A Lord to Love

By Sara Dobie Bauer

A Lord to Love © 2019 Sara Dobie Bauer

ISBN (ebook) 978-1-948272-14-8

All rights reserved.

Published 2019 by Carnation Books

CarnationBooks.com

contact@carnationbooks.com

San Jose, CA, USA

Cover design © 2019 Lodestar Author Services

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

To my friends on AO3. Your enthusiastic, half-hysterical support keeps me going. 

Contents

A Lord to Love

About the Author

About Carnation Books

A Lord to Love

By Sara Dobie Bauer

~~~

This is not the way I ever hoped things would happen between us, but it’s now the only way. I stand in the grand meeting room of the Price estate and see Harrison is still beautiful, even in grief. His shoulders stoop under the weight of his father’s recent death—and the weight of being named the new Lord Price, to the chagrin of his older brother.

Unfortunate, too, that I, Lord John Morgan, am the reason for what promises to be an intense legal debate—and that Harrison Price is only nineteen—but I made up my mind as soon as I walked in an hour ago, as soon as I saw him again.

I will go through with this, no matter what Russell says.

I want to make the young Lord Price’s eyes brighten. I want to relax those pursed lips and put a stop to the tense, agitated way he moves. He fits perfectly into this setting, though, surrounded by luxury: high ceilings, dark wooden furniture, and wide windows that showcase the lush greenery of Price land. He’s a work of art himself, with his black hair, silver eyes, and pale skin.

I haven’t seen him in months, and that was only from across a crowded ballroom. We’ve never really spoken. The ongoing feud between Harrison’s father and myself kept us sequestered to different social circles. Now, though, the old man is dead, and he left everything—title included—to his youngest, this nineteen-year-old boy, barely a man, in an expensive suit. I try not to stare at his delicate hands. Musician’s hands.

“Looks nothing like his father,” Russell says at my side.

“No, he looks like his mother.”

Russell sips coffee. “Did you know her?”

“I met her once. A few years ago.” I will never forget that fateful Christmas Eve.

“Before everything went tits up with Lord Price, the elder?” he snickers.

I glance at my legal advisor with his graying hair and shrewd, dark eyes. I’ve always trusted this man with everything, but in these proceedings, he’ll have to trust me.

I clear my throat and try to stop looking at Harrison. “I won’t miss the man.”

“No, neither me. But it looks like his son will.” He gestures toward the object of my obsession.

The weight of grief rests like a visible fog in the room, and Harrison is its source. I’ve heard he was close to his father—much closer than the elder son, Thomas, if inheritance is any indication. Thomas received nothing but a measly monthly allowance in the old man’s will. Harrison, practically a child, has gained everything.

But not the family graveyard. That is why I’m really here, isn’t it?

Due to a boundary debate that’s been raging for the past two years, the dead Lord Price and I had been at war. Thanks to some hundred-year-old mistake, discovered by Russell, I own much more land than I once realized, including the Price family cemetery and all the bodies within—including Harrison’s mother, who died not long after that auspicious Christmas party three years ago.

Now, young Harrison wants the land back. He wants to bury his father, visit his mother. Although I’d once laid out financial terms that would return the land to the Price family, Harrison’s father refused. Ever since, I’ve kept the entire family away with the help of armed sentries who wander the edges of my land.

Unlike his father, Harrison will not refuse me. He’s trying to seem strong, stand tall, but I can see he is desperate to put flowers on his mother’s grave. He’s desperate to lay his dear father to rest. He will agree to my terms.

I didn’t want it to happen like this, but maybe this has been my only option all along.

~~~

Seated down both lengths of a long, wooden table, all members of the Price and Morgan parties spend the afternoon debating the little details of the legal agreement that will put an end to the feud that has raged.

I let Russell do most of the talking, mostly to Thomas, who is the spitting image of his dead father. Thomas has that same long nose, receding hairline, and somber expression. It’s hard to see any resemblance between him and Harrison, who wanders the edges of the debate, focused and listening. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. The intelligence obvious in his gaze misses nothing, understands everything.

I heard he spent the last year in Cambridge, studying chemistry.

I do catch the young Lord Price gazing at me every so often. I wonder if he knew who I was at all those society functions in London, wonder if he felt me watching. No matter; he knows who I am now. He looks to me and looks away. Each time he does it, I sit up a bit straighter.

As the day runs late, we agree to adjourn until the morning, although I, along with my legal counsel, am invited to stay for dinner. I accept, if only for an excuse to spend more time in the same space as Harrison, but he doesn’t join us.

Thomas makes stuttering apologies. “My brother is still overtaken by grief.”

His smile is forced. He should be the new Lord Price, and he knows it. Everyone knows it. The pronouncement of Harrison’s title was a shockwave felt down the valley and all the way into the city.

Russell, a bit drunk on brandy, reminisces about law school with a Price representative, so I sneak away. I try to picture the room where I first saw Harrison, but all I can remember is him—younger, smaller, but just as imposing.

I follow the sound of a crackling fire and find a cozy study. Someone sits in a tall chair facing the flames, one hand on the arm. I would recognize Harrison’s hands anywhere. I don’t think twice before walking inside and sitting in the chair opposite.

He looks up when I enter but doesn’t move to welcome me. “Oh. Lord Morgan.”

“Lord Price.” I cross one leg over the other.

“Apologies for not joining you at dinner.” His voice is much deeper than I expected. A fair descriptor of the young man would be “pretty,” and yet, his voice rumbles like an ocean wave.

“No need to apologize. I wouldn’t want a group of strangers in my home right now, either.”

He sips what looks to be scotch. “Did you hate my father?”

Despite the hostility of his words, I fold my hands in my lap to appear neutral, unbothered. “No. We just didn’t agree on things. I’m sorry for your loss. You’re very young for all this responsibility.”

He chuckles, mirthless. “And you’re very old to be petty about a graveyard.”

I laugh. “Fair enough. You don’t seem nineteen.”

He finishes his glass and holds the tumbler, empty, between his long fingers. “How do I seem?”

“Older. A force to be reckoned with.”

“I grew up quite quickly when I lost my mother.”

I want to reach for him but do not. “My mother also died when I was young.”

He sighs. “Do you miss her, Lord Morgan? Do you perchance visit her grave?”

It’s a direct assault, but I ignore it. “You can call me John.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He hasn’t looked at me since I sat down. “I didn’t think my father would…” He licks his bottom lip. His forehead wrinkles. “I thought I would have him for much longer. Now, he is gone, and…”

I wonder how much he’s had to drink.

“How do you keep going, Lord Morgan? What fills your days?”

