda Muirfield, at your service,” she said, extending her hand.
Percy was utterly charmed, as he'd never been by another female. He pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand. “Miss Muirfield, the honor is all mine, I assure you.” He couldn't help smirking, shocked as he was at such a woman. To his delight, she smirked right back at him. “I must admit, I have only heard a few rumors about you. I do hope you will have time to set me straight on the facts."
She arched an eyebrow. “My lord, I wouldn't be at all surprised to find that the rumors are full of facts.” She drew him forward into the room and offered him a drink.
As if they had known each other for years, Percy soon found himself engrossed in conversation with the young lady. She was indeed unmarried, and under the protection of no man. That alone made her life precarious. She had written some rather inflammatory articles on the rights of women, or lack thereof. She surrounded herself with all manner of creative people, and refused to marry, though she had had several offers.
The conversation on marriage arose after rather a lot of excellent liquor, and Percy was inclined to confess his own reluctance to marry. In a quiet corner of the room, long after at least half the guests had already departed, partially obscured from the view of others by a heavy curtain entombing their vestibule, their eyes met and something passed between them. An understanding. “I do regret,” she said quietly, “that my eccentricities might deprive me of the experience of influencing a young mind someday."
Percy swallowed hard. “No disrespect is intended in this statement, Miss Muirfield, but you do not strike me as the maternal type."
Zelda scooted closer to him, and bid him to look where she directed, towards Miss Masters. “And what of my dear Gwendolyn? Does she seem maternally inclined to you?” she asked.
"Yes. I can well imagine her running after a little one to fix a shoelace or wipe a spot of dirt off of a chubby little cheek,” he said with a smile. He looked at Zelda questioningly. “Is that the plan, then?” he asked. He knew he was being quite forward, but he was drunk, and she had refused no presumption yet. He lean
ed in close and spoke into her ear. “Is she to be your wife?” he whispered.
Zelda's hand slid into Percy's, her fingers lacing with his. “I think you understand me very well for so recent an acquaintance, my lord. As such, I must insist that you call me Zelda from this day forward."
"Which would mean you would be honor-bound to call me Percy, of course,” he said with an incline of his head.
From that day, Percy and Zelda were nearly inseparable. Percy finally had a young lady whom he could invite to all the social occasions he had been attending alone, with no fear of an unwanted attachment forming. Miss Masters was invited whenever it was possible, and though Zelda refused any offers of ball gowns or jewelry for herself, she was more than thrilled that her close companion be the recipient of the earl's generosity. Percy even employed a professional chaperone to install herself at his London townhouse so that Zelda and Gwen could be overnight visitors without sullying their reputations at staying in a single gentleman's house.
Rumors followed them wherever they went, of course. Some insulting, some ridiculous. The general consensus, of course, was that they would be engaged any day. One morning, as Percy sipped his tea and browsed through the Times, noting yet another mention of the torrid love affair a certain young lady must be having with so eligible a gentleman, he thought about the possibilities. He knew Zelda did not wish to marry, but in many ways it would be an ideal solution for them both. He knew her financial circumstances were not stellar, and as the countess she could spend his money as she might like. Indeed, no one would even think twice about her longtime companion residing with them for as long as she cared to. Supporting an odd spinster or two was the province of aristocracy, after all.
He folded the paper and looked across the table at his dear friend, who was munching loudly on a piece of toast dripping with butter. In the six months since they had met, Zelda had flourished under Percy's tender care. She was no longer as pale and wan-looking as she had once been, and he watched her for a moment as she pored over another publication, her feathered brows drawing together in irritation at something. “Zelda,” he said, tilting his head. “Are you certain you should never wish to be married?” he asked bluntly.
Zelda's head popped up and she stared at him, expression astonished. “Good Lord, Percy. Have you any idea how long I've been waiting for you to ask me that?” She took another bite of toast, a few fine crumbs clinging to the corner of her mouth.
Percy laughed. “You could have asked me, you know. I wouldn't put it past you,” he teased. “Oh, yes, I forgot. You are a delicate flower that would never speak of a subject so coarse with a gentleman."
Zelda smirked. “Sod off, Perce. When are we off, then?"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-Six
The arrangements to make the trip to Elgin Castle were set in motion. Percy felt some amount of guilt at having spent so little time there, but it was nearly summer, and everyone was retreating to the countryside, anyway. A few days before they were to depart, he was again alone with Zelda. They were enjoying a game of billiards, a rivalry having grown up between them ever since she'd realized Percy had a table in his study.
Percy took a shot and missed, stepping back to refresh his drink. “We ought to discuss this in more detail, you know,” he said, attempting to sound casual. Some of the implications of their intended course of action had been weighing on his mind as they neared the time when he would tell his grandmother.
"Mmm,” she said, leaning over the table to examine the options. “Yes,” she said, taking her shot. She sunk a ball neatly into a corner pocket.
Percy arched an eyebrow. “I'm assuming that you're after me for more than just my money,” he said dryly.
She took a second shot and missed, then straightened, chalking the end of her cue. “I suppose you're wanting to talk about having a child,” she said casually. “I suspect the only way we'll be able to accomplish that is by sleeping together, Percy."
