by Megan Derr
Terrell blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I have lied to you quite shamelessly," Edlin replied. "I did not come to town on business. I am taking care of a few trifling matters while I am here, but it was nothing I could not have taken care of at my leisure another time."
Frowning, Terrell shook his head. "So why are you here then?"
Edlin moved closer, forcing Terrell back into the corner of the sofa, and boldly slid a hand along his chest, curling around his side. He nuzzled Terrell's cheek, breath warm and flavored of brandy. "I was having a terrible time focusing on my work. I could not get you out of my thoughts. I finally conceded defeat and came to town solely to seduce my husband-to-be."
Terrell froze, startled—but he only lifted his chin in silent permission when Edlin tilted his head inquisitively, his arms moving of their own volition to wrap around Edlin's neck as Terrell was treated to a kiss that put all the others to shame. This kiss had intent behind it, a promise that they would not be stopping at just that. Terrell probably should have a problem with that or be anxious—and he was nervous, but he was also having trouble thinking again, having trouble doing anything but feeling. He moaned as fingers slipped boldly beneath his clothes, and really Edlin was moving fast, but Terrell rather thought he liked that quality for all he could not fathom why since haste only led to disaster—
Then Edlin's fingers splayed over his cock, still confined by his breeches, and Terrell really did not give a bloody damn about anything else right then. "You—" He pushed lightly, so Edlin would give him a chance to form a coherent sentence. "You are really quite incorrigible. I feel I will be saying that quite often in the future."
"Probably," Edlin agreed, eyes still hot although his hands had stilled.
Terrell realized the choice was his—and the practical thing would be to go back to his room, and move all of this along much more slowly. But for once in his life, his practical nature refused to take over. His fingers tightened on the soft velvet of Edlin's jacket and he tugged lightly, drawing Edlin in. "Are you going to conclude your business or not, sir?"
"It might take all night," Edlin murmured against his skin, nibbling lightly at his jaw, making Terrell shiver.
But he managed to reply, "As it should," before he let Edlin carry on with business.
Sapphire eyes burning hot, Edlin kissed him hard enough to leave Terrell's mouth throbbing, then pushed away and stood. He offered a hand, and when Terrell took it, pulled him to his feet. "Shall we to the bedroom? Delectable though it would be to have you over the sofa, I feel that's a bit much for a first time."
Terrell shivered, swallowed, and nodded.
From the brief smirk, Edlin had caught the shiver. But he said nothing, only held fast to Terrell's hand as he led the way to the bedroom.
There, the cover had already been turned down, and low light gave the whole a cozy, intimate feel
Before Terrell could make a teasing comment about Edlin clearly being prepared for success, he was drawn against that long, lithe body again and kissed breathless, bold hands roaming, slipping beneath fabric and rubbing delightfully.
"You are a delight, my dear," Edlin murmured as he drew back and set to work removing his own clothes.
Terrell scoffed. "Me? I am quite unremarkable." His cheeks heated, and how humiliating he picked now to feel shy. "You cannot be unware that you are quite the beauty."
"Beauty?" Edlin looked, to his complete astonishment, genuinely surprised. "I know I'm reasonably good looking, but I look precisely like all my brothers"
Heart beating fit to burst, Edlin licked his lips and said, "Just like them? So you're saying they're just as beautiful? I could have my pick, and not just settle for the first one to—" He broke off with a delighted yelp as Edlin scooped him up and tossed him on the bed.
"I knew there was a mischievous brat beneath that proper exterior," Edlin said with a grin. He finished discarding his clothes, then crawled onto the bed and pinned Terrell to it.
It should not be so heady, so dizzying, to be fully clothed and pinned in place by a naked man. But Edlin was even more ridiculously beautiful naked, and there was no missing the impressive cock now rubbing infuriatingly against his own.
Terrell licked his lips again, drugged on the way it made Edlin's eyes burn. How could this man—beautiful, charming, experienced, several years older—want someone as plain and boring as Terrell? But he wasn't going to ask; for once he wanted no part of sense and reason. "I don't know what you mean, sir. I thought my question perfectly reasonable."
