Impractical Page 9

  Kirian looked at him, startled. "That does sound like Terrell, actually. How do you know him so well?"

  "I don't," Evelyn replied. "I am merely going on what you have said about him, coupled with what veracity I can extract from gossip. Mr. Wingard is very sharp and everyone knows the two of you are a matched set." He hesitated, before pushing on. "I was honestly surprised when Professor Grayson ordered us to marry, because I and at least half the school were convinced you two were carrying on a quiet affair. You are a handsome set, you know."

  "Me and Terrell?" Kirian demanded, baffled and somewhat horrified. "That would be like sleeping with my brother. Bloody hell, what a nightmare that would be. All that logic…I'd wring his neck if we were together. No, thank you."

  Evelyn laughed. "I am relieved to hear it, even if I know very well you've no amorous inclinations where he is concerned."

  Kirian smirked. "I definitely have a taste for tall, icy men in want of a thaw."

  "Oh?" Evelyn murmured, setting aside the damp rag. An indulgent smile curved his lips as Kirian ran fingers through his hair and tugged away the ribbon that held it back. "Your face is rather nicely bruised, Kir—" He faltered.

  "Why do you act like you can't call me that?" Kirian asked. "I like it when you do."

  Evelyn shrugged. "I guess it's something I have only ever heard Mr. Wingard call you, so I didn't know if…well, no one calls him 'Terri' either."

  "Call me whatever you like," Kirian replied, then reached out to grasp his jacket and yank him close, nearly sending them both falling out of their seats.

  "Have a care," Evelyn said, exasperated. "Come on, let's go to bed before you manage to bruise more than your face."

  Kirian smirked as he let Evelyn tug him to his feet. "I don't recall you complaining of bruises last night."

  Evelyn shot a look over his shoulder, matching Kirian's smirk. "That is something else entirely and you are in no shape for any such nonsense right now."

  "Nonsense?" Kirian echoed indignantly. "If you're calling it nonsense, then I am doing something wrong."

  Laughing, Evelyn drew him close as they reached the bedroom, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and bending to brush a soft kiss across his mouth. "As you said, I've had no complaints."

  Kirian attempted to say something, but it only became a jumble of noise as Evelyn took his mouth again. He fumbled with the buttons of Evelyn's jacket, and then pushed it from his shoulders, enjoying the feel of trim muscle beneath fine lawn. "Where did you learn to fight like that? You never really said, before. You carry on like a regular street brawler."

  "I was…a bit out of control in my youth," Evelyn replied, making quick work of their clothes. He pushed Kirian down onto their bed, nipping and licking at his skin.

  "You're not a day over twenty-one," Kirian said.

  "Twenty-two, actually," Evelyn replied, his levity falling away. Kirian wanted to kick himself because he hated when Evelyn looked sad—and all the more when he was the one who made him that way. "I started school a year late because I was sent away after…"

  "After you tried to elope?" Kirian guessed.

  Evelyn sighed and made a face, rolling away to lie on the bed and stare up at the canopy. "So someone did tell you the gossip. I had hoped not, but I knew that was wishful thinking."

  "I asked Terrell to confirm suspicions," Kirian said. "I do not hold with gossip. The way you reacted to the story about my parents, it wasn't hard to put the pieces together."

  "Most people prefer large sums of money to penniless spouses," Evenly replied with a sigh, turning again to lie on his side, back to Kirian.

  "Fools, maybe." Kirian moved closer, resting a hand on Evelyn's hip and kissing his shoulder, the back of his neck. "I'd keep you, even should we wake up tomorrow with not a pence between us and only giving you up would get my money back."

  Evelyn tensed against him, before laughing shakily. "I don't believe you." But he turned around, pushing Kirian onto his back again and climbing on top of him, before resuming as though he had never left off. He leaned down and kissed Kirian hard, seeming to forget for a moment that his face was sore and bruised. Not caring, Kirian just sank his hands into Evelyn's hair and held on tight, kissing him hungrily, greedily, determined to make Evelyn forget everything—everyone—but him. He would give up everything he had if it meant Evelyn would be his and only his, forever.

