The Earl and the Executive

by Kai Butler

  At home, his stormy expression was enough to keep all but his stalwart butler from approaching. He settled himself in his study, swiping away all the reports that had accumulated during the morning. Then, thinking better of it, he sent a brief message to his brother, demanding his presence. He glared down at the now empty desk and pulled up his schedule. His own evening was free; he’d had hopes of perhaps extending their afternoon ride into a dinner. In no mood to sit alone with his thoughts, he pulled up all the invitations that Ovi had declined, sorting through them until he found the one he was looking for.

  It could only be the Parlians' ball that Tiral would be going to; the other affairs were too small. He pushed the invitation onto his schedule, and leaned back, unsure what he was doing.

  Nosre entered without knocking and frowned down at him from across the desk. His lips were pursed unhappily, a crease between his brows showing how his irritation covered genuine concern.

  “Zev, what the devil —” Nosre started.

  “I need you to do something for me,” Zev interrupted. The order was sharp enough to pull Nosre up short. Slowly settling himself in a chair, Nosre raised an eyebrow and waited for Zev to continue.

  “There’s a Miss Rexe Stof, the Earl of Gret’s social secretary. She seems to be some sort of graduate student. In aeromech, if I were to guess. We need to buy her off. Fund her project, offer her a position at the company, give her a grant for her studies. I don’t care.”

  Nosre laced his fingers together over his crossed knee and said, “What has happened, Detzev?”

  “She knows about me. My real identity,” Zev said shortly.

  “And she’s threatening you? We should tell Ovi, she’ll take care of it.” Nosre’s voice was flat. He was unsympathetic to blackmailers or most criminals, but then he hadn't had the close acquaintance with criminals that Zev did, back when he'd had to bend the rules more than a bit in order to get a local delivery company to be less local and more than a delivery company.

  “No threat. She just wants me to marry Gret,” he said with a huff. “She said she’s not interested in the information getting out.”

  “But you don’t trust her?” Nosre asked, confused. “I agree with her on the marriage, but if she seems aboveboard, we likely don’t need to do anything.”

  “I’m not marrying Gret,” Zev snapped. “And she seems reasonable. Intense. I just want to make sure that if she’s in anyone’s pocket, it’s ours.”

  “Of course,” Nosre said. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Good,” Zev said. He waved his brother off before the man could suggest again that Rexe had a point about the marriage. With a sigh, Nosre left, allowing Zev to stew in his thoughts.

  16

  The ball was agonizing. If he had to spend one more moment, one more word, in conversation with another of his mother’s friends, he might scream.

  His mother was being as helpful as he’d known she would be. Every since she’d arrived, a steady stream of missives had left the house directed to Lord and Lady So-and-so or Mister and Mister Who-knows. Tiral wasn’t sure how she was even managing to eat and sleep with all the writing she was doing. The folded paper notes always received replies quickly and Tiral hadn't been aware that his mother was so popular until she informed him that she’d kept up most of her acquaintances so that she would be able to help when Tiral and Edah sought to marry.

  “Lecc never would have had a problem, when he was ready,” she said mildly. “He always was capable of making a good impression.”

  The expression on Edah’s face in that moment had almost been enough to offset the small knife that he felt at the words. Her eyebrows had been drawn up and her lips pulled tight as though she was imagining marrying the next man she saw, just to be off the market and out of their mother’s interest.

  “Ah,” Tiral said, interrupting the flow of conversation. His mother gave him a look that to most would seem mild, but from her was a solid reproof. “Lady Socis! I must introduce her to Edah.”

  Grabbing his sister’s elbow, he quickly moved across the room, leaving Edah to take two steps to keep up with his rush. After a moment, she nudged him and raised an eyebrow. He relaxed and shepherded her at a more sedate pace as they came closer to the woman in question.

  “Lady Socis,” Tiral said. He made a proper bow and presented his sister. “May I introduce you to my sister, Lady Edah?”