I want to tell him the truth. I want to say, Thoughts of you. I have never forgotten he lives next door. The only reason I ever went to society parties was to catch a glimpse of him. I used to have nightmares that I would eventually find him betrothed to some stodgy French duke and I would be too late. Instead, here we sit, alone together, and he looks at me now, waiting.

I lean forward in my seat. “The pain will get better.”

He glares at me. “Why aren’t you married?”

The force of his suspicion, his ire, makes me wonder if he has indeed spent the past few years watching me watching him. I pull away from the light of the fire and disappear into the shadows of my chair. “I’m sorry?”

Harrison closes his eyes, shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I…” He stands, and so do I. “I should retire for the night. I am not good company.”

Again, the longing to touch him wars within my very soul. Surely, a hand on his arm wouldn’t be too much? I run my palm from his shoulder to his elbow. “You’re fine company, Lord Price.”

He studies me. Despite the alcohol in his system, I feel he sees right through me. I let him see. I watch him and wait, but he doesn’t back away or start shouting, so I assume he hasn’t guessed my true intentions. He nods and says, “Until tomorrow, Lord Morgan.”

I return the nod and watch him walk away. Despite the alcohol, he is elegance and grace as he crosses the room and disappears down the hall. I know he plays music—God, do I ever know—but I have never seen him dance. I presume he would be a natural.

On the way back to my estate, I tell Russell about the addendum I need him to add to the Morgan-Price legal agreement. At first, he just laughs. When he realizes I’m serious, he starts shouting. He calls me “bloody insane,” but I hear none of it. I made up my mind as soon as I saw Harrison, now bowed beneath the burden of pain. I have waited long enough.

~~~

The next morning, we are back in the grand meeting room with its wide windows and suffocating grief. Thomas sits at the head of the table as if he has any right to be there. Harrison, in a bespoke black suit, stares outside. Unlike many of my contemporaries, he does not wear breeches, but trousers that go all the way to the floor. It’s a style that is all the rage with young intellectuals. I look at him; he doesn’t look back, but he listens. I can tell he hears everything in the way his brows occasionally lift or lower, in the way he tilts his head as though working out a melody.

Russell clears his throat and tosses me one final simmering glare before he sighs.

This is it. Bombs are about to blow.

“There is one slight change to the final agreement, at Lord Morgan’s request.” My friend tugs at his shirt collar. “If you’ll look to the bottom of page eight…”

Papers flutter like bird wings. Then, there is silence as the rich men around the table read. Thomas apparently finishes first, because he says, calmly, “Absolutely not.”

I gift him a close-lipped smile. “It’s not your place to say.”

“What is it?” Harrison now stands with his hands in his pockets across the table from me. He asks the room, but those discerning eyes look only at me.

“It is utter madness!” Thomas shouts. The calm veneer is cracking. Other members of the Price party nod in agreement.

Madness? No. I want to tell them to look at him. Look at Harrison Price. Look at how brilliant and beautiful he is and tell me it’s madness.

Instead, I sit in silence, as does Russell.

Harrison asks, “What does it say?” Somehow, I feel he already knows.

Thomas holds the contract up in the air as if he might throw it. “It’s bloody preposterous! Our family land in exchange for your hand in marriage!”

And there it is: the most unromantic marriage proposal in history, and I am responsible.

Harrison stares at me. His eyes widen a bit. His lips part on a breath, but he doesn’t stomp like a child or call me a filthy old man. There are murmurings up and down the table. I’m sure Thomas is the shade of a ripe tomato, but I see nothing but the young Lord Price and the lack of emotion on his face.

It’s not as though men of our station don’t marry each other. Ever since the king’s favorite brother admitted to his homosexual inclinations, it happens with some regularity. Heirs are adopted, chosen, or—in special cases—a man takes a wife, as well. I have no interest in a wife. For three years, there has been no one but this beguiling creature before me.

Perhaps the general shock comes particularly due to our age difference… or the fact that we are nearly strangers, but neither fact worries me. I will never bore of Harrison, never. Even if the man were mute, I could spend years staring at him.

But now, he stares at me and looks to be the calmest person in the room. “Out,” he says suddenly, in that powerful voice of his. “Everyone out. Lord Morgan, you will remain.”

“Brother—” Thomas starts.

“I said out.”

Men move with haste, and I wonder if the young lad has a fiery side I don’t know about—yet. I hope to know everything about Harrison soon. Thomas mutters something to him as he walks by, but Lord Price does not respond.

Far away, the heavy wooden doors close, and we are alone. Harrison returns to his place near the window. The gray light of England highlights his flawless skin.

“Why?” he asks.

I round the table and walk toward him, stopping within an arm’s distance. “Why what?”

“Why would you want to marry me?” He turns on his heels and glares. He’s a full six inches taller than me, but he’s too young to make me feel small. “It’s not for money. You have no need for money.”

I smile. “How do you know?”

“I spied on your accountant.”

I chuckle. “Of course you did.” Might as well tell the truth. The brilliant boy is bound to figure it out anyway. I point at one of his hands, curled into a fist by his side. “May I?” I reach forward. When I touch his hand, his fingers relax but his shoulders tense. I cup his hand in mine and admire its elegance. “We met years ago, although I doubt you remember.”

I hear him swallow. “I remember.”

“Do you now?”

“I was sixteen.”

I nod. “The Christmas before your mother passed, before all this business about a graveyard, your father threw a party. He made you play violin. At first, I thought you hated to play, but then I realized you were just shy.”

His fingers move on my palm, just lightly. “I don’t like playing for other people. I do it to help me think.”

“Well, you played beautifully.” When I move a little closer, he doesn’t move back. “It was your hands that first did it. You have exquisite hands.” I lean down and kiss one of his knuckles. When I look up at him, he seems utterly lost, as though I am a difficult chemical formula at Cambridge. “I couldn’t stop looking at you that night.” I smile at my own desperation. “I still can’t.”

“You stare at me at society parties.”

“So you have been paying attention. It was hard to imagine you’d keep getting better looking.”

“No.” He shakes his head and pulls his hand away. “This is preposterous. I would be a terrible husband.”

“I can’t believe that’s true.”

He talks to the window as though scared to look at me. “I daily mourn my parents. I ache with their loss. I don’t want to run a household, let alone an entire estate. I…” He keeps shaking his head. “I am a chemistry student. I find comfort in science and order, not… this.” He gestures to me. “Whatever this is, whatever you’re doing.”

“Harrison—”

“I did not give you permission to call me that.”

“All right.” I hold my hands up in front of me. If he were a cat, his back would be arched, nails out.

“I know what I look like, but I have gone to great lengths to deter advances. Why should I allow you near? What right do you have to me?”

“None.”

His eyes burn now, on fire. “And yet you would expect me to marry you?”

“Not expect. Hope.” I don’t know what else to do, so I go down on one knee in front of him. “I have thought of no one but you for three years. I have been haunted by the fear of you marrying someone else. You asked last night why I have not married. Frankly, no one caught my attention the way you did, playing that violin. And you still hold it, three years later. I could watch you read a newspaper and be entertained.”

Thank God, he laughs a little at that, but I can see his eyes are red. He turns away from me and lets out a shaky breath. He’s only growing more agitated, and I think I’m seeing something strange and precious. From what I’ve observed, Lord Price does not seem like a young man comfortable with emotion.

I stand and lightly take hold of his arms. I urge him to face me. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He barks out a chuckle like the mirthless one from last night.

“Look at this from a business perspective. We both have more money than we know what to do with.”

He sighs at this, nods, although he still averts his gaze.

“We pool our funds. We could do some good in the local village and even in London. I’ve always wanted to open a hospital for the destitute, and you could continue your education.”

Finally, his silver eyes land on me, and although red around the edges, I see they’re not really silver at all, but pools of ever-changing watercolor in vivid blue, green, and gold. “You would let me go back to school?”

I squeeze his arms and smile up at him. “You’re an adult. You are free to do as you choose.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. Finally, a tear falls and lands on the edge of his cheekbone before tumbling down the side of his face. “Why should I trust you?”

“Look.” I don’t want to let him go, but I do. I turn back to the table and reach for the papers near Thomas’s abandoned chair. I tear the legal documents, and of course, there are copies, but I hope this is symbol enough to satisfy the object of my unyielding affection. “You can have your land and the graveyard back. I don’t care about any of it. Frankly, I spent years fighting your father simply because he was being an ass. The only reason I’ve continued the ridiculous debate was to get close to you. And here I am.” I reach for his hand, and he doesn’t pull away. “Close to you. I remember having a horrible row with your father last year. I came sprinting out of his office and ran right into you.”

“You were like an angry bull.”

I laugh. Everything about him makes me feel light. “I kept you from tumbling over by grabbing onto your bare wrist. The ghost of that touch haunted me for months.”

“But John, the land you would so swiftly throw away is quite valuable. There is a Price family legend that Aunt Edna actually buried her jewels with… what?”

“You called me John.”

His cheeks turn red. “Oh, well—”

I honestly can’t help myself. I lean up on my toes and kiss him once quickly, although he immediately ducks his head. If I thought he was blushing a moment ago, he now practically glows with it, doing his best to hide behind thick, black curls.

“Lord Price, have you never been kissed before?”

“No, I’ve never. I mean to say. Romantic entanglements, they…” Watching him stumble over words is more attractive than I would have guessed. “You don’t want me, John. I have nothing to offer you.”

I tilt his face up with my fingers beneath his chin. “I want you. Only you.”

“I won’t be good at marriage.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, I’ve certainly never been good at relationships before.”

“It’s all right, love.” I use the endearment accidentally, but it makes Harrison laugh.

“Love? You don’t even know me.”

I take his face in my hands, and he allows it. “I want to know everything about you, so tomorrow, we will bury your father, put flowers on your mother’s grave, and… you’ll marry me.”

He closes his eyes and leans into my touch. “I don’t understand you. I don’t like that I don’t understand you.”

I admire the angular planes of his face. “You will, with time.”

“Will you give me until end of day tomorrow to decide? I have a funeral to arrange.” He leans back, away from me, and my hands fall to my sides.

“I can make you happy, Harrison.”

“I didn’t say you could call me that.” He sniffs. “But you can call me that.” He folds his hands behind him and looks down at his shining shoes. “Would you please be here in the morning?”

“Yes, of course, love.”

He doesn’t comment this time. He just turns and leaves the room.

Immediately, every single legal advisor and relative comes pouring back inside, shouting. I’m left to explain all we discussed, although I leave out everything about “love” and the way his lips felt against mine: soft, warm, and tasting of honey.

