Alex did not remember how he had made it home. Everything felt like a haze, unreal, as if it had happened to someone else entirely. He tried to slip quietly into his room, careful not to wake anyone, not to appear before his parents in such a state. Closing the door behind him, he shrugged off his jacket and collapsed onto the bed. Scenes from the night spun through his mind with maddening speed, refusing to let him rest.
His heart hammered wildly; he covered his face with his hands, not knowing what to do with himself. The places where the Duke had showered him with kisses burned and throbbed, the hoarse and seductive voice with which Nathan whispered words of desire echoed in his mind, and the tightness between his thighs, caused by the heated touches, became unbearable.
Alex pressed his palms over his eyes as if it could help erase those vivid images from his mind. He was being torn apart inside, he wanted to cry, to run, to scream, to pound the pillow, and most of all, he wanted to—.
He blushed with shame at the thought that suddenly flashed through his mind. Yet the temptation was too great. His body refused to obey him. He knew he would never fall asleep in this state.
Swallowing nervously, adrenaline still rushing through his veins, the Young Lord surrendered to the one desire left in him: to free himself from the unbearable torment. His gaze landed on the shelf. Compelled by impulse, he rushed over, grabbed a pale blue piece of silk, and returned to the bed.
Squeezing his eyes shut so as not to witness such shamelessness, Alex pressed the cravat to his face. He inhaled the faint scent deeply, exhaling with a heavy breath. There was no turning back.
Covering his eyes with his left forearm, still clutching the fabric so it brushed against his cheek, Alex slowly undid his shirt with his right hand. Instantly, images of the night surged into his mind. He imagined it wasn't his own hand touching his chest, grazing the reddened spots with tender care. His fingers drifted over his nipples and, to his own surprise, a soft moan escaped freely.
Frightened by the thought that someone might hear him, he bit into the edge of the blanket to stifle any further noise.
His hand slid lower. Unable to endure, he unfastened his trousers. His cock sprang free, and Alex felt the long-awaited release of pressure. Wrapping his hand around himself, he began to move slowly, up and down.
Never had he felt like this before. The Young Lord had only resorted to such measures in rare moments of morning urgency or during his youth — but never out of the aching longing for another's touch. And still, it could not compare to the way Nathan had pressed his knee against him. Another few moments, and Alex might have shamed himself right then and there in front of the Duke. And this thought burned the most.
A muffled sigh escaped as he clenched the duvet cover tighter between his teeth. He turned his head, pressing his face into the cravat, breathing heavily.
His hand quickened. It took less than a minute before Alex spilled into his palm. The peak was so intense his back arched, his toes curled, and then at last his body collapsed in exhaustion.
He lay there with eyes closed for a time. Then, glancing at his right hand, he felt the heat of shame flare again. It was a symbol of the disgrace he had allowed himself tonight. Flushing, he turned his face away. He did not even understand why the shame cut so deeply. His heart would not calm, even after release; the images kept whirling in his mind, relentless.
At last Alex rose and went to take a cold bath. Then he slipped to the kitchen, poured a few drops of medicine into a glass of water, and drank it down in one gulp. Returning to his room, he fell onto the bed, praying for sleep to come quickly.
Perhaps it had all been only a dream of mine.
And if not — then it had truly, impossibly, happened.
***
The Duke opened his eyes and for a moment could not understand where he was. He lay against the pillow, staring at the room as if he were seeing it for the first time. Slowly he pushed himself upright, clutching his head, which throbbed with pain. His gaze fell on a folded note lying on the bedside table.
With effort, Nathan sat on the edge of the bed and unfolded the paper.
Nathan, good morning! Be sure to drink a glass of water in the morning; the sleeping draught may have side effects. Keep me informed of everything that happens, and I will come at your first call. Be sincere with him — and with yourself.
Ophelia.
The Duke squinted against the pounding in his temples as he read.
What is she talking about?
Beside the note stood a glass of water. He drank it down and rose unsteadily. His body still weakened by the draught, he sat at his writing desk, staring blankly out the window. The sky was gray, rain falling in a fine mist. Then his eyes caught the figure of a wooden cat figurine.
And suddenly it struck him.
God.
The memories of the night before crashed against his skull like a hammer blow. He opened his mouth, then pressed a hand over it, horror dawning across his features. Images flashed through his mind — a kiss, another, a moan, a sigh, an embrace, more kisses, his thighs, the sound of a knock.
Oh God.
He dropped his head to the desk.
