Lazare longed for his childhood, when he might get away with pitching his teacup across the room and enjoy the sound of fragile porcelain against fine wood, the angry but defeated sigh of his nurse as she threw up her hands and stomped from the room.
Alas, adulthood required good behavior.
He just wished the others in the room might recall it.
Forcing himself to use the manners no one else would, wondering what was wrong with this uncouth country he was to be stuck in for only the gods knew how long – until his mother saw fit to bring him home, and given she had not even bid him farewell, so great was her anger, he suspected he would not be going home for a long time.
Stifling a sigh, he smiled politely at the chortling men around the table, wondering what impertinent question they would put to him next. He dared a surreptitious glance at the clock mounted on the wall at the opposite end of the room.
Alas, at least an hour to go, and he doubted they would let him slip away before another half hour had passed beyond that.
“We hear there was nearly an altercation this morning, Highness,” a man said slyly. “Giving his Majesty a run for his money, eh?”
A run for his money? Lazare frowned over that one, and made a note to ask Maitland about it later. He swore they did such things on purpose, and it was truly beginning to irritate him. He took a delicate sip of the fragrant tea. “I never discuss business over afternoon tea, gentlemen, but I assure you there was nothing so dramatic as an altercation.”
The men laughed and exchanged disbelieving looks and snorts, but obligingly moved on to other matters, discussing plays and duels and other things which they thought might he might like to see.
Finally one man sat back and settled his hands on his massive belly. “So, Highness, how are you liking our Cat, hmm?”
Lazare frowned. What joke was he missing this time? If they did not stop with such nonsense, he would show them how cutting his own private jokes could be, truly. “Your cat? I beg pardon, but I do not take your meaning.”
The men smiled, chuckled. “Why, Lord Maitland, of course.”
“Ah,” Lazare said.
A pleasant, if frustrating, thought, that one.
Kyler Maitland, the Marquis Lovett. He had been appointed Lazare’s guide while he was here fulfilling his role as ambassador. He wished Maitland were here now, for he had already noticed that everyone tended to tread carefully and mark their every word when Maitland was around. Alas, he’d had some unavoidable private matter to attend, and Lazare had been forced to attend this tea alone.
He frowned. “Why do you call him cat?”
More chuckles. “For all the obvious reasons, Highness, and some less obvious. I take it you have not met his pet?” The speaker, another fat oaf, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Then again, I doubt your Highness has had neither reason nor opportunity to visit the Lovett estate.”
Lazare’s frown eased slightly. ‘The obvious reasons’ certainly made sense. It was far too easy to describe Maitland as cat-like. Tall and long and lean, rich gold hair and eyes, and he moved with a sinuous grace that had, indeed, reminded Lazare of the mountain lions of his homeland right from the start. “His pet?”
“Oh, yes,” said another man, spindly and pale. “You will have to contrive to see his pet.” He winked. It was not a pleasant gesture coming from him.
“I see,” Lazare said, making his disapproval plain. He did not want to gossip about his guide, and it was a poor showing indeed that these men saw fit to do so. Taking another sip of tea to calm his thoughts, he then set it down and opened his mouth to begin a new topic of conversation.
Alas, another started speaking first. “Speaking of Cat, are you going to join in the wager, Highness?”
“Wager?” Lazare asked. He was so very tired of being confused.
“Aye,” said a man with a peculiar accent. Lazare was hopeless with accents in this confounded country. “Have you not heard of it yet, Highness? I’m astonished. The clubs have talked of little else since Cat was dragged out of his den to assist you.”
Lazare bit his tongue. It was difficult. He would not stoop to their level by abandoning his manners. “Lord Maitland has been my savior,” he said quietly, but firmly. “He is patient and kind, and I would be quite lost without him.”
The table erupted in laughter. “Well!” said the fat man. “I certainly have never heard him so described! Perhaps you will win the wager, Highness.”
“I—”
“Yes, indeed,” said a man bland of face and voice. “The world would erupt to finally know the answer to that damned puzzle. Patient and kind? Never have I heard those words applied to Lord Cat!”
Lazare sighed and drank his tea. He wished Maitland were here.
“Has he mentioned the affair to you, Highness?”
“I do not inquire into the private affairs of another man,” Lazare said sharply. “I was not aware such rudeness was considered acceptable in this country.”
The men laughed again. “We mean no harm, Highness. Lord Cat is one of our own. If you are to work closely with him, you will hear of the wager at some point. Indeed, I believe many of the betting books are placing new wagers on whether you will be the one to win the wager which has been on the books for the past five years.”
He was on the betting books? Lazare scowled into his tea. To the devil with manners.
Once more, however, the men spoke up before him. “It was a duel, Highness. Lord Cat was embroiled in a dawn appointment five years ago. No one can prove it, of course, but everyone knows he was there and that he fired the fatal shot.”
Lazare’s hold on his teacup faltered. Fatal shot? What nonsense was this? “I do not favor gossip,” he said icily. “Especially such ridiculous statements as that. I would appreciate it, gentlemen, if you would find another topic about which we might converse.”
“Oh, and you know Cat so well?” A man asked sneeringly. “It was his lover, you know. He challenged his lover to a duel, and shot him dead.”
“I have heard quite enough,” Lazare said coldly, slamming his teacup down and standing, then stalking to the door of the grand tearoom. A steward appeared almost immediately with his coat, hat, and walking stick.