"My brothers are spoken for, and even if they weren't, I promise none of them are me."
Surrendering to impulse before his shyness overcame him again, Terrell craned his head up to give Edlin a quick, sharp kiss. "That was never in doubt, sir. But we are getting distracted from business."
Making a soft, growly sort of noise, Edlin reared back and set to work on Terrell's clothes. It was a torturous process, given that every bit of bared skin got a kiss or nip or lick.
By the time he was finally naked, Terrell was shaking with the need to come, overheated and aching. "You are evil."
"I prefer to see myself as highly skilled." But Edlin conceded a bit by slicking his fingers with the rose-scented oil he fetched from the bedside table. He settled between Terrell's thighs, looking like some fairy come to tempt Terrell into wicked deeds.
But instead of putting his fingers right where Terrell wanted them, Edlin hesitated. "I am not running—"
"My dear fiancé," Terrell cut in with a smile. "I should hope by now it is obvious that I prefer leaving the work to others."
Edlin laughed, kissed him thoroughly, and then finally he was working a warm, slick finger into Terrell's body, twisting and crooking it in all the right ways. Terrell was left writhing and moaning, skin flushed, hair sticking to his face and neck.
"You are even more beautiful like this than I imagined," Edlin murmured as he worked in a second finger.
Terrell hadn't thought his face could get any hotter, but at those words it suddenly felt on the verge of bursting into flame. "Y-you thought of me like this?"
"From the very moment I saw you, soaking wet and in sore need of warmth and comfort. Before your arrival, I'd only hoped I could make us good friends. But by the time I had you in your dressing robe and settled on the sofa, all I wanted was to know how you'd look coming apart in my arms as you screamed my name."
Before Terrell could reply—or even figure out how to reply to that breathtaking admission—Edlin pushed a third finger in and fucked him hard with them.
Terrell groaned, reaching back to cling to the headboard. "Enough sir, I am long past ready for more. Be a good fiancé and give it to me."
"With pleasure," Edlin growled. He withdrew his fingers, slicked his cock, and before Terrell could draw another breath he was sliding inside.
"Edlin—" Terrell gasped out.
"Yes, exactly like that," Edlin said, breath hitching as he began to fuck Terrell in earnest, drawing nearly all the way out and slamming back into him, over and over, until sweat stung Terrell's eye and he could see nothing but those burning midnight eyes.
Edlin watched him like it would cost something to look away, and Terrell was immediately addicted to it.
He was starting to understand why people didn't mind being smitten.
Letting go of the headboard, he grabbed hold of Edlin's strong shoulders and tugged him down into a wet, hungry and sloppy kiss, panting against his mouth as Edlin's strokes increased. Terrell wanted it to go on forever.
Finally, though, he could take no more, and cried Edlin's name as he came apart.
"Just like that," Edlin said breathlessly against his mouth, and thrust into him a last few times in sharp, jerky motions before groaning Terrell's name into the crook of his shoulder.
After a moment, he gently withdrew and rolled to the side, pulling Terrell back to rest against his chest. "You are going to be wickedly distracting," he murmured in Terrell's ea
r before giving it a playful nip.
Terrell shivered, and turned his head to steal a brief kiss. "Speak for yourself. I see your skills as a businessman have not been exaggerated."
Edlin snickered. "I think you may have just called me a whore, but I'm not certain."
Terrell's face flushed aknew. "I did not!"
Turning him around, Edlin kissed him, then drew back with a smirk. "Oh, you most certainly did. But I'll forgive it if you agree to have dinner with me and perhaps stay the night?"
Reaching to tangle a hand in that dark, lovely hair, Terrell replied, "That would be highly irresponsible of me. Perhaps you should be a bit more persuasive."
Edlin smiled, slow and hot, sending a delicious shiver down Terrell's spine. "A reasonable suggestion." He rolled to once more pin Terrell to the bedding, and set to work persuading.
Six
Kirian wanted to hit something. Rather, someone. Namely Terrell, who went on and on about practicality and how Evelyn might not be so great after all—even though he was beautiful and warm and funny and everything except cold and unfeeling—just because Kirian was making a mess over the whole Frederick thing. That was scarcely Evelyn's fault and it should not be held against him.
