by Reinke, Sara
“I love you, Mason,” he whispered.
It was the first time Julien had ever said this to him. It was something Mason had felt for months now—nearly from the first—and although he felt sure that Julien felt the same, neither one had yet to acknowledge it aloud.
Mason caressed his face, stroking his thumb against the line of Julien’s mouth in what had by now become a fond and familiar gesture between them, one that never failed to make Julien smile. “I love you, too.”
* * *
“…and this is your anterior iliac spine,” Mason said several hours later in the springhouse. Darkness had fallen, and they’d lit an oil lamp to lend some illumination to the shadow-draped interior. As he spoke, he drew the tip of his index finger lightly across Julien’s hip, pointing out each anatomical structure as he recited them by rote.
“Your Poupart’s ligament runs here,” he murmured, tracing a diagonal line from Julien’s hip toward his groin.
“My what?” Julien laughed, catching him by the hand. “You’re making that up.”
“I am not.” Mason cut him a glance and a grin. “Stop now. Let me practice. I don’t often get to outside of Father’s anatomy books.”
“That’s all I am to you.” Julien pretended to scowl. “A bloody anatomy specimen.”
“A beautiful anatomy specimen,” Mason corrected. “Just look at your rectus abdominus.” He caressed the six folds of muscle stacked in Julien’s abdomen. Dropping down from there, he let his hand graze Julien’s inner thigh. “Or your magnificently formed Sartorius muscle.” His fingers trailed higher. “Or your Gracilis…”
Julien laughed again, rolling onto his side. “Gracilis, my ass!”
“No, your ass is on the other side.” Mason reached over, grabbing for Julien’s buttock, making him laugh harder. “And it’s made up of your gluteus maximus, medius and minimus. All of which are rather sublime, as well, I do dare say.”
Julien rolled onto his back again, grabbing Mason by the arm and pulling him on top of him. He locked his legs around Mason’s waist, pinning him against him. “How can you know so much? It’s all those books you read. I wish I was even half as smart as you.”
“Who says you’re not?” Mason asked, but he knew the answer and it broke his heart. Lamar Davenant. “You’re brilliant, Julien. Look at me—you are. Look at all the things you can do that I can’t. You’re an incredible marksman—you can split a playing card held edge-on from thirty paces. I can’t shoot for shit. You’ve an eye for mechanics—remember when my pocket watch wouldn’t wind? You took it apart and in five minutes flat, had the cogs turning right again. I had no bloody idea what to do. You can tell the difference between a white-tail and a mule deer from a hundred yards away. I can’t do that.”
Julien regarded him with a dubious smirk. “You’re completely full of horse shit, do you know?”
He pulled Mason down, laughing as he kissed him again, opening his mouth and tangling his tongue with Mason’s. He shifted his weight and rolled so that he ended up astride Mason, straddling him. Sliding his hips back, he let his lips trail along Mason’s throat to his chest, working his way south from there.
“Julien,” Mason said, as Julien dragged the tip of his tongue lightly along the contours of his abdominal muscles. “I need to talk to you.”
Julien glanced up at him from the general vicinity of his navel. “So talk.”
He dipped his head down again, this time letting his tongue slide gently along the outward swell of Mason’s balls. The delicious friction sent a shudder of pleasure through him, and his eyelids fluttered closed.
Julien took hold of his cock and began stroking him up and down, opening his mouth fully to take in the hardening shaft.
“Julien….” Mason groaned breathlessly. “I…I have to tell you something.”
He’d been putting it off all evening, but knew he couldn’t any longer. Word would reach Julien sooner or later. He was surprised it hadn’t already. Usually after the Elders met—as they had the night before—news of the impending nuptials they’d arranged spread like wildfire through the clans.
“Julien.” Mason sat up, pulling away from Julien’s mouth, even though he was already worked up to full arousal, and it was damn near painful to cut Julien’s efforts so short. “It’s important.”
Julien drew in a breath as if he meant to quip something back in reply, but realized Mason’s expression had grown somber. His own smile faltered. “Of course,” he said. “You can tell me anything.”
