A Seditious Affair(96)

You can ask me for anything you like. The words hovered on David’s lips. He wanted to say them; God knew they were true. But this was his master and he couldn’t do it.

It was enraging. David balked at nothing, from burglary to blackmail, to achieve his ends; he had certainly never struggled with something as simple as approaching a possible bedmate. He just asked, because it was astonishing what he had won for himself by daring to reach for it. It had always astonished David how few people dared to reach.

And now he understood why they did not. Through four years of service, four years of alliance and trust and friendship underpinned by the persistent heartbeat of desire, David had never dared ask for the one thing he wanted most, because he was afraid to learn he could not have it.

He could not ask now, but at least he could give. Lord Richard needed him, and it was better than nothing. “You carry burdens for all your friends, my lord. Someone has to do it for you now and again.”

Lord Richard’s lips parted slightly. He was a big man, absurdly wealthy and infinitely privileged, but at that moment his expression was so painfully vulnerable that David’s heart contracted in his chest with the urge to make all well.

He began to say “My lord,” raising his hand in a gesture. Lord Richard started to speak at the same time, turning toward him, and their hands collided in the air.

David froze.

He couldn’t move away, couldn’t beg his lord’s pardon for the clumsiness. Could do nothing but stand and feel the pressure of Lord Richard’s fingers against his, because his master wasn’t moving either. They should have pulled away, one or both, but neither did, and every tick of the clock as they stood and stared at each other, hand to hand, was a hammer blow that nailed the unspoken thing irrevocably into place between them.

The unspoken thing, the forbidden hope, the one point where David’s service felt like servitude because he could not even ask. But Lord Richard still wasn’t moving, his deep blue eyes locked on David’s and wide with shock, and now they knew, now they both knew and there was no pretending otherwise.

David could feel the blood thumping in Lord Richard’s fingertips, unless that was his own. He licked his lips, steeling himself. “My lord?” He cursed himself that it came out as a question.

“Cyprian.” Lord Richard’s arm shook a little, but his fingers didn’t move. “Cyprian— I—”

Footsteps echoed in the hall outside. They both snatched their hands away at the firm knock at the door, and were standing in separate silence as Mr. Norreys entered with the radical gaolbird Mason.

David listened to the subsequent argument with about a third of his mind, sorting the detail into advantageous, usable, disastrous, while the important thoughts pounded through him. You want me. You know I know it. What will we do? What did that change?

Mason was, it seemed, rather more involved in the conspiracy than Mr. Frey had let on. David cursed the pair of them mentally as he watched his master’s control slip. He could feel Lord Richard’s fear for his friend, though it was well hidden behind his anger at Mason and the whole damned stupid business.

“Get him out of the country,” Lord Richard ordered, gesturing at the radical. His decision was made. Of course he would not put the guilt of saving a traitor from the noose on David’s shoulders; he bore his own responsibility, even if it would cost him endless self-reproach, and probably Mr. Frey’s friendship.

David wasn’t having that if he could help it.

“This man is guilty of treason,” Lord Richard went on. “Dominic will accept an end to this insanity, all of it, or I will make him.”

“You won’t,” Mason said flatly.

“I beg your pardon?”

The radical took a step forward rather than back, glaring up into Lord Richard’s face. He was unshaven, gaol stained, and utterly unintimidated. David was mildly impressed. “I said, you won’t. You’ve hagridden Dom for fifteen fucking years, and I won’t have you giving him another dose of what’s wrong with him.”

Oh, you fucker. That would have hit Lord Richard right in the guilt. His bitterly ended relationship with Mr. Frey had been a running sore for most of their adult lives—

And David could use Mason to cauterize it. He could use this calamity, twist it to his advantage. The idea exploded in his head as Mason went on, his tone savage. Lord Richard stood apparently unmoved under the tirade, but David knew that stony expression and what it hid, and he was quite ready when Lord Richard threw a single desperate glance at him.

David met his eyes, conveying a message. Let me do it. Let me work. Trust me.