Terrell had a lot of bloody nerve spouting nonsense about practicality when he had turned into a puddle of smitten idiocy the very moment Mr. Handsome and Charming and Too Bloody Smooth to be Trustworthy had stepped into the room. He should have known Terrell would fall for such a classic presentation, when the fool could never draw his nose from a book long enough to dally like a normal person.
Kirian stormed down the hall and out of the building, wanting badly to see Evelyn and reassure himself that they were good together, no matter what anyone else said—even Terrell. Shoulders hunched, Kirian barreled on down the wide stone walkway that ran between the history building and the study hall—and swore as he ran into someone. Looking up, he stared into the face of Joseph Guthrie, a man he had taken more shots at than anyone else. "Apologies," Kirian said shortly, then made to move around him and walk on.
He hadn't made it two steps when Guthrie grabbed his arm and yanked him back, sending him stumbling back several paces and nearly falling to the cobblestones "Where are you going in such a hurry, then, Leffew?"
"That's Lord Leffew to you," Kirian said, rubbing in what Guthrie was clearly pretending to forget—that being Evelyn's spouse put him in the peerage, if only barely; something Guthrie desperately wanted but would never achieve. "My apologies, again, for running into you. Good day, Guthrie."
Once again, he made to move past, only to be seized and thrown back. He sighed, feeling weary and frustrated. All he wanted was Evelyn—why did everyone seemed determined to prevent it? Even Frederick seemed to work against him. Try as he might to make Evelyn think of no one but him, still Frederick received letters from an admiring reader who had long ago turned into a friend.
"How did you hook that cold fish, eh, Leffew?"
"Lord Leffew," Kirian corrected again. "Do not force me to remind you of your manners a third time, Guthrie. It is no business of yours, what is between my husband and me."
Guthrie only sneered. "Guess it was only a matter of time before he found himself in a scandal he couldn't get himself out of, eh? Still, you must be one hell of a blow to the family. Do they let you join polite company or do they strive to pretend you do not exist? Probably the latter, given how little they'll have to do with Thiering since he got caught spreading his legs for some two-bit paint slapper—"
Kirian's hand throbbed something awful, but it was infinitely worth it to see the way Guthrie's jaw was already swelling up. "Say one more word about Evelyn and I will break your nose. Go ahead, Guthrie, say one more thing. I've been too busy to deal with the likes of you lately, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten how."
"Busy, eh? I think I know what you've been busy—"
Shaking him hard, Kirian spoke so just the two of them could hear, "Finish that statement, Guthrie, and I will ensure you are never capable of producing an heir." He shoved Guthrie away and tried again to leave, turning around sharply to take a different path—only to be shoved roughly from behind and knocked to the cobblestones so hard he was astonished his nose did not break, although it did begin to bleed. When Guthrie backed off, he levered himself to his knees and half-turned. He started to speak, but drew up short when he saw a familiar, light-haired figure walking swiftly toward them. Standing up, he pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose, then strode over to Evelyn, holding out his free hand.
Evelyn ignored it, however, stalking past him and right up to Guthrie. "What do you think you are doing?"
Guthrie laughed. "What are you going to do about it, Ice Queen?"
"This," Evelyn replied—then swung, catching Guthrie in the nose. As Guthrie reeled back in pain, Evelyn grabbed his shoulders and drove his knee up into Guthrie's groin, then shoved him away to collapse into a whimpering ball.
Ignoring Guthrie, Evelyn spun back around to Kirian. "Are you all right?" He pulled Kirian's hand away from his nose, replacing the ruined handkerchief with one of his own. Kirian didn't bother trying to reply, too stunned to formulate words. Evelyn smiled at him, a small little quirk of his lips that he never seemed to use with anyone else. Kirian tended to think of it as his smile and if he were not covered in blood, he would steal a kiss.
"We should go." Evelyn took his arm and quickly led him away, glaring at anyone who tried to stop them. They made it off school grounds unmolested and up to their apartment in short order.
