“Good morning to you,” Yves said softly in reply. His heart beat faster, and a small part of him hoped and prayed that Bradford would order him to remove his clothing and come back to bed with him, even though parts of him were far too sore for more of the night’s endeavors.
Instead, Bradford flopped onto his back, stretched like a bear after hibernating, and said, “That was lovely.”
Yves smiled, but something in his core wilted. Yes, it had been lovely. He had enjoyed every moment, every sigh and gasp, and every jerk of his body as it accepted and released pleasure. He did not want any of it to be over.
“How are you faring this morning?” he asked, carrying his shoes over to the bed and sitting within Bradford’s reach so that he could put them on.
“Very well,” Bradford answered with a lazy smile. He rolled to his side again, half curled around Yves, and rested a hand on Yves’ thigh with his fingers dangerously close to parts of Yves that still wanted to play. “Very well indeed.”
Yves smiled even as his heart clenched.Ask me back to bed. Ask me to stay with you, now and always, he thought to himself. There was so much more he wanted to know about Bradford, so many stories he wanted the man to tell, and that he wanted to confide in Bradford in return. It was uncanny how his soul just seemed to trust Bradford when he trusted so few people.
Bradford said nothing, though. He closed his eyes and for a moment seemed to drift off to sleep again. Yves worked slowlyto put his shoes on and to fasten them, then, when there was nothing left he could do to delay the moment of parting, he gently shifted off the bed.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening,” he said quietly, then bent to kiss Bradford’s cheek.
Bradford hummed in his sleep and smiled, then half opened one eye, “I should be thanking you,” he said. “You were glorious, my angel.”
Those words tugged hard on Yves’ heartstrings. There was so much finality in them. It seemed inevitable that the moment had come for their interlude to be over.
Yves stood and tiptoed to the door. In their haste to get into bed the night before, they’d never shut the door between the bedroom and the suite’s main room. Yves shut it now as he crept away. It physically hurt to do so. He did not want to close the door on something that had been so beautiful and held such potential.
He would have been a fool if he’d pursued things, though. Bradford’s reputation was well-known. Yves sighed as he left the suite, then hurried through the quiet halls of The Chameleon Club and down one floor to his own humble room.
He did not need to worry about being quiet or slow once he was safe in his own sanctuary. He stripped out of his clothes, gave himself a much more thorough bath, though he was sad to remove every trace of Bradford in or around him, then dressed for the day in fresh clothing. He took a moment to simply sit at the vanity near his window, which looked into the club’s frozen back garden, thinking over everything that had happened. There seemed no point in sitting there regretting something that could never be, though, so he got up and went downstairs.
Of course, everyone would know what he and Bradford had been up to. He did his best not to walk or sit gingerly, once he made it to his usual table in the dining room, but the lightabrasions around his mouth and on his neck where Bradford’s beard had scratched him would be glaringly obvious to all.
As was the beauty of The Brotherhood, nobody said a thing to Yves. He received some sly, approving looks, to be sure, but none of them came with censure or teasing. At least, not the vicious kind Guillame had always been prone toward.
As if thoughts of his brother had brought that part of his world flying back at him, one of the club’s footmen approached his table as he was cutting his sausage with a letter in his hand.
“This came for you quite early, Mr. Clermont,” the page said with a smile, setting the letter by the side of Yves’ plate. Yves thought nothing of it until the footman continued with, “It was delivered by hand with a request that the sender receive a reply today.”
That piqued Yves’ curiosity. Partially because he recognized Yvette’s handwriting in the way the envelope was addressed.
“Thank you, Giles,” Yves said with a tight smile.
As soon as Giles nodded and headed off to take care of his other duties, Yves took up the letter and opened it.
“My dearest Yves,
I know that there is still a great deal of fear and resentment in your heart where our brother is concerned and I do not fault you for it one bit. We both know that Guillame was cruel and wicked. He threatened your life and happiness with one hand, and with the other he tormented his poor wife, Charlotte, with numerous affairs and financial ruin. Every moment of our brother’s life was unconscionable.
As wicked as Guillame was, his funeral is to be held today. Though I know it is not required of you, and while I will have Phillip and the children by my side, I would so like for you to be there with me. Additionally, as Charlotte has given me to understand, there is a great deal that needs to be addressed with the Clermont family finances. Charlotte cannot afford asolicitor on her own, but I suggested that you might be of some help.
I do understand the situation you find yourself in, however, and if you do not wish to emerge from your shelter just yet, I will not hold any ill feelings toward you.
Your loving sister, Yvette.”
Yves made a sad noise as he finished the letter, then clapped a hand over his mouth and glanced around to see if anyone had heard him. It was still early and there were only a few others enjoying their breakfast, and none of them seemed to notice.
Yves did not remove his hand from his mouth as he read his sister’s letter a second time. He was deeply worried that the emotions his sister’s words raised in him would cause him to weep in public if he was not careful. For it was obvious that Yvette needed him, today and always, and he had become as useless to her as could be.
He could not sit where he was any longer, as safe as it might be. He had his sister and his brother’s wife waiting for him, not to mention nieces and nephews, two of whom he’d never met. The time for his self-imposed incarceration to end was upon him, whether he felt ready for it or not.
He’d barely touched his breakfast, but he hardly cared. He pushed his chair back and all but jumped to his feet.
And as soon as he did, it was as if his legs refused to carry him. He wobbled slightly, leaning against the table and breathing heavily for a moment. But only a moment before forcing himself to stand straight. He could do this. He could muster up the courage he’d lost three years ago and leave The Chameleon Club to see his sister.
