by Megan Derr
Jewell curled his hand around Addison's arm and tugged him forward. "Addison, this is Jorge Meyer, assistant curator of the Farther Museum. Jorge, this is Addison Dewhurst. He's been in the city for some time now, but has not yet had the opportunity to visit the museums. I thought to correct that, especially since I wanted to look at the new mummy exhibit."
"Most assuredly. I've been quite despondent you've never been by to see it. I shall leave you gentlemen to wander as you like. Should you require anything, you know where to find me."
"Thank you," Jewell said with a bright smile. Jorge bowed, and departed, and Jewell snagged the cuff of Addison's jacket, dragging him out of the entryway and into the museum proper.
He then looped arms with Addison, smile widening. "Anything in particular you would like to see first?"
Addison shook his head. "I'm content simply to be here. Thank you very much."
Jewell laughed. "The pleasure is mine, I promise. I never get to do this, anymore, let alone bring with me someone who shares my interests. Come on, then, we'll go look at the new exhibit first." He dragged Addison through the halls, but along the way stopped at nearly everything, rambling and chattering, rattling off a startling amount of information—but it thrilled Addison beyond anything. Here was someone who knew what he was talking about when he mentioned the odd bit of history, made a comment about this war, that king. Better still, Jewell discussed and debated with him.
Through the museum they went, talking and laughing, and more than once he half-thought—or probably imagined—he saw that spark in Jewell's eyes he'd seen before… but he didn't dare get his hopes up. It was more than he'd ever dared think about to have this day at all, precisely as it was; anything more just seemed greedy.
Still, he would probably lie in bed that night and re-imagine the entire thing with kisses and more given not in desperation.
They were pouring avidly over an ancient religious text when a polite cough made him jump.
Jorge smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, but the two of you have been here for five hours, and the museum is starting to get busy. I thought you would probably like to be off to your club, my boy, to take an early lunch? I sent word ahead you'd be arriving shortly."
"Thank you," Jewell replied. "That is perfect." He took Addison's hand. "We'll go out the back way."
Chuckling, Jorge said, "A carriage is waiting for you. It was good to see you, lad, and I do hope to see you and Master Addison again sometime soon. Good day to you both."
"And you, Jorge," Jewell said, and dragged Addison off even as he tried to make his own thank you. Outside, the carriage which waited for them was definitely not one of the somewhat questionable public ones. It was too well made, to luxuriously detailed, and 2the horses far too fine, for something open to general use.
The inside was finer still, and more comfortable than half the parlor chairs Addison was often forced to sit in. "Um—where are we going?"
"My club," Jewell replied absently, glancing out the window at something, a slight frown on his face. But then he dropped the curtain and smiled at Addison. "Well, one of them—my favorite. The Songbird Society, it's called. My uncle owns it, though he's not been in the city for an age, more's the pity." He sighed softly, but before Addison could say anything, the smile returned and he said, "Anyway, the Songbird Society is a fine club, quiet and mild in nature. It's open to all walks and stations. You'd be more than welcome, should you find any interest in joining."
Addison smiled politely and nodded. As if he could afford the membership fees for such a club. Still, the thought was nice.
"We can discuss what to do the rest of the day while we eat. Oh, I suppose I should inquire as to when I must return you to your guardian." He waggled his brows playfully.
Addison laughed. "I do not think Uncle cares, so long as I am present for the appropriate parties and out of his sight otherwise."
Jewell made a face. "He sounds an… interesting… fellow, your Uncle. Who did you say he was?"
"Lord Mortimer Dewhurst, Baron of Krane."
"Mm," Jewell said thoughtfully. "I know the name. No doubt I've met him before and simply did not mark him." He winked. “You could not have been along on the occasion; you, I would have marked."
Addison flushed. "I usually try to stay out of the way."
Jewell laughed. "Me too. I bet it's loads easier for you. Perhaps you'll tell me where you hide. I think hiding with you would be vastly more interesting than the parties."
"Hiding's not very exciting," Addison said.
