by Merry Farmer
He sighed, shook his head, cursed himself for a fool caught up in wishful thinking, and set about organizing his notes for the rehearsal. More and more of his cast arrived, and Niall did everything he could to stop himself from gazing longingly at Blake as he laughed and chattered away with the blokey blokes.
“I still can’t believe you cast him in the lead,” Ian grumbled to Niall almost as soon as he entered the auditorium and deposited his things in one of the empty seats.
The comment served to alert Niall to the fact that he was staring at Blake even though he’d told himself not to, and that Ian was bitter about the casting.
“Blake has the best voice,” he explained with what he hoped looked like a casual shrug as he took his script down to the stage and mounted the steps. Ian followed behind him. “Some of Siegfried’s songs are technically complicated. But you did extraordinarily well at the audition yourself. That’s why I cast you as Reinhold.”
“So you’re saying that if Blake hadn’t swooped in at the last minute to steal the role, it would have gone to me?” Ian asked, crossing his arms.
Niall paused when he reached the center of the stage and looked over his shoulder at Ian. The man’s nose was thoroughly out of joint. “It’s best not to think about what could have been.”
He faced forward, ostensibly looking at his script, but peeked at Blake and his rambunctious friends as he did. The group was thoroughly enjoying whatever noisy conversation they were having now, but in the midst of the revelry, Blake glanced Niall’s way. It could have completely been Niall’s imagination, but Blake’s eyes seemed to take on that particular soft warmth they had in the pub the other day.
Niall’s heart thudded against his ribs, particularly when Blake’s gaze shifted to Ian standing by Niall’s side and his mouth went tight. Niall blinked, forcing himself to concentrate. Ian was saying something. But the possibility that Blake was jealous of another man talking to him was too good to be true. Literally. It couldn’t possibly be true. More likely, he was jealous of Blake getting along so famously with the sort of men who would never be caught dead socializing with him and had only auditioned for the play because they thought girls would fawn all over them for treading the boards.
“…wouldn’t have time to rehearse all day for the lead role anyhow,” Ian was saying. Niall faced him fully, forcing himself to block Blake out of the line of his vision and out of his thoughts, if such a thing were even possible. “Our special guests require constant attention.” Ian grinned like a cat who had a canary.
“Oh. Yes. I’d forgotten about your guests,” Niall said, glancing around the stage and wondering if he needed to bring on anything to serve as set pieces or to mark up the floor that early in the rehearsal process. “Are they coming to see the show?” he asked by rote.
“Of course,” Ian said with a sniff. “Although, if you’re lucky, I could introduce you to the Cannons earlier than that.”
“I’ve already met them,” Niall said, half distracted. Blake and the blokes were moving down the aisle toward the stage.
“You’ve already met them?” Niall turned back to Ian to find him drooping with disappointment.
“Yes. At a concert the other night,” Niall said. “Blake—that is, Lord Stanley—introduced me.”
Blake was in the process of leaping onto the stage with exceptional physical prowess. Niall’s train of thought was completely derailed as he imagined the power Blake must have in his legs and torso.
“Let’s get this rehearsal started,” Morton said in a booming voice, draping an arm around Blake’s shoulders once they were all on the stage. “We’ve got a passel of loose women to woo tonight.”
They all laughed, including Blake. Although Blake’s smile was somewhat tight as he met Niall’s eyes. At least, Niall thought his smile might be tight. It was hard to tell. Everything about the man was hard to tell. The Blake who had been so filled with emotion as he played a piece of his own composition and the one who laughed along with his mates as they fetched their scripts and spread out across the stage were two entirely different men.
“We’re only rehearsing Act One today,” Niall said, taking charge of the rehearsal as more cast members arrived and clambered onto the stage. “We’ll run through the opening number first, then the Act Once finale, then scene four, and then the chorus is free to go. It will just be the principles after that.”