Ignoring the voices that chased after him, Lazare stalked out of the building and into the street. His carriage…no, he did not feel like being trapped in the infernal thing. Waving off the stewards who started to call for his carriage, he turned and strode briskly down the street.
The sound of his voice, spoken in a gruff baritone, drew him up short. “Highness?”
“Lord Maitland,” he said, blinking. “Did you conclude your business?”
“Yes,” Maitland replied slowly, confusion in his gold eyes.
Such pretty eyes, for all they constantly seemed to hold something back. The very same shade of gold as his hair, which had been tousled by the brisk wind on the street, softening the strict lines of his handsome face. “If I may ask, Highness, why are you walking about? You were not due to leave the tearoom for an hour or two yet, and I saw you into the carriage myself.”
“I am tired of the tearoom,” Lazare said levelly. “Nor did I feel like being trapped in that wheeled box. I thought a walk might do me some good.”
“As you wish, Highness. May I escort you back?”
Lazare smiled faintly, unable to stay angry with Maitland before him. He had only known Maitland three weeks, but there was something steadying about him. Ever since being sent of as Ambassador, he had felt lost at sea. Maitland, from the very first, had seemed an island. “By all means, please. Your business was well concluded?”
“Yes. I apologize again for abandoning you. Was the tea so unpleasant, then?”
“I do not care for malicious gossip,” Lazare said with a shrug as they fell into step together. Even in the ripe smells clogging the streets, he did not miss the cinnamon and honey scent of Maitland. “Walking out was poor form, I know, but I will not be subjected to such unpleasantness.”
Maitland’s mouth tightened. “I apologize again for not being present.”
“Do not worry upon it,” Lazare said with a smile. “We have a free hour, shall we do something frivolous with it?”
“Frivolous?” The tightness eased faintly. “Now, Highness, I do not believe that was on your schedule for the day.”
Lazare waved his hand airily. “Well, I shall have my man of affairs pencil it in.”
Maitland laughed softly, and the sound warmed Lazare through with happiness and satisfaction, a faint thrum of victory. He liked getting Maitland to laugh; it seemed something Maitland did not do enough.
“Consider it penciled in, Highness. Where would you like to go?”
Lazare hesitated, then shrugged. “I do not care, really. I did have a question for you, however, if I am permitted to ask.”
Maitland stiffened, but if he had not been watching Maitland closely then he would have missed it. “Of course, Highness. Ask any question you like.”
“Some of the men wanted to know if I’d seen your ‘pet’,” Lazare said. “What did they mean?”
“My pet?” Maitland asked, steps faltering. “That’s what you want to know?”
Lazare ducked his head. “I apologize if I was completely out of line. It was such an odd thing to ask, it stuck in my head.”
“No, I do not mind.” Maitland smiled faintly. “I am only surprised they mentioned it. None of them have actually seen it; I suppose they were hoping you were not one ahead of them in bragging rights.”
“I should have known,” Lazare said, amused – and relieved, for he realized he had been stupidly hurt Maitland had not mentioned it. “So what is this marvelous pet?”
Maitlan’s mouth curved, something decidedly…mischievous and almost boyish about it.
Lazare found it hard to look away – indeed, he was so busy starting at Maitland’s far too appealing mouth to notice where he was going, and walked straight into a vendor bellowing out the quality of his apple tarts.
The bellowing quickly turned to a litany of what he thought were curses, but were spoken too quickly in a dialect he stood no chance of comprehending, the entire situation making him feel every inch a foreigner – and an especially stupid one at that.
Before he could gather himself and begin to offer apologies, Maitland was bellowing right back, his accent better but the words still odd, and spoken too rapidly anyway.
A moment later they were away, Maitland’s hand wrapped firmly around his arm.
His cheeks flushed hot, and he tried to form an apology, but his tongue seemed stuck fast.
It wasn’t until they were back on much calmer, less crowded streets, that he finally felt he’d regained enough of his wits. “My apologies,” he said slowly, wincing that his accent was more pronounced that usual, surely given away his unsteadiness. And over such a simple, clumsy moment. Stupid.
Maitland merely gave one of those small, barely-there smiles. “No apologies necessary, Highness. Rather, I should extend my own. We both were too lost in conversation to pay proper attention – and the vendor hardly did our country proud.”
Lazare smiled weakly. “I did almost knock him over.”
“Well, I gave him coin enough he can take the whole day off and go spend it on gin,” Maitland said, rolling his eyes. “He will survive the encounter. Now,” he continued briskly, the boyishness returning. “I believe you wanted to see my pet. I’m afraid he’s some hours away, at my family estate. We would be gone a few days at the very least.”
“I see,” Lazare said, disappointed. He doubted anyone would let him slip away for a few days. Why was it the more titles and affluence one had, the less often one was able to abuse them to get away with doing as he pleased?
Perhaps he just needed to forget such bothersome things as duty and responsibility and obligations.
My, wouldn’t that be nice? Lazare sighed. “It sounds a lovely lark, but I think my fellows and your King would all have kittens were I to caper off to the countryside for a few days.”
Maitland smiled – and winked at him. “Now, Highness, I would be a poor man of affairs indeed if I could not arrange your Highness schedule to both please my King and suit your Highness. I am competent enough to manage that.”
“You are always perfectly competent in everything you do,” Lazare murmured, hoping that did not sound as flirtatious as he wished it could sound.