Percy laughed nervously and downed his drink in one toss. “Luckily you will not be offended by my discomfort with the prospect.” He leaned over the table and aimed, but hesitated. “Have you ever...?"
"Had intimate relations with a man? Good heavens no!” she said.
"No need to take offense, Zel. You're a modern woman. I thought perhaps as an experiment or something, to satisfy that voracious curiosity of yours."
"And have you ever bedded a woman, then?"
Percy was just shooting as she asked, and his stick knocked a ball onto the floor. “Good lord, no,” he said, blushing. Then he laughed.
Zelda retrieved the ball from the floor and placed it back on the red felt. “Percy,” she said, leaning her hip on the edge of the mahogany railing. “Why are you not ... why don't you have someone?” she asked, tilting her head.
He swallowed hard as thoughts of Alastair flooded back to him. “I did,” he said softly. He paused a moment, trying to decide how much to say, then sighed. Zelda would have the whole story out of him soon enough. He poured himself another drink and wandered over to a deep armchair. “At school. One of my professors. Mathematical Theory.” The memories assailed him and he could almost imagine those strong arms holding him again.
Zelda put her stick aside and brought her drink over to where Percy sat. She took a seat across from him and relaxed back into the cushions. “I've always thought professors would be stern and old and unfriendly."
Percy's lips twitched. “He was certainly stern. He wasn't much older than I am, though. Less than ten years, I think. Sometimes he was unfriendly.” He smiled fondly at that. “I think perhaps he didn't quite believe he deserved love. When I received my letters he broke it off. Said it was for my own good. I pleaded rather pathetically with him as I recall."
She was quiet for a few moments, taking a genteel sip of her port. “You are utterly smitten with this man, aren't you?"
"Yes. I'm afraid so. Usually, with men, there's a certain expectation that emotion need not be involved, that such things are the province of the fairer sex. But though he wasn't effusive, Alastair frequently acted as though he might forget how to draw air into his lungs without me.” His throat was tight as he remembered those times, when his lover was so desperate for him it was almost frightening. “Not a day goes by that I don't wish to have him back."
She leaned across the gap between them and patted Percy's knee. “You shall either have him again, or it was not meant to be, my love. But whatever happens, I know that some handsome man will sweep you off your feet some time. You are too perfect to languish at the edge of the dance floor for long.” She stood and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “And don't worry about the whole procreation nonsense. There's no rush. We must keep everyone guessing for as long as we might."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It wasn't often Percy had a chance to enjoy a stroll outside simply for the pure enjoyment of it. However, the weather was so spectacularly pleasant that he was tempted to a short walk in the park near his London townhouse. Zelda and Gwendolyn had remained at home for the morning. He didn't linger for long, though, and ambled back home, feeling uncharacteristically content with life.
A few moments after stepping into his own entry hall, there came a knock at the front door. It struck him as rather odd, since he'd only just walked through the door himself. One might have thought whoever sought him out would have had plenty of time to stop him on the sidewalk. He waved the butler aside and opened the door personally. He thought his heart might stop when his gaze fell on the man standing there.
"Alastair?” he said, his voice hardly more than a croak.
"Perce, there you are,” Zelda said, breezing through from the drawing room. “What...?"
But Percy's entire focus was on the man in the doorway. He stepped back. “Come in. Please,” he said earnestly.
Alastair's gaze went from Percy to Zelda and back again. “I ... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come.
"
"If you will give me but a moment to explain,” he said, putting his hand on Alastair's arm. The man looked like he was about to bolt, but there was no way Percy was going to let that happen.
Alastair looked into Percy's eyes for a long moment without speaking at all. Finally he spoke softly. “I did not know if you would even wish to speak to me."
Percy's eyes widened. “Wait! Don't you dare run away!” he said. He pulled him inside. His heart pounded.
Alastair looked around, eyes wide. He was inches from Percy. “I saw you in the park,” he began, and he glanced at Zelda.
Percy felt light-headed. “I went for a walk,” he said stupidly. “It was nice weather for it."
Zelda arched an eyebrow before clearing her throat loudly.
Percy's head snapped around. “Oh, my manners. Goodness. Alastair, this is Zelda, Countess Elgin. Zelda, this is Alastair."
"The Alastair?” she asked.
Percy smiled and nodded. “The very one."
Alastair looked from Percy to Zelda. “You know who I am?” he said, sounding confused.
Zelda nodded gravely. “I do. And I must insist that you stay as well,” she said, stepping forward to take his hand. “Please."
Percy could see Alastair's confusion. “Zelda, would you fetch Gwen, my dear?"
"Of course. If you'll excuse me."
When the woman had gone, Alastair turned to Percy. “That is your wife. Yet, she knows?” he looked confused but his eyes burned with need.
Percy had no words to express how much he wanted to speak to Alastair. Before he had a chance to try, Zelda and Gwen returned to the foyer, giggling and pink-cheeked. “Alastair. May I present you to Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn is..."
"Mine,” Zelda provided, sliding a slender arm around Gwen's back.
"Alastair? You mean...” Gwen said softly.
Once in a Lifetime Page 17