Running a rehearsal wasn’t new to Niall. Running one with a chorus of rowdy university students wasn’t new either. He’d long ago worked out exactly how he needed to speak and even move to command the attention of men who wouldn’t normally have given him the time of day. Morton and his lot were a handful all the same, particularly as they rehearsed the scene four number in which his character, his female character, was introduced to the hero. The play was a ridiculous melodrama set in medieval Germany that involved a bride, Niall, who was kidnapped by a band of rowdy knights, Morton’s chorus, led by Ian’s character, Reinhold, to marry a depressed prince, Blake. It was love at first sight for the prince, but he had to spend the rest of the play convincing the bride of his worthiness before she would consent to the marriage and seal it with a kiss.
“Come now, Siegfried,” Ian read his line, dragging Niall across the stage to Blake. “Have you ever seen a woman as lovely as this?”
Behind them, Morton and his chorus snickered.
“A lady indeed,” one of the blokey blokes muttered.
“Not as sweet as the one old Blake was dandling on his knee last month,” Morton said in return. “But close.”
They all burst into ribald laughter. Niall’s face burned hot, though he couldn’t figure out if Morton’s lot were taking a dig at him or the woman Blake had supposedly been with, or because the fact that Blake had been toying with a woman proved he would never be interested. The burst of self-conscious confusion was so bad that the aura of authority Niall had worked to present crumbled.
“Are you going to wear a wreath of flowers in your hair, like sweet Flora had, Cristofori?” another of Morton’s crowd teased, sending a pointed look Blake’s way.
Niall wanted to disappear into the floorboards.
Until Blake silenced his friends with a serious look. “Gentlemen, we have a rehearsal to get through. We can save the pub-talk for the pub, can’t we?”
“Look who’s gone all twitchy,” Morton said with a teasing grin. “Embarrassed, are you, Stanley?”
“Only over your bad behavior,” Blake replied. Somehow, he managed to be dead serious while also grinning, as though he were in on the joke with the others. His shoulders dropped a bit and he went on with, “Let’s show Cristofori the respect he’s due.”
As quickly as Niall’s spirits had soared over the way Blake defended him, they sank at the use of the name Cristofori instead of Niall. There wasn’t time to dwell on it, though. Blake was right about one thing—he had a rehearsal to run.
“From Reinhold’s line again, if you please,” he said in his most authoritative voice.
Somehow, they made it through all of the Act One chorus parts. Morton and his friends settled down and learned their blocking as Niall directed. They practiced the songs a time or two, and Niall was surprised at how swiftly they’d learned them. All the same, Niall was relieved when they finally left and it was just him, Blake, Ian, Paul, the man playing Hilda opposite Ian’s Reinhold, and Gregory, the man playing the king, left to run through the remaining scenes in the first act. And since the play wasn’t a full-length production, they were able to get through the scenes quickly.
The only problem with finishing the rehearsal in record time was that it would mean Niall and Blake would part ways sooner. Niall scrambled for a way to stop that from happening.
“I have some extra time, if you want to run lines,” he told Blake as subtly as he could as Paul and Gregory left the stage to fetch their things.
“You aren’t going to study?” Ian interrupted, as though the offer had been directed to him.
&nb
sp; “Study for what?” Blake asked, moving toward the piano and sitting on the bench. He launched right into playing a light-hearted, popular tune.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about the prize Professor Carroll and the Classics department is offering,” Ian said with a smug look.
“I think I did hear something about that.” Niall gathered up a stray script someone had left on the stage and drifted toward the piano, wanting nothing more than to listen to Blake play.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t heard about it,” Ian went on. “Apparently, you have to apply to take the exam Professor Carroll is giving in order to win the prize. Only the top students are being allowed to sit it.”
“Applying to take an exam?” Niall shared an amused grin with Blake. His heart jumped into his throat when Blake returned the grin with a sparkle in his eyes. He’d missed that intimate sparkle throughout the rehearsal.
“The prize is outstanding,” Ian told them as they all gathered around the piano. “I’ve seen it. I got an exclusive, early look at it.”