He got one brief, sharp, inquisitive – dare he think hopeful – look; it lasted only the span of a heartbeat, but Lazare liked to believe he saw it. Tucking the moment away to overanalyze later, he focused on the conversation. “So I can see this notorious pet of yours?”
“Would your Highness prefer to leave at once, or in the morning?”
“At once,” Lazare said promptly, thinking of the dinner he was supposed to be attending in a few hours. Long and tedious, and his toes were still recovering from the last party.
Maitland gave an elegant half-bow as they reached the townhouse where Lazare made his home while in the city. “Then we shall depart before the sixteen hour, Highness.”
Lazare returned the bow with one of his own, wondering if stood a chance of ever persuading Maitland to call him by his given name. Perhaps he was only suffering a silly infatuation, but he would like to know how his name sounded on Maitland’s lips.
Thinking of Maitland’s lips was a bad idea. Forcing himself to think of dinner parties and speeches and the poetry everyone seemed determined to inflict upon him.
As promised, less than three hours later they were on their way.
Lazare laughed in sheer delight. “However did you manage it?” he asked, not even the roughness of the carriage ride enough to dislodge his good mood. D
Maitland shrugged casually, but his voice held a note of satisfaction. “The trick, Highness, is to inform only the necessary parties, and to inform them without giving a chance for argument. His Majesty will be most put out with me, but will not press for your return.”
“Oh?” Lazare asked, curious now, sensing there was something more to it.
“I might have implied that comments made by the gentlemen this afternoon upset you terribly, and put you in a state not fit for attending the public. The fact you stormed out of there lends credence to that implication – he will leave you in peace for a few days.”
“You are truly a man of affairs,” Lazare said, resting his hand briefly on Maitland’s arm, giving it the gentlest of squeezes. “If you are not careful, I might try to pack you with my belongings whenever I return home.”
Maitland laughed. “Make certain you put me in the trunk, Highness, and not one of the satchels. They are not terribly comfortable when it comes to the longer journeys.”
Lazare threw his head back and laughed, the image of Maitland mashed up into a satchel leaving him gasping for breath, resting against what he realized was Maitland’s shoulder as he finally returned to his senses.
Hastily sitting up, he finally managed a reply. “I will take care to see you properly packed, never fear.”
“I thank you, Highness.”
“My pleasure.” Lazare settled back in the carriage seat, stretching his legs out as best he was able, trying and failing to suppress a yawn. “How far is it?”
“Several hours, Highness,” Maitland said, voice a fine, low rumble.
Lazare nodded, but could not muster the energy to speak. Laugher faded, the warmth of the carriage and now smooth ride were all conspiring to make him sleepy.
Maitland continued speaking. “We could stop at an inn, if you like, but I would prefer to push on and arrive late in the night. I’ve already sent someone ahead to warn of our coming…”
“Push on, then,” Lazare said, as his eyes slipped closed. Travelling always did put him right to sleep, if the roads weren’t bad enough to make every bump a near-death experience.
“Yes, Highness.”
Lazare slid a bit to the right, head hitting something both hard and soft, but it was relatively comfortable and so he did not bother to move. He settled more firmly against it, speaking sleepily, not really hearing his own words. “You can call me Laz…”
*~*~*
“Highness.”
Lazare grunted, and reached out to grope for his blankets and pull them up over his head.
Instead he encountered something that was not a blanket.
Jerking awake, he yanked his hand from Maitland’s thigh, realizing abruptly where he was and why.
“M-my apologies,” he stammered, shaking his head to clear away the last of the sleep fog.
Maitland coughed. “We’ve arrived, Highness.”
Even as he spoke, the carriage pulled to a halt, and Lazare heard voices calling orders and greeting and still more orders, and then the carriage door was yanked open and the steps put down.
He refused the hand held out to assist him, clambering out clumsily by himself, stretching and groaning before finally taking in the house before them.
Sadly, it was too dark to see much of anything, but it was most certainly impressive. He started to ask about it, but was ushered in by a hand on the small of his back, Lazare’s voice rumbling gentle orders to the servants.
The inside was beautiful; simple but elegant, a mix of dark and light woods, fresh flowers on stands and tables, crystal sparkling from the ceiling, hanging in tiny hollows in the walls. The scent of citrus and sandalwood filled the air, mixed with the sweet scent of the flowers.
“You have a beautiful home,” he said, and it only really and truly struck him then just how gracious and indulgent Maitland had been with all of this. He turned and caught Maitland by the arm, holding gently but firmly. “I thank you for this. I have been rude and selfish, and it was far more than kind of you to go to such trouble.”
Maitland smiled, and covered Lazare’s hand with his own. “It is no trouble, Highness. I enjoy showing my home to friends.”
Lazare hesitated, then pressed forward. “If we are friends, then surely you need not be so formal?”
“I—”
His words were cut off by the sound of something hitting the floor with a hard thudding sound, and Lazare whipped around to see—but surely he was not seeing what he thought he was seeing. He drew a sharp breath, taking a step back, colliding with Maitland.
He was so transfixed by the sight before him, he almost did not notice the steadying hand which rested briefly on his hip.
“What in the world…” he breathed. “This is your pet?”
Maitland laughed softly, the sounds warm puffs of air against Lazare’s cheek and hair. “Yes, Highness,” Maitland replied, then moved away to kneel before the gigantic cat, a beast with orange fur and black stripes, then nuzzled and rubbed and pushed eagerly at Maitland, making all manner of sounds that seemed equal parts mews, growl, purr, and plaintive whine.
