The Earl and the Executive

by Kai Butler

  Tiral made his way to Miss Lins, and her face immediately lit up. Zev wished he’d bugged Tiral again, to hear how his protégé was performing. Instead he had to make do with the expressions on both their faces, the way her body was already leaning towards his. She laughed at something he said and gestured to the crowd before speaking.

  They continued talking, and Zev found himself so engaged that he nearly missed it when someone said his name.

  “Yuls!” Finally turning, he realized it was Deva and Asta, both holding drinks and looking jovial as ever.

  “Lord Deva, Mister Asta,” he said, bowing. “I didn’t expect to see you here this evening.”

  Nodding agreeably, Deva said, “My father wanted to come. One must indulge him during the season.”

  “Of course,” Zev said blandly. He’d been pressed into engaging with Deva and Asta a few times since they’d met again in the park, usually over cards at the club. Deva seemed to have completely forgotten his desire to best Tiral at gambling, as his attention was mostly focused on a new game that involved two decks of cards and more luck than skill.

  “Didn’t know you had money on that lark,” Asta said. “Gret’s chances.”

  “Oh?” Zev asked, immediately relaxing his brow from a frown that had formed.

  “Yes, yes. There’s some numbers at the club if you’re interested. He’s known to be looking, but it’s quite uncertain who he’ll bag. Err, excuse the language.” Deva coughed.

  “No ladies present to take offense,” Zev said. “I don’t have any money on it.”

  “That so? But you were together at the club, and I thought I saw you talking with him tonight. Thought you might be trying to get a lead on it. You know I even had Nosre Laft of all people asking about him. Wanted to know who he’d been seen with, as though I’d give away my advantage!” Deva said. Zev straightened, but before he could ask more, Deva had moved on. “If you’re not invested, did he happen to drop any hints?”

  With a tight smile, Zev said, “No. We merely talked about the new dances out of Viga.”

  “Too bad,” Deva huffed. “It’d be nice if he was settled before the second month, that’s what I have my money on. I’ve heard he’s quite urgently looking.”

  Feeling the frown forming again, Zev bit out, “He seems like the type to look for love.”

  With a short laugh, Deva said, “Love? He’s become an earl. He’ll be looking for funds, another estate, or someone who can bring something else to the table. Maybe one of the corporate heirs. There’s some money on that, too, if you care to wager?”

  Shaking his head tightly, Zev said, “No interest, my lord. Good evening.”

  Shrugging, Deva went back to observing Tiral with narrowed eyes, narrating his conclusions to a patient Asta. Forcing himself to walk slowly, Zev made his way out of the ballroom and found himself in a massive hallway. Opening the first door he came across, Zev found himself in a music room, instruments decoratively arranged. He relaxed his hands from clenched fists and exhaled in a long, tight stream of air.

  He wasn’t sure what was bothering him more, the implication of Tiral trapped in a loveless, rich marriage, or that there was money being wagered on it. It wasn’t any worse than Tiral had implied that he expected. But the idea of Tiral, rich and unhappy, made Zev’s chest feel heavy.

  Shaking off the feeling, he flipped open his fob and dialed Ovi. She answered immediately, with a careful, “Sir?”

  “Read me what you found on Lord Gret,” he directed. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. Reassurance, maybe, that there was something in Tiral’s past that would prevent him from being suitable for Detzev Laft.

  Used to his directness, she pulled up a display and sent it over to him. “Brilliant academic, well respected by his peers. He built his own aeromech program at Somnu University. He’s tenured and publishes regularly. He’s invented quite a few of the aeromech patents the University has been making money off of in the last few years.”

  “Yes, he’s brilliant,” Zev said, voice sour. “But… anything in his background that would make him…”

  After a momentary silence, Ovi said, “No. He’s known as a kind person. The worst thing about him is that he apparently wanted to go into trade. There was a bit of an upset with his family, according to the servants who were there. In the end, he went into academics.”

  “More acceptable for the second son of an earl,” Zev said, tapping his fingers against the fob.

  “The brother, though…” Ovi said.

