I find myself adrift at the notion that I may have a cousin that was unknown to me. Fortunately, your gentle delivery has eased the shock somewhat. And I have been positively spoiled by the wealth of information you’ve provided. I’m left with absolutely no questions to speak of.
Since I was unable to relay your letter in its entirety to Mother, she has become convinced that whisps have led you to your death. We toasted yourshort, unremarkable life and Mother has set off to select an outfit for your service. I suspect the veil will be the memorable part of the ensemble.
Best wishes,
Davina
P.S. The ceasg would be lucky to have literally anyone else.
XANDER
Tom was a mess.The linen of his shirt was swirled with rust and mud stains from where it had landed on something I didn’t know the name of. His breeches were creased obscenely—though I imagined I would be the only one to know the reason. If I thought too long about those, I would consider what was beneath them and then I’d accomplish nothing for the next week—at least nothing I could admit to in a court of law.
He hadn’t bothered with a waistcoat or cravat when he set out before dawn, and his open collar revealed the ruddy, reddish-purple marks I’d left behind, a constellation etched among the smooth skin and auburn hair.
At some point, I’d clearly raked my fingers through his hair, leaving it a nest of mussed curls. And those devilish lips were swollen.
Worst of all, he still wore that awestruck, slightly intoxicated look that had me ready to drop to my knees again, if only so it would never leave his face.
Instead, I straightened the collar of his shirt, hiding the evidence of my efforts from the world. Carefully, I tucked it into his breeches, ensuring I kept my fingers away from his overly sensitive member.
“What are you doing?” His words were slurred with pleasure. It was a travesty that he ever sounded otherwise.
I didn’t respond, instead fixing his buttons before smoothing the sides of his shirt. There was nothing to be done about the stains, but it was easily explained away.
His hair took a few moments to smooth into something that was merely disheveled by exertion of a job well done—not the exertion we’d engaged in. Those soft lips were still swollen. My only hope there was that no one had studied him well enough the day before to notice the change. Still, I allowed myself the luxury of dragging a thumb along the lower one. He took it as an invitation to press a kiss there because he was a sweet little grasshopper.
He caught my hand as I stepped back to survey my work. Long, gentle fingers smoothed my hair into something vaguely resembling my usual style. It felt a bit off, but without a mirror, I doubted I could have done better.
Seemingly satisfied, he nodded to himself with a ghost of a smile. “Perfect.”
I quirked a brow in answer but restrained a scoff. If he wanted to think I was perfect, I had no interest in correcting him.
When I held out a hand, he took it without question, letting me lead him out of the shed. As soon as we reached the threshold, I had to drop it. Tom offered the mildest sound of protest.
“Where are we going?”
“You need real clothes. Before anyone sees what I’ve done to you.”
“What if I want them to see?”
“Tom…”
“I know, I know...”
“Besides, this version of you is mine.”
That sentiment seemed to appease him, and we made our way inside the house—if it could be termed that.
There was no sign of Lock or Godfrey, but Sorcha was, to my great astonishment, once again at work removing wallpaper—this time from the dining room.
“They’ve not returned yet?”
“Not yet.”
I leaned against the doorway, Tom hovering too close to my side, but I was unwilling to offer him a reproachful look. Sorcha was proving helpful. She spared a glance at us, before tugging another strip off—almost in its entirety.
“Ye planning on being any help?”