After a few minutes, Maitland stood and held out a hand. Lazare hesitated a moment, then took it and allowed Maitland to draw him close to the beast.
“Highness, may I present to you Ruffian, the true lord and master of Lovett. Ruffian, his Royal Highness Prince Lazare. I expect you to comport yourself properly for once, troublemaker.” Maitland turned to Lazare. “You may pet him, Highness. He’s quite friendly.”
Lazare did so, allowing Maitland to take his hand and guide it, showing him the proper way to stroke the beautiful cat, though he still could not quite grasp that he was petting a beast and that beast was apparently a pet.
He looked at Maitland. “You will have to explain this one, good sir.”
“In the library, if you like. We can have a late supper.” Maitland turned, and with the tiger on one side, Lazare on the other, led the way to the library.
In due course they were settled with food and wine, in a room that was warm and masculine, the scents of books and leather and brandy strong. Settling deep into a sinfully comfortable leather chair, he stared at the giant cat which had stretched out by the fire, taking up pretty much the entire rug there.
He shook his head in wonder. “How does a man come to keep a tiger for a pet? I have never seen them except when they come with the performers to the palace from time to time.” Come to think of it, those specimens were always quite sad and pathetic looking.
Ruffian seemed healthy and happy – and rather adoring of Maitland.
Sipping at his wine, Maitland further surprised Lazare by eschewing a chair to sit on the floor with the cat, smiling fondly when Ruffian shifted to be petted, rubbing against Maitland’s legs.
“I found him at one of those shows, actually,” Maitland said quietly. “I had been dragged to one by a friend.” His mouth tightened as he said the word friend, and he paused long enough to take a deep draught of his wine. “The entire affair was wretched. I abandoned the show before it was half done, and wandered amidst the tents and showmen and riff raff. Towards the very back end of it all, near the river, I heard a terrible crying mewling sound…”
He shook his head slowly back and forth at the memory, remembered anger and disgust flickering across his face. “I think the mother cat had been dead a couple of hours at least. Her poor cub…”
Maitland finished off his wine, setting the glass aside to stroke and pet Ruffian with both hands. “I wound up causing a great enough scene the whole of the crowd bore witness. By the time the matter was over, I found myself short a great deal of gold and in possession of a tiger cub.” He smiled softly. “Ruffian and I have been together ever since.”
“What did your friend think of the affair?” Lazare asked with a laugh. “I bet he never took you to a show again, or at least made certain no cats would be about? But it is a brave and noble thing you did; I do not know I would have been brave enough to try and raise a wild cat.”
“He was not so amused,” Maitland said with a shrug. “I did not see him again after that night.”
It hadn’t been a friend, but a lover. Lazare wasn’t certain how he knew that, but he did, as sure as he knew his own name.
“Well, it looks as though you gained quite the friend in exchange, and I would wager Ruffian was the better of the two,” he said, feeling rather jealous of the tiger and the way it could so casually bump and rub and touch.
He drank his own wine, squelching an urge to join them on the floor. It would not do to intrude further than he already had into Maitland’s private life. His mother would box his ears for the rudeness he had already displayed.
“Truly, he is beautiful, Lord Maitland. Though ‘Lord Cat’ made sense before, it makes far more sense now.”
Maitland rolled his eyes. “I am sorry your Highness was forced to listen to what must have been dreadfully boring gossip about me. One would think those men could find something better about which to converse.”
Lazare almost asked about the wager, some terrible, secret part of him curious to know the truth behind such an absurd rumor – Maitland shooting a lover, the very idea was absurd. Maitland shooting anyone was patently ridiculous.
He drank more wine, and absently noted he should eat something before the potent red went straight to his head and he did something foolish.
Reaching for food took too much effort, however, and he sipped his wine as he continued to watch Maitland, whose attention was focused on the tiger. Together before the fire, they made an intoxicating sight. Who needed wine to get drunk?
He was busy drinking in the sight of Maitland in firelight that he did not catch it in time when Maitland abruptly looked up. Too late, he yanked his gaze away, swearing silently to himself as he felt his cheeks burn.
Suddenly the room seemed much too hot, and he set his wine aside before he lost good sense entirely. He finally looked back, though not quite at Maitland, as he heard Ruffian move.
Making soft rumbling noises, Ruffian stood and stretched, then rubbed against Maitland one last time before padding to the door and vanishing into the hallway.
Lazare retrieved his wine and drank deeply to avoid asking if he could take Ruffian’s place, because hadn’t he already humiliated himself enough for one night?
Maitland’s softly spoken words made him choke. “Forgive me if I’m being forward, Highness, but it is much warmer down here, so close to the fire.” The husky note to his voice made his message perfectly plain, and if that did not do it, the gold eyes were positively burning.
“You could stop calling me ‘Highness’,” Lazare groused, and tipped back his glass to finish off his wine before he abandoned his chair in favor of being much, much closer to the fire.
And the hearth.
He went down on his knees, arms sliding bold as anything around Maitland’s neck, dipping his head for a kiss as Maitland’s arms wrapped around his waist.
Mmm, yes. That mouth was everything he had dreamed it would be and more besides. He pressed closer, sinking one hand into the soft hair, tilting Maitland’s head just so, trusting Maitland to take his weight, wanting more and wanting it immediately.