  “The late earl?” Zev asked. “Lecc?”

  “Yes, sir. He was a bit loose with everything. Money, lovers, gaming. Even the company he kept. His death, alone, aboard a flyer that he never flew himself, is… perplexing,” Ovi said. Her tone was flat, but he read the unspoken conclusion in her eyes.

  “You said his death wasn’t suspicious,” Zev said, frowning. He rubbed at his temple, but knew that the feeling of tension there wouldn’t be resolved until Tiral was successfully married to someone he loved and living a life of relative luxury on his country estate.

  “I said it wasn’t investigated as suspicious,” Ovi said. “The Lus-1 constabulary decided it must have been an accident and sent the body home and the flyer to be destroyed.”

  “Lus-1?” Zev began pacing the room. “Why would he be on a moon of Lus? It wasn’t the season.”

  “People do come here year-round,” Ovi said. She pushed more notes to his fob and waited.

  “Yes?” Zev asked, irritated that he’d have to request it from her.

  “I’d like to investigate it further,” she said.

  “I thought you might,” he said. “What’s kept you from it so far?”

  Ovi paused, and her lips were closed as though she was thinking about what she was going to say. “You are interested in Lord Gret.”

  “He’s a charming man in a rough spot. It would be hard-hearted not to care for his outcome,” Zev said.

  “And that outcome will be?” When she looked up, her eyes were assessing.

  “He’ll be married to someone rich, probably making engines in his workshop and being a better father than his own ever was.” Zev waved his hand, willing himself not to think about those beautiful engines or those equally beautiful children. “He’ll no longer be on Lus where he can get into awkward social situations and make a hash of them.”

  “You’re rich,” Ovi observed.

  Sighing in irritation, Zev said, “Well, obviously, he won’t be married to me. Between you and Nosre, I’m not sure which is worse. I’ve no interest in marrying the man. He cuts quite the figure and is more charming than he realizes, but that’s where my interest ends. By the time the season’s done, he’ll be remembered only as the thing that kept this season from being a positive bore.”

  Nodding, Ovi said, “Then I’ll look into his brother’s death.”

  With a gesture, he cut their connection, leaving himself alone in the music room again. Traitorously his brain imagined what it would have been like to have met Tiral if he had gone into trade. Maybe he would have owned an aeromech company, and they could have been competitors, or maybe a supplier and a buyer.

  The idea was enough of a fantasy that he brushed it off, but the idea lingered. Unlike any of his previous lovers, Tiral could have been a match for him. They could have had a future. Sighing, Zev shook his head and smiled wryly. After all he’d said to Ovi, here he was daydreaming like a teenager just out of the schoolroom.

  Straightening his jacket, he stepped out into the hallway and back into the ballroom. Tiral was still chatting with Miss Lins, but a few companions had joined them, each a young heir. Tiral’s face was expressive, and when he grinned at one of the group’s observations, Zev could see most of his companions lean forward, as though drawn by a magnet.

  Tiral caught sight of him and said something that made the faces of everyone around him fall. He bowed to Miss Lins and her companions, his form perfect, and headed towards the entrance. Zev was about to let him go, bu
t he couldn’t resist.

  Cutting around the room, he managed to meet Tiral at the entrance, accepting his hat and overcoat from the footman. He ignored the looks from the other guests who had seen his abrupt departure.

  “Lord Gret,” he said, as though they hadn’t talked an hour previous.

  “Mister Yuls,” Tiral said, likely more aware than even Zev was of what one could say in front of listening servants. “Quite the crush, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m surprised you aren’t staying longer,” he said, following Tiral as he stepped out of the house in long strides, taking the stairs to the street. By unspoken agreement, they began a slow walk down the street, away from all the lights of the party and toward a quieter set of houses.

  “Well, if you truly want to know,” Tiral said, offering a sincere smile now that they’d left. “I was getting a bit overwhelmed. Everyone kept asking if I wanted to dance and I had to make up an injury!”

  “An injury?” Zev said, puzzled. “You can’t have me believe that your mother let you leave Gret with anything but a complete understanding of all the current dances.”

