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Was it too much... too much to concede?
But then, what he did with his hand, was that not vozmutítel’nyj, scandalous?
And yet, he craved it.
I felt it.
Why did he not let himself be touched?
And I... I stood motionless, enjoying it like a damned soul, without moving a finger, without taking him, without... without pressing my lips to his as I had wanted.
Which of the two of us carries the true madness?
With a sudden gesture, I slam the glass onto the table, some wine overflows, ending up in the consommé. I sigh and push the plate away, distancing myself from the sight of that which does not satiate me.
A sharp knock sounds at the door, which opens, and Lucien bursts in.
“Brother, you have sequestered yourself here.”
I spear a potato with my fork and answer without taking my eyes from the documents.
“I have work to attend to.”
He places tickets on the table, his fingers lingering a moment before releasing the weight. I raise an eyebrow, the fork remaining suspended between my fingers, the morsel halfway between plate and mouth.
“They are tickets for the trains and the ferry.”
I chew, swallowing slowly.
“Are we going somewhere?”
His gaze freezes, surprised.
“We are to go to Brittany. Do you not remember?”
I set the fork on the plate.
“Brittany?”
“To Château de Lestrieux,” he explains impatiently. “Did you not say you thought Duke Lestrade would be in France? His family’s castle is in Brittany, according to the documents I found.”
“I said he would be in France, not that he would be at the primary castle.”
He thins his lips. “Do you no longer wish to go, then?”
My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose as I rub it with a brief, irritated movement, seeking relief from the tension pulsing between my temples and eyes.
“I did not say that, Lucien.”
“Are you well, Dorian? You look terrible.”
“Is that so?” I reply ironically, my gaze shifting toward the door.
He turns, following my gaze, then looks back at me, suspicious.
“Are you expecting someone, perhaps?”
“No. I am expecting no one.”
