Nolan grimaced back.
“Looks impatient to see you,” Beckett remarked.
Jack hummed. “I left some issues open that I should have dealt with before I went to see Arden,” he said, making quick work of the saddlebag he’d packed at Greylag. He slung the saddlebag clear and over his shoulder, to the squawking dismay of the scrawny stable lad who’d come running to take the horses.
The lad immediately pounced on Jack to wrestle it off him.
“Go on in and let Nolan get his nagging over with, then.” Beckett took Jack’s saddlebag off the lad, forestalling any complaints by shoving his mount’s reins into the boy’s hand instead. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Very well. Thank you.”
Beckett dipped his head in acknowledgement.
“And Beckett?”
“Yes?”
“Put your things in my room.” Before Beckett could stiffly decline, he added a soft, “Please.”
That right there, Beckett supposed, was it. The moment he stepped fully out of his role as Jack’s footman and into his future as Jack’s partner.
In a dark stable yard, with the lights from the house and the stable block casting a golden glow over Jack’s face and dancing in his black eyes, and a stable lad and Nolan to witness it.
It wasn’t going to be easy. He knew that. But his world had changed, and Beckett was ready for it.
“Yes,” he said.
Worth it.Worthit, for the look that flashed over Jack’s face before the daft man did his best to try and hide it. Possession. Delight. Joy.
Relief.
Beckett snorted at that last one.
Beckett was Jack’s, completely, and Jack knew it.
And Jack? Beckett leaned in and kissed him, hard and fast and familiar, square on the mouth. Jack was Beckett’s. “Get on, then,” he said.
Jack smiled and strode off. As soon as he was swallowed up by the house, Nolan trotting at his side, one of the footmen, Miller, came out and helped Beckett take the luggage upstairs.
Beckett could have managed it on his own. He let Miller do it anyway, and when Miller paused at the back stairs that led to the servants’ quarters for Beckett to drop off his own luggage, Beckett nudged him on to the ducal apartments.
“Nice,” Miller said, and had the sense to leave it at that.
Jack was closeted with Nolan in his study until after midnight, doing whatever it was the Council had him doing. Beckett fell asleep waiting for him in the enormous bed, and wasjolted awake when Jack finally dragged himself through the door and fell face-first onto the mattress.
Beckett hauled him up to get his head on the pillows, and if it was him he’d have called it done, only Jack hated to sleep in his clothes.
At some point after Beckett had dropped off the luggage and jogged back down to the servants’ quarters to catch up on gossip and make sure someone was on the job of sending Jack some food, Jack had found a spare moment to wash up and change into plain breeches and a shirt, but dressed was still dressed.
Beckett rolled on top of Jack and ignored the bleary black eyes watching him through lids puffed with exhaustion as Beckett set about stripping him. He untucked the soft linen shirt and pushed it up to Jack’s armpits, murmuring, “Lift for me.” Jack did, and Beckett pulled the shirt over his head, setting it beside him on the covers.
He unbuttoned the fall of Jack’s breeches and scooted down his thighs, drawing breeches and underclothes with him and all the way off, along with his shoes and stockings. He climbed off the end of the bed and folded the clothes before taking them over to set the small pile on top of an enormous chest of drawers for the valet to deal with tomorrow.
Beckett stood beside Jack, gazing down at him. He’d fallen asleep as soon as he was naked, and Beckett was free to smile as soppily down at the arrogant bastard as he liked.
He reached out and brushed a lock off hair off Jack’s forehead.
Didn’t look all that arrogant now. Or that much of a bastard.