"Sit," Evelyn ordered. He vanished into their bedroom, before reemerging with the washbasin and pitcher. Pouring fresh water into the basin, he soaked a rag and pulled Kirian's hand from his face. "Whatever did you say to provoke him like that? I saw you from Grayson's classroom."
"Nothing," Kirian said. "I accidentally walked into him, then tried to apologize and walk away, but he was having none of it." When Evelyn looked at him in slight disbelief, he jerked away and made to stand—then swore when Evelyn yanked him back down. "It's true, even if you don't believe me. I don't know why I am surprised—no one ever does."
Evelyn was silent as he rung out the rag and then wetted it again, gingerly wiping at Kirian's bruised face. "Your nose will be a mess for a few days, but I suppose you know that. It's a jolly good thing he didn't break it. And I'm sorry—it just seems too unusual. You are not exactly known for walking away from a fight, Kir."
The shortening of his name startled him, and Kirian looked at him in surprise—startled all the more when Evelyn seemed to catch what he had said and looked away in embarrassment. "You-you called me Kir."
"I'm sorry—"
"Why would you be sorry?!" Kirian burst out, and all his anger with Terrell and Frederick and then Guthrie all came rushing back. "Why does everyone seem convinced I'm a mistake and a bad bet and that I shouldn't have you?!" He surged to his feet, not bothering to grab his hat or coat before he fled the room again.
It wasn't fair. Kirian had just wanted to find Evelyn and hold him, sink into him, forget about the world that seemed determined to destroy what he was working so hard to build—even Evelyn always seemed to hold something back, no matter how much Kirian tried.
"Damn it, Kir! Don't make me hit you, too!" Evelyn snarled, grabbing his arm and spinning him around, before slamming him into the corner of the stairwell landing. "What is your problem?"
Kirian just stared at him a moment, unable to put his misery into words, momentarily distracted and soothed just by looking at Evelyn. How had he never noticed him until he had written Frederick? Why had he never thought to look closer? Why could he not—why was Frederick still winning? "I'm just out of sorts," he finally said. "Terrell and I were arguing, and then he went off with his charming prince."
"His charming prince with the pretty actor," Evelyn retorted.
"What are you talking about?" Kirian demanded.
Evelyn sighed. "Nothing. It's gossip." When Kirian only
continued to frown, he sighed and said, "I shouldn't have said anything; I guess I'm out of sorts, as well. Can we discuss this upstairs in our room, please, and not out here?"
Kirian nodded and led the way back up, letting Evelyn push him back down into a seat at their table. "Where did you learn to fight like that, anyway?"
"You're not the only one who has gotten into scrapes," Evelyn replied. "Some of us just don't go getting caught at it every single time. Did you really apologize and walk away? I did see you try to storm off—and I am sorry it seemed I didn't believe you. I was just surprised."
"I was trying to find you and did not feel much like getting waylaid by someone I have clocked on numerous occasions," Kirian replied. "Like I said, Terrell and I fought."
Evelyn was silent a moment, then said quietly, "You fought about me."
Kirian flinched. "I wanted his approval…I don't need it, I'm happy—but—it doesn't matter. Terrell can rot."
Silence stretched on again, and then Evelyn said, "He's your friend—I daresay your family. But under the circumstances of our marriage, I do not think it's unfair that he withhold approval. We are not even really supposed to be more than a temporary arrangement… " He trailed off, sounding suddenly uncertain.
Surprise and hope sped up the beating of Kirian's heart. "It's only been two months," he said, forcing himself to be cautious. "Three years is a long way off. Plenty of time to…to see what comes next?"
Evelyn seemed to slump, as though suddenly relieved of a burden. He smiled, that faint quirk of lips for which Kirian had become so mad. "Yes, plenty of time. Does Mr. Wingard really think us so poor a match?"
"He lists off all the practical reasons you are a good catch," Kirian said irritably. "But he will not say much of anything else."
To his surprise, Evelyn laughed. "Well, that sounds like what little I know of Mr. Wingard. He is very precise, very logical. I do not think he knows how to put certain things into words, how to categorize them, and so he slots them as best he can. He means well, I think; he merely does not say things the way we expect them to be said."