~~~

It’s freezing on this windy hill at the edge of my property. Well, Harrison’s property now. The young Lord Price wears a long, black overcoat. His dark hair blows in the wind. He closely resembles a very tall raven, and all I want to do is wrap him in my arms and keep him warm—especially when he removes his leather gloves.

Over half the village is here for the funeral, but I don’t think it’s out of respect for Harrison’s father. I assume news traveled fast of my proposal. They want to see what will happen as much as I do. I am a betting man, and I’m confident my beloved will give me his hand in marriage. There were little moments yesterday, when we were alone—the way he let me get close, touch him, comfort him—that make me believe he feels affection for me. I pray I am not wrong. I can’t imagine I’ll ever feel this level of adoration for anyone else.

And no one will ever be as breathtaking as the man who now stands over his parents’ graves and begins to play.

He was already a talented violinist at the age of sixteen. He’s a master now. I would know. I used to attend the symphony in London. In fact, so did Harrison. I once spent an entire rendition of Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” staring at him from an adjoining box. I have heard all variety of musicians, but Harrison surpasses them all. I watch his pale fingers dance over strings as he plays a somber melody I do not recognize. Perhaps one of his own creation? I hope one day he’ll write something for me.

As the song comes to a close, he collapses down to his knees. There’s a quiet outpouring of concerned cries, but I reach him first. I kneel at his side and put my arm around his shoulders, and it’s as if he expected me there. He leans his forehead against the side of my neck and cradles his violin against his chest.

“I only ever used to play for my mother,” he whispers. “She taught me, you know.”

“And she heard you.” I kiss his forehead and am again relieved to find he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans his weight heavier upon me. He smells of spiced, black tea.

Behind us, the crowd begins to disperse, for which I’m thankful. I’m not sure Lord Price can walk just yet, and I’d rather not his grief become a spectacle. Even his older brother turns to leave, but not before casting a curious glare at me. I don’t waste my energy on Thomas. I run my hand up and down Harrison’s arm and bury my nose in his hair.

“I’ve got you, love.”

