Page 5 of The Cordial Bride

Ian leaned in so that his face was a hair’s breadth away from Calan’s. “I look forward to seeing more…much more.”

* * * *

“Hurry up, Calan. We’ll be late!”

“Coming Aunt Celia.” Calan allowed himself one last look at the flower the count had stuck in his braid before carefully pressing it between the pages of a book. It might be foolish sentimentality, but he wanted to preserve a memory of the day. The Count of Charteris was going to be his first lover—of that he was sure. No man ravaged another with his gaze alone unless he was interested in getting him into bed. And the simple touch of the count’s hand as he’d given the small and sweet token of affection had lit Calan’s body on fire. He’d been dealing with his arousal all afternoon, forcing it into submission. It would be easy to bring himself to climax with his own thoughts alone, yet he’d resisted. The sweet ache tormenting him would make his eventual seduction by the count all the more pleasurable.

It might even happen tonight.

Aunt Celia grimaced at him as he came down the stairs, her gaze raking him from head to toe. He’d elected to keep his hair down this evening and knew she disapproved. Flying strands lacked decorum, as far as she was concerned. But he knew the carefree look of it was particularly appealing to men. There had been other offers, of course, in the last year or so since he’d come into his maturity. And he’d been tempted a time or two, but all such liaisons came with the price of secrecy. His aunt had made it clear she considered him to be off limits. She wanted to keep him all to herself in furtherance of her work. Attention by another would distract him from her needs, and while her possessiveness had never really bothered him before, the confinement was starting to chafe. The count would be different, however, being independent of her influence and having the added value of being temporary. Whatever happened between them, the man would soon be gone, never to be seen again, in all likelihood. The idea of it, to his surprise, saddened him. He barely knew the man. It was silly to mourn his loss before he’d even experienced being with the man in any intimate way.

“Come on. We mustn’t keep our guests waiting.” Aunt Celia didn’t wait to see if he was following as she walked out of the door, certain of his obedience. “The cheek of the woman,” she declared in a low voice while they hurried to the longhouse. “She’s so sure she’ll get her hands on my potion. You can see it in her expression, no matter the honeyed words she uses to cajole the council.”

“She wants to benefit her people, Aunt.” The withering glance his aunt gave him made him wince.

“We all want to help our own, but where will we be if we give away too much of the precious cordial?”

Calan didn’t bother to point out that the ingredients were plentiful and probably found all over Moorcondia and not only in Shadow Valley. The gain of one country didn’t mean a loss to the other. His aunt was in high dudgeon over the matter, and no amount of logic was going to change her attitude. “I’m sure the meeting was difficult. Fennic and many of the other council members are keen on opening up more trade with Moorcondia. It’s probably all they can think of.” He agreed with their position yet was not so foolish as to say so. His aunt needed to get out some of her mad before the evening meal, and he was the safest place for her to do it.

“Huh! That is too right. Fools, all of them.” She was quiet for a moment before changing the direction of the conversation in a more uncomfortable way. “And the nerve of that brother of hers, demanding that you waste your time entertaining him. He didn’t do anything offensive, did he?” She punctuated her question by grabbing his arm and turning to stare hard into his eyes.

Calan did his best to look innocent, even as his cheeks felt hot. “No, ma’am. He was very formal and proper. I, um, showed him and his niece the maze. That kept them occupied for most of the time.”

Aunt Celia harrumphed before letting him go. “Then that should be end of it. He has no business here, and I won’t have him insisting that you entertain him by showing him the sights. Or worse,” she added with particular bitterness. “I don’t like the way he looked at you.”

“Please don’t worry, Aunt Celia. I can handle myself…and him.” As statements went, it was true, just not entirely honest. He was fairly confident that the count wouldn’t pressure him into anything he wasn’t comfortable with. The man appeared to be the epitome of a nobleman—honorable and confident enough not to be brutal. If his niece was anything to go by, the man was kind and trustworthy, as well.

“He better not try anything with you,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. It was hard not to feel insubstantial around her. “If he does, I’ll give him something to make his manhood shrivel.”

With a wince, Calan was quick to reassure her. “He won’t. If nothing else, he seems devoted to his sister and wouldn’t want to hurt her mission here.”

That observation only served to increase her ire. “Ha! Controlling, more like. As if he has anything of value to add to her efforts. Foppish man. He probably sits around, never putting in an honest day’s work. Soft and vane.”

Calan knew when it was time to keep his mouth shut. None of those descriptions fit the man he’d spent so much time with already. Ian was a strong man who obviously spent a lot of time doing strenuous activities, and as for soft…? The man’s hand had been calloused in the way of a laborer. When he’d done the extraordinary thing of putting a flower in Calan’s braid, the rough skin of his thumb had brushed Calan’s earlobe. Just thinking of the moment sent a delightful shiver down his back.

