by Merry Farmer
By the time he made it back to his room, he knew what he had to do. Without missing a step or wasting a second, he threw his satchel aside and sat at his desk, reaching for a sheet of stationary.
“My dear Blake,” he wrote, then paused. Using Blake’s name along with the things he knew he had to write would spell disaster if the letter were somehow intercepted. For Blake’s sake, he couldn’t take the risk.
“Dearest B,” he wrote on a fresh piece of stationary. “I’m so sorry that I pushed things beyond the point where you were comfortable tonight. But I couldn’t keep my feelings for you a secret any longer. I have to be honest, considering what happened between us just now. I have wanted you from the moment I first saw you. And I mean that in deeper terms than kisses and passion. My soul feels as though it has known yours through many lifetimes. We fit together in so many ways, as the last week has proven. Yes, I am filled with a burning desire to know you in every way and to enjoy so much more than what we did tonight. But I was wrong to thrust those things on you without asking first.”
He raised an eyebrow at his own phrasing, but his passions were too deeply engaged to stop.
“Please accept my deepest apologies, not for what we did, but for how we started. My sincerest hope is that we can continue to so much more from here. I will never forget the intensity of your kiss. Your taste will be in my mouth always. I’ve had a glimpse of heaven, and now it is a dream I won’t ever be able to leave behind. Say you want me too and I promise you we will find a way to enter heaven’s gates together. Yours passionately, N.”
As soon as he was finished, he made sure the ink was dry and folded the letter, stuffing it into an envelope and scribbling the address of Blake’s flat without writing his name. Once that was done, he launched away from his desk and out of his room, searching for one of the hall boys who ran errands for the occupants of the dorm.
“Deliver this right away and there will be an extra shilling in it for you,” he told one of the lads when he found one.
“Yes, sir.” The boy took the letter and the coin Niall gave him and rushed off.
Only when Niall was back in his room, stripping off his clothes and catching a faint hint of Blake’s scent on him did he wonder if he’d just made a crucial mistake. Blake might reject him entirely. That would be humiliating enough, but they still had a play to produce.
Chapter 6
Niall was deliberately late to rehearsal the next day. His heart beat in his throat as he approached the auditorium. He broke out in a sweat at the sound of his cast chatting and laughing. He would recognize Blake’s laugh anywhere, and it was definitely a part of whatever merriment was going on in the auditorium. The thought of facing Blake after what had passed between them and after the letter he’d so rashly sent was enough to have Niall breaking out in hives. He paused just outside of the auditorium door to catch his breath and steady his nerves. It didn’t help that he’d hardly slept a wink the night before either. He was exhausted, his nerves were rattled, he had a rehearsal to run and a play to produce, and his heart was on the line.
With one final breath, he gathered his courage and marched into the auditorium.
“Sorry I’m late,” he told the full complement of his cast as he strode down one of the auditorium’s aisles to the table set up for him near the front. “I was studying and I lost track of time.” He nodded to Ian, glanced at the bits and pieces of the set that had been built since the last time he’d visited the auditorium, and waved to the accompanist, who sat at the piano on the stage. Only after he’d done absolutely everything he could think of to occupy his attention did he dare to peek at the group of men where Blake stood.
“Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us.” Paul came forward to clap Niall on the back as he slipped his satchel off his shoulder and set it on the table.
Niall didn’t have the first clue what Paul was talking about. Blake talked and laughed with Morton’s group in the front corner of the auditorium, looking as though he didn’t have a care in the world. He was perfectly groomed and slouched over his seat with casual ease. When Morton and the others stood to make their way to the stage for rehearsal, Blake followed with perfect elegance and grace.
Niall remembered the way Blake’s hips felt in his hands, the way his skin smelled and his prick tasted. He remembered the enthusiasm in the way Blake had kissed him and the joy he’d felt at the plaintive sounds Blake had made when he came close to coming. When the accompanist played the first few notes of the opening number of his play, Niall remembered the clash of sound when Blake had gripped his piano’s keyboard as Niall sank to his knees.
At last, Blake sent the briefest of looks in Niall’s direction. In a flash, Niall could see that his casual demeanor and joking with the other men was a façade. The intensity in Blake’s eyes was enough to shake Niall to his core. But he had a rehearsal to run.
“Are we going to tackle Act Two today?” Paul asked, still standing by Niall’s side.
“Hmm? Oh. Yes.” Niall cleared his throat.
Paul narrowed his eyes slightly, then glanced to the stage. Niall’s face was already hot, but he felt as though it heated even more when a flash of understanding dawned in Paul’s expression. Paul grinned slightly, then stepped away from Niall. “All right, then,” he said, starting toward the stage.
A burst of frustration hit Niall. Paul clearly thought he knew something, but there was nothing to know. Nothing that had been stated, at least. It didn’t matter how desperately Niall wanted there to be something for Paul to smirk about, he couldn’t, with all honestly, say there was anything between him and Blake. Except for everything. Everything unspoken.
“Time is wasting,” Niall said, using every last one of his acting skills to pretend that nothing was wrong and that he was in full control of the situation as he took his script from his satchel and started toward the stage. “We need to make certain we’ve mastered the blocking for Act Two as well as the choreography for the finale.”