  The Duchess was dressed in a beautiful hunter-green dress that accented her dark hair and wide eyes. When she turned to Edah, she smiled. It was just as kind as Tiral had remembered from their first disastrous encounter.

  “A pleasure, Lady Edah,” Socis said.

  “You both like agriculture,” Tiral said awkwardly. “And… plants.”

  “I think the two usually go hand in hand,” Edah said with a laugh.

  “I’ve found it hard to like the former without an affection for the latter,” Socis agreed. She looked at Tiral. “I see you’ve been making quite a splash, Lord Gret. My friends are fascinated with your progress this season. I’ve received several requests to make your acquaintance.”

  Her tone was light and he nodded his head. “I am glad that I was able to shake off some of my country airs and acquire more city manners.”

  “I don’t think it’s that at all,” Socis said. “In fact, I thought your manners were quite refreshing. However, I wasn’t sure if perhaps your attention was already taken? I saw you with Mister Yuls the other day?”

  “Oh, no,” Tiral said. “Zev is no more than a good friend who’s been a devil of a good help.”

  “Then I’ll introduce you at the first opportunity,” Socis said agreeably. She turned back to Edah and offered her another friendly smile. “What’s your interest in agriculture?”

  “I’m sure you’re more familiar with it than I, but I’ve been interested in our lands since I finished school,” Edah said with a blush. She seemed to be stumbling over her words and Tiral raised an eyebrow at how awkward his usually loquacious sister sounded.

  As he was about to step in, his eyes were caught by the arrival of a new guest. Yun Rit.

  Looking at him in person, he could see that the man looked nothing like Zev. Where Zev was tall and broad, with a slight sparkle in his eyes whenever he grinned, Rit gave the impression of seriousness, his cheeks unmarred by smile lines. He was shorter than Zev, closer to Tiral’s height. His cheekbones weren’t as pronounced, but Tiral thought it gave his face an approachable look. He had the same dark hair as Zev, but it was styled differently, tied back, whereas Zev kept his more closely cropped.

  “Oh? Is that where the wind is blowing?” Socis asked. She raised her eyebrow and Tiral found himself blushing, looking between her and Edah.

  “Have you been properly introduced to Rit yet?” Edah asked hesitantly.

  Socis waved her hand, “Gret is a lord, he can introduce himself. I’m just… surprised.”

  “You don’t think he’ll…” Tiral trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

  “I think that Rit looks like he’d love to dance,” Socis said tactfully.

  “You should go ask him,” Edah prompted, her own embarrassment forgotten by seeing his own.

  With a nod at the ladies, Tiral tried to make his way through the crowd. It wasn’t as close a crush as he feared it would get, but it was still slow going to make his way through. He had to stop often to acknowledge a greeting or be introduced, and he found himself so late that when he got to where he’d seen Rit, the man had already moved on.

  Instead, Zev was there, straightening his blue jacket, the cream shirt underneath accenting his eyes, making them sparkle. Upon seeing him, Zev smiled and it was that warmth, as impossible to resist as gravity, that made Tiral turn towards him. He greeted Zev with a handshake that Zev took, his grip as strong and confident as the rest of him.

  “Lord Gret,” Zev murmured.

  “Yuls,” Tiral said. He ached to reach out and brush at the short hairs near Zev’s temples, but he r
esisted. Instead, he busied himself with his own coat and then glanced around the room.

  “Would you care to dance?” he asked. The words had come out of their own accord.

  Zev didn’t seem surprised by them, though, and only murmured, “It’s a waltz, my lord.”

  “Then you’ll have to lead,” Tiral said. “I’m out of practice.”

  The image was enough to send him near reeling. He imagined following Zev, his own body attuned to Zev’s subtle signals. Zev seemed to be thinking the same; his eyes dropped to Tiral’s lips and then lower to his body.

  He smiled, briefly, and offered his arm to lead Tiral to the dance floor. They took their place as the music began, Tiral’s hand on Zev’s shoulder, Zev’s palm spread over Tiral’s lower back.

