I must have moved, because he turned to look in my direction. When he saw me, the laughter fled from his face, and I could feelthe heat rise from across the room. His eyes grew dark, and he licked his lips. Evidently, he found no fault with what I waswearing. I had to turn away because my cock was already reacting to him.
He found me a few minutes later, and even through layers of clothes, I swore I could feel the heat of his hand in the small of my back. “The Fortescues want me to sit with them at supper. They’re watching me for some reason, so it’s better if I don’t spend much time with you tonight. I don’t want to draw their attention to you.”
And I didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening with a raging hard-on, so that suited me. Kind of. “See you later?”
“You’d better,” he said, and the intensity in his eyes blew me away.
I’d half-expected waltzing and fox-trotting and whatever else rich people did in Jane Austen-like settings, but it wasn’t as bad as that. The band had guitars and a synth rather than violins and cellos. Dan was dancing with a redhead who I assumed was Rose, given how close together they were and how they kept smiling at one another.
Not having Nate by my side gave me the opportunity to think about other things. I’d been enjoying his company so much I’d forgotten about my investigation. It was time I picked it up again.
After supper, I girded my loins and approached Steven. He was standing in the doorway, holding a glass and watching the rest of us with an expression close to a sneer.
I didn’t offer my hand. I had the distinct impression he wouldn’t take it. “Alex Teague,” I said. “Your family’s being extremely hospitable to us.”
“That’s my father’s doing.” He drained his glass.
“We appreciate it. I’m sure we’ll return the favour, though all we’ll have to show you are tin mines and places of Arthurian legend.”
“Legend’s right. No one in their right mind believes Arthur was a historical figure,” he said, and I didn’t miss the way his eyes cut to his father. Interesting.
“Apart from the fact our family tree goes straight back to Arthur.”
He returned his attention to me, his scorn deepening. “I expect your family tree goes straight up, as well.”
Don’t punch your host, Alex. Margaret wouldn’t like it.
“So why aren’t you called Pendragon? Or charging around the countryside claiming the throne of Britain and waving long-lost swords?”
Yup, that family definitely read too much Tolkien. “The name Teague is a reference to Guinevere.”
A flicker of interest crossed his face.
“Teague means fair,” I told him. “As for claiming the throne—don’t you know the legend? At Albion’s hour of greatest peril, Arthur, or his kin, will return.”
I had his full attention now. “Do you really believe that shit?”
That bit, probably not. The descent from Arthur? “Yes.”
He chewed his lip. Leaving aside the bulk of his body, he looked like Charlie, had someone taken away the vivacity and changed the proportions of his face just enough to remove all suggestion of beauty.
“Does anyone outside your family believe it?” he asked.
“You’d better ask them. They’d be too polite to tell me if they didn’t.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel and left.
The evening dragged by. I stayed far, far away from any Fortescue dragons. I didn’t want any of them to think I was interested. There was only one dragon I was interested in.
As I was about to text Nate to ask where the hell he was, Steven loomed in front of me.
“Is Margaret Teague a direct descendant?” he demanded.
Well, hello to you, too. “Yes.”
“Who’s in line after her?”
“My father, then me,” I told him.