“I…I’m to be married tomorrow,” Mason whispered. There was no point in beating around the proverbial bush; no sense in mincing words or trying to soften the blow. “My father told me today. The Elders…they decided last night.”
There was a flash of something in Julien’s eyes—momentary uncertainty and pain. It lasted only a split-second, resonating inside of his mind just long enough for Mason to sense it, and then it was gone, buried deep, denied.
“Julien…” he breathed, reaching for him.
“Congratulations.” Julien turned his head slightly, ducking away from his touch. “I guess that’s in order.” He cracked a smile, thin and insincere. “Right? Who…who’s the lucky girl?”
“Edith Averay.”
“Oh.” Julien raised both brows in tandem and nodded once. “That’s…not so bad, then…I suppose. She seems nice enough…and pretty.”
“Julien.” Mason leaned forward, drawing the pad of his thumb against Julien’s bottom lip. “We knew it was bound to happen eventually.”
Julien nodded, closing his eyes.
“It could’ve just as easily been you. Hell, it will be you one of these times. It’s all just the luck of the draw,” Mason said, and Julien nodded again. “It doesn’t change anything. I promise you it doesn’t. Look at me.” And when Julien wouldn’t, Mason kissed him, nipping his bottom lip lightly with his teeth and giving a playful tug, trying vainly to coax his gaze. “Look at me, Julien. I swear to you—by my life, this doesn’t change anything between us. I love you.” Cocking his head, he managed to draw Julien’s gaze. “I love you,” he said again. “Nothing—and nobody—will ever change that.”
* * *
Edith Averay arrived at the Morin home dressed in a floral print caraco jacket and matching skirt. Her hair, the color of spun honey, had been carefully bundled and tucked beneath the lacy edge of her mob cap ruffle. She was accompanied by her father, Basile, and a young house slave, who would be joining the Morins’ staff. While Basile and Mason’s father, Michel, had laughed together, clasping hands and clapping each other on the shoulders like old, familiar friends, Mason and Edith had simply stood in the foyer blinking owlishly, wordlessly at one another.
There were no wedding ceremonies among the Brethren, no courtship between the betrothed. There was simply the delivery of the bride to her new home, the introduction to her husband, and the remittance of any dowry that may have been agreed upon beforehand. Thus, while Basile and Michel went to the library for drinks, and the slaves scuttled back and forth, bringing Edith’s bags in from the carriage and up the stairs to the room she’d be sharing with Mason, the newlyweds continued to stare at one another from an awkward distance, neither one of them saying a word to the other. All he could think of was how alone he felt all at once, how lonely for Julien.
Because that’s who I want to be with—who I want to wake up beside, spend every day with, share every breath with for the rest of my life. Not this woman—this stranger I don’t know, and have jack shit in common with.
I want Julien.
“Oh, Eugenie, thank you, but I’ll take that.” Edith reached out with both hands as her slave girl hurried by, taking an odd, triangular-shaped wooden box from atop an armful of items she carried. Edith cradled it against her chest almost like it was a child, and when she noticed Mason’s attention, she blushed. “It was a gift from my father,” she told him. “He ordered it all of the way from London for me.”
“What is it?” Maso
n asked, his inherent curiosity suddenly, genuinely piqued. The case was too small to hold anything like a hat or a dress, and too oddly shaped to contain anything practical he could think of.
Her blush deepened, and she glanced toward the library doorway through which Basile and Michel had disappeared, as if hoping for rescue. “It’s a microscope.”
He cocked his head, certain he’d misheard her. Microscopes were delicate, expensive, exquisite devices—and he longed to own one. “I beg your pardon?”
“A…a microscope,” Edith said again. “You use it to observe—”
“I know what it is,” he cut in mildly, brows raised. “I just…” His voice faded and he shook his head. “You really have one?” She nodded once, and he blinked at the wooden box in undisguised fascination. “May I see it?”
“I…I suppose,” she said hesitantly. “If you’d like.”
