It was the housekeeper with some domestic query of such triviality David could barely keep civil. It was a long time since he had worked in a house where every decision was brought to the master or mistress; taking care of domestic matters was what fucking housekeepers were supposed to do. He dealt with the question courteously because shouting would have taken longer, shut the door, and turned.
Lord Richard was sitting on the bed hunched over, face in his hands.
“Uh…my lord?”
Lord Richard looked up. The expression on his face was dreadful.
David’s stomach plunged. “My lord?” he asked again, and wanted to say, Richard? but did not dare.
“Cyprian. I…” Lord Richard shut his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Oh God, no. David went to the bed, dropping to his knees to bring their faces to the same level. “No. Don’t say that.”
“I should not have—” Lord Richard lifted a hand toward David’s face, pulled it away before touching. “That was wrong of me. My fault. You are not to blame.”
“My lord…” David had no idea what he could say to be heard. What he wanted to say was It wasn’t wrong, but they both knew that legally, morally, socially, in the eyes of God and man and his master’s elevated world, it was wrong as hell. “There is nothing you could ask of me I would not give you willingly. Nothing.”
Lord Richard’s eyes widened. David stared into them, heart thudding with a dull, dead feeling, like a muffled drum.
“You should not say that,” Lord Richard said at last. “You should not think it. I cannot— You cannot—” He stopped himself. “Enough. Go to bed. I will see to myself tonight.”
“No. Not now.”
“Yes, now. My God, will you let me keep some decency in this house?” Lord Richard demanded. His eyes were needy, desperate. “Is it all not bad enough without—without—I am not going to tumble you to take my mind off my mother!”
“That was not what we were doing,” David said, voice rising in shock. “It was not.”
“It doesn’t matter. Stop, in God’s name, before this becomes irrevocable.”
“Stop and what?” David demanded. “Stop, and forget that you kissed me? Stop, and feign ignorance of what we both know, as we have since February?”
Lord Richard’s jaw hardened. “What you know, or think you know, is irrelevant. You have your place, and I mine, and we will both do well to remember that. I want you to go.”
David could feel the blood rushing to his face. He was abruptly aware that he was kneeling on the damned floor like a supplicant. He was a supplicant, and he had been refused. “You’re dismissing me.” His lips felt stiff. “After—”
“You told me I could ask anything of you,” Lord Richard said. “I am asking you to leave me now. Don’t make me order it.”
David wanted to make him order it. Look me in the eyes, with my kiss on your mouth, and say that. He wanted to push it, to force a response, to make his master face what had happened.
With Lord Richard’s mother lying dead in the next room.
David shut his eyes for a long moment, then stood. “Very well. Good night, my lord.”
He left the room without waiting for a response.
—
Lord Richard did not meet David’s eyes the next day as he dressed for the funeral service. David had packed blacks since it was his task to think of everything. His lordship took the coach to the little church, though it was less than a mile away, to add to the ceremony of Lady Cirencester’s farewell. It was still raining.
He hadn’t given orders as to what they would do after the funeral, so David anticipated, or decided, for him and packed the luggage as his master paid his respects to the mother who hadn’t wanted him.
David could still feel Lord Richard’s mouth on his.
It was, he knew, impossible. He was well aware of that, had told himself so often enough, had gone to some lengths to find other people to fuck instead. Lord Richard, who didn’t even bed whores for relief, would never violate his place and his principles so far as to tup a servant, and David had to make himself believe that, because the alternative was destruction.
He was proud of his place. He’d worked for it. He’d gone from the lowest possible birth to his own spacious room in an Albemarle Street townhouse and a position at Lord Richard Vane’s side. Silas’s claptrap about the rights of men be damned: David had clawed his way to prosperity, security, and respect through service to a lord. The prestige, the clothing, the luxury of Lord Richard’s station were all at just one remove, bathing David in reflected glory. He should have had nothing more to ask from life.