In reply, Jewell smiled in a way that made Addison feel hot and fluttery, made more heat pool low in his belly. "Two hiding is vastly more interesting than one."
"Um—" Before Addison could figure out how to respond, the coach was stopping and the driver was announcing their arrival.
"Come on, then," Jewell said, and dragged him out, and Addison wondered in amusement if Jewell always dragged his guests along everywhere. Then again, with as much energy as Jewel seemed to possess, he doubted it was possible to keep up without Jewell dragging him.
And he really didn't mind being happily dragged along. It was far better than morose orders to hurry along, now.
Inside, they were met by a footman dressed in handsome, dark green livery. "Your room is ready, my lord," he said, sketching Jewell a bow.
"Splendid. Thank you. This is Addison Dewhurst. He is my guest. See that permanent arrangements are made for him on my behalf."
"Very good, my lord."
"We'll go up now," Jewell continued. "Should anyone come to bother me, send them away again or at least hold them off as long as you can."
The footman's mouth twitched ever so briefly in a smile he could not quite catch and hold back in time. "Very good, my lord." He bowed again as they walked past him.
Jewell led Addison up a flight of stairs, then down a hallway to the room all the way at the end.
It was a handsome room, decorated in dark blue with touches of lighter blues and grays all about. The corner was taken over by a massive bay window, with benches to sit and watch the streets and street corner below, at least when the drapes were drawn. At the far end of the room was a sitting area, one half of it set up with a dining table.
Tucked into the remaining corner was a modest four poster bed. Addison looked hastily away from it, and focused instead on the delectable smells coming from the table.
"Smells good, but the cook here is never less than perfect. My uncle again—he won't tolerate poor food." He rested a hand on the small of Addison's back and guided him gently toward the table. "Have a seat. Enjoy. I'll poor the wine."
"Um—" Addison felt there was something he should say or do, and he was very certain Jewell should not be pouring him wine, but in the end he could only take his seat with a soft, "All right."
Jewell beamed at him, then poured a wine the color of rubies into two crystal glasses. He handed one to Addison, then took his own seat. "So, what do you normally do day to day, back home?"
Addison took a sip of the wine, then immediately another, loving the fruitiness of it, the hints of honey and vanilla. "Nothing terribly interesting. I help my father deliver the post in the morning, and run the office in the evening. Otherwise, my time is largely my own. I read, study, tutor some of the children. I've been trying to save money to perhaps take a few classes at the University, but…" He flushed to realize what he'd just admitted, without even thinking about it. "I'm no scholar."
"You seem like you could be," Jewell replied. "Your uncle won't let you attend any classes while you're here in the city?"
"No," Addison said. "He says it's a foolish waste of time."
"Is there such a thing as a sensible waste of time?" Jewell asked, rolling his eyes. He took a bite of roasted potato, chewed, swallowed, then said, "I think it's a pity. You'd love classes, and you'd sit through them much better than I."
Addison laughed before he could catch himself, and drank more wine. The thought flitted through h
is mind that he should watch how much drank, but it drifted away again with the next sip. "You don't seem particularly skilled at holding still, it's true. Oh—I mean—"
Jewell burst out laughing. "It is true. People quite despair of it, but then again, I'm very good at all things requiring movement. Including talking, but you probably figured that one out."
Addison hid a smile in his wine glass, but Jewell's snicker said he hadn't hidden it very well.
"Eat up," Jewell said. "Don't want the food to go to waste, and you don't want that wine to go straight to your head, which it will if you're not careful. I should know. I had to attend the Royal Ball last autumn, and decided a glass of wine beforehand would suitably fortify me. One glass turned into a great deal more, and that Ball was a grand time until my mother got hold of me and realized I was drunk. She dragged me off and beat it right out of me." He made a face and took a generous swallow of the wine himself. "I swear I need to fortify myself every time I'm forced to endure that woman."
"I'm sorry," Addison said. "It does seem you have quite the time of it. At least in a few months, I'll return home and no longer have to hide at balls and such."