Brushing past him, she carried the box over to a nearby table, setting it down with the same deliberate care she’d used when holding it. Turning the latch of a small fixture on the front of the box, she opened a front panel, revealing a hollowed recess inside. Here, the ornate brass microscope stood on a square mahogany stand. It looked for all the world like a sailor’s telescope turned on its distal-most end, with a small brass plate and a miniature, pivoting mirror mounted beneath it.
Edith drew it out slowly. When she stepped aside so Mason could take a closer look, she didn’t move far, keeping within arm’s reach in case he accidentally bumped, jarred, or knocked it, he supposed.
“These are the objective lenses?” he asked with a nod at the case, a set of three removable brass fixtures that were stored in a compartment beneath where the microscope had been enclosed. He’d read countless journal articles about the devices, had memorized every feature and component from catalog descriptions. To see them now, to match real, physical objects with the diagrams and names in his mind, left him admittedly breathless with awe.
“Yes.” Edith looked somewhat surprised by his familiarity. “The eyepiece detaches for storage, as well.”
“A two-lens Huygenian-style,” he breathed, reaching for the box. With a glance at Edith, he said, “May I…?”
“Of course.” She nodded, her lips unfurling in a shy smile.
As he lifted the microscope, his eyes widened all the more with child-like wonder. “This is amazing,” he remarked. “I can’t believe you have one. I saw one last year when I went to Boston with my father, but not this closely…not hands on.” He blinked at her in amazement. “What do you look at with it?”
“I’ve caught bees and studied their stingers,” she said slowly. Seeming encouraged by his undisguised fascination, she ventured, “Did you know they’re serrated, like the edge of a feather? I’ve observed water droplets—different kinds. Rain water, pond water, water from the spring. There are amazing creatures there—tiny things, like green globules or tiny bells, all with long tails. Some are snake-like or worms, no wider than a hair on your head. Astonishing! The other day, I took a scraping from my teeth first thing in the morning. There were things moving in there—like tiny animals, spinning and darting when I mixed them with water. I’ve never…”
Her voice, which to that point had grown excited and swift, suddenly faltered. Color bloomed in her cheeks again, and she looked down at the toes of her shoes. “I look at just about anything,” she murmured. “And everything in between. My mother says it’s folly.”
“It’s not folly,” Mason said, drawing her gaze. “It’s incredible. Would you show me?”
Edith blinked. “Really? You…wouldn’t mind for it?”
“Mind for it?” Mason asked with a laugh. “I’d be delighted!”
Her mouth unfurled in a smile again, less hesitant this time, and she nodded. “Alright then,” she said. “We’ll need someplace with plenty of light.”
* * *
“What is she like?” Julien asked softly. Two weeks had passed since their last encounter and since Edith had come to live at the Morin home. The distance between them, the time it had taken for them to meet again had been nearly agonizing to Mason. They lay together on a blanket spread across the floor of the springhouse, both of them naked in the aftermath of lovemaking. Julien lay on his side with Mason spooned against his back, his arm draped across the younger man’s waist, their fingers loosely intertwined.
“I don’t know,” Mason said. “She’s…nice. She’s smart. You’d like her.”
He said this last as a clumsy attempt to redirect the course of their conversation because he didn’t want to talk about Edith. He wanted to focus on the moment and enjoy it: the warmth of Julien’s body tucked against his own, the scent of his skin, the soft measure of his breath. He drew his lips lightly along the slope of Julien’s shoulder, propping himself up on his elbow so he could lean in more closely, trailing kisses up toward the younger man’s ear.
“Have you been with her?” Julien tried to keep his voice casual, but Mason knew him too well to miss the fleeting note of pain. He sensed it, too, in Julien’s mind, the periphery of his thoughts, the raw well of his emotions that he tried to mask, but couldn’t fully hide. Not from Mason.
Mason hung his head with a sigh. “Julien…”
“Tell me.” Julien rolled onto his back, nestled against the socket of Mason’s shoulder, their faces only inches apart. They’d dimmed the lamp wick earlier, but even this soft, haunting glow danced in his large eyes like moonlight on dark water. “Please.”
“Only once,” Mason admitted in a hush.