He tries to hide that he’s sobbing, but I can feel the way his body shakes. Maybe I was wrong in my earlier assessment: Harrison Price is very good at feeling emotion. Expressing it comfortably is another matter.

~~~

He obviously doesn’t want these people in his home. He doesn’t want the food and drink and low mumbles of villagers and politicians and lawyers. Harrison is practically asleep on his feet as he nods his thanks over and over. I stand at his father’s wake and watch from across the room, even though I long to be by his side. I long to hold his hand in mine, but it’s not my place—not yet.

Russell sips red wine from a small, crystal cup and lingers as though waiting for me to say something. Finally, I ask, “What?”

“You’re mad,” he says.

“Really?”

“John, you’re practically twice his age.”

“Not quite twice.”

“He’s a child,” my friend says.

“He is anything but.”

Harrison’s eyes search the room and rest on me. I look back as if to say, Yes, I am here. I will not leave you. Tell me what you need. He nods as though he understands and turns his attention back to some man in a green velvet cloak.

“I can’t bloody believe you gave him all that land back for free. I’ve been fighting this for years, you fool.” Russell isn’t really angry. I can hear the teasing in his voice. “He’s got you under his thumb, and you’re not even married yet.” My friend moves to stand in front of me, blocking Harrison from view. “Tell me this isn’t all just lust. You’re not acting like a lovesick fool just to get that posh thing into bed, are you?”

I roll my eyes. “No.”

Russell points his finger at me. “You sure?”

“Yes. It’s… There’s something about him. Like moonlight breaking through clouds. Beautiful but solitary. Untouchable and yet longing to be touched.” I look over Russell’s shoulder, and Harrison is still talking to strangers. He rubs the back of his neck and looks toward the window as though wishing for escape. “I think he’s been alone for too long.”

“His father only just died. And his brother—”

“No, I mean friendship. Connection. Passion. He’s never had any of it, and I want to give him everything he needs before he grows to become cold. Truly untouchable.”

Russell finishes his wine and shakes his head. “My God, I’ve never seen you like this.”

I chuckle. “That’s because I’ve never been like this. He’s it for me… if he’ll have me.”

“After all you’ve given him, he’d bloody well better marry you.”

I’m barely hearing my friend anymore because Harrison has finally somehow escaped the receiving line and now moves stealthily, slowly toward the door—but not before catching my eye. I nod my understanding.

“If you’ll excuse me.” I follow after the delicate creature that tries so hard to seem strong.

I find him in the same room from two nights prior where we sat by the fire as strangers, and a half-drunk Lord Price showed me his weakness for the first time. A fire rages again today in an effort to fight the English chill, and Harrison stands, staring into the flames.

I linger by his side.

“You never told me,” he says.

“Told you what?”

“How do you keep going once you’ve lost someone?”

I slip my hand into his and squeeze. “One day at a time.”

His breath trembles. “This day feels very long.”

There is a loveseat back in the shadows, and I guide him to it. I sit and pull him down next to me. I run my fingers through his hair—the first time I’ve done it—and now, my breath trembles. His hair is like silk. I will hopefully touch it every day for the rest of my life. “I was fifteen when I lost my mum. She told me it was okay to miss her but that I needed to keep living. For her. So we live, Harrison.”

The fire dances in his eyes. “What is living?”

“Well, it’s admiring the stars at night. Or drinking excellent brandy. Or laughing.” I move my hand down to his cheek and turn his face toward me. “Kissing.” I brush my lips against his. “Feeling emotions, good and bad. Riding a horse at full speed or climbing a tree.” I smile up at his frown. “Living is doing things you love and being with people you love.”

“And you love me?”

“I will soon if I don’t already.”

“I make you feel alive?”

“God, yes,” I sigh.

“Kiss me again?”

I wrap my fingers around to the back of his neck and tug him down toward me. Our first two kisses were feather-light touches, but the sweet, quiet way he asked for a third awakens something hungry in me. I press my mouth against his until his lips part, and he groans. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s never been kissed like this before, but the lack of experience is nullified by his enthusiasm. When my tongue touches his, he’s half in my lap. I tug on his shoulders, urge him closer, but he pulls away, panting warm breath against my face.

“Harrison, God, you are the most … amazing …” I pepper his cheeks with kisses, unable to form a coherent thought.

He presses his forehead against mine, his hands on my chest, but his eyes are squeezed shut.

“Are you all right?”

He shakes his head. “You scare me. Nothing used to scare me.” He pushes away and stands. He chews the bottom lip I sucked not a minute ago. I wonder if he can taste me there. “Is this part of living? Being afraid?”

I nod my head, yes, because in that moment, I feel terribly alive and absolutely frightened he’s going to walk from the room and deny me. I’m terrified of losing him, especially now that I’ve tasted his moan.

He pushes hair off his forehead. “Please, go home, Lord Morgan. You’ll have my decision by midnight.”

He leaves me alone. My throat burns with dread. I thought I could have him, finally, forever. I will forsake my dead mother, stop living, and waste away if he denies me. The sound of his wanting and the feel of soft hair will haunt me forever.

As I prepare to leave and wait for my coach, I hear heavy footsteps behind me—not the lithe, graceful dance of Harrison’s feet. Thomas’s voice echoes off the high ceiling of the foyer. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but he won’t fall for it.”

I try to hide that my hands still shake with fear of rejection. “I’m not up to anything. I simply want to call your brother my husband.”

Thomas snickers and takes another step forward. He wears a brown suit that struggles to contain his gut. “My brother is frigid, Lord Morgan. He is a scientist, not a romantic. He may seem gentle now, but once the grief passes, he will be himself again, and he will hate that you witnessed his weakness.”

I shake my head. “We all have weaknesses.” Harrison, Harrison, Harrison.

The elder Price’s lip curls. “And the whole village now knows yours. You won’t win this.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“But it is, Lord Morgan, a competition between Harrison’s heart and his mind.” He leans forward with a cheerful sneer. “And you. Will. Lose.”

~~~

There is no way I will sleep tonight, not until I’ve heard from him, so I sit by the fire and sip brandy. At about ten, a rainstorm arrives. Thunder occasionally shakes the rafters, and my dread grows and grows. I wonder if the young Lord Price will even face me himself or if he’ll send some lawyer to reject me. Maybe he’ll even send a smiling Thomas.

God, I’ve been a fool. What would a brilliant, beautiful creature like Harrison Price want with a middle-aged man like me?

I startle when I hear horse hooves outside. I hurry to my feet and run to the foyer. Without bothering to wake my servants, I open the heavy front door, and it’s not Thomas or a nameless legal advisor I see but Harrison, huffing and puffing, soaked to the bone.

“Jesus, Harrison.” I drag him inside by his arm and push the heavy, sodden coat from his shoulders. I don’t give it a second thought when it falls to the floor. I take his hand and pull him into my parlor where a fire roars. I stand him right in front of it before reaching for a blanket. First, I use the fabric to towel off his hair. Then, I wrap it tightly around his shoulders. “Are you mad? You’re going to catch cold.”

He sits on the floor before the fire, and I join him, aging knees be damned.

“What is it, love?” I lean forward and brush wet, black tendrils from his face.

