by Nia Farrell
I found both of them in the library after I saw two unused place settings in the dining room. Daniel had dressed for the day but had not yet eaten. Instead, he was burrowed in Edward’s paper, waiting for me to descend.
I kissed the top of his head and ruffled his ginger hair. “Good morning” I said cheerfully. For some reason, the thought of having my things filled me with pleasure. “Shall we eat? You must be starving.”
I knew that his metabolism was like that of a teenage boy. Daniel was a veritable bottomless pit. I made mental note to warn Babs to double whatever Edward and I ate.
He grumbled a bit, folded the paper, and stood stiffly.
“The leg?” I asked. In Chicago, he had kept a bottle of whiskey on hand to help ease the pain.
He grimaced and gave me a look, at once sheepish and recalcitrant. “Aye.”
“Then it’s an Irish coffee kind of morning. I’ll have Babs make you some, hmm?”
Daniel’s eyes lit at the prospect. “Do ye think she knows how?”
I arched a brow. “If she didn’t before, she’ll know when we’re through. I’m sharing my trick with her, just for you.”
It was only a drop of vanilla, but to Daniel, that added extra made all the difference.
“Come now. Let’s get you seated and I’ll be back anon.”
Edward’s staff was certainly efficient. Someone had likely listened for my footfalls on the stairs (since I nearly always dressed myself) and sent word to the kitchen for breakfast to be brought up. The sideboard held steaming dishes and cold delights, and I left Daniel to them whilst I paid Babs a call. A short time later, I glided into the dining room, followed by Young Frank bearing gifts.
Daniel’s eyes lit at the sight of the foaming cup of his special coffee. They brightened even more when he spied the oatmeal topped with his favorite mix of chopped pecans, brown sugar, and currants. Babs had sent up another creamer, in case the first one lacked enough to satisfy his love for dairy.
Daniel loved cream—fresh, whipped, or churned into sweet butter. He enjoyed milk almost as much. Make him a pot of potato soup, and he was in Irish heaven.
He settled for a taste of paradise, abandoning what looked like his second plate of breakfast fare in favor of what we’d brought. I filled my own plate from the sideboard and returned to the table, taking my seat across from him, unfolding and spreading my napkin across my skirt.
I concentrated on eating, ignoring the increasingly intimate looks cast in my direction when Daniel thought I wasn’t looking. He was remembering me. Us. But the thought of intimacies so soon after Edward’s rough use made me wonder if I could physically handle the needs of two virile men. It would be my choice, I knew. Daniel would not touch me without permission. One word from me, and Edward would immediately stop whatever he was doing. Nonetheless, I had to admit, after living six years as a male, it was flattering to be so openly admired and desired as a woman. If I was too sore to reciprocate one way, well, there were other avenues that we could explore.
Benson arranged livery service—a freight wagon large enough to haul back crates and a driver’s seat that would hold three. Daniel helped me up first, lady that I was, then pulled himself to sit beside me. My protection from falling assured, I rode between him and the driver, an older Irish teamster with thick muscled forearms and large, leather-gloved hands that were adept at handling reins and maneuvering his pair of huge draft horses through London’s traffic.
The warehouse that Edward had secured on my behalf was close to where Daniel’s ship had docked. My crates consumed but a small portion of it, and were set side by side in neat, numbered rows, thanks to Daniel’s foresight. He knew that I would need some things before others, and this was the best way he could think of to make it easier to find specific crates.
His manifest list coupled with his knack for details enabled me to select what to haul to Edward’s. Tools, and more tools. My sketchbooks, papers, and drawing supplies. Easels, palettes, paints, knives, brushes. I had no qualms about leaving the completed sculptures and the blocks of stone, but I wanted my canvases away from the river, high and dry in my third floor studio. Most of my household goods would stay here, too. They wouldn’t be needed until the church’s restoration was completed and the loft made ready.