“Was it…nice?” Julien asked hesitantly.
“It was different. Weird. Like…being with my sister or something.”
Julien managed a laugh. “God!”
“She just feels different…her body softer.” Mason brushed the cuff of his knuckles against Julien’s cheek. “She isn’t you.”
And that had damn near broken Mason. His attempt at bedding his new bride had been an exercise in humiliation and heartache, because the entire time, he’d felt torn—not just that he was being unfaithful to Julien, but that what he was doing was inherently wrong, that even though he and Edith had grown more familiar over the fortnight, it had been more as friends than in any romantic sense of the word. He had no such feelings for her, and he doubted she had any for him.
He’d fumbled to get an erection, only to have what little he’d been able to coax wither within minutes. Edith had tried her best to reassure him, but she’d clearly been as nervous and uncomfortable as he’d felt, her body stiff as a board, unmoving and rigid beneath him in the bed, her heart jackhammering like a frightened rabbit’s the whole time.
She didn’t feel like Julien. She didn’t taste, smell, or sound like him. Her body had curves where Julien’s had lean, muscular lines. She was soft where he was etched and strong. She’d been hesitant beneath him, whereas Julien was always eager and willing, even from their first clumsy attempts.
“She isn’t you,” he whispered again.
He’d vomited when they were through trying, managing to steal out of their bedroom and downstairs, out the front door, before doubling over to retch. He hoped she hadn’t overheard him, hadn’t been hurt that he’d left her alone. But his heart had been shattered, his loneliness overwhelming. If only days later, he hadn’t found Julien’s note beneath their message tree, arranging for that very meeting, he might have given serious contemplation to the matter of suicide.
“I just…I want to be with you,” Mason whispered, closing his eyes against the sting of unbidden tears. He lowered his face until his forehead touched Julien’s, and when Julien tilted his head back, lifting his chin, their noses lightly brushed.
“I want that, too,” Julien said and when he smiled, it was like a sudden sunbeam—bright, warm, and golden—spilling into a shadow-draped room. Mason kissed him, long, slow, and gentle, pressing his mouth against Julien’s and savoring the simple comfort this lingering moment of contact brought.
“We can go to Boston toge
ther,” Julien said as they drew apart.
“What?” Mason shook his head. “No, we can’t.”
“Sure, we can,” Julien said. “You said they had teaching hospitals there. You’ve wanted to get an apprenticeship with one of the surgeons there, you told me, and I could find work easily enough, I think, maybe with a cutler or a blacksmith. You’re always saying I’m good with my hands.”
“Yes, but…” Mason began.
“We could get a flat together,” Julien continued. “Nothing big, no more spacious than we need. We could—”
His voice had grown excited as he spoke, his eyes widening, and Mason laughed gently, cutting him short. “And how would we pay for all of this?” he asked. “Last I heard, mon coeur, it costs money to rent a flat. Not to mention for travel expenses. And that doesn’t include food or clothing, or stabling any horses that we’d undoubtedly have to steal since we don’t—”
“I’d get the money from my father,” Julien said, and Mason laughed again, louder this time.
“Your father would as soon piss on his own mother as give over even a ha’penny.”
“I didn’t say he’d give it to me.” Julien’s eyes had taken on a peculiar, hardened cast; the light glinted, nearly silver, across his irises. “I said I’d get it from him.”
Mason had seen that look before; whenever Julien would relay stories of Lamar’s abuse toward his sister, Lissette, or—especially—his younger brother, Aaron, that same strange coldness would come over him like a dark, heavy veil. His entire body would tighten, as if seized with a sudden rage so fierce, the least word or gesture might set it off with explosive, murderous results. This was so against what Mason had come to know and adore of Julien’s nature—the sides of his personality he clearly shared with only a precious few in his life—that it was troubling to Mason. It was as if in those moments, Julien became a stranger to him—one who frightened Mason.
“Julien,” he said softly, and the moment Julien cut his gaze to Mason, that granite-like façade withered. His eyes softened, his whole demeanor and posture relaxing, and his mouth unfurled in a smile.