The world spun a bit, and he broke away only long enough to drink in the sight of Maitland spread out beneath him. “I was not expecting this when I came to see your pet,” he said, smiling faintly, fingers moving to attack buttons and knots.
“Nor I,” Maitland said, tugging him down and taking another dizzying kiss.
The wine had been potent, and gone straight to his head, but it paled in comparison to what Maitland was doing to him.
Lazare moaned and reluctantly pulled away, determined to get at skin. “I have been envious of your cat, touching you with such impunity.”
“Touch all you like, Highness,” Maitland said with a smile. “I can be nothing but flattered and pleased if you want to spend such time with me.”
Abandoning the clothes, Lazare made a sound like a growl and kissed Maitland hard, not pulling away until their lips were sore and aching. “My name is not Highness.”
Maitland chuckled softly. “My apologies, Lazare.”
Lazare shivered. Oh, yes. He liked his name said that way. Liked it very much. He renewed his attack on Maitland’s clothes, as well as his own, finally getting them free of the damnable things. “I do not think I have dallied on a carpet since I was seven and ten,” he said with a laugh. “My father was not pleased to hear about that little adventure. I believe I was tutored on decorum and discretion for six months straight.”
“We can adjourn to my bed chamber if that would suit you,” Maitland said, then bit down on Lazare’s shoulder, soothing the mark with his tongue.
“No,” Lazare gasped out, ducking his head to do some biting of his own, pressing firmly at Maitland’s shoulders to keep him in place. “I intend to have you here, before some problem of state can appear to ruin my chance.”
Maitland groaned loud and long, grinding up, pressing them together, making Lazare loose hold of his thoughts yet again. They really should move elsewhere, at their current pace they were likely to overheat – but he meant what he said.
If this was actually happening, he would have Maitland before something prevented it, be it a problem of state or old fashioned common sense.
“We will have to move, unless you planned this and came suitably prepared,” Maitland said, groaning again.
“I’ll improvise,” Lazare said, and smirked before doing just that.
*~*~*
Two days should not be enough time to become accustomed to being woken by the growls and nudging of a giant cat, but Lazare found he was used to it. Half-groaning, half-yawning, he tugged a hand free of the warm blankets to pet Ruffian.
A couple of minutes later, he felt a stirring from the pile of blankets next to him, then Maitland was pressing against him, warm lips against his throat. “Good morning, Highness.”
Stifling the annoyance and disappointment that came with Maitland’s seeming inability to call him Lazare more than once or twice – and those only in moments of passion – he threw back the blankets and turned to take a proper good morning kiss.
“So what shall we do today?” Maitland asked. “You’ve got roughly two days of freedom left, Highness.”
“I suppose simply staying in bed is out of the question?” Lazare asked with a smile.
Maitland laughed. “We’ve already nearly done that,” he replied. “Would you like to see the rest of my home? The grounds are beautiful, and the village is only a few minutes ride away. We’re relatively isolated here; the nearest neighbors are a few days away, closer to the coast.”
Lazare nodded, murmuring absent agreement, more interested by far in the feast before him. Had he ever been this addicted to a lover? Though he did not flaunt and flash the way his brothers and sisters did, he had never been a shrinking violet either. Reserved and modest until the clothes came off, his eldest brother had once described him. What, Lazare had challenged, was the point in being reserved and modest at that point?
There mother had appeared before the conversation could be concluded, but his brother’s laugh had indicated Lazare had made his point.
Maitland pushed. “You are the very definition of evil, Highness.”
Lazare smiled and sat up, shoving back his tangled hair. “Very well, man of affairs. Show me your beautiful home.”
“I’ll take you up the kissing path,” Maitland said, kissing him long and slow before finally pulling away to ring for a bath and food, ordering horses readied when the servants appeared.
Two hours later they were riding out, Ruffian dashing off ahead of them to…do whatever tiger pets did, Lazare supposed. “So does your family land boast ghosts? Smugglers? Anything like that?”
Maitland laughed. “No, Highness. Nothing so exciting as that. Our family has always been dreadfully boring.”
“Boring is not so bad a thing to be, in certain aspects of life,” Lazare said. “My family could stand to be boring, but we are royalty – I think it is impossible to be both royal and boring.” He shrugged. “Though I oft am accused of it.”
“Highness, I would describe you as many things,” Maitland said, a slow burn rising in his gold eyes. “Boring is not one of them.”
Lazare returned the look full measure, shifting on his horse in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. “That is certainly good to hear.”
They explored all afternoon, stopping twice when taunting, heated exchanges got to be too much for either to bear, and once for a lunch that took nearly three hours all on its own.
Dusk was beginning to tease the sky when they finally began to make their way home, and Lazare noted with a yawn that the way they were going was not the way Maitland had taken them before. “Your lands are extensive.”
Maitland shrugged. “Tracts of land were gifted to my family for one thing or another – we might be boring, but we do work hard for our country – so there is a great deal more of it than when we first were bestowed the Lovett title.”
“I will have to tell his Majesty that you continue that tradition,” Lazare teased.
“I am happy to hear it, Highness, “Maitland replied, echoing his earlier words, but they were distracted. Maitland’s brow was furrowed, eyes distant; obviously his mind was on something else, and that something was troubling.
His mood only plummeted as they continued. Three times Lazare started to ask what was wrong, only to remain silent each time. A few days abed with a man did not mean he had the right to intrude, and he felt very much that to speak would be taken as intrusion.