  Zev brought them closer together, just a hair closer than was decent, and Tiral could almost feel the heat coming off him. Their palms were locked together through layers of gloves and he felt as though he was impossibly aware of every place that they touched. The sweep of Zev’s eyes across his face and then over his shoulder made Tiral hum, as though he were an instrument that someone had stroked with knowing fingers. When Zev held him and looked at him with those eyes, he could feel his whole body sing.

  At the first notes, Zev began to lead, his feet spinning them into the familiar one-two-three that Tiral recalled more from muscle memory than anything. He followed as Zev led them around the floor, spinning when Zev raised his arm, Zev’s fingers guiding him through the turn, a faint brush on his clothes that made Tiral’s back come awake.

  Zev was a trained dancer. Most of Tiral’s training had been in unhappy childhood lessons with Edah as his partner, but Zev had clearly trained with someone he wanted to impress. He raised a hand and Tiral followed the slow spin back into Zev’s arms. Zev smiled at him faintly, just enough to warm Tiral’s blood, making his heart stutter in his chest.

  With a small push on Tiral’s back, a tilt of his hips, Zev led them into a complicated move that pulled them out of the slow swirl of dancers around the edge of the ballroom and into the middle of the floor. Without looking around, Tiral could feel all the eyes on him, all the attention they were garnering. He felt heat rise in his cheeks as they spun and whirled there, until Zev moved them back into the flow of dancers.

  The song ended and everyone else separated, executing sharp bows and graceful curtseys that seemed synchronized. Zev’s hand was still on his waist, and Tiral couldn’t let his own fingers release Zev’s shoulder. The next dancers began lining up for a quadrille, and Tiral finally relaxed his hands, stepping back, his fingers slipping from Zev’s with a lingering touch.

  “I find myself too warm,” Tiral heard himself say. “Would you mind taking me to the garden?”

  The words were acknowledged with a slow nod, Zev’s eyes on his as he said, “Of course, my lord.”

  Zev tucked Tiral’s hand into his elbow and led him outside, and they slowly descended the stairs together. There was a hedge maze past the rose garden, and Zev hesitated before leading them into it.

  Shrubbery rose up past their heads, black in the moonlight, leaving them in shadows. Tiral bit his lip, unsure what to say after their conversation this afternoon. Zev seemed to be hesitant himself. Tiral felt his eyes on him every few moments, but he never spoke.

  It had all seemed so clear when they’d spoken earlier. Tiral knew he would find no happiness, no marriage, if he was constantly seeing Zev and pining for what might be, what happiness he could achieve if only Zev was willing to marry. He’d been ready to give up his estate for Zev, and he likely still would if Zev wanted to lend no money to what he clearly thought was a failing outer-rim estate.

  But since marriage to Zev had been effectively removed as an option, Tiral found himself at a loss. He couldn’t seek out the love, or at least affection, of a potential spouse while also seeing the man he was already in love with.

  So, he’d told Zev that they needed to keep apart. But seeing Zev at the ball, seeing the man dressed so attractively, his beauty so staggering it was impossible to ignore, Tiral knew he'd failed. How could he pretend that he had no feelings for him? How could he not want one last embrace, even if it was only in dance?

  “You dance well, my lord,” Zev murmured finally. They had reached the heart of the maze where small benches surrounded a statue of a menacing monster.

  Tiral pulled them towards a bench and sat.

  “I am out of practice, you’ll agree,” he said.

  “You are still proficient in the art,” Zev said. “You’ll make someone a very good partner when you come paired next season.”

  The words made Tiral shiver from more than the night air. He pulled his hand from Zev’s elbow.

  “Why did you come?” he asked. “I thought we had an agreement.”

  Zev paused for a long moment and when he spoke, the words seemed drawn out of him. “I had to see you one last time. Before you were tied to someone else.”

  “Was this all you needed? To see me?” Tiral asked, the words scraping his throat as he forced them out.

  “No,” Zev said. He moved his hand to cover Tiral’s where it rested on his knee. Then, slowly, he turned to face Tiral and pressed their mouths together.