They were among the last to enter the longhouse. Calan’s couldn’t help looking for Ian the moment he stepped into the large room. The man was easy to spot, towering over everyone. He was dressed very finely indeed, his black tunic and trousers embroidered with silver thread throughout, and his high boots gleaming like mirrors. Calan wondered if the man ever wore any other color. The count was focused on his sister, who was speaking with Fennic, then his gaze shifted abruptly toward Calan before he’d taken more than two steps into the room. The intensity in the man’s eyes was unnerving, and the way his lips curved up into an inviting smile made Calan grateful that he’d chosen to wear small clothes for the evening. The extra layer hid his reaction to such scrutiny.

Calan dared a quick grin back before dutifully following his aunt as she joined the group surrounding Lady Isabeau. Amalie was nowhere to be seen, apparently deemed too young to join the formal evening meal. It was something of a relief and a worry that the little girl wasn’t going to act as a natural restraint on his interactions with the count. No, Aunt Celia will fill that role well enough. It was bold and perhaps silly to even expect to have some kind of personal interaction with their visitor on such short acquaintance, but Calan felt more than ready to fully enter the world of adulthood. Better than anyone else of his acquaintance, Ian filled Calan’s needs in that regard, and he wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip by. The fact that the man would leave in a relatively short time meant that there would be no chance to fall in love with him or work to keep his interest hidden from his aunt’s notice for long.

He was careful to remain in the back of the throng and didn’t dare look in the count’s direction at all. This close would prove too uncomfortable and test his ability to hide his interest. Better to bide his time and look for an opportunity to approach the man after the meal. He exchanged brief and polite greetings, then stood with his hands clasped in front of him and staring at the floor. The back of his neck itched in a sudden and inexplicable way. He instinctively looked up to see if there was some approaching danger. That’s when his gaze met Ian’s straight on. The outrageous man winked at him as he’d done earlier in the day, a very bold move. Calan’s mouth dropped open for a second and his cheeks burned before he got himself back under control. He might be trying to be circumspect, but the count obviously was not. That probably came down to the difference between being a powerful man and an orphan dependent on the largesse of a disapproving relative.

Calan managed to avoid Ian and his unnerving attention until the meal began. Once more, he was seated far away from the council members and their illustrious guests. This time, however, he made no effort to catch as many glimpses as possible of the count. Instead, he kept his head down, concentrating on eating and making the occasional small talk with those around him. He knew everyone in the room, having lived among their relatively small community his whole life. Shadow Valley people were mostly happy by nature and good company. If not for the fact that some part of his mind dwelled on what the rest of the evening would hold for him, he would have enjoyed the festive event far more. As it was, once dessert was over and people started leaving the table, his stomach clenched in anticipation mixed with a little dread.

Figuring that the count would be the one to make the bold move necessary to advance their budding acquaintance, Calan quietly left the longhouse by the back door to give them both privacy when the count chose to approach him. He entered the mostly herb garden and breathed in the sweet, fresh night air, enjoying the coolness and quiet compared to the somewhat stuffy and noisy longhouse. As he wandered over to a stone bench, he spied some errant weeds and plucked them out of the ground from habit. He felt Ian’s presence behind him and straightened to whirl around. The count stood close, yet not so much as to crowd him, his hands clasped behind his back and a faint smile on his lips.

Calan swallowed hard as he composed himself. His heartbeat raced, and his fingers twitched with nervousness so much that he tucked them behind his back in mimicry of the count’s stance. “My lord, you do creep up on a person.” He licked his lips before adding, “I thought I walked quietly, but you’re like a silent wind.”

The man’s lips spread in a wider grin. “Forgive me. That’s my military training, and to be frank, I assumed you were leading me out here. I didn’t mean to startle you…or scare you.”

“I’m not scared,” Calan hastened to say. “And you’re right. I was hoping you’d join me here, away from scrutiny.” He dared to give a shy smile himself.

Ian closed the gap between them. “Very clever of you. We are both under the watchful eyes of women who have great influence in our lives.”

“My aunt means well.” Calan felt the need to defend Celia, even as he wished her to be different, less judgmental.

“As does my sister.” Ian was close enough that his wine-laced breath and the heat of his large body wrapped around Calan like a blanket—a comforting one. “And she is very practical and serious in her endeavors. But I, a mere man, am captive to my desires—and what I desire right now is you.”

“Oh.” Calan couldn’t muster anything more coherent than that. As Ian lifted a hand and reached for him, all he could do was close his eyes and lean into the touch.

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