Magda carried the tray sedately over to a small table. Jack watched with amusement as Beckett dropped into his chair again and Arden was the one to dart over and have his hands gently pushed away when he tried to help set out the supper things.
Jack sat in the chair opposite Beckett’s. Magda took plates and cups from the tray and laid them on the small table. She very carefully did not look over at where Jack and Beckett sprawledby the fire, but she did shoot a somewhat worried glance at Arden as he fussed about with the delicate porcelain sugar bowl.
Arden looked up at her and smiled. She smiled back and touched his sleeve as she leaned in and murmured something. Arden’s smile didn’t dim. He nodded, she curtsied, and they were left alone once more.
Arden busied himself with the teapot, pouring out two cups. To Jack’s, he added the merest splash of milk. He added three times as much to Beckett’s, and two heaped teaspoons of sugar besides.
Jack stretched his legs out in front of him and laced his hands over his stomach. He was curious as to what Arden would do when he—ah. There it was.
Arden frowned down at the two cups he’d prepared. With one in each hand, he turned to face them. His eyes went from Jack to Beckett.
Who to serve first?
Jack had no doubt that if he could, he’d have served them both at the same time.
But he couldn’t.
His arms weren’t that long.
He crossed the room towards them, slowing his pace as he came closer, gaze bouncing between the chairs either side of the hearth. If he thought about it any harder, Jack mused, you’d be able to hear it.
He already knew the choice Arden would make here. Beckett didn’t even realise he was trying to make a choice. And Arden, sweet Arden, was trying to slow his steps even further.
Did he give it to Jack, the oldest person in the room? The highest ranked?
Or to Beckett, to signal that Arden considered him to be on an equal footing with his husband the duke, rank and wealth be damned?
And would Beckett like it if Arden did that? Would he expect it? Or would he be offended and patronised by it?
But if he gave it to Beckett, would Jack think he was more interested in the man who took his virginity than in the man who’d given him his name?
Beckett wasn’t having any of it, of course.
“What are you dithering about like that for?” he said.
“Ah, I. Um.”
Beckett made a commanding gesture with his fingers, curling them at Arden, who responded beautifully. Beckett reached out and took his cup of tea, staring hotly at Arden the whole time.
When Arden turned to Jack, he looked positively faint. The cup he held out at a precise, elegant angle, trembled in the saucer. Audibly. He scowled.
“Thank you, darling,” Jack said, taking the cup.
“Would you care for some anything to eat?”
“Yes,” Beckett said from behind him. “I’m starving.”
Arden glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening. “You ate an entire pie at dinner.”
Beckett pursed his lips and blew noisily on his tea before shrugging and saying, “Yeah, but now I know I’ve got a busy night ahead, so. Thinkin’ I need more fuel for the fire.”
Arden’s pink cheeks once again flared to a deep rose. He was mortified and delighted all at once. He said to Jack, “Are…? Are you also in need of fuel?”
“I suspect I am in need oftwopies,” he said.
“Oh. There is only bread and butter, and some scones. Shall I call for—why are you laughing?”
Jack leaned forward to scoop Arden closer, an arm around his thighs to tug him between Jack’s as Jack held his teacup out to the side to save from spilling it.