What have I done? What have I done… What time is it?
He sprang to his feet, snatched his pocket watch from the shelf. Three in the afternoon.
He must already be awake!What am I to do?
He rushed back to Ophelia's note, reread it, then stared once more out the window as though seeing the weather for the first time.
I could go to him at once. But what if his parents are at home? The conversation could turn into a disaster. Invite him to meet me? But where, so that he might feel safe after… after I forced myself upon him so shamelessly? Or send Sam with a letter? But what should I say?
He snatched up a pen, began to write — then crumpled the first attempt and threw it aside. Then the second. Then the third.
A knock.
Alex opened his eyes. He had been lying motionless, staring at the ceiling. His head felt heavy, and he had no wish to rise. Turning slightly, he glimpsed the rain falling beyond the window.
— "Come in," he said at last, his voice hoarse and quiet even to his own ears.
His mother entered the room.
— "Alex, darling, were you sleeping? It seems you enjoyed yourself last night! What has happened to your voice? Shall I call for the doctor? You must be famished. I am about to dine — join me, if you wish. Wash up and come down."
Enjoyed myself?God.
She left. Alex shot upright, clutching his head in both hands as the scenes of the night surged back, drowning out all other thoughts. His cheeks instantly burned.
— "Perhaps I am really ill…"
Moving with downcast eyes, he began to put himself in order. Distracted, it took longer than usual.
I must compose myself!
Drawing a breath, he descended to the dining room. His mother was already seated, finishing her tea.
— "Alex, my dear, you truly are unwell. Come here." She touched his forehead.
— "You're burning up! If you have strength, eat a little, then go back to bed. Or I shall ask Eugénie to bring food to your room. I will call the doctor today without fail."
— "I'm fine, Mother." Mechanically, Alex sat. He had no appetite, yet he wished still less to worry his mother. He spread butter on bread and ate, his face expressionless.
— "Oh, everyone spoke only of last night's ball this morning. The Duke astonished them all with his ingenuity. Next time I shall attend as well! By the way, the dressmaker told me she heard from Lady Cecilia, who heard from Lady Violet, that the Duke has at last proposed to Lady Ophelia! I am so happy for him. I always said, one mustn't rush a young man — he will come to his senses in his own time. Ah, youth! Alex, what is it?"
Alex's face was stricken. He stared at her, uncomprehending.
What wedding? Why do I know nothing of this? The elders, of course, had said they were a perfect match — true enough — but still…
He swallowed nervously.
— "Mother, I… I truly feel unwell. I'll go back upstairs."
— "Very well, my dear. I'll send for the doctor."
He climbed the stairs in a daze.
They are a perfect pair… but last night… What does it mean?
Tears blurred his eyes. Pressing his hand over his mouth to stifle a sob, he threw himself onto his bed.
When the doctor arrived, he found Alex exhausted but not gravely ill. He prescribed rest, no outings, and no gatherings. Likely fatigue, with only a slight fever.
— "Have you been troubled by worries lately, Young Lord?" the doctor asked.
Alex hesitated. He longed to know what truly ailed him. Yet he could not answer honestly.
— "Perhaps a little. Nothing serious."
— "In any case, avoid agitation. Stay at peace. Do not walk out in this weather, or you'll truly catch a cold."
The doctor departed. Soon after, Alex's mother returned.
— "My dear, is something troubling you? You may always confide in me."
Alex forced a smile.
— "Mother, I'm only tired. I think I drank too much wine yesterday, and danced too long. I'll be more careful in future, I promise."
She kissed his brow and left, saying, "Rest then." But at once she reappeared.
— "I nearly forgot! A letter for you. From the Duke, it seems. Perhaps an invitation to the wedding? Now I'll let you be."
She set the letter on the table and left for good.
Alex leapt up the moment he heard the door latch click. He seized the letter, tearing it open with trembling hands.
Dearest Alex,
I must speak with you. Please, tell me the time, the place, the hour — anywhere I might see you.
Nathaniel
Heat flooded Alex's chest when he saw that the Duke had addressed him by name. And then, at the signature — Nathaniel, written in his own hand. At once the Young Lord remembered how he had spoken Nathan's name the night before and how his own name had been whispered into his own ear with such...
He flung the letter aside and clapped his hand over his mouth. Then, recovering, he snatched it up again and tucked it quickly into his pocket.
No one must ever see it.
Looking out the window, he saw the rain falling harder, the daylight fading. The clock struck seven.
I must see him.