by Merry Farmer
Ian’s face fell, but so did Niall’s. “Your parents were taking tea with the Fairports and the Cannons yesterday?” he asked. While the two of them had been buggering each other senseless all afternoon.
Blake sent him a sheepish look. “We were busy studying, otherwise I would have mentioned something.”
Niall met his eyes warily, anxiety pooling in his stomach.
“What were you studying for?” Ian asked. “Exams were finished yesterday morning.”
“Places,” the stage manager called, sending the roaming cast scattering to their places like mice with a cat thrown into the room. “Places, please.”
Ian’s question remained unanswered as he and Blake broke away from Niall to wait in the wings on the other side of the stage. As the orchestra finished tuning and launched into the opening notes of the overture, Paul stepped up behind Niall and thumped his shoulder.
“You are so fucked,” he laughed. Coming from the only other member of the cast dressed as a woman, the comment had a bizarre feel to it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Niall muttered, counting through the bars of the overture in his head and glancing across the stage to meet Blake’s luminous eyes.
“He’s going to be a duke, Niall,” Paul said, not unkindly. “You’re going to be a world-famous playwright.”
Niall twisted to face him, choosing to focus on the least painful thing Paul said. “You really think I’m going to be world-famous?”
Paul laughed and shook his head, but there was far too much sympathy in his look for Niall’s comfort. “You’re good, Niall. You’re great. You haven’t let on to any of us, but I know for a fact you’ve invited at least a dozen theater managers and theatrical financiers from London to attend tonight’s performance, and they’re all here.”
Niall’s face went hot as the orchestra finished the overture and the curtains opened for the opening number, sung by Morton and his chorus.
“Tonight, the play,” Paul whispered in his ear, just loud enough to be heard over the song. “Tomorrow, graduation. The day after that, London. You’ll be leaving him as surely as he’ll be leaving you, make no mistake.”
“There’s nothing between Blake and I,” Niall hissed. “You’re all just inventing things because we act so well together onstage.”
“Right,” Paul said, utterly unconvinced. “And I’m the King of Siam.”
There wasn’t time for anything else. The opening number ended, leading straight into Blake and Ian’s entrance.
“What news, Reinhold?” Blake recited in his beautiful voice. “How did we fare in the wars?”
Niall swallowed hard and watched Blake, seeing nothing but the charm in his smile and the masculine lines of his body. He loved Blake with his whole heart, with his soul. Blake was everything to him. That had to be enough. Paul was wrong. This wasn’t the end just because the show would be over soon. He would be in London, Paul was right, but future dukes spent time in London as well. Plenty of time. So what if they had to spend some time apart from each other? Nothing could keep them apart indefinitely. They would be able to make a life together, Niall was certain of it. Blake loved him and he loved Blake. That was all that mattered.
The play was a smashing success. Niall knew it from the moment he stepped on stage and delivered his first, sad soliloquy. He could feel the energy of the audience, knew that they were fully engaged in what they were seeing. They laughed whenever they were supposed to and applauded vigorously at the Act One finale. The chatter between acts was full of energy, and when the curtain rose on Act Two, the audience applauded in expectation of what they were going to see. It was everything he, as the author, could have asked for and more.
But the entire second act felt like a death march to the single moment of truth between him and Blake. By the time they reached the kiss, his heart was racing and sweat had broken out on his back.
“My heart rejoices to be the bride of such a valiant and noble prince,” Niall said his line as he’d written it, clasping Blake’s hands and looking into his eyes with what had been campy adoration up until that point. Before Blake could continue with his response, Niall rushed on with an ad lib. “My heart will always be yours, no matter how much time passes, no matter what distances come between us, and no matter how the fates conspire against us.”
Blake’s mouth hung open for a moment. Disbelief shone in his face, and if Niall wasn’t mistaken, sadness glowed there also.
It all happened in the blink of an eye. It was going to end, and there was nothing Niall could do to stop it.