  “Oh, I understand them, but haven’t practiced in ages.” Tiral nodded at a passing gentleman, and Zev waited until they were out of earshot to speak.

  “So, tell me what injury you’ve suffered, my lord? I am eager to get the most experienced surgeons on it,” Zev said.

  “I said that I’d pulled a muscle playing garden games last week,” Tiral said stiffly. “All that’s to be done is rest, according to the sawbones.”

  “'Garden games.'” Zev huffed a laugh. “Well, that is going to keep them talking!”

  “What do you mean?” Tiral said, frowning at him. In the lamplight he looked even younger.

  “Everyone will assume it was some bedroom encounter that has you unable to move properly!” Zev laughed. “Garden games.”

  “No, will they?” Tiral said. “Well nothing for it, I suppose. Will you be my cover, then? My clandestine lover?”

  Zev paused and watched as the laughter drained out of Tiral’s smile. He opened his mouth, likely to say that it was only a joke or that he understood Zev’s unspoken boundaries.

  Before he could, Zev reached up and brushed the back of his fingers across Tiral’s cheek. The gesture was intimate, not that of new, shy lovers, but that of two who knew each other already. Tiral’s face was smooth, his lips dropping open a fraction at the touch. Zev’s hand felt like he’d been shocked: he was sensitized and aware of every nerve ending.

  Dropping his hand, Zev couldn’t explain what had made him touch Tiral, only that not touching him had felt impossible. He hated that he was just as bad as Nosre and Ovi had accused him of being. He had no right to take such liberties when there was no potential future for the two of them.

  “I think that would be a bad fib, my lord,” Zev said quietly.

  Zev stepped back, intending to do the noble thing and walk away, when Tiral grabbed him, both hands fisting his jacket as he pulled him close again. The kiss was desperate and wet and something more. Heat grew between them explosively, as though they’d just been waiting for this moment without realizing.

  Grabbing Tiral’s wrist where it still twisted his jacket, Zev pulled Tiral to the side, off the sidewalk. They stumbled into someone’s garden, the house dark and shuttered. Shadowed by trees and bushes, Zev pushed Tiral against the first surface he could find, a pillar of some sort. His mouth pressed against Tiral’s again and he couldn’t help but reach out, dragging a hand down Tiral’s side, feeling him shudder into the touch.

  With a soft whine, Tiral yanked him closer, mouth open now and needy. Zev grabbed at Tiral’s ass, his fingers digging into the firm flesh through layers of cloth. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to take hours to disrobe Tiral, spread him naked across a bed, enjoy the feeling of his lips on Tiral’s soft skin.

  Instead, he pulled back, “You must know —"

  “You aren’t interested in marriage,” Tiral interrupted. “This is a one-time affair, I shouldn’t begin to place my hopes on you.”

  Snorting, Zev allowed himself to be pulled back in, his lips brushing against Tiral's as he spoke. “At least we’re both clear.”

  He reached down and loosened the ties on Tiral’s breeches, giving him just enough space to get a hand in. Tiral gasped and twitched, pressing his forehead against Zev’s shoulder as he panted. Zev wrapped a hand around him and tugged, the angle awkward and without enough room.

  Tiral turned his mouth so that hot breath hit Zev’s neck, and he moaned, cutting the sound off with a bite on Zev’s jacket. He was trembling, as though he’d never been touched. Zev knew it wasn’t true, but the idea of having Tiral first, before anyone else placed a hand on him, set a flame alight in Zev. He ground himself against Tiral’s leg, the angle awkward, but the pressure enough to almost get him there.

  Tiral spilled into Zev’s hand, and turned his face so that he was kissing Zev’s neck, the motion both erotic and familiar. Zev fumbled and managed to get his breeches open, stroking himself a few times before he was coming against Tiral, marking the clothes that Zev had chosen for him. They stood, embracing, the cool night air a balm for the fire between them.

  After what felt like not long enough, Zev pulled back, righting Tiral’s clothes and trying to straighten his own. With a glance, he realized it would be too obvious what they’d been doing. They couldn’t be seen, not with hair a mess, clothes wrinkled, and stains all too apparent.