“If you can even call it choreography,” Morton said, elbowing Blake, who stood next to him.
Niall swallowed the rush of jealousy that accompanied the grin Blake sent Morton in return. He had a job to do. It didn’t matter that that job involved playing opposite the man he’d fellated the evening before, a man he wasn’t sure returned his feelings, a man he might just have humiliated himself for. His responsibility was to his cast.
“Let’s start by running through the Act Two opening number.” He nodded to the accompanist, who launched into the cheery number.
Slowly but surely, Niall’s back unclenched, allowing him to make actual progress in directing his cast through the second act. It was a relief how fast Morton and the other chorus members had picked up their songs. He didn’t even mind Morton inventing choreography of his own to accompany them. The more of them that were dedicated to the show the better, as far as Niall was concerned. And who knew? Perhaps Morton had a secret desire to choreograph, though Niall would have been shocked beyond belief if it turned out that Morton was an invert.
Rehearsing the scenes between songs turned out to be the most challenging part of the rehearsal, particularly the scenes Niall and Blake played with each other. As they came closer and closer to the scene that had unraveled with an entirely different ending the evening before, Niall’s palms grew sweaty and his heart refused to settle.
“Reinhold, I was wrong to censure you for stealing a bride for me.” Blake crossed the stage to clap Ian on the shoulder, a move that took him farther away from Niall instead of closer, as they’d rehearsed several days before. Ian reacted too strongly, but rather than stopping to tell him to stop being a ham, Niall let Blake continue, panic growing in his gut. “You will be showered with riches and honors for your part in this.”
“And you will have my eternal gratitude.” Niall’s voice cracked on his line. He cleared his throat, moving closer to Ian as well and using him as a shield between him and Blake.
“Aren’t the two of
you meant to be saying this whole part over there?” Ian asked with a frown, scanning through the penciled notes in his script.
“It felt more natural to cross to Reinhold for this line,” Blake told Niall.
Their eyes met and held for the first time since the rehearsal had started. It was as though lightning cracked over the stage. Niall couldn’t breathe. The intensity of feeling in Blake’s eyes bored into his soul, but whether that emotion was fear or anger or passion, Niall couldn’t tell.
“It’s just that I have written right here that you do that part over there,” Ian said, pointing with the pencil in his right hand to the other side of the stage.
“If it feels more natural to be here….” Niall started, letting the sentence fade.
“I’m not sure I trust my instincts when it comes to what feels natural,” Blake said, still holding Niall’s gaze.
Niall could have murdered him on the spot. Aside from the fact that he would say something with such deep meaning while Ian was standing between the two of them, it was an abdication of responsibility.
“You’re going to have to decide that for yourself,” Niall said, stepping away and turning his back to Blake.
Blake cleared his throat and delivered the line, “Come, my darling. Let us celebrate our union instead of denying it. Let all the kingdom celebrate with us.”
Niall turned back to him, sucking in a breath and wondering whether Blake would dare to kiss him on the stage, in front of everyone else. All he did was march past Ian to stand directly by Niall’s side, studying his script as though it held the answers to every question in the universe in its pages.
“And that’s where we kiss,” Blake said without looking up.
“My hero,” Niall said, his jaw clenched.
The accompanist dove into the opening bars of the final song that would end the show. Morton and his chorus shifted into place and Niall crossed to sweep Blake into the position the two of them were supposed to have for the final number. The other, minor characters moved into place as well.
In the midst of the burst of movement, Blake pulled something flat out of the pocket of his jacket and slipped it subtly into Niall’s pocket. Without meeting his eyes or acknowledging what he’d done, Blake took Niall’s hand and moved to center stage as he began to sing.
Niall could hardly remember the words to the song that he’d written. Blake had slipped a letter into his pocket, he was certain. He wanted to read it so badly that the corners of his vision blurred. Morton made a few suggestions about choreography for the finale that Niall agreed to without truly noting what they were.
As soon as the final strains of the finale faded and the cast dissolved into applauding themselves and chattering, Niall wanted to bolt out of the room to read Blake’s letter. Rehearsal was far from over, though.
“Excellent,” he said, feigning a smile as he peeled away from Blake and moved to the front of the stage, where he could address his cast as a whole. “Morton, I like what you did with the dancing bits. Why don’t you run through that again while the rest of us take a quick break?”
The chorus members glanced to Morton, then followed his instructions as they shifted into positions. Blake pretended to be interested in what they were doing as he moved to the end of the stage, then hopped down and took a seat in the house to watch. Gregory moved to sit with him, attempting to start a conversation that Blake didn’t seem particularly interested in. Blake’s glance kept cheating over to Niall as he walked to the stairs and descended into the house.
They were on opposite sides of the auditorium, as far away from each other as they could get. Anyone stepping in to observe for the first time would think they had no interest in each other and no connection whatsoever outside of the play. But as Niall reached for the letter in his pocket, he knew better. He held his breath as he unfolded the neat sheets and began to read.
“Dearest N.” His stomach did a somersault at the tenderness of the greeting.