“Come, my darling,” Blake grasped for his line, skipping several in the process. “Let us celebrate our union instead of denying it. Let all the kingdom celebrate with us.”
Before Niall or anyone else could react, he grabbed Niall by his upper arms and crashed into him with a kiss that was a thousand times too bold for the audience they had. Niall made a sound deep in his throat that sounded very much like a whimper, but it was drowned out by the laughter of the audience. They thought the kiss was comedic, and a few people even applauded.
When Blake stepped away as the orchestra launched into the finale, Niall felt as though he were drowning. He shook his head and put on a wide smile, falling back into character. This couldn’t be the end. He was simply being maudlin because so much was at stake for him with the play. Of course he and Blake would find a way to be together. Hadn’t they spent the last several weeks telling each other how much they loved one another, how nothing could come between them? Hadn’t they shared their bodies and their hearts in the most intimate way? Everything would be all right, he was certain of it.
The curtain closed to a flurry of applause and cheers. It opened again, allowing them to take their bows and receive a standing ovation. Blake received an extra round of applause, then pulled Niall forward as the entire cast applauded him. The cheers from the audience should have bolstered his spirits. That should have been the happiest moment of his life. He knew his career was made, knew it without having to talk to a single one of the London theater crowd who had come for the show.
“I don’t think I’ve seen such a fantastic debut in all my days,” the owner of one of London’s most prominent theaters said, proving Niall right, once the performance was done and the cast had dispersed into the lobby to greet their guests and friends. Niall hadn’t even changed out of his feminine costume, though he’d dispensed with the wig. John and David had joined him the moment he’d stepped into the hall and whisked him toward the men from London.
“It was a brilliant piece,” another man, a critic, if Niall remembered correctly, agreed. “Do you have any thoughts of expanding it into a full-length play for next season?”
“Or of writing something else that I could stage?” a third man asked.
“I have several ideas in progress,” Niall answered, flattered and beaming.
“This man is going to make you all wealthy,” John said, slapping a hand on Niall’s back.
Niall tried to smile at his friend’s comment, but his attention was shattered by a cry of delight from the group standing only a few feet from him—a group that contained Blake and his family, the Archibalds, and the Cannons. Niall’s heart dropped to his feet when an older man, who bore a strong resemblance to Blake, shifted Blake to stand next to Annamarie Cannon. That group applauded. Blake smiled and nodded modestly, but then he sent a look of shock and horror to Niall.
“Excuse me,” Niall said to his theatrical admirers, his voice so hoarse the words came out as a croak. “I have to see about something.”
He stepped away from the London crowd. David’s face fell in an instant, as though he could see what was coming, though John continued to chat with the theater people. Niall’s hands shook as he moved closer to the circle forming around Blake and Miss Cannon. He had only a fraction of a second to notice that Ian looked livid before Mr. Archibald said, “I’m sure you’ll want to tell your friend the happy news.” He eyed Niall’s gown wit
h a smirk.
Niall swallowed hard, his throat going dry. “Happy news?”
“Yes,” Mr. Archibald said, beaming at Blake and Miss Cannon.
Niall’s head swam and his vision blurred at the edges as Blake glanced to him, looking as though he might scream.
“Congratulations are in order,” Blake said, his voice rough and jagged. “I’m engaged to Miss Cannon.”
Chapter 9
Niall waited, gaping. He stared hard at Blake, mouth dropping open slightly. Any moment now, Blake would laugh and lower his head bashfully, explaining that there had been some sort of mistake. He barely knew Annamarie Cannon and couldn’t possibly be expected to marry her. Especially when his heart, soul, and body belonged to someone else.
Blake’s smile remained in place, as brittle as it was. He met Niall’s eyes with a shattering look of apology and pain. Niall continued to wait for Blake to deny the engagement and to step away from Miss Cannon, but she held his arm as though it were a trophy and beamed at him with an avaricious gleam in her eyes.