  Kirian fed all of his emotion into his touches, his kisses, murmuring endearments but hoping action conveyed everything he was not yet certain he could say. Not until he made Evelyn forget all about bloody Frederick; not until he knew Evelyn was his to keep and he wasn't simply waiting until the three years were up.

  Evelyn grabbed his wrists and pinned them down, then bit at his throat. Kirian gasped and writhed beneath him. "Bastard!" Chuckling, Evelyn released him—but only to fetch the oil from the bedside table. Kirian spread for him, and then drew him back down into another feverish kiss. Evelyn murmured against his skin, soft noises that could have been words or could have simply been nonsense.

  Kirian hissed as two fingers pressed into him and urged Evelyn on, too impatient for slow and gentle. He groaned, fingers biting into skin as Evelyn finally pushed inside him. Evelyn kissed him, hard and deep and thorough, leaving his mouth sore and bruised. He drew back, pulled Kirian's legs up around him, and began to fuck him, drawing out and thrusting back in, pace hard and fast and exactly what Kirian wanted—what they both wanted. It didn't take long for them both to come, shouts mingling, before they collapsed in a sweaty, sticky pile amongst the bedclothes.

  Eventually, Kirian stirred and said quietly, "I meant what I said, you know." When Evelyn did not reply, he turned—and realized that Evelyn had fallen asleep, a faint smile on his face. Kirian carefully extracted himself from Evelyn's arms and sat up, settling Evelyn more comfortably and gently pushing back damp strands of strawberry hair, tracing the lines of his cheek.

  Kirian still wanted to punch Grayson upon occasion, but the infuriating bastard had clearly seen something he and Evelyn never would have. Pulling up the blankets and dropping a soft kiss on Evelyn's cheek, Kirian slid from the bed and pulled on fresh clothes from his wardrobe. To think that only a couple of months ago he had been too busy with fights and duels to barely complete his schoolwork, and his only thought had been getting as far away from the country as possible…and now he was walking away from fights and wanted to run away only if he could take Evelyn with him. If someone had told him he would be tamed in a matter of months by a man the world considered frgid, Kirian would have laughed himself hoarse.

  Sighing, Kirian returned to the main room and fetched his satchel, pulling out his sketchbook. He needed to find a place to work in private, in order to turn one of his sketches of Evelyn into a proper painting. He began a new sketch, of the way he had left Evelyn lying in bed: hair tumbling, skin still flushed, that faint smile on his face—the very image of a man well-fucked and not the sort of picture that he would ever show to anyone else. He wondered if Evelyn would take issue with such images, but asking would mean revealing his secret, and he wanted Frederick well out of the picture.

  Suddenly reminded of something, Kirian reached again into his satchel and extracted a bundle of letters—two from his publisher, one from Evelyn, and a few more from other avid readers. He opened the one from Evelyn, simply because he had never been able to resist poking a finger in his wounds.

  The Evelyn in the letter was more familiar to him now—warm, friendly, witty, a bit flirtatious, and it felt almost like he was being cheated on; except he wasn't, because he was Frederick.

  His thoughts broke off as a paragraph caught his full attention:

  You have been a great source of motivation and inspiration, my friend, and I have every intention of dedicating a novel to you someday. I beg you indulge a man thoroughly smitten with his new husband when he begs off dedicating his first novel to his friend in order to dedicate it to said husband. I will not torture you by rambling of hi
m; suffice to say he makes me happy.

  Kirian smiled, feeling happy himself—happy beyond all measure. He could scarcely believe it, but it seemed that Kirian was winning out over Frederick after all. Maybe it was safe, then, to reveal his secret. But how would Evelyn take it? Frederick had become a confidant of sorts and Evelyn often spoke of things in his letters that he did not voice aloud. Would he consider it a violation of trust? Kirian had never meant it as one, but he could see it being taken that way.

  Sick of the matter, Kirian shoved the letters back into his satchel and resumed work on his sketch, absently pondering the paints he would like to obtain, the colors he would use when he finally settled on a sketch to bring more fully to life.

  A knock at the door drew his attention. Kirian frowned, wondering who the devil would come to visit so late in the day, and without sending a note ahead; he knew it was not their landlady, for she had a different way of knocking.

