Page 2 of The Shadow of the Count
“Exactly.” Peter offered him one hand, and Donnie took it eagerly.
“That I can do.” If something happened, he’d be so much closer to his lover…
Peter smiled, then moved closer. “Thank you, Don. I know it’s difficult, but it’s important.”
“Mmm. Just kiss me, idiot.”
“Yes, my dearest one.”
Peter came to kiss him, holding him tight, and he could feel the fear and desperation in Peter. It matched his. He’d grown to need this man with him.
“It will take the summer, no longer. You have my word. And think of the tales I’ll have to tell you.”
“I can’t imagine.” Donnie just hoped his mysterious benefactor, Monsieur Grant, didn’t call upon him and his brother and their brothers-in-arms to go adventuring about the time Peter was to come home.
“I swear to you, I’ll write you every day.”
“I count on it.” Donnie would do the same. He sighed, then took one more long, lingering kiss. “You should go pack. You have a long journey ahead.”
“If you’re coming to London, Don, so do you.”
“I do.” He took Peter’s hand. “Let’s do it together.”
* * *
The train rumbled across Europe, and the farther the distance stretched between him and Don, the lonelier Peter became.
He knew his lover didn’t understand, but he had to make his own way in the world, come to Don as an equal, not as a beggar. The simple fact was Don’s brother Douglas had paid his train fare, since his travel stipend would have sent him on a slower route through some dangerous areas.
He refused to be a charity case all his life. The stereotype of the penniless librarian in tweed. No, he was an archivist of some education and talent, and a researcher, and this was a chance to make a name for himself. This collection, and Castle Polidorus, had never been cataloged. It held manuscripts as much as five hundred years old, or more, according to the owner, who had hired him through his university mentor.
He intended to make his name with this, perhaps find a position within an estate or in rare books.
One that would allow him to travel with Don occasionally. Peter still wasn’t at all certain about tossing himself into danger every few months. Men like Douglas and their cowboy ally Jeb seemed to thrive on it. Peter preferred to do the book work for them.
Of course, he had quite found the lands of Egypt fascinating, the art and history amazing.
The pottery! Oh, he could have cataloged it and the glyphs on walls and in tombs for years, the colorful paintings and mysterious figures they held evoking awe and admiration.
Perhaps Don would return with him one day. He’d suggested a few days of museums in Paris, and his lover had refused him, leaving him standing gaping at the station in London.
He knew Don had a history with Paris, but he didn’t know it was so bad that Don would just…let him go on alone.His lover had never told him all the specifics, so how could he know?
Perhaps he had hurt Don more than he wanted to believe, however. That had not been his intention or desire.
The train just kept moving, from Paris into the mountains, Austria flashing by and becoming Hungary. As they left more familiar climes, the people with whom he shared languages became fewer and fewer until Peter felt very much alone. He had no idea what most of his fellow travelers were saying, never mind the conductors.
A lovely young man came and stood near his table. “If you’ll excuse me, would you wish to dine with me? I am alone?”
Peter glanced up, surprised, and his immediate urge was to refuse, but he was sick of sitting with his thoughts. “I would like that, yes.” What could it hurt? The man spoke English, after all.
“I thank you. I am called Yvgeny.” The young man sat down across from him, bowing his head.
“Peter. Pleased to meet you.” He couldn’t quite manage a smile, but pleasant he could do.
“Peter. Have you traveled far?”
“I started in Los Angeles. In the United States.” He searched for small talk. “Are you returning home?”