“What is it?” Blake asked, switching from his light-hearted tune to a more ponderous one that subtly underscored Ian’s cocky attitude.
“It’s a medallion,” Ian said. An inexplicably mischievous grin spread across his face.
“Medallions are often prizes in academic competitions,” Niall said, frowning slightly.
“True.” Ian leaned in closer. “But there’s something Professor Carroll doesn’t know about this medallion.”
Blake switched tunes once again to play something filled with mystery and importance. “What doesn’t he know?”
“He had the medallion made by a local artisan using one of the artifacts he brought back from his expedition to Egypt,” Ian said, lowering his voice dramatically.
Blake played quieter to match. “Why is that special?” he asked.
Niall was having a hard time not laughing at the way Blake teased Ian without Ian seeming to know it. It wasn’t cruel teasing, which only made it more endearing.
“The center of the medallion contains a carved scarab beetle,” Ian all but whispered to them, eyes alight. “I’ve seen it, though, and it’s not the one Professor Carroll thought he handed over to the man to make into a medallion.”
“It isn’t?” Niall’s frown deepened. “Shouldn’t someone tell Professor Carroll?”
“No, of course not,” Ian scoffed. “The scarab in the prize medallion is invaluable. It’s inlaid with gold. It must be thousands of years old.”
“Then someone should definitely tell Professor Carroll,” Blake said, sitting back a bit and returning to the light-hearted song he’d begun the conversation with.
“I would think that a man who lectures on Egyptology and who has been to the pyramids would know the value of the artifact he was giving away as a prize in an academic competition,” Niall said.
“I found out that his assistant handed over the scarab to the medallion maker,” Ian said. “I doubt Carroll will ever clap eyes on the thing. Which is why I intend to win it.”
“You do?” Niall eyed the man skeptically. He had no idea about Ian’s academic prowess, but he seemed confident enough.
“I have top marks,” Ian said, as though he could read Niall’s mind. “I can’t think of anyone who stands a chance of scoring higher on this exam than me. I’m sure to win it, and all things considered, this is the kind of prize that could make a man’s fortune.”
“It’s that valuable?” Blake asked, pausing his playing.
“Yes.” Ian nodded.
“They why don’t we take the exam too?” he asked Niall, grinning from ear to ear.
Ian’s smug look dropped. “You can’t do that. The deadline to apply for the exam was yesterday.”
“I’m on good terms with Professor Carroll,” Blake said with a shrug. “He’ll let me apply, even if the deadline has passed. I’ll tell him to let you apply too.” He stood and walked around the piano to stand next to Niall.
Ian scoffed and shook his head. “You think you can get everything you want just because you’ll be a duke someday.”
Blake had the good sense to look sheepish, even though he said, “It’s a fact. I didn’t make the rules.” He grinned sideways at Niall as he spoke.
Niall had to raise a hand to his mouth to stop himself from snorting, but it was the way Blake looked at him that had him flushing with heat down to his toes.
Ian narrowed his eyes, glancing between the two of them. “You can’t do it,” he said. “It’s past the deadline.”
“We’ll see.” Blake nodded, then turned to Niall, effectively shutting Ian out. “We need to pay a visit to Professor Carroll.”
Ian grunted, then threw up his hands and turned to go, muttering to himself.
As soon as he had his back turned, Blake’s expression changed. The softness was back in his eyes, but with it was a strange, new tension that pinched his shapely lips and flushed his cheeks. “I should have asked if you wanted to compete for that silly prize,” he said, his voice lowering to a golden register. He reached out to brush Niall’s sleeve.
Niall’s throat squeezed, and it felt as though the temperature in the room had risen by at least ten degrees. “I don’t think I’m smart enough.”
“I’m sure you are.” Blake broke into a smile, brushing Niall’s sleeve again. “You’re brilliant.”