Still, he might have very well given in the fourth time, if Maitland had not abruptly turned off the path onto a smaller footpath. He left his horse, and Lazare was forced to do likewise, following Maitland in silence.
They came out of the woods into a pretty field filled with wildflowers, a tiny pond shadowed by what he thought might be an apple tree.
As they drew closer to it, he saw with a start that a gravestone was set beneath the apple tree, tilted every so slightly toward the pond.
“What…” He trailed off, not certain he could speak. He knew all the manners of this country, so far as ordinary situations went. The nuances of them, especially in strange circumstances, eluded him. If he caused offense now, he would hate himself for a very long time.
Silence stretched on for what seemed hours, until Maitland at last broke it, voice soft and somber. “His name was Eric. We were lovers almost a decade ago. This,” Maitland motioned to the field, “was his favorite place. We came here often…this is where he died, as well, and so I had him buried here.” He stared at the headstone, a deep frown etched into his face, and Lazare didn’t think he would notice if the King suddenly appeared and bolted stark naked through the field.
This couldn’t be… It struck him so suddenly, he blurted the words out before he could catch himself. “You mean that whole wager thing was true?”
Maitland jerked as though shot, face going from troubled to cold in the span of a heartbeat. “You have known about the wager, Highness?”
Lazare took a step back, startled by the chill tone. “No, you—”
“Is that why you pressed to come?” Maitland demand, voice cracking out like a whip. “I wondered, when you pressed about my pet, but foolish me – I truly thought that was your only interest.”
“Maitland—” He reached out to grasp Maitland’s arm, but Maitland jerked well away, as though he found Lazare repulsive.
“What did I say wrong?” Lazare asked, confused and hurt, all the more upset because he could hear his accent slipping. “No offense did I mean.” He struggled to hold on to his grasp of the language, always the first thing to go when he lost his equilibrium.
“Did you join the betting books, Highness? Did they tell you the whole of the sordid affair?”
Lazare frowned. “Your lover you shot, they told. But me—”
“Is the wager the usual 20,000, or did it go up with your Highness joining in? You’ve got much farther than anyone else, that is for certain.”
His temper snapped, and he realized distantly that he had given up on the damned foreign tongue completely, but he did not care. I did not join that wager, you wretch! They told me about it, and I stormed out, disliking they would gossip so about you to me! I did not join it, I knew nothing about it, I did not mention it because I feared it would upset you. To hells with you and your infernal country!”
He turned and fled the clearing before Maitland could stop him, suspecting he would just punch the bastard at this point. What had he done, but confess his astonishment there might be something to the rumor? Of course he did not believe Maitland had killed anyone, but was astonished to find there was a dead lover.
Throwing himself on his horse, he turned it and went back the way they had come, urging the horse to as fast a pace as he dared, seething with anger and shaking with hurt.
Oh, he would never understand this country! He had told mother not to send him, that one of the others would do much better – even his sisters showed more acumen for these matters than he. Only a few weeks and he had clearly lost the only real friend he had here, and there was no telling how much his lost friendship would adversely affect greater relations with King and country.
He had tried to tell them he was not fit for it. Of all this siblings, he was the most quiet. His few dalliances were always with those as quiet as himself. It was precisely what had drawn him to Maitland – that quiet demeanor, the kindness and simple courtesy. So unlike most of his peers.
These past few days had, of course, been too good to be true.
Perhaps he was overreacting, but that Maitland would just lash out at him without even listening—
He had never taken it from his sisters when they got in their snits, he had not taken it from his brothers, he most certainly would not take it from a man he—
Snarling, hearing Maitland call his name, Lazare increased his pace, blindly turning his horse down a path he didn’t know just to get away and damn it all, why did they have to be on Maitland’s land where he stood no chance of getting away?
He drew the horse to a halt, panting for breath, still thrumming with anger and hurt. Fine, if he couldn’t get away, then he’d just punch Maitland precisely as he wanted. His mother would harangue for ages if she ever found out, but at least he would be home to hear the haranguing!
Except, when he turned, Maitland was not on his heels as he had thought. No one was around. He couldn’t even hear Maitland calling his name…
Had Maitland given up so easily?
Lazare scowled and told himself to quit being an idiot. Maitland wouldn’t have given up, and even if he had – so what? Hadn’t he been trying to get Maitland to leave him the hells alone?
Sometimes, he made no sense even to himself.
Heaving a sigh, he took a closer look at his surroundings. “I don’t suppose you know the way home?” he muttered to the horse, who did not admit to it if he did, merely stood restlessly in place.
Calling himself a thousand different kinds of idiot, for an angry snit was no excuse to get himself lost in a bloody forest, Lazare considered his options. He remembered turning off onto a small path – at some point they had lost it, but surely it must be about somewhere. Then he could simply take that back to the main paths, and find his way quite easily from there.
Easy as that.
Except he saw no sign of the path he had taken, and did not dare explore too far for fear of making his predicament worse. Damn it all, why was Maitland not here? Why must he have so much bloody forest on his land?
Lazare rubbed his forehead. Why had they both decided to handle this entire affair quite like children?
A cracking sound brought his head up eagerly, and he opened his mouth to say something – anything – but what he saw was not Maitland. He froze, wondering who the group of men were, noting nervously they looked more than a little unsavory.
Then he saw the dead deer two of them carried, and realization dawned – poachers. Damn it.
He tightened his hands on the reins, wondering if he could simply sprint past them, but even as he made to try it, one raised a flintlock and the sudden booming crack of it frightened his horse.