He shivers. “I do remember you. From that Christmas party three years ago. Of course I do.” His pale hands cling to the blanket, probably to keep them from shaking. “You stood in the back corner of my mum’s music room. You wore a brown coat with a blue cravat.” He sniffs as the shadows embrace his cheekbones like an old friend. “I felt you watching me. You seemed so confident, so assured of your place in the world. I wanted that. I suppose I wanted you—a schoolboy crush—but I tried to forget, because why would a man of such strength and power want a strange, little thing like me?”

“Harrison—”

“I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere, John. I never had friends at school. Even Thomas has made living here feel hateful at times. At all those society parties, people tried to charm me. I never wanted any of them. Then, there you would be across the room—my father’s enemy, a stranger, staring as though I was something to be revered. I would seek you out, hungry for your gaze.” He wipes raindrops from the tip of his nose. “And of course I remember you arguing with my father. The only reason you ran into me was because I stood there at the door, listening to the sound of your voice, your every word. Your firm touch branded my skin. Don’t you understand, John?” he whispers. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

We lurch forward at the same time, lips meeting in the middle. He must toss the blanket aside, because my hands find the damp shoulders of his suit coat. I shove the offending fabric away, and he lets me. God, he lets me. Mouths kiss and hands reach as the fire burns, the storm rages.

Harrison leans back long enough to say, “Take me to bed.”

My groan fills the room, but I should slow us down. I must, no matter how much I want him. “Harrison, we should wait.”

“No.” He leans forward on his knees, hovering over me. “I am half dead. I always have been. Bring me to life, John. Make my heart beat.”

My bedchambers have never felt so far away. Luckily, thanks to my dutiful servants, a fire is already lit. Harrison’s light eyes take in the room as I unbutton his waistcoat, the fabric drenched and cold. Again, he shivers, so I rush my movements. Last thing he needs is to end up sick.

His bare chest is broad beneath my palms. He is incredibly fit, and I wonder momentarily what he does to build such lean muscle. Then, I move to his trousers. I help him free of his shoes and socks and pull down his trousers and undergarments. As I stand back up, I lightly kiss his flat stomach along the way, and he sighs out a breath of air.

I nod toward the bed. “Your skin is still frigid. Get under the covers.”

For a virgin, he’s not timid. I watch him slowly walk to my bed, not even trying to cover his nakedness. I marvel at the muscles of his legs and ass before he disappears beneath multiple layers of soft linen. I stoke the fire and bring it to a full roar in an effort to erase every trace of chill.

I light a lamp by the bed because I don’t want us in the dark. His eyes follow my movements. Then, beneath his scrutiny, I disrobe. I’m not timid either and have no reason to be. I might be shorter than Lord Price, but I have more muscle. I might be older, but I’ve never been ashamed of the size of my cock.

I stand by the side of the bed and allow him a short appraisal.

“You have a scar.”

I glance down at my shoulder before sliding under the covers next to him. He shifts on his side and reaches fingers out to touch the dead skin.

“What is it from?”

I slip my hand onto his hip, and my thumb tickles the bottom of his ribcage. “I was shot.”

His hand closes tightly on my shoulder. “When?”

“Oh, when I was about your age. I was in His Majesty’s Army, if only for a moment.”

“I didn’t know that.”

I scoot closer until our knees touch. “Your spies didn’t dig that up?” I plant a kiss to his parted lips.

Eyes closed, he rubs his nose against mine. “No. They also couldn’t tell me why you never married.”

I smile against his mouth. “No one knew about my feelings for you. Not even Russell.”

His bottom lip catches against mine as he opens his eyes. “Am I warm enough now?”

I shift my hand to his lower back and pull him closer. “Yes.”

He kisses me like a starving man eats. I can barely keep up with the way his lips nibble and suck on mine, the way his tongue licks into my mouth. God, he’s brilliant at this already. His hands move to my hair and tug, so I grab his ass and press us together. Harrison makes a noise like a sob when our cocks touch and moves his mouth away. He ruts against me for a moment, eyes slammed shut, mouth open wide.

I watch him, enamored. “Does that feel good?”

“I think this is what madness must feel like.”

I bite down gently on the side of his neck. “Love, you haven’t felt anything yet.” I kneel across his hips as he pants up at me. I run my hands down his chest. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

His body heaving with breath, he blushes and looks away.

I lean forward and rest my hands on either side of his head. “Marry me, Harrison. Be my husband.”

My sudden pronouncement brings him back from his pleasure haze. He blinks a couple times while I wait… but then, he nods. “Yes, John.”

I barely suppress an overjoyed giggle, but I do lean down and capture his mouth. I wrap my fingers around those decadent curls and kiss and kiss until he whimpers. I kiss down his chest and over his stomach. When I lick the underside of his cock, he practically knees me in the face. I put my palms on his spread thighs and press down.

“It’s all right, love.”

“Sorry.” He stares down at me, his hands fisting the sheets.

“Nothing to apologize for.” I kiss the tip of his penis, and his head falls back on the pillows. “Just relax.”

I’m gentle with him. I take him fully in my mouth and move slowly. One of his hands touches the back of my head. I shudder at the thought of teaching those musician’s fingers several new tricks—but there’s no rush. Lord Price is to be my husband. We have all the time in the world.

With my mouth on him, I trace my fingers lower between his legs, beneath his balls and lower still. I wonder if he knows what I intend. Harrison is a scientist, but what does he know about the science of pleasure?

I circle his hole before pressing the tip of my finger inside. He immediately tenses and lifts up onto his elbows, my name on his lips.

“It’s all right, shh,” I whisper. “Do you want me to stop?”

There’s something like panic on his face. I take my hands away and stop touching him, which only seems to make his eyes widen more as he reaches for me. “I’m sorry,” he sputters. “Please, don’t go. I had no idea my body could feel like this, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react, and I told you I will be a terrible husband. I apologize if I’m a disappointment. Please.”

I shake my head. “No, God, no. Harrison.” I lie down on my side and beckon for him to join me.

His skin is already glowing, sweat-damp, in the firelight.

“There’s nothing you’re supposed to do. You’re just supposed to let your body feel.”

“I’m afraid of losing control.”

“Don’t be.” I lean forward and kiss him. Will I ever stop wanting to kiss him? “Close your eyes,” I whisper.

“Why?”

“It’ll help you focus on feeling and not reacting. Just feel, love.”

He does as he’s told. I press our foreheads together as my fingers explore his body. I move our hips close, cocks hard but barely touching. I again grasp his ass in my palms and then press my fingers to his hole. His hands squeeze my shoulders as I press a single digit inside, and he moans out a breath.