The first touch could have been explained away as an accident. The second, coming so soon after the first, could only have been deliberate. Especially since Blake’s hand lingered on Niall’s sleeve. His hazel eyes were downright molten when they met Niall’s.
“I could help you study,” he said, lowering his voice to an almost obscene level.
“Y-you could?” Niall had trouble breathing.
“It’s the least I could do for making extra work for you while you’re trying to mount a play.”
The word “mount” seemed to stand out in vivid colors, carrying an entirely different meaning, to Niall’s overheated ears. The invitation couldn’t possibly mean what he thought it meant, could it?
“Come over to my place tomorrow night,” Blake went on, nearly causing Niall’s eyes to pop. “It’s a little bit against the rules, but Father insisted I have my own flat just outside of the university’s campus. I hardly ever have anyone over, so it would be the perfect chance for me to play host.”
“I—” Niall’s mouth dropped open as he attempted to answer, but didn’t seem to want to shut again. Blake was definitely propositioning him. Absolutely. Why else would he invite him to his private flat in the evening?
“You can bring Ian along, if you’d like,” Blake added a moment later, though there was definite teasing in his eyes.
Or was there? Maybe he didn’t mean their study session to be anything more than studying after all. Niall was completely and utterly confused.
Then again, there was only one way to find out what was truly going on.
“It sounds delightful,” he said, his words coming out too breathless and too high-pitched. There was no way he would be able to recover from the embarrassment if all Blake wanted after all was to study. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Chapter 5
Niall’s heart was in his throat the following evening as he made his way off-campus to the address Blake had written on a scrap of paper. Between grinning at the absolute neatness of Blake’s handwriting—the way it mirrored every writing primer he’d ever seen, with just a hint of a forward slant—and the unexpected refinement of the neighborhood he found himself in, Niall was buzzing with expectation.
“Oh, good, you found the place.” Blake greeted him at the door to his second-floor flat with a luminous smile.
“You gave excellent directions,” Niall said, his mouth growing dry. Not because of the opulence of the flat that Blake invited him into with an extended hand, but because Blake was dressed in shirtsleeves, his waistcoat unbuttoned. His hair was slightly damp, as though he’d bathed recen
tly, and was a riot of curls.
“It doesn’t look like student accommodations,” Blake went on, speaking just a bit faster than usual. “Any time I’ve had someone over, they’ve had a hard time finding the place.”
“Do you have people over often?” Niall’s brow lifted even as his spirits sank into trepidation.
But Blake answered a quick, “No.” His cheeks colored, and he glanced bashfully down for a moment before peeking up at Niall through his dark lashes.
Niall’s knees wobbled and he fumbled his satchel as he removed it from his shoulder. He could scarcely draw breath as he took in the full extent of the flat, its lavish furnishings, cozy fire, surprisingly fine art on the walls, and an upright piano against one wall. A small dining table was laid out with a bottle of wine and two glasses as well as a plate containing various dried fruits and cheeses.
Nothing about the arrangement felt like a mere study session. Niall’s heart ran wild in his chest. Blake was interested in him after all.
As soon as the joyous thought entered Niall’s brain, Blake stepped away from him, shut and locked the flat’s door, and crossed the room with purposeful strides toward the table.
“I don’t know what your strengths and weaknesses in the Classics are,” he said without looking at Niall as he fetched a small stack of books from a shelf near the table. “I do well with Greek and Latin, but my History leaves something to be desired.” He pulled out one of the chairs at the table before circling around to have a seat in the opposing one, gesturing for Niall to sit as he did.
It took Niall a few seconds of working his jaw soundlessly as he stepped unsteadily toward the table to form the words, “I’m good at History. And Literature, obviously.”
He cringed inwardly. Blake must think he was a moron.
Instead of giving any indication of that, however, Blake smiled and gestured for Niall to sit again. “Sounds like we make a perfect pair,” he said as Niall flopped into the offered chair. “For studying, that is,” Blake corrected himself quickly, face flushing an even darker and more charming red. “We each have what the other lacks.”