“I found out something that you’re definitely going to want to know,” Ian said directly at Niall’s side.
Niall gasped and flinched away from him, clapping the letter to his chest. He hadn’t noticed Ian descending from the stage right behind him. The man leaned far too close to him now. “What did you find out?” he asked, dreading the possibility that Ian knew something about him and Blake.
Ian’s smug grin grew twice as crafty. “That medallion that Professor Carroll had made as the prize for the Classics exam,” he said. “He really did send the wrong scarab to the craftsman. I checked up on it myself.”
Niall blinked at him, no idea what he was talking about. “Oh?” he asked out of politeness.
“Yes.” Ian’s eyes flashed with avarice as he pivoted to stand just in front of Niall, blocking Blake from his view. “I had a long conversation about it with Miss Annamarie Cannon last night. She’s fascinated with Egypt, you know. I told her all about the value of the scarab and how whoever wins that medallion would be able to sell it for a small fortune.”
“I still don’t see how an expert like Professor Carroll would be careless enough to let go of a priceless artifact,” Niall said. What he wanted to say was, “Get the hell away from me, you fool. Can’t you see I have a love letter to read?”
“I’m going to win that prize,” Ian went on. “And I’m going to win Annamarie Cannon’s heart as well.”
“Best of luck to you,” Niall said as dismissively as he could without being overtly rude.
“So your little friend, Lord Stanley, had better be on his guard.”
It took Niall a moment to remember that Blake was Lord Stanley, a marquess, a one-day duke. As far as Niall was concerned, he was the man who had kissed him like his life depended on it the night before. He was the man who had penned unknown treasures that he held in his hands right then and there.
“I’m sure he will be,” Niall said with a tight smile. “Now, if you will excuse me, I…I need to find a water closet before we start the second half of rehearsal.”
He pushed away from the wall, charging up the aisle to the hall and hoping Ian wouldn’t follow. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Blake turning his head and following him with his eyes. That only caused Niall’s gut to clench harder.
He was lucky that there was a private room directly across from the auditorium. He dashed into it, shut the door behind him, and moved to the window so that he had enough light to read Blake’s letter.
“Dearest N. I should be the one to apologize, not you. I don’t know where to begin to describe my feelings earlier. I can’t sleep for thinking about it and replaying every glorious moment in my mind. I never should have sent you away so callously. I shouldn’t have sent you away at all. But if we’re being honest with each other, which I think we must be at this point, I was so shocked by everything that I wasn’t thinking straight.
“The truth is that I’ve wanted you as you’ve wanted me from the moment you proved to be so wonderful at auditions. I’ve wanted to kiss you and to hold you in my arms, run my fingers through your hair, and taste your skin, from the moment you smiled at me as I sang and played.”
A strangled sound of victory erupted from Niall’s lungs and tears of joy stung his eyes.
“But you have to understand,” Blake went on, “these feelings are entirely new to me. I won’t lie and say I’ve never been attracted to men before. I have. I always have been. I had resigned myself to never do anything about it, though. My plan was for that attraction to be something distant, at the back of my mind, to be ignored. I even fancied I could force myself to be normal and feel those same feelings for women, to the point where I’ve acted on it in order to fit in. But the moment your smile warmed me and your wit enthralled me, I knew pretending was a hopeless cause.
“Everything we did earlier this evening was a revelation for me. Nothing has ever felt so good as kissing you and touching you. Nothing has ever aroused me more than knowing that we could do anything and no one would stop us. I c
annot begin to describe the power and pride I felt when you came in my hand, or the agonizing bliss of your mouth bringing me to orgasm. I’m hard all over again thinking about it now.
“But I’m also terrified, and I know you could sense it. I have so much at risk when it comes to love. I’ve known since the cradle what my life is supposed to be. I know that I can’t have what I truly want, and what I truly want is you. Or rather, I know that the odds are stacked impossibly against us. I can’t stop thinking about you, though. I can’t stop wanting you, aching for you. If I don’t kiss you again soon, I’ll go mad. If I don’t follow this passion wherever it leads, I’ll be the worst sort of coward imaginable. But I’m lost and frightened. I don’t know what to do. Help me to do the right thing. Yours, B.”
Niall was panting and tears streamed down his face as he finished the letter and pressed it to his heart. Blake wanted him. He’d been right all along. He’d enjoyed what they’d done the night before. But he was conflicted. Niall felt the pain of Blake’s words as though it were his own pain. The world Blake came from and the expectations that had been heaped on his shoulders were a world away from his own circumstances. He could hardly blame the man for being confused and anxious. But Blake wanted him. That was all that mattered.
He folded the letter carefully, tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket, then splashed a bit of cold water from the jug on the table under the window over his face. As he headed back to the auditorium, he was certain he looked a mess. At least he could blame it on the same thing every other student at the university could blame red, puffy eyes and distraction on—studying and the strain of looming exams.
“Sorry for the delay,” he announced as he strode back into the room. He thought about adding an excuse for his absence, but opted against it as he strode to the stage with renewed vigor. “Let’s run through the last couple of scenes. Chorus members, if you’re satisfied with your dance, you’re free to go.”