Page 50 of A Taste for the Peculiar

They both groan. She molds her hand against the back of theirs, her body warm on either side of the cool mud. It oozes between both their fingers, seeping outward, too much to be contained until his handprint is left on her skin.

He could get drunk on it: the contrast, the sensation, the way her eyes change when he touches her there. He pulls her toward him by the throat, and her eyes go glassy, her hands fumbling with his suspenders.

Pye smirks. “Do you really want the first time you take me to be right here?”

She makes a sound of frustration, nearly tearing the fabric of his shirt in two. “I don’t care where it is!”

“I do.”

Her movements slow. The shadows of the leaves above them hug her face. In this light, her irises look almost black, like they could spread and engulf the rest of her eyes. How would that make her feel? Would she still hide it? Or would she finally let him see all of her?

“I want to give you everything you desire.” Pye fights the temptation of her full figure pressed against theirs. “But I require more than indifference.” When he looks at her, both their eyelids grow heavy. He forces his voice to maintain its resolve. “The first time you have me, there will be no detachment. No distractions. Only intention.” His open mouth drags against hers. When they breathe together, it’s almost louder than his whisper. “Can you give me that, Avi?”

A strangled noise escapes her. He has never called her that. He isn’t quite sure where it came from, but his thoughts of her have long been more intimate than the world allows. Every moment they spend together makes him feel closer to her, and he wants a name that shows it. A name no one else has ever used. A name that encapsulates the sweetness he tastes every time he looks at her.

After that, Avirin kisses him so soundly that he begins to regret his conviction.

Once they return to the house and clean themselves, Pye and Selbie begin work on the newest section of the herb garden. It’s a project he’s taken particular interest in, and they spend a few hours planting seeds until Avirin comes to retrieve them for dinner.

She looks over their work curiously. “Emory will be pleased with new spices.”

“They’re medicinal herbs, actually.” Pye stands and wipes the dirt from their hands. “I would like to be able to grow certain ingredients myself. To brew my own potions.”

Avirin nods absently, but when she recognizes Pye’s sober expression, her lips part. “Do you mean…”

Selbie rises as well. “Apple seeds are the main ingredient in abortive elixirs. Did you know that? It’s meticulous work. The seeds have to be added in perfect quantities. Too little, and the potion is ineffective. Too much, and it’ll kill the drinker. The brewing requires a sensitive hand.” She nudges Pye’s arm and moves toward the cottage. “The delicate touch of a painter.”

Pye flexes their fingers. Once Selbie leaves, he lowers his voice so only Avirin can hear. “I do not want to rely on back alley deals to get you what you need. I want to provide everything that will keep you safe. I want to ensure you are never trapped with child. And, in the process, perhaps I will discover something new to help you. Terminating pregnancy is one thing, but would it not be better to prevent it entirely? I imagine it would be easier on the body, and…”

He quiets at the look on her face. Her lip trembles in the fading light, the sunset reflecting off the wetness in her eyes.

“Oh, Avirin…” Pye reaches for her and thumbs a tear away. “Perhaps my hopes are too lofty.”

Avirin shakes her head, clenching her fists before she flings herself toward Pye. She wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face against his chest, and he pulls her closer, soothing the palms of his hands against her back.

After a long moment, she pulls back and swipes at her eyes. “Thank you.” Her voice is brittle, but she clears it. “I don’t suppose you have a potion to deal with Lord Reid as well.”

Pye stills dreadfully. “Have you encountered him since that night? Has he harmed you?”

“No, no.” Avirin crosses her arms over her chest. “I just keep remembering the awful things he said. For a while, I was simply relieved to be away from him, but now, I’ve begun to fear for the next girl he gets his hands on.” Her eyes go glassy and distant. “What will he do to her? What if she can’t escape it?”

Pye hardly has to imagine it. He has dried the other courtesans’ tears after their assignations with Reid. He has heard the horrific tales. With a scowl, Pye looks over the plant bed before they turn their gaze toward the orchard. “Perhaps I will acquire a few more herbs before this is said and done.”

After dinner, Pye writes a letter to an old friend to invite him for a day trip. Although Avirin does her best to hide it, Pye notices the way her eyes dart warily at the suggestion.

His fingers trail along her forearm. “I know greeting the unknown is not among your favorite pastimes, but I believe you’ll enjoy our guest. He’s a professor with a particular interest in poetry.”

She perks up at that.

When Rollo arrives, Avirin is a mix of nerves and intrigue. He’s a rather stout man with graying hair and mismatched stockings, but he seems to intimidate Avirin. She lingers beside Pye, hesitantly greeting their guest and listening while he and Pye reconnect. It’s not until their second round of pall mall that her temperature shifts.

“What are you reading these days, Lord Riften?” Rollo calls over his shoulder, knocking the boxwood ball toward one end of the field. “You’ve always had such eclectic taste, and I could do with expanding my horizons.”

Pye can’t help but smile. “My dearest Avirin recently reintroduced me to the works of Donne.”

Avirin looks up sharply.

Pye lifts a cheeky brow. “His works have far more depth than I gave him credit for. Wouldn’t you agree?”