It was Ian who snapped, “This can’t be possible. You’re barely twenty. And you hardly know Annamarie.”
Niall realized he was holding his breath when everyone but Blake turned their attention to Ian. Blake didn’t seem to be able to look away.
“Son, be a good sport,” Mr. Archibald said in a low voice, stepping closer to Ian as if he would take his son aside for a private word.
“After everything we’ve shared?” Ian demanded on Miss Cannon.
Niall’s eyes went wide and he glared at Blake as though asking the same question.
Miss Cannon lowered her head, blushing. She sent Ian an apologetic look, then shrugged slightly.
Niall tasted bile in his throat. Not only was Blake taking his sweet time to deny the engagement, he was stuck to a woman who most definitely didn’t care a whit about him, only his title.
“The Cannons are only in England for a short while,” Blake’s father, Lord Selby, said, as regal as his title warranted. “Time was of the essence in securing the match. Which means, of course, that the wedding will be held before the end of the month.”
Niall choked and started to cough. The end of the month was less than a fortnight, less than half the amount of time that he and Blake had known and loved each other.
“Are you well?” Lady Selby asked, frowning curiously at Niall. “It was a lovely show, by the way. It’s such a shame that there was only one performance. You certainly brought out the best in my son.”
“Excuse me,” Niall croaked, turning away from the group, unable to stand it for a moment longer. “Water,” he said vaguely, then raised a hand to his mouth as he coughed again for show.
He headed for the auditorium door, breaking into a jog. John and David turned away from their conversation as he went. John tried to follow, but David grabbed his arm to stop him when Blake stepped away from his group.
“Niall,” Blake called after him.
Niall heard Blake say something indistinct before the sound of his footsteps followed him into the auditorium. All but a handful of people had decamped to the hall, leaving the space feeling more empty than usual. The curtains had been opened on the medieval set, which a handful of students were already deconstructing to make way for commencement activities the next day. Niall ignored all of them, picking up the skirts of his ridiculous costume and hurrying down the aisle to the stairs.
“Niall, wait,” Blake shouted, catching up to him quickly and grabbing his arm.
Niall stumbled as he reached the stairs leading to the stage. Blake grasped him with both hands to keep him from falling. Their eyes met, though Niall’s stung with tears. Blake’s eyes, too, were glassier than usual. For a moment, they stood there, nearly in each other’s arms.
“This is a joke, right?” Niall asked at last, his voice hoarse. “Tell me this is all just some fancy of your father’s and that you’re going to march out there and set him straight.”
“I—” Blake’s mouth hung open for a moment after the single, strangled syllable, then he shut it and sighed.
“No,” Niall said, spiraling into a sob. “No.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Blake whispered, voice shaking.
“You always have a choice. We always have a choice.”
“You don’t under—”
“You utter swine,” Ian growled, catching up to the two of them so fast that Niall felt as though his soul might leave his body.
Blake jumped away from Niall, whipping to face Ian. “What do you want?”
“I should challenge you to pistols at dawn.” Ian charged down the aisle and right up to Blake until the two of them stood toe to toe. “Annamarie is mine.”
“I had nothing to do with this,” Blake said, holding up his hands in defense and blinking fast, the color leaving his face.
“You always have to be the best, don’t you?” Ian went on, moving in on Blake and forcing him to step back until he nearly toppled over Niall.
Niall had to raise his arms and plant his hands on Blake’s back to stop Ian from railroading them both. The touch was like fire, but he didn’t want to let go. Ever.
“Believe me,” Blake said with a wry, almost mad laugh. “Marrying Annamarie Cannon was not my idea.”
“Of course it was,” Ian snapped. “You had to upstage me and win the lead in this stupid musical, and you had to steal the woman I wanted.”
“If I could give her to you, I would,” Blake said, voice hollow. “Believe me.”