Try as he might, Lazare could not stay seated, and he felt a flash of pain in his head before the world went dark.
*~*~*
The next time he had an argument with a lover, Lazare thought sourly, he was going to remind himself that he was the quiet, reserved, and level-headed one. No more of this running off in a fit of temper.
At least, not when he might become lost in a forest.
He seemed to be in some sort of utterly vile shack, and he wondered why they had not simply killed him.
Now that he was sort of thinking again, he wondered that anyone would be stupid enough to poach on Maitland’s land. Surely they ran the risk of meeting up with Ruffian? He did not know a thing about tigers, but he sensed Ruffian would more than happily dispose of anyone who invaded his territory, and surely a cat of that size must have the run of the land.
His wrists and legs had been crudely tied. They must think him no threat whatsoever. True enough, as far as it went, but Lazare had four older brothers and two older sisters. So far as tying people up went, these poachers could learn a thing or two from his siblings.
Once he was free, Lazare gingerly tested each of his limbs, wincing at his throbbing, aching head. He wondered if these men knew he was foreign, and if that would work for or against him.
Not that he wanted to find out, particularly.
A quick peek out a filth-crusted window showed him what he had suspected – it was full dark. Stupid time to be going out and about in the forest, but if his only other option was to stay here and wait the return of the poachers…
If he was out there, he stood a good chance of getting well away from them. He could not see them, they would not see him, and perhaps come morning he could make good a real escape.
Grimacing at the idea of having to spend a night in the forest with none of the creature comforts, but admitting it was precisely what he deserved for being such an idiot. He hoped he could find his way back to Maitland come the morning.
Moving slowly, he pushed open the back door of the odd shack and took in his surroundings as best he was able.
A bit of moonlight filtered through the trees, reflecting on a stream or something which ran behind what he thought was the back of the cabin. Nearby, he saw what might be a footpath, and took it – and screamed as he turned the corner, stumbling back, tripping, wind up in a rather undignified heap on the ground.
Bloody hells, his head hurt something fierce.
He looked up again to see the glowing yellow eyes which had given him such a nasty start were still there – except they were really glowing, he supposed, merely seemed to. Then the eyes slunk from the shadows, and he saw it was Ruffian.
“What are you doing here?” He hissed, feeling stupid for talking to a tiger but really, he just wanted to be home in bed. “Do not scare me so.”
The tiger growled softly and pushed at his chest, then began to paw and tug at his clothes, tearing them horribly.
Lazare could take a hint. Standing up, wishing the world would stop spinning for five minutes, he held his arms akimbo. “Well, Ruffian?”
Growling again, the cat turned and slunk back off into the shadows, only just visible because he moved, the only sound the occasional rustling of his tail against the leaves.
Keeping up with the damned tiger taxed his strength, but when his only other option was to make a night of it in the forest, Lazare found he could keep pushing on so long as he didn’t stop for more than a moment.
Still, by the time they left the forest, the sky just barely beginning to turn gray, he was ready to fall over.
“Lazare!”
He jerked when he head his name, and realized it was Maitland saying it, and saw a shadow separate itself from all the rest, and then he was caught up in an embrace as words spoken too low and fast to understand washed over him.
He didn’t need to understand them to catch the meaning though, and simply held fast as Maitland guided him toward the house.
The next hour or however long it was passed in a blur, and the only thing he really remembered between being cleaned and dressed and put to bed was the soft kiss brushed across his lips before he finally fell asleep.
*~*~*
He was woken by Ruffian, desirous of his morning petting.
Lazare groaned and tried to tug the blankets up over his head, but the tiger was having none of that.
Then memories of the night flashed through his mind, and Lazare realized the very least he owed the tiger was a few scratches behind the ears. Throwing back the blankets enough to sit up properly, he reached out and petted the tiger until his arms ached.
Satisfied, Ruffian turned and padded back out of the room.
Lazare hesitated. What was he to do now?
Well, make his apologies, obviously. He recalled very little from the previous night, but he did know he had not quite managed that. Oh, poachers. Maitland should be warned of the poachers, for what if it was Ruffian they were attempting to catch?
He shoved the blankets back entirely and started to climb from bed, but sat down heavily when the room spun just a little bit more than he would have liked.
At least his head did not hurt quite as much as it had the night before. He seemed to have knocked it quite soundly, but not as bad as he might have given the circumstances.
Fortunately, the matter of finding Maitland became academic when the man himself appeared in the doorway, bearing a breakfast tray that smelled almost as good as Maitland looked.
Suddenly aware of his lack of clothes, and uncertain where they stood, Lazare hastily recovered the blankets, staring at them until Maitland drew close enough he had no choice but to look up.
“I’m sorry—”
“I must apologize—”
They broke off, staring at each other, then smiled and laughed.
Maitland set the breakfast try across his lap. “Highness, I must apologize. There was no excuse for my behavior. I overreacted.”
“As did I,” Lazare said. “I knew at once it must be a troublesome matter for you, that is why I never mentioned it. I was not trying to keep secrets or any such thing – I stormed out of that tearoom because I was tired of them gossiping about you.” He played restlessly with the things upon his tray, wanting to eat but feeling too anxious to manage it quite yet. “I swear to you, I have nothing to do with any wager.”
“I know,” Maitland said quietly, covering Lazare’s hands, stilling their restless movement. “I am so used to that being the sole reason anyone seeks me out, I could not believe you were different. So, I apologize, Highness.”