  Not bothering to make himself presentable past lacing up his shirt and neatening his hair, Kirian tucked away his sketchbook and went to the door, pulling it open—and promptly making a face. "Yes, Professor?"

  Grayson shook his head, looking amused. "Lord Leffew. Lord Thiering was supposed to be a calming influence; you were not supposed to turn him into a brawler."

  Kirian shrugged. "You should not make assumptions about how men will affect one another, Professor. Do please come in. Can I get you a cup of tea? A brandy?"

  "Brandy, please," Grayson replied, doffing his hat and removing his jacket. He handed both to Kirian to hang up, then moved into the sitting room and took one of the armchairs. "Where is Lord Thiering?"

  "Sleeping," Kirian replied.

  Grayson snorted in amusement, clearly aware of the reason for Evelyn's slumber. "I was going to inform you both today after our afternoon class that I submitted my recommendations for the Literary Tour last night and I will be speaking with the academic board tonight regarding those recommendations. I plan to speak very highly of you both and I believe that you have an excellent chance. Oddly enough, I think today's scrape will do more good than harm."

  Kirian's brows rose. "That does not make any sense."

  Laughing, Grayson took a sip of the brandy Kirian handed him, then explained, "Lord Leffew, that little incident with Guthrie is the talk of the campus. The two things people say over and over are this: that you tried to walk away three times, which no one has ever known you to do. When Guthrie would have none of it, Lord Thiering is the one who fled my class to put him down, and no one has ever known him to lift a hand for more than answering questions. Clearly you are having a remarkable effect upon one another." He smiled faintly, a hint of smirk to it. "I would say you are getting on well, then?"

  "Quite," Kirian confirmed. "Do you often spend your spare hours playing matchmaker?"

  Grayson chuckled. "Not at all; I merely knew enough about the both of you to believe you would get on well—and that you would never figure that out if you were not forced into close quarters. Have you any complaints?"

  "Only that you were a might high-handed about introducing us," Kirian said, but without heat. He wasn't going to stay angry about something that made him so damned happy. "So you think we do stand a good chance of making the Literary Tour, then?" He could not wait—travelling the world, all of his time split between the work he loved and seeing the world with the man he loved, far away from his aunt, uncle, and the school walls that drove him mad.

  "Yes, I do." Grayson finished his brandy and rose. "I will leave you in peace; I came only to ascertain you were well and that you knew your fates are soon to be decided. You need not see me out. Good day, Lord Leffew."

  "Good day," Kirian replied. He started to reach for his sketchbook as the door closed behind Grayson—but then he heard the bedroom door open and turned in his seat to smile at a sleepy, mussed-looking Evelyn. "Awake already?"

  "I thought I heard voices," Evelyn yawned. "Was that Grayson or are my nightmares bleeding into my waking hours?"

  Kirian laughed. "It was Grayson. He came to inform us that he submitted our recommendations for the Literary Tour and that today's scrape will help our cause. Apparently it is quite the talk of the campus that my quiet, contained husband is now able and willing to clock a man."

  Evelyn snorted, lips quirked in amusement as he reached Kirian's chair and looked down at him. He pushed his loose hair from his face and yawned again, then said, "They all seem to forget I tussled with more than a few of them as children. I was, as they say, quite the scrapper. It was only later, after I was left at the altar, so to speak, that I started behaving."

  "Well I certainly would not know that. I was quite taken by the sight of you setting Guthrie down so neatly and tidily." He captured Evelyn's hand and kissed the knuckles, looking up at him through his lashes. "Quite taken."

  "Idiot," Evelyn said, only something that sounded much like fondness in the words. "If I had known throwing a punch was all that it took to get your attention—" He snapped his mouth shut abruptly and tried to pull away, cheeks suddenly a vibrant rose.

  Kirian held fast, too startled at first to form words. "What—you cannot mean—what do you mean, Evie?"

  "Nothing," Evelyn denied, and tried again to tug his hand free, clearly bent on escape.

  Still holding fast, Kirian stood up and wrapped his other arm around Evelyn's waist, bringing them flush against each other. He kissed Evelyn briefly, and then quietly repeated, "What do you mean, Evie?"