“Do you like that?”

He hums. “I don’t know why, but yes.”

I move my hips in circles against him and press my finger further inside.

His lips part on a loud exhale. “John … John, more …”

I don’t want to break this spell, but I must, out of consideration for my young lover. I kiss his nose. “Don’t move.”

Harrison’s eyes open, but he doesn’t move. I reach for the table by my bed. In a lower drawer, I keep oil, although I’ve only used it on myself in recent history. Now, I have this heavenly creature in my bed. Finally.

I coat my fingers in oil, and although he studies me curiously, he doesn’t ask. I kiss him, push our hips together, and press two fingers into his hole. He pulls out of the kiss, head thrown back, neck extended. I never noticed he has a freckle beneath his jaw, but I lick it now.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” I kiss across his collarbone. “I want you. Let me have you.”

His gaze is drunk on the movement of my fingers. “Yes, John, anything.”

I roll him onto his back and kneel between his spread thighs. Sweat drips down the center of his chest, highlighting every straining muscle. I add a third finger, and he barely makes a sound, just chews his bottom lip and breathes loudly through his nose.

“Harrison?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Harrison, are you with me?” I pull my fingers from his body, and he—adorably—glares.

“Why did you stop?”

I lean down and kiss his forehead, salty yet sweet. “You’ll tell me if anything’s uncomfortable?”

His brow wrinkles. “All right.”

I hook one of his long legs around my back and stare down at the utter feast before me. For so long, I have thought of nothing but this man. I have wanted and wanted, and now, he’s mine.

I push into him. He moans as his hands reach up and cling to the headboard. I stop moving. I freeze. He’s so tight and hot, and Christ, I refuse to orgasm after one thrust. My young lord has apparently given me my youth back.

“How does that feel?” I ask.

His Adam’s apple bounces as he swallows. “Like I’m alive,” he rumbles.

If I thought hearing his wrecked voice would help me calm down, it has the exact opposite effect. “Christ, I’m going to die in your arms.”

He looks up at me. “Not today.”

“No.” I pull back and thrust back in.

“Oh, my God. Again,” he begs.

We are soon a litany of curse words, whispered names, and pleading. I had hoped to be gentle, but gentle apparently is not what Harrison needs. He spurs me on with shouts of “more, John,” until I’ve thoroughly dismantled any trace of his virginity. Sweat is dripping into my eyes when he comes, suddenly, with my hand wrapped around his cock. His whole body clenches, eyes squeezed shut.

“Yes, God, you’re perfect.” I kiss him hard, my tongue invading his mouth. I thrust into him until he grunts beneath my onslaught, and then, the orgasm hits me with the force of a bullet.

I come back to myself minutes—hours?—later, sprawled across Harrison’s chest. His arms wrap around me as he kisses my forehead. He kisses, kisses, and whispers my name.

“I’ll always take care of you.” I nuzzle against the side of his neck.

He whispers, “I know,” before I succumb to sleep.

~~~

I whistle as I adjust my cravat and stare at myself in the full-length mirror of my designated room at the Price estate. The wedding is less than an hour away. Harrison, dear thing, suggested we each choose our own attire, so I went with a gray suit with green accents. In homage to my fiancé, I wear full-length trousers. A modern man, indeed. My hair is even cut short, because he said he likes it that way.

From what I’ve heard, Thomas pitched a fit the morning Harrison returned from our night together at my estate, because of course, my love stayed over, wrapped in my arms as he slept. I didn’t get to see Thomas’s wrath, but I’ve been told he threw words like daggers: propriety, responsibility, stupidity—that last, used to describe Harrison for giving himself to me so easily.

I don’t think there was anything easy about it.

Now, we’ve spent the past month getting to know one another on an intellectual level, but I’m finding there will always be more to know about my soon-to-be husband. He is a complicated mixture of feelings and depth—but, luckily, we have many years together now side-by-side in public and skin-to-skin beneath the privacy of our bedclothes.

I try not to focus too much on the thought of Harrison’s pale, perfect body. Although we have shared affections since our first night together, Thomas has done his best to keep Harrison out of my boudoir. My young fiancé has practically been locked inside the Price estate. Most of our conversations have included a servant knitting in the corner as watchdog. I assume meddling Thomas hopes I’ll lose interest if I can’t touch Harrison, but Thomas is wrong. I spent years admiring Harrison’s physicality; now, I’ve fallen desperately in love with his mind. True, I will soon map his every freckle, but it is a long day ahead of us before we’ll be alone. I’m certain it will be worth the wait.

I bid entry to a quiet knock on the door, and Russell walks in, closing the door behind him. “Pretty sure the entire village is here, mate, along with half the House of Lords.”

This is no surprise to me.

“I wanted to say congratulations.”

I turn away from the mirror and smile. “Thank you. I’m very lucky.”

“I also wanted to let you know your beautiful betrothed requests your presence.”

I shake my head. “We’re not supposed to see each other before the ceremony.”

Russell shrugs. “If there’s one thing I’ve observed about your Lord Price, it’s that he always gets his way.”

I sigh. It’s no use disagreeing. I would give Harrison anything. I would swim to the bottom of the sea for pearls. I would climb a mountain for a bit of cloud. I follow Russell down the hall, in the direction of the grand ballroom where our ceremony is to take place, and my friend points to a closed door. Just in case, I put my hand on the knob to keep Harrison from pulling it open at the announcement of my presence.

“Love?” I say.

His voice: “John, please come in.”

“It’s bad luck to see you before the ceremony.”

I can feel his childish irritation through the hard wood. “That is a stupid assumption with no factual validity.”

I snicker. “Don’t care. I refuse to see you before the ceremony.”

“But, John, I…” He sounds sad.

“Harrison?”

“I’ll hide behind the mirror.”

I lean my ear against the door. “What?”

“I’ll hide behind the bloody mirror. There, I’m hidden. Come in, John, please.”

Russell chuckles as I enter and close the door once I’m inside. Harrison chose to get ready in the library for some reason. Maybe the presence of all that knowledge soothes him.

Behind a tall, gilt mirror, I see nothing but his black shoes shining. I stand and face my reflection. “Love, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He sighs. “This is your last chance to back out.”

Well, I wasn’t expecting that. “What are you talking about?”

“Since my father’s funeral, we’ve spent an abundance of time together, so you’ve had the chance to see how awful I can be. You’ll tire of me; I know you will.”

I lean my head against the glass. “We’ve talked about this.”

It’s true; we have, multiple times.

Thomas had warned me that, when we first met, Harrison’s mourning made him weak. His grief had softened his rougher edges. That much has proven true. In the weeks after that blessed, beautiful, rainy night, Harrison has become more himself again. He suffers mood swings and temper tantrums. He can be cruel and then kind. He’s very much like my very own thunderstorm—and I would change none of it because he is never more adorable than when he pouts and never more sensual than when he’s angry. Thomas assumed these mercurial aspects of my beloved would be a turn off, but instead, Harrison’s copious emotions only make me want to touch him, kiss him, wreck him.

Yet, there is this insecurity, I assume because he’s never been loved the way I love him. I think his confidence will be a constant work in progress.

“I will never tire of you. Never.” I carefully reach around the mirror and open my fingers. He slips his hand into mine and squeezes. For a man who was never touched until I came along, he loves it. He seems starved for it. Every time we’re near, his hands linger, whether on my shoulder or hip or arm. Harrison loves touching me, but he loves it more when I touch him—and I do touch him, as often as our insufferable lack of privacy has allowed.

“Harrison, I want to marry you. There is no one else. There will never be anyone else. You are everything I want in this world, do you understand?”

He squeezes my hand again.

“Do you still want to marry me?” I ask.

“Yes, John, yes. There is no one for me either.”

I sigh and smile. “How did I get so fortunate?”

“You were very persistent. Now, close your eyes.”

“Harrison, you’re not allowed to see me either. It’s—”

“I know, bad luck.” He pauses. “I’ll close my eyes, too. Just …”

I can’t help but grin as I close my eyes. I hear him moving—expensive fabric shifting over his arms and legs. The warmth of his body arrives in front of me, and he presses his lips to mine, a chaste caress. Then, he steps back and lets go of my hand.

“I didn’t peek,” he whispers from his place behind the mirror.

I chuckle. “Have I assuaged your doubts?”

“Yes, John. I’ll see you at the ceremony. You smell wonderful.”

“I adore you.”

“I know. Now, get out of here.”

I smile as I walk toward the closed door. I suspect I shall spend the rest of the day smiling.