Knowing that my chattel would have new purpose and be put to the studio’s use was strangely gratifying. After everything that Edward had done and continued to do, this small contribution to the cause added the element of partnership to Edward’s patronage. And of course, there was still Belle, who had not sold, whom I wished to give to Edward, although now, I felt it might be best to wait until Christmas, when I had an excuse to give him a present. I had known how he felt about her when he’d described my stroking her cheek. He would not turn her away, and there was no way that I could allow her to go to another, not when she could further bind the two of us together.
Seamus, our driver, had arranged for muscle to haul and load the crates to go to Edward’s. While the hired help carried the first load out to the wagon, I found the crate with my largest block of marble and placed my palms upon the wood, as if to communicate with the spirit of the stone inside it. In my mind’s eye, I saw every vein, each shade of white, the chips on the corners, the gouge on one side. Just as clearly, my vision took shape, a dream made manifest, Achilles and Patroclus, with Briseis caught between them, the object of Patroclus’s singular desire, while Achilles lusted for both of his lovers, touching one with his hands, the other with his eyes.
Yes. Yes. It would work. It must work. Now that I’d seen it, I had no choice but to make it so.
I opened my eyes to find Daniel, watching, waiting. “Done?” he asked, crooking a grin, knowing full well that I was. “They’re waiting on us.”
“Sorry.” I dropped my hands and straightened. “Yes, I’m done with this one, but I need stone for the study.”
I described the piece that I thought would best suit. Daniel found it on his manifest and had them load it too. Then it was back to Edward’s, where the four pairs of seasoned hands plus Young Frank’s made quick work of things, managing to tackle flights of stairs and negotiate corners without damaging Edward’s woodwork. The carpet bore the brunt of things. A good sweeping would be in order once they left.
Babs, bless her, had lunch brought up to us—slices of leftover roast beef on warm, yeasty bread, a chilled tomato salad, and a basket of fresh fruit. I stole bites between loads, eating a little, then directing the placement of the next crate and the next. I ordered Daniel to eat, refusing to let him haul anything upstairs besides his own self. The ascent to the third floor studio was taxing enough to the hale and hearty, let alone a veteran with a war wound who’d passed the morning in a river-damp warehouse and come down far too hard when he’d dismounted the wagon here at home.
On Young Frank’s next trip up, I sent him for whiskey.
“Here.” I said, handing the bottle and jigger to Daniel. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner. It would have worked faster on an empty stomach.”
“It will still work,” he said, managing to inject a note of hopeful cheer into his voice despite the pinch on his face. By his third round, he’d visibly relaxed.
“Why don’t we take a nap?” I suggested. “Let that leg rest and the whiskey work.”
“Nap?” He looked at me as if I had insulted his manhood. The shifting look on his face as the plurality registered was a series of expressions that my fingers itched to sketch, ending with a twenty-eight-year-old child on Christmas Eve, anticipating the joys that the morrow would bring.
“Your room. And when I said ‘nap,’ I meant it. You’re still favoring your leg. I’m certain that yesterday’s exertions didn’t help it any.”
“No,” he murmured thickly. Ducking his chin to hide his grin, he angled an impish glance at me. “Not the first part, anyway.”
When he’d taken me against the door, unable or unwilling to wait until we reached a bed.
“Yes
. Well. That’s not happening today. You’re going to bed and resting. I’ll stay, if you’ll behave yourself.”
The poor man was crestfallen, but I meant what I said. He should pamper his leg. I was determined to see that he did so. But my wishes were clearly at odds with his needs. As much as my mind argued against it, my heart led me to add, “Still, it won’t hurt to lock the door this time, hmm?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Daniel was more than happy to lie abed with a naked woman in his arms. We had two hours, more or less, before Edward came home, and he was determined to make the most of it. Reclining on our sides facing each other, I rode his hand to a climax while he suckled my breasts, then gave him oral pleasure that had him gasping my nickname in a litany of Lanies. A sharp cry, a break in rhythm, and he was there, forging past my palate and flooding my throat with his seed.
He drifted into sleep, replete, the ghost of a smile still on his face. I was too keyed up to join him, afraid that I was more tired than I realized and I’d be dead to the world come supper time again. Instead I watched him as I’d done in the aftermath of Antietam, taking heart that at least one of us could rest.