  "I—I used to watch you," Evelyn finally admitted. "In class. Whenever I saw you walking across campus. At first, you reminded me of—of Kevin. Brash, beautiful, always in the thick of something. Opinionated, smart, with so many people wanting you or jealous of you… But you weren't like him at all, not really, not when I looked closer. But I'm…well, me. I didn't know what to say or do, so I did nothing."

  Kirian stared at him, too shocked for words. Here he had been jealous of himself the entire time, thinking he could not possibly compete with Frederick…"Idiot," he breathed. "I used to wonder about you too, whenever I saw you." And if it was only after Evelyn wrote Frederick, well, it didn't matter. Ever since that first letter, he had been curious. "But it scarcely matters now, hm? We're here."

  "Yes," Evelyn replied, then went back to the breath-stealing kisses, fingers making swift work of their clothes. So eager were they that they did not even attempt to make it to the bedroom and simply settled for the sitting room floor.

  Seven

  Terrell hummed a cheerful dance tune as he walked along the street, reading Edlin's latest letter even though walking and reading meant he bumped into people more often than not. He simply could not wait until he returned to his rooms.

  The letter was filled with general stories of Fivecoats—the vineyards, the servants, the visitors that kept coming by even three months after the formal betrothal to scope out the new 'master' of Fivecoats, and the letters and notes and unsubtle queries about whether certain parties would be receiving invitations. But it was also filled with endearments, promises sweet and hot, and weekend ideas that Edlin looked forward to seeing come to fruition when they were together again. He spoke of the wedding plans, the amusements and irritations that went along with it, and how he could not wait for Terrell to arrive that people might pester him with it all instead.

  Terrell laughed at that before continuing with the letter—blushing dark as he read the entire last page. They were supposed to be dealing with wedding matters when Edlin arrived in the city tomorrow, but if even half of what Edlin vowed he would do was actually done, they would have time for very little else. Terrell could not honestly be troubled by that possibility; he had not seen Edlin since his one and only surprise visit to the city, and they had spent the better part of three days in Edlin's bed—well, Edlin's rooms. They certainly had not confined themselves—

  Terrell broke off that train of thought with a cough, shoving the letter into his jacket and struggling to think of unpleasant things befor
e he embarrassed himself in public. His fingers brushed against velvet as he put the letter away and he smiled, pulling out the reason he had walked halfway across town instead of remaining in his room to study as he should.

  Opening the box, Terrell admired the square cut sapphire set in platinum. A silly indulgence, perhaps, since he had no good reason for giving Edlin a gift, except only that he wanted to give it. But Edlin was inordinately fond of his pierced ear, an affectation he had picked up during his sailing days. Thinking about that reminded Terrell of the wedding gift he was having commissioned, and he really could not wait until it reached a point he could see it.

  Putting the earring away again, Terrell tried to put his thoughts on schooling; he was all but done, only a few last things left in the two weeks before he bid farewell to it all. The only thing which saddened him was that he would soon part ways with Kirian.

  A pang hit him then; since their fight, they had gotten on well enough, but had been too busy—and, he conceded, perhaps still a bit at odds—to really spend time together. Maybe, he thought, he should go see Kirian. Perhaps they could go for lunch at the club, spend an hour or so together, and he could make reparation. Maybe the idiot had finally told Thiering the truth. Somehow, Terrell doubted it.

  The sound of shouting drew him from his thoughts and he looked up to see a nasty fight brewing between a couple of shop clerks. Grimacing, he looked around for alternate routes and decided he could cut down Winding Row, then back up to Gate Street toward the school.

  As shouting turned into fighting, Terrell bolted across the street and through an alleyway, grimacing at the smells and avoiding the worst of the muck as best he was able, before tumbling out a couple of minutes later onto Winding Row. It was, as ever, utterly packed with people. Buttoning his jacket and keeping an eye out for footpads and pickpockets, Terrell pushed on through the crush, wishing suddenly to be home. He would study, go out for a nice dinner, and tomorrow he would more than happily let his Edlin convince him to spend a wholly impractical amount of time in bed.