Jewell shrugged. "I make it sound worse than it is, and given all I enjoy in life, I've really no right to complain. And I'm trying to charm you, so I must stop complaining and whining."
Addison flushed at that. "Why—I mean, you don't have to charm me." He didn't need to, because Addison was already well and truly charmed. Infatuated, really. Who could fail to be so around Jewell? His name really did suit him, bright and colorful and beautiful…
And so far beyond Addison's means. He took another sip of wine to dull the sudden ache twisting in his chest.
"You're looking sad again," Jewell said. "I warned you about doing that." He stood up and moved around the table, and tugged Addison to his feet.
"What—mm—" Addison gasped, shocked beyond anything to realize Jewell was kissing him.
Jewell took it as permission and pushed the kiss deeper, claiming Addison's mouth, one hand curling around Addison's hip, gently tugging him closer. His other hand sank into Addison's hair at the nape of his neck, tilting his head just so as the kiss grew more fevered.
Addison had no idea where to put his hands, but finally rested them tentatively on Jewell's chest. As the kiss continued, grew deeper still, hungrier, harder, his arms moved of their own volition to twine around Jewell's neck.
"Why—" he swallowed. "Why'd you do that?"
Jewell smiled, all mischief and pleased with himself. "Because I've badly wanted to since shamelessly stealing that first kiss. And you looked sad, and I don't like you looking sad. What thoughts upset you?"
"Um—" Addison flushed, embarrassed, and looked everywhere but at Jewell. But Jewell caught his jaw, forced him to look back up.
"What?" Jewell asked again.
"I shouldn't be here," Addison confessed. "I'm nowhere remotely close to you. You—you are a jewel, and I'm barely even—"
"I don't care," Jewell said softly, but firmly. There was so much confidence there, so much assurance, Addison couldn't remember what all his arguments had been.
Jewell kissed him again, slower, sweeter, and Addison could only go along with it. Come tomorrow, he'd have to go back to his normal life with his Uncle, and eventually he'd go home. He would never see Jewell again.
So damn it, he would enjoy this day, and endure the consequences that followed. They'd be worth it.
His head spun a bit, though from the wine, the kisses, or a combination of the two, he wasn't certain.
Jewell drew back slightly, nibbling at his mouth in a way that made Addison shiver. "Would you like to go out again, or shall we stay in?"
His implication was clear, and Addison was suddenly a nervous wreck. "Um—I've never—"
"Shh," Jewell said, kissing him softly, lips barely touching. "Whatever you want, so long as it's not the wine talking."
Addison managed a faint smile at that. "I didn't have that much wine. I—I want to stay in."
Jewell made a rough, pleased noise, but his kiss was only another of the slow, sweet ones before he dragged Addison across the room to the bed in the corner.
*~*~*
Jewell woke with a jerk at the knock on the door. Three hard raps as sharp as the man doing the knocking. He sat up in bed and pushed back the bedclothes, careful not to disturb Addison.
Beautiful; Addison really was the most beautiful man. His dark blond hair held the barest hints of red, and his eyes were the darkest, deepest blue Jewell had ever seen. Soft, pale skin that flushed so charmingly at the slightest provocation, a calm, level voice that made the sweetest sounds when—
Best not to think about that again. He bent and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Addison's shoulder, breathing in their scents still mingled on Addison's unbelievably soft skin.
The knock came again, and Jewell stifled a sigh, climbing out of bed and snagging his shirt, pulling it over his head before striding to the door and yanking it open, scowling at the man who slipped inside. "Go away, Daimon."
"You may elude everyone else as you see fit, Highness, but avoiding me never works for very long and you really shouldn't do it."
Jewell scoffed at this the way he always did. "Please. My father is not even fifth in line for the throne anymore. I'm his youngest child of three. No one would bother to harm or kidnap me, or anything else." Then he added with a mutter, "Except Tina; she'd love to kill me."
Daimon almost cracked a smile at that. "Highness, your parents will kill you, if you persist in this behavior. I have been ordered to bring you home, one way or another."