I allowed myself an hour, then slipped from his bed, found my clothes in the tangle strewn across the floor, and quietly dressed. The door might be locked, but I had no intention of making Edward—or Babs—wait on us this evening. I wanted to be ready when Edward returned, to give him the time that he’d come to expect from me, and the companionship that he deserved.
I was headed for my water closet, intent on performing post-intimacy ablutions, when I heard the front door open and Benson greet Edward. Choice was taken from me when Edward mounted the stairs. Stopping when he saw my skirts, he called for me to come down and meet him in his study. So summoned, I had no choice but to immediately obey.
“Yes?” I asked, hovering by the door, afraid if I got too close, he’d smell Daniel on me and I didn’t know what he would do. Knowing Edward, it would either incite his lust and he’d take me like a slut, or it would unsettle his mind and punishment would be forthcoming, more than likely followed by Lesson Four or Two or both.
“Come,” he said. “Sit.” He pointed to one of two winged, leather-clad high backed chairs that faced his desk.
Procrastination would only make things worse. I did as I was told and crossed the floor to him, the patterned wool rug softening my footfalls. I sank into place, perched on the edge of my seat in my corseted dress and hoop skirts, expecting Edward to take the other chair. He stayed where he was, hips perched on the front edge of his massive wooden desk, eyeing me intently.
“Where is Daniel?”
“Upstairs napping,” I said. “His leg’s been bothering him today, courtesy of the Minié ball that he took at Fredericksburg. Whiskey helps, but when it gets like this, he needs to rest it. Young Frank pitched in and helped haul the crates upstairs. I hope to unpack tomorrow—although I’ll need tools to pry the boards.”
Edward eyed me speculatively. I flushed with guilt (it was impossible not to) when his gaze dropped to my lips, as if he knew where they’d been not two hours past.
One corner of his mouth twisted into a curious half smile. “After supper,” he said smoothly. “I will help you uncrate your things. Daniel can watch.”
My gaze flew up to meet his turquoise eyes. I watched his mind work for a moment, then shook my head. “I don’t know, Edward.”
“Nor do I,” he said. “I came home with news to share and find myself distracted by the sight of you. The smell of you. The scent of your sex and him on your skin, and all I can think of is, if I kiss you, will I taste him too?”
“Yes,” I croaked, scorched by the heat in his eyes.
“Come here,” he growled, still leaning against his desk, his whole body pulsing with promise.
I rose from my chair on trembling legs and managed to walk to where he stood.
“Kiss me,” he ordered.
I lifted my face and stepped closer, watching him, my eyes never leaving his. I needed to know what was behind them. So far he’d managed to keep himself just short of his flashpoint without flaring, but that could change in an instant. One heated breath, one fanning touch, and we might both go up in flames.
I wet my lips and angled my head for the barest of contact, my mouth to his. Releasing the breath I’d been holding, I did it again, more firmly this time, sweeping his lips with mine. I could feel his whole body vibrate, humming with need—although he’d yet to yield to it. It was as if he was challenging me, drawing a line that he would stand firmly behind unless I could tempt him to cross over.
It should frighten me that he knew me so well, but there it was.
Parting Edward’s opened frockcoat to unbutton his waistcoat, I slid my hands inside them both and grabbed onto his braces. “The first time I saw Daniel’s cock was in a contest in camp,” I murmured. “He won for ‘biggest’ and for ‘most.’ You won’t believe how much he comes. This afternoon, when he was pouring himself down my throat, it was all I could do to keep up. I can taste him still.”
This time when I parted my lips, he grabbed the back of my neck and drove his tongue inside my mouth, teeth clashing, tongue sweeping, searching, seeking, finding the essence that was as yet foreign to him.
He feasted on it like a starving man.
I whimpered with need. Daniel’s fingers were talented enough, but a hand was not a cock. Despite the lingering tenderness from last night, my body wanted more.