~~~

When he comes walking down the aisle, I pray to God and whoever’s listening that I don’t drop dead on the spot. What did I do to deserve this youthful deity of a man? He’s fallen from the pages of mythology, in his dark gray suit and aubergine cravat that makes his pale skin glow. His curls have been delicately oiled so they shimmer in the candlelight, and his lips resemble rose petals, damp with winter dew.

I think I stop breathing, because Russell, my best man, pats me on the shoulder, and I gasp for air.

Harrison doesn’t have a best man. He could have asked Thomas, but I have a feeling the elder Price brother is thoroughly displeased with our match—possibly because he’d hoped to hold some power over his little brother. As if anyone could make Harrison do something he did not want to do. Even I sometimes feel out of my depths with my young love as if he is older and wiser, while I am a bumbling novice. Other times, he hides his face in my neck as though I am all he has to protect him from the wide, wicked world. We are a balancing act of power.

No one walks him down the aisle. His parents are dead, after all, but I think, too, that Harrison enjoyed the idea of having one last moment as his own person, alone, before we merged to become one.

When he nears, I hold my hand out, and he takes it. I can’t help myself. I kiss his cheek, tell him how beautiful he looks, and he returns the compliment. I’ve never been called beautiful before, but I can see it in Harrison’s eyes: he means it.

I barely hear the vicar, so enthralled am I with staring at my fiancé. When Harrison notices my continued scrutiny, he blushes. He smiles and nods toward the man of God, so I smile back and at least pretend to listen.

The service flows along, slow and steady. We didn’t want anything fancy—no music nor flowery vows. I’m a little disappointed Harrison doesn’t play his violin, but I know he abhors performance. His violin is a private thing but one I hope he’ll eventually share with me.

When the ceremony comes to a close, I lean up on my toes and kiss my new husband on the lips. He smiles against my mouth before pulling away, sheepish. Public affection—kissing, at least—might never be part of our marriage, which is fine. I prefer having Harrison all to myself, and despite his fiery temperament, my new husband is actually bashful.

He says, quietly, “I wish my parents could see.”

I kiss him again. “They can, love.”

He nods.

I’d like to drag him away, have him all to myself without Thomas getting in the way, but we must first face a receiving line and grand dinner. We stand shoulder to shoulder and accept blessings from the villagers and society members of London.

Thomas makes a show of stopping and staring at us both. His grimace is practically comical.

Harrison extends his hand to shake. “Don’t look so disappointed. I’m sure you’ll find your own true love someday.”

My heart swells at his words. I’m still shocked at the confidence he has in me—in us.

Thomas ignores his brother’s pithy remark and leans down toward me. “You will be good to him.”

I’m surprised at this sudden show of concern, but I nod and clasp Thomas’s hand in mine. “You warned me that your brother’s mind and heart were at war and that his mind would win. Just so you know, I don’t think the two are separate entities where Harrison is concerned. His stunning mind would be nothing without his heart.”

He pulls away, and a wrinkle of confusion mars his forehead. He leaves without further comment but does glance at his brother with a sort of fond understanding. I don’t suppose we’ll have any trouble from Thomas in the future.