Jewell sighed. "They only want me home so I can dance all night with that one ambassador's nitwit daughter, then take a few turns with Tina, until I get so desperately sick of one I agree to marry the other."
Daimon started to speak, but abruptly stopped, head titling in curiosity as he looked across the room. "So it's true, you're not alone. Who are you dallying with, Highness?"
"No one," Jewell snapped. "He's no one at all and he has no idea who I am, and I want it to stay that way."
The look Daimon gave him was firm, but not without sympathy and understanding. "You're a prince; that sort of thing never remains a secret."
Jewell grimaced. "Go downstairs, Daimon. I'll be down in not more than an hour, and go along home like a good little boy."
"His name, Highness."
"No—"
"His name."
"Addison Dewhurst," Jewell said tersely. “He is the son of a post worker in the village of Whitson. He's harmless, and sweet and smart—"
"And not for you to keep," Daimon said.
Jewell scowled again. "If it worked for Uncle—"
"Your uncle paid a very high price to be with his secretary," Daimon cut in. "Anyway, you've known this mysterious post worker's son for what, all of a few hours?"
Unable to refute that, Jewell said nothing.
"You are what you are, Jewell," Daimon said as gently as he was able. "That means you are handed much of the world, but it also means that certain things will never be yours."
"Like happiness," Jewell said bitterly.
"Do not be petulant," Daimon said sternly. "One hour, Highness. I will wait downstairs. Do not run."
"I won't," Jewell said. "I promise." He closed the door as Daimon left, and leaned against it, sighing softly. Glancing up, he regarded Addison, still dead to the world in the bed where they had so recently…
What would Addison's parents and uncle say, if they knew Addison had netted himself a prince?
What would Addison say? Jewell dreaded thinking about it.
He dreaded the parting he was about to initiate even more, but there was no help for it. Better he did it now, himself, than Daimon reappearing to put an end to things his way. Reluctantly he pushed away from the door and strode back to the bed.
To avoid temptation, he got dressed first, then finally climbed into bed to wake Addison. Bending ov
er he kissed Addison softly, then shook him gently awake. Addison stared at him a moment, groggy and disoriented—but then his eyes popped open, and his face went red in that endearing way of his.
But then he frowned, staring at Jewell's clothes. "I should go, shouldn't I?"
Jewell felt like a bastard. "I have to go. Invariably, they always find me and drag me home. I am sorry. Believe me, I beg of you, when I say that I'd rather stay here with you."
Addison nodded and sat up—eyes so damned honest and earnest, like nothing Jewell had ever seen in anyone's eyes, ever. They struck him like a fist. "I believe you."
He'd known all along how this would end. Jewell felt lower than he ever had. Addison had known, perhaps better than Jewell, that at some point he'd have to go. Jewell kissed him, hard and desperate, holding fast, wishing there was some way he wouldn't have to let go. "I'm sorry," he said miserably when he finally drew back.
"Don't be," Addison said. "I—um—I'm not."
Making a rough noise, unable to form coherent words, Jewell dragged him close and kissed him again. "I want to see you again. Even if only for a little while."
"Uh—all right. But where?" Addison asked.
Jewell smiled. "How about where we met? It would have to be even earlier than this morning, though, I'm afraid. Else they'll catch me."
Addison laughed. "Me too. I'll do my best, but, um, don't be upset if I do not show? If my cousin is feeling well again, I'll have to be there to dance attendance upon him."
"It could be hard for me to slip away, too," Jewell murmured. "Thank you for spending the day with me. I'm sorry I'm being a right bastard at the moment."
"You're not," Addison said softly. "Um—I'm happy we met. I'd feel the same if we never met again. But, um, I hope I'll see you tomorrow morning."
Jewell kissed him one last time, then forced himself to get out of bed. "I'll make arrangements for you to get home, and should you want, you are always welcome here. I've taken care of your membership here—don't protest. It is the very least I can do. Who knows," he added, forcing a smile, "maybe we'll run into each other here sometime."
Addison nodded, but Jewell could already tell he'd never see Addison at the club. Hell, after Addison learned he was a prince…