David went upstairs with a candlestick through the empty, echoing house rather than sitting alone in the kitchen. Really, he should have waited until he was summoned, but he knew he would feel better for doing something.
Lord Richard was in the bedroom David had made ready, on a spindly chair that was quite inadequate for his large frame, staring at the wall.
“My lord?”
No answer. David moved around tweaking things, finding excuses to stay, because something was wrong, badly wrong, well beyond their too-late arrival and a forgotten woman’s death. He could feel it, and it was making him nervous.
“My lord,” he said again and was not answered. “My lord, what’s wrong? May I help?”
“Just leave me, Cyprian. Please go.”
“No,” David said.
That got Lord Richard’s attention. “What did you say?”
“My lord, please. What is it? What’s happened?”
Lord Richard stared at him, poised for an endless second between anger and misery, and then his face convulsed. “She had my letters,” he said thickly. “All of them. The ink was worn away on some of them where she had held them. The paper was rubbed almost through. She must have read them again and again. Every one.”
David dropped to his knees by the chair without thought, grabbing for Lord Richard’s hand. “Oh no. Oh, my lord.”
“If I had just come. If I had not stewed in my stupid offended pride…Oh God, all those years she was here alone, reading my letters, and I never came. If I had not waited for her to ask. And then, when she did, I was too late.”
“You tried,” David said, wanting it to be true. “You did your best.”
“No, I didn’t. I was hurt, and it never occurred to me that she was too. She left a letter—to Philip and me—I cannot speak of that. God almighty, Cyprian, how have I failed so badly?”
“Please, stop. You ask too much of yourself.”
“She didn’t get the last one, the note,” Lord Richard said. “That arrived only this morning. She died without knowing I was coming.”
“She knew.” David spoke with all the certainty at his command. “With all your letters? She will have known. Of course she knew.”
“Oh, Cyprian.” Lord Richard’s fingers tightened on his. “Don’t go.”
David managed to smile. “You couldn’t make me.”
“You—” Lord Richard’s free hand came up, skimming David’s face with a touch so light it was scarcely there. Impossible that such a big man could be so gentle. His fingers caught in the strands of David’s hair, and David, barely believing, lifted his hand to the face he’d shaved so often. He had Lord Richard’s skin under his fingers every day. But not like this.
Lord Richard was very still. Then he leaned in, just a fraction, and David did too, and they were kissing.
It was hesitant, absurdly so. Virginal, even with Lord Richard’s lips barely moving on David’s, his fingers still on David’s cheek. David moved in a fraction, terrified that his master might pull away altogether, and felt the quiet gasp in Lord Richard’s throat as much as heard it. There was a second when Lord Richard was quite still, and then he pulled David’s head forward, and his lips on David’s were still careful but no longer hesitant. There were hands in David’s hair, over his face, his master’s mouth increasingly urgent on his. Kissing his lord in a darkened room, feeling his hunger.
I’m here. I won’t ever go.
They both had hands in the other’s hair now, Lord Richard’s big hands working in David’s long straight locks as though he’d have liked to seize handfuls; David feeling the familiar loose curls as though he’d never touched them before. Lord Richard’s lips were open to his in wide, greedy kisses, tongues tangling, so pleasurable it hurt.
David made an urgent noise. Lord Richard came forward, sliding off the chair or pushing it backward so he was kneeling as well, bringing them face to face, one of his hands skimming David’s back. David dared run his own fingers over Lord Richard’s jawline, then took a firmer grip, and Lord Richard’s lips were hard on his, his hands commanding. Christ, he was strong, leaning over David now and pushing him back in his need, bodies pressed together—
There was a knock at the door.
Lord Richard recoiled from him, snatching his hands away so that David half-fell back on the rug. Their eyes locked for a single appalling, frozen second, and then David shoved both hands through his hair to smooth it, wiped the wet from his lips, and went to the door, making his face blank. He didn’t open the door fully. There was only so much of his body he could control.