Lazare withdrew his hands. “I am not going to accept any apology until you cease to be so formal,” he said. “Perhaps it is merely my foreign ignorance showing, but to my mind, we are well past having to be so strict in our address? Is there some reason of which I am unaware that you refuse to use my name, except…”
A hand sank into his hair, and Lazare went easily as Maitland drew him into a long, thorough kiss. It seemed the final balm on all the aches acquired the previous night, and if he’d had any anger or displeasure left, it dissipated easy as that.
“Lazare,” Maitland said softly when they finally broke apart. “I am trying and failing to keep some sort of distance between us, Hi—Lazare. If I use your given name, I’ll start to think I can keep you.” His thumb rubbed back and forth across Lazare’s lips.
“Keep me?” Lazare asked, rather liking the sound of that. He liked it a great deal. “Why can’t you keep me?”
Maitland looked at him, clearly startled. “Highness—you can hardly stay with me, and I cannot leave Ruffian to go with you. That aside, surely your parents want better for you than a reclusive Marquis who is in half the betting books in the city.”
Lazare kissed him, breaking away only when the breakfast tray rattled ominously. Not wanting to tip hot tea over certain delicate portions of his anatomy, Lazare reluctantly broke away. “I am the youngest of seven children, my good Marquis. My mother sent me over here in a continuing effort to get rid of her children to obtain some peace and quiet. I promise you, so long as I do not force our countries to go to war, or empty the family coffers, she does not care what I do. Anyway, my brother has taken up with a musician, of all things. By comparison, you are positively perfect.”
“I see,” Maitland said, gold eyes bright with amusement. “Well, it is good to know I am respectable enough, if only by comparison.”
“Oh, be quiet,” Lazare said, rolling his eyes and finally reaching for the food with an actual desire to eat. He ate a warm scone with rather less dignity than a prince should show, but it started to make those gold eyes he loved so begin to burn, so he really did not care much about the lack of dignity.
Maitland leaned forward as he finished, licking strawberry jam from Lazare’s lips with such thoroughness Lazare could not shove the breakfast tray away fast enough.
“I am sorry we so thoroughly botched yesterday,” he said some time later, aching head returning but it was a price he would happily pay over and over again.
“I would say the mater is resolved,” Maitland said with dry amusement.
“Still, you obviously were going to tell me something that was important to you,” Lazare said. “I am sorry to have ruined that, especially since at the time it seemed I had quite violated your trust.”
Maitland shrugged, or at least tried to shrug, given he was stretched out on the bed with Lazare still draped mostly on top of him. “The betting books all say that I killed him in a duel, and everyone wants to know if I fired the fatal shot.”
“You do not have to tell me,” Lazare said quietly. “That is not why I mentioned it.”
Maitland kissed his nose. “I wanted to tell you, and only partly because you had nothing to do with the stupid wager. I knew you would hear about it before long; I would not want you thinking me a murderer.”
“I never thought you were,” Lazare replied. “That was why I stormed off, as I said. I could not tolerate them speaking of you so. I have to endure much – but not that.”
You are far too kind,” Maitland said. “Did you know, I almost refused to come out of seclusion to be your man of affairs? The King chose me because he knew I was not given to the same nonsense as the others, in addition to being fluent and all those other little things. I nearly refused, but my friend Bartholomew persuaded me at the last to go ahead. He claimed I needed to do something with myself before I became as difficult as my tiger.”
Lazare laughed. “Ruffian is scarcely what I would call difficult.”
Maitland snorted. “Just wait. He earned that name for a reason.”
“Mm,” Lazare said, stealing another kiss.
“Challenging one another to a duel was a game between us,” Maitland said abruptly, and Lazare took a moment to catch up with the shift in conversation. “We always did it when we were arguing, and thought the matter was getting ridiculous.” He smiled faintly. “Yesterday was hardly the first time I have acted before thinking, it is why I prefer to be quiet and keep to myself.”
Lazare returned the smile, but did not reply.
“He killed himself,” Maitland said, smile fading away, head turning away to stare out across the bedroom. “His family has long had a long history of mental instability, and it was painfully obvious he was following in those footsteps. He was ten years my senior, and I unfortunately was probably too young to handle the situation as well as I ought. I came here to stop him, when I realized what he was about, but I came too late. Rumors of course managed to fly that he had been shot, and I had done the shooting…”
“I am sorry,” Lazare said quietly, not even trying to understand what that must be like. The look in Maitland’s eyes was more than enough for him to catch an inkling of it. He kissed Maitland deeply, holding tightly, sorry not only for the terrible, tragic death but all that Maitland had put up with since that night.
“It’s long past,” Maitland said quietly, easing slightly. He dredged up a faint smile. “Now that you know, they will have all lost their damned wager.”
Lazare shook his head. “I would wager to say that if we do not return soon to the city, it is our own lives we shall be worrying about.”
“That is a wager you would likely win, and so I shall not take it – but I did send a note to the King saying we would be returning a day or two late.”
“My mother is going to kill me,” Lazare muttered, but then Maitland did something with his hand that made him utterly incapable of thinking about his mother. “Never mind my earlier wager,” he said with a groan, even as he fumbled to exact revenge. “I wager that one of us will not be capable of leaving this bed come tomorrow morning, and it will not be me.”
Maitland’s eyes were hot and bright. “That is a wager I will take.”