Spreading my feet, I tilted my pelvis to ride Edward’s thigh. “How do you do this to me?” I whispered. “Make me so needy that I’d gladly go down on my knees and beg you to fuck me?”
Just the suggestion of me on my knees made his cock swell that much harder.
I tugged on his braces. He didn’t budge. “Is that what you want? Me begging? At your feet? On my knees?”
“Yes, by God,” Edward rasped. “I want you at my feet. On your knees. Bent over my desk. Spread out on the dining room table. Pinned against the wall of your studio. Bound, wrists and ankles, to my bed. I want to watch you with him,” he said, his voice thick and hot with need. “I want him to fill your cunny with his cock. And when you think you cannot take any more, I shall climb between his legs and your thighs and fuck that arse of yours. You will take both of us,” he swore, “and you will love it. You will love it so much, you will come from the merest memory of it.”
I was on the verge of an orgasm now, just listening to Edward and imagining what it would be like to lie between him and Daniel, penetrated, possessed.
He sighed softly, his breath laced with regret. “It is too soon, I know.” I could see him mentally pulling back, banking the fire that had burned so brightly in his eyes. “He must be persuaded. I am in hopes that the posing might advance our cause, hmm? I have found a photographer.”
The disappointment I’d felt when I realized that he wasn’t going to throw me on his desk and ravish me was replaced by burgeoning excitement of another kind. “Really? How soon can he come?”
Edward’s smile held a hint of mischief. “She,” he corrected. “Sydney Blevins. That is her birth name, deliberately obtuse. She specializes in intimate portraits and comes highly recommended. Yesterday, I visited her studio to view examples of her work. She is both incredibly talented and discreet, and has agreed to your terms, should we decide to commission her. I daresay that Daniel will welcome it. He would rather keep you clothed, where other men are concerned. Having a female photographer and assistant will allow him to focus on the tableau that the three of us are creating together.”
Focus on us. The feel of us. The idea of us. And that would let us lead him to where we wanted him to go.
“Professor Wainwright, have I told you lately how very brilliant you are?” This time when I tugged his braces, he bent his head and kissed me, softly, deeply, as intimate a joining as two lovers shared outside coitus. I melted into his embrace and stayed there for an eternity, sighing my contentment at being held j
ust so, while my pulse slowed, my breath quieted, and my limbs grew steady once more.
He urged my hands from his braces and kissed my forehead. “I want you to check on Daniel,” he said. “If he is asleep, let him rest until dinner. If he is awake, tell him that I have news on the renovations that I refuse to share until he can join us. Ah.” He tsked and shook his golden head. “No, pet. If you do not lure him down, you must wait for the table talk over supper.”
Minutes later, I rapped lightly on Daniel’s door. When no answer was forthcoming, I slipped inside and tiptoed to the bed, where my lover lay sleeping, his loose ginger curls tousled, his thick lashes underscoring the closed lids of his eyes. The tension had melted from him, thanks to a large dose of whiskey and a small dose of me. I had turned to leave when he called me back.
“I’m sorry if I woke you. Edward has news to share with us on the renovations. Nothing that won’t wait until supper if you need more rest. How’s the leg?”
“Better.” He grinned crookedly. “Much better. But I seem to have lost my clothes.”
I tossed a glance behind me. “You’ll have no problem finding them. They’re covering the floor. No, stay,” I ordered when he started to rise. “I’ll do the fetching this once, extenuating circumstances being what they are. To pick them up might tax your leg, and I prefer to have your mind clear of whiskey’s fog when we hear what Edward has to say.”
I gathered his clothes, all but one sock, and placed them within his reach near my empty pillow. Rounding the bed and still not seeing the elusive stocking, I dropped to my knees and found it hiding under the bed. His wardrobe complete, I watched Daniel dress, watched his genitals and that thin trail of hair on his abdomen disappear when he pulled up his drawers. He slipped on his shirt and buttoned the placket, hiding my St. Michael’s medal from view. Socks and pants were next. Taking hold of his braces, he slid them into place, one on each shoulder, snugging up the fit of his woolen trousers. When he fumbled with his cravat, I offered my help.