“I don’t believe you.” Ian raised his voice. “You always have to come out on top, don’t you? You have to be the most charming, the best at athletics, the darling of our professors.”
“You have the wrong end of the stick,” Blake insisted, growing more agitated. “This is not what I want.” He glanced over his shoulder to Niall as he spoke, emotions intense in his eyes. “I don’t want Miss Cannon.”
“Horse shit,” Ian shouted. Blake jerked back to stare at him, eyes wide. Even Niall was startled by the vehemence of Ian’s curse. “If you didn’t want her, then why did you fawn all over her and engage her in conversation so much these last few weeks?”
Niall pulled his hands away from Blake’s back and retreated up two steps. Had he flirted with Miss Cannon?
Blake’s mouth worked wordlessly for a moment and he glanced to Niall before looking back at Ian to answer, “I was being polite, gentlemanly.”
“And was it gentlemanly of you to accompany Miss Cannon while she sang?” Ian demanded.
“I was asked to accompany her,” Blake defended himself, twisting to meet Niall’s eyes. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“You could have just played one or two songs for her.” Ian took another step toward Blake, forcing him to back up again. Niall retreated to the top of the stairs. “You didn’t have to spend half an hour performing an entire concert with her.”
“She wouldn’t let me stop,” Blake insisted. “No one else there that evening could play.”
“I can play the piano,” Ian shouted, poking his chest with a rigid finger. “I can do anything you can do.”
“Then why didn’t you do it?” Blake rounded on him with a sudden burst of anger. “Why didn’t you step up and capture Miss Cannon’s attention so that she wanted nothing to do with me?”
“Because you’re going to be a bloody duke, you gilded piece of shit,” Ian shouted. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”
A heavy silence fell as Ian glared at Blake, chest heaving with fury. Somewhere, underneath his own heartache, Niall felt sorry for Ian.
“I love her,” Ian said, his energy draining. Misery pinched his face as anger left it. “How am I supposed to watch her marry someone else?”
A sob escaped from Niall before he could swallow it. Blake turned to him, a look of devastating guilt in his eyes. It was more than Niall could stand to see. He spun away, racing across the stage to the wings, highly conscious of the curious stares of the students breaki
ng down the set. The world of the play that had been intact half an hour before was now disjointed and jumbled, with painted canvases of castles and gardens resting on their sides or already stacked for storage.
“Niall, wait.” Blake shot after him again.
Niall clenched his jaw and squeezed his stinging eyes shut for a moment as he dodged discarded props and set pieces on his way to the hall leading to the dressing rooms. Some of the chorus members were loitering there, changed back into their ordinary clothes, their make-up removed. They laughed and drank bottles of beer, but Niall avoided them all when they tried to get him to join their merriment.
“Stop,” Blake called after him, catching up once Niall dashed into the dressing room they’d shared. “Just stop and talk to me for a moment.” Blake turned to shut and lock the door behind him.
“It appears as though there’s nothing to talk about,” Niall said, voice hoarse, barely able to get the words out. He crossed to the far end of the room, reaching behind him to tug at the fastenings of his costume.
“There is everything to talk about,” Blake insisted, approaching him with arms outstretched, his heart clearly on his sleeve. “I love you.”
Niall eyed him warily and turned his back as he shrugged out of his costume’s bodice.
“I love you,” Blake repeated, louder. “Don’t you dare ever doubt that.”
“It’s rather hard not to doubt when I’ve just been asked to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials.” Niall’s voice shook as he spoke.
“I don’t want to marry Miss Cannon,” Blake shouted in frustration, glancing plaintively at the ceiling before letting his arms and shoulders drop.
“Then don’t marry her.” Niall whipped around to face Blake, stepping out of his costume entirely and kicking it aside as he did. He was left in nothing but his drawers and socks, chest heaving painfully.
Blake had the audacity to rake him with a hungry look, but one that held as much hopelessness as desire. “I have to,” he said, his voice cracking.
