“Your hair is the most beautiful thing in the world,” Lord Richard said simply, and David’s mouth dropped open.
“What?” His voice rose with incredulity. “I have been powdering it for years because you didn’t want to look at it!”
“Because I couldn’t trust myself to look at it,” Lord Richard said. “From the moment you walked in, the very first day, I couldn’t think for the sight of it. It’s stunning.”
Years of powder on his hair and coats and over everything he owned, and that was why? David found himself speechless, but Lord Richard was still talking.
“I want to look. To touch. I want to take handfuls of that hair for myself, to follow it all the way down and find out if you are red all over. It is irresistible. You are irresistible. Sweet God, Cyprian, will you give me tonight? Just one night together, not lords and valets, just you and me. Could we have that?”
There was sudden urgent need in Lord Richard’s voice, and it lit up David’s nerves like a blaze of candles, heat leaping out. He swallowed hard. “Is this wise?”
“I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s good or right or proper or sane. Refuse if you wish. You have every right.” Lord Richard gave a wry smile. “But I will not waste time waiting to be asked again. I will not make others do the asking for what I know I want. And I want you quite painfully.” His fingers brushed David’s. “Do you want that…David?” A little hesitation over the name.
“Yes,” David heard himself say before his brain had a chance to be involved in the decision. “Just tonight. One night.”
“And afterwards, nothing.” Lord Richard stroked hair back from David’s face with a hand that shook. “Does that matter?”
Only because it will destroy me. “No. I don’t care. We should walk. People may look.”
Lord Richard nodded reluctantly, and they moved on. “Where can we go?”
“Did you ride here from Tarlton March? Send a note back there that the horse is lamed. Stay at the rectory tonight.” He saw Lord Richard’s twitch. “My mother knows. She will help. Believe me, you cannot surprise her with human nature.”
“Your stepfather—”
“We will be deceiving him, yes,” David said. “This is Cricklade. There are no assignation houses and anonymous rooms. And if you were not Lord Richard Vane and I were not Mrs. Fleming’s redheaded son, perhaps nobody would notice us lying under a haystack—”
“It’s April, you city creature. Do you see any haystacks? And in any case, I cannot tell you how uncomfortable they are to lie in. I grew up here, remember?”
It was a deliberate attempt to lift the mood, and David made himself respond. “You mean that the ballads have deceived me, my lord?”
“I fear so. Hay is extremely dusty, and has surprisingly sharp ends. Will you call me Richard?”
“Is that for one night too?” David asked, and wished he hadn’t as Lord Richard flinched.
“It’s for us. Between us. I have wondered how my name would sound on your lips without adornment.”
“I called you by it once,” David pointed out.
“You did. And it will be my own damned fault if you don’t want to do so again, but I wish you would. Please, David?”
David took a deep breath. “Richard, then.”
“Thank you,” Richard said, and David found they were exchanging smiles.
They walked on a wide circuit around the village, killing time, bringing the evening closer. They talked of trivial things or were silent, with the sun on their faces and awareness throbbing between them. David. Richard.
David would not delude himself this time. He would not let obstinate hope blind him to reality. He would have to take another post with another man, where he would work morning to night; he knew damned well there would be no leisure for a love affair.
But they could have tonight. One night with his lord to make sure that he did not spend all his life regretting what might have been. Instead he’d spend it mourning what he no longer had, but at that moment, that sounded like a bargain he could make.
Chapter 8
David dealt with the tale to his stepfather easily enough. He normally felt no compunction about lying; it was a useful tool, the more so among people who cared about their word and truth. On this occasion, though, he felt unexpectedly ashamed. Mr. Fleming was an excellent man, humble and good-hearted with a look of wonder in his eyes every time he contemplated his wife, and David discovered that he did not want to lie to him. He did it anyway.
Mr. Fleming was naturally daunted by Richard’s presence, given that his livelihood was in the family gift. A poor rector could not be blamed for panicking when informed that Lord Richard Vane needed a room for the night.