  Their last kiss had been a hard, sleep-deprived thing that Tiral only remembered for the aftermath. This one felt delicate, Zev’s lips barely touching his own.

  The brush of skin on skin made Tiral shiver and he wanted to press deeper, but held back, letting Zev take the lead. Just as he’d been when they danced, Zev was confident in his movements. He brushed his lips along Tiral’s jaw, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

  Then, he was back at Tiral’s mouth, moving more intensely, pressing firmly until Tiral’s lips parted and then his tongue was inside, stroking against Tiral’s own. Tiral whimpered into the kiss, nearly crying with his desire for more. He reached up and brushed a hand through Zev’s silky hair, fingers tightening when Zev cupped his cheek and lowered his mouth to Tiral’s neck.

  This hadn’t been his intention. All he’d wanted was to see Tiral one last time, to give in to the temptation to watch as Tiral took his first steps away from Zev towards someone else.

  When Tiral had asked, a dance hadn’t seemed like a bad idea, one last chance to feel Tiral close in his arms. The entire time, he’d only been able to feel the heat of Tiral through his jacket, admire the strength of his muscles as he’d followed Zev’s every lead as though they’d choreographed it ahead of time.

  The feeling had been unbearable, and Zev was left, at the end, bereft.

  It had been impossible to say no when Tiral had suggested the garden and it was easy enough to get to the center of the maze. Zev remembered it from an early assignation he’d had there. But that had felt different, the excitement from possibly being caught had made it that much more erotic.

  This, whatever this was, felt impossibly sad. Words stuck in his throat and he wanted to tell Tiral to come with him, to leave, to forget Rit. Instead, he licked the spot under Tiral’s jaw where his valet hadn’t been as careful with the razor and a rough stubble remained. He pressed his lips to the now damp skin and felt electrified when Tiral shuddered against him.

  Words came, but when they did, they were the wrong ones.

  “We can’t,” he said, finally. “You must —”

  Tiral was already drawing back, mouth open in surprise. His eyes were dark, pupils wide in the darkness. He looked haunted.

  “Tell me you don’t want me,” Tiral said, his voice raw. He was begging. “Tell me that this isn’t real to you. Because you can’t ask me to marry another… You can’t tell me that I would be better off marrying another and feeling this about you. I love you.”

  Zev felt the words in his bones. In a moment, he’d seen every image — Tiral smiling as he signed his name next to someone else. Tiral wearing someone else’s ring, waking next to someone else, making love to someone else.

  And in exchange, Zev would have his freedom. He would
be lonely, yes, but he wouldn’t be married. He would be safe.

  The word echoed in his head, and he knew what decision he had to make.

  “I don’t love you,” he lied. “I won’t marry you, ever. Even if we did enjoy the season in each other's arms, I would never marry you and give you the money and security you need.”

  Everything in the words hurt. Tiral’s face sank as he listened and he bit his lip for a moment.

  “You couldn’t —” His voice trailed into nothing and Zev could fill in the sentences in any number of ways. He couldn’t learn to love Tiral? He couldn’t reconsider his policy on marriage? He couldn’t be kinder?

  “No,” Zev answered. He hoped the darkness was covering how his hands gripped the edge of the bench tightly. “I am sorry, but I don’t love you at all.”

  “At all,” Tiral echoed. His eyes were wide now, not from the darkness, but from some interior memory that he was reliving. Unfocused and unhappy, he looked over at Zev. “Thank you for the clarity.”

  Zev could see in his pallor, in the sheen of tears in Tiral's eyes, that his heart was broken. It was so close, so parallel to an old memory of Zev’s that he almost reached out to fix it. He almost admitted the truth.

  But the memory was strong. He remembered that feeling of helpless misery. Even now, even for Tiral, he couldn’t subject himself to that again.

  Tiral quietly wiped at his eyes, as though trying to hide that he’d been crying.

  “I hope that one day we can see each other without this between us,” Tiral managed, his voice mangled.

  He stood and Zev automatically stood as well, ready to lead them out of the maze, but Tiral held up a hand, as though pushing Zev back.