  He pulled out his fob and called his driver.

  “I’ll take you home,” he murmured to Tiral.

  “Thank you,” Tiral smiled. Tiral reached up and brushed his fingers across Zev’s face. Then he leaned in and kissed him.

  It was a gentleness Zev hadn’t felt in years. He couldn’t find words for the familiarity, the comfort of it. When he pulled back, Tiral was still smiling, but it was sadder, and he gestured towards the waiting car. They didn’t speak again that evening.

  13

  Zev didn’t sleep well that night. He kept remembering the stunned look on Tiral’s face, the way his mouth had looked so kissable . . . and then so well-kissed . . . in the moonlight. Worse, Zev kept imagining how much further it should have gone. He imagined taking Tiral home, stripping his clothes piece by piece until Tiral was naked on his bed. The feeling was unnerving.

  All of his previous affairs had been joyful ones, but he’d rarely thought about his partners after they left his company. That had been part of what was so attractive about them. They were entertaining in the moment, but proof that he didn’t need more than that.

  With Tiral, he couldn’t get those clear eyes and easy smile out of his head. He couldn’t stop the smile that formed every time he thought about what Tiral would say to one of the more ridiculous intricacies of life during the season. Tiral had wormed his way past Zev’s carefully constructed façade and was making life difficult in ways that Zev hadn’t considered.

  Distracted by his thoughts, he didn’t hear Ovi come in until she cleared her throat. With a start, he looked over and sighed. Any attempt to appear natural would merely look awkward now that she knew he’d been… daydreaming.

  “Sir,” she said.

  “Ovi,” he said, trying not to feel so flustered. “What is it?”

  “I thought you might want an update on the earl,” she said. Her red eyes cut to his and she waited. He knew that she saw more in the glance at him than he wanted to admit and it certainly seemed like she could see how long he’d tossed and turned, thinking of Tiral’s lips.

  “What’s the news?” he asked.

  “I might have a lead on the late earl’s death,” she said. “But I can’t speak to its legitimacy yet.”

  Making an agreeable noise, he said, “Anything else on the current earl?”

  “Several corporations have shown interest in Lord Gret’s new engine,” she said. “The university has put his whole lab under lockdown while he’s away, to try to prevent theft.”


  “He is smart,” Zev said. “I’d have a hard time believing otherwise. Anything else?”

  “No, sir,” Ovi said, but she stayed by his side.

  Slumping down in his chair, he waved a hand across his desk to clear all the files. “You’re checking up on me, as though I’m some green, country fool on planet for his first season.”

  “No, sir,” Ovi said, her frown becoming more pronounced.

  “Well, good. I know how to keep my head,” he said sharply.

  “Of course, sir.”

  Glaring at her a final time, he stood, straightening his cravat. “I’ll be available by fob,” he said icily.

  “Yes, sir,” she said smoothly, moving to open the door for him. Nosre stood behind the door, looking surprised. Zev took a step forward, but Nosre didn’t back away.

  “I’m going out,” Zev said.

  “I’ll accompany you,” Nosre said pleasantly.

  Bluff called, Zev retreated back into his office with a sigh, sitting in his chair and watching Nosre over steepled fingers. Nosre took the seat across the expanse of desk, slinging one booted leg over his knee and leaning back. Neither man spoke for a long moment.

  The pause stretched until Nosre broke it, as Zev had known he would.

  “I heard about the ball last night,” he said bluntly.

  “That I attended? I attend plenty of them,” Zev said.

  “You haven’t for the past few weeks. Your clubs, a few intimate parties, but no balls. The same night that Lord Gret returned to society as well,” Nosre observed. “In fact, according to some people with knowledge, you’ve been seen together frequently.”

  So, Lord Deva had told Nosre that. Zev thought it was likely an attempt to throw Nosre off the scent, given that Zev wasn’t searching for a spouse. Unfortunately, it had led his brother to a conclusion that made Zev uncomfortable.