It’s Harrison who eventually announces we must depart because he “wants to make love to his husband.” There are scoffs and frowns, but I can’t stop smiling as I realize more and more that this is who he is: a young man who cares not for propriety or the opinion of the masses. He is an untamed masterpiece of intellect and wild beauty, and I am the luckiest man alive.

~~~

The carriage ride to my estate is interminable, made more frustrating by Harrison’s roaming hands. He threatens to remove all my fancy duds before we even reach my front door, but I calm him with my fingers in his hair.

“Soon, love,” I whisper.

Once the horses have stopped, we tumble out into the cold night air, but I feel no chill. My husband—husband!—drags me into the house and across the foyer. It’s a race up the steps to my room. Despite the grandeur of my estate, of course Harrison would remember just where to go. I’ve found his mind to be endlessly encyclopedic. I can’t wait to teach him more about pleasure; his skills will surely surpass my own in a fortnight.

Once through the doorway of my private quarters, he shoves me against the wall and gives me hot, sloppy kisses. His hands are everywhere as I squeeze his slim hips in my hands.

“I want you in my mouth,” he pants. “Is that all right?”

I curse and start tearing at his buttons, hoping my enthusiasm is answer enough. Earlier, I admired the beauty of his impeccable suit. Now, I curse its many trimmings as he rips the cravat from my neck.

I growl when he drops to his knees and presses his face against my exceedingly hard length. “Harr—oh, God… my love. Wait. On the bed. Let’s…” I drag him up by his arms and push and pull at the fabric that still covers his body.

“I need…” He almost trips over his own feet while licking into my mouth.

“Yes.” I nod. “Clothes off.”

We rush to get down to our skin, and Harrison beats me by but a few seconds. His brow wrinkles across the center as he tugs the clothes from my body until we’re both laughing. Finally free of our confines, I wrap him in my naked embrace, and we tumble onto the bed. Broad smiles interrupt our dance of tongues until our cocks press together. Harrison’s lovely grin is replaced by an open-mouthed groan.

I shove his body further up the bed and kiss down his chest.

“No,” he says. “John. Give me what I want.”

I would give him anything, so I recline on my own back. He straddles me with acrobatic grace. After his mouth has thoroughly explored my chest and abdomen, he kisses my inner thighs and looks up at me, awaiting direction.

I guide him as best I can, but once he’s taken the entire length of me into his mouth, I lose all semblance of intellect. I’m a bumbling fool as he hums, my cock deep down his throat. Christ, he’s a master already. When my new husband sets his mind to something, he evidently seeks highest marks.

I curl one of my hands in his hair. The other squeezes his left shoulder, warm and damp from exertion. I watch him pleasure me. I hope I’m not dreaming, but how else can I explain this utter fantasy come true? How else can I explain getting everything I’d ever hoped for, along with facing the prospect of a happily-ever-after with this incredible prince among men?

My mind derails when he takes me deeper, deeper, and works the muscles of his throat against my cock. “Jesus… Where did you…” I breathe toward the ceiling. “You’re a marvel, Harrison.”

He pulls his mouth away and sits up on his knees. “That’s Lord Morgan-Price, if you don’t mind.” Of course we would take each other’s names. He sits up and again straddles my hips before reaching for the oil on the side table. “Will you make love to me?”

“Yes, please.”

He smiles. I’ve never seen anything so luminous.

I coat my hand in oil and use my fingers to enter him from below. He gasps at the first intrusion, but the more I caress, the more he moves. By the time I have him mostly prepared, his hips ebb and flow in waves against me.

“Now, love?” I ask.

He nods, silent and chewing on his mouth, which is red from the force of our earlier kisses. I take a firm hold of his hips and guide him toward my aching cock. He barely gives himself time to adjust before lowering down onto me—tight and hot and oh, god…

“My love,” I murmur. “My love, my love, my love.”

The first night I touched his naked skin, he admitted he didn’t like feeling out of control. Perhaps this position will be his way of regaining it. He certainly looks to be enjoying himself, soon lost to sensation, hands planted firmly on my chest as he swirls his thin hips and thrusts. He is a tower of lean muscle—and I now know why.

He follows an exercise regiment. Does something called baritsu. I saw him practicing one morning when I arrived earlier than usual at the Price estate. He looked like a dancer, the way he moved with grace and balance but brutality, too. He seemed embarrassed when he realized I’d been watching. He turned an endearing shade of pink, in fact, wiping sweat from his forehead.

I kissed his discomfort away that morning, and he has since promised to teach me some of his strange sport in the weeks and months ahead. I expect we have much to learn from each other.

The way his hips move against me…

The way his rainbow eyes squeeze shut…

The way that rose petal mouth falls open, silent…

Harrison takes himself in hand while riding me as though born to do it and comes after two strokes with my name on his lips.

His muscles clench, and I join him in pleasure, vision gone white as my fingers dig into his hips and probably leave bruises.

I expect he’ll want to sleep after the enthusiasm of our lovemaking, but, instead, he kisses my nose and slides from my lap. I watch him clean himself with one of our discarded shirts before he pulls on a pair of breeches.

I lean up in bed. “Love?”

“I have a gift for you.”

I sigh, trying to make sense of his words when all the blood in my body is still sincerely south. “We said no gifts.”

“Well.” He reaches under the bed and pulls out his violin case.

“How long has that been hidden there?”

He smirks up at me. “Only today, with the assistance of one of your servants.” He picks up his prized instrument and plucks a few strings with callused fingers. I didn’t know he had callused fingers until I sucked them into my mouth two weeks ago to clean excess honey away, shocking the servant Thomas insisted chaperone. My darling does love honey with his tea.

Harrison stands at the foot of our bed and clears his throat as though about to sing. “It’s nothing much,” he says. “But I thought…” He taps the bow against his thigh. “I love music. The way it makes me feel. And I love you. You make me feel like music. If I were a romantic, then I’d say you’ve made my life like a song.”

I smile because he is a romantic. God, is he ever. I wonder if he’ll ever admit it.

He takes a long, slow breath and starts to play. The song is light and dark, fast and slow. It dances and soars and then turns languid, reminiscent of our lovemaking. The song is us, different nuances that, when played together, create a breathtaking tune.

And he wrote this song for me.

Three years ago, I became enamored with a young musician’s hands. I quickly appreciated the rest of him, too, but it was only recently that I discovered Harrison Price is much more than divine aesthetics and poise. He is a man with a heart that requires careful attention, and I will cherish that heart ‘til death do us part.

He’s awkward when he finishes the song as though unsure of its brilliance.

“Why are you crying?” he asks when he looks up at me.

I wipe at my eyes. “I’m not.”

“John?” He sets the violin and bow on a nearby table and hurries back to bed.

I pull him to me with a hand on the back of his neck and kiss his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead. “All my days, I was just waiting for you.”

He shrugs. “We’re done waiting now.”

I nod and struggle to calm myself. He’s wise for someone so young.

He shifts and leans his body against mine until we’re both cuddled into bed with Harrison sprawled across me. “Life starts tomorrow,” he says.

I comb my fingers through his hair and hum agreement.

“You’ll like Cambridge.”

“I’ll like wherever you are,” I say.

We won’t be living a life of geographical permanence anytime soon. School starts again in a week for my Lord Price, and I’ve rented us a small but beautiful house near campus for the duration. I will have to travel much between Cambridge and London, while Russell tends to my—our—lordship duties.

Harrison’s education is important to me, though. I won’t have him quit on account of my absence, and he’s said as much: now that I’m in his life, he can’t imagine being away from me for long. The thought of not seeing him every day, touching him, actually gives me chills.

He runs his hand across my chest. “You won’t let me forget.”

Forget what, I wonder? His father’s death? The loss of his mother? The way I love him? Because, oh, do I love him.

“You won’t let me forget to live,” he whispers.

I smile into his hair. “No, my beloved husband. You will never again forget to live—and you will never, ever forget you are loved.”

He snuggles closer until his warm, sleeping breath tickles my ear, and I think, Yes, this is what it feels like to be truly happy. This is what it feels like to be alive.

About the Author

Sara Dobie Bauer is a bestselling author, model, and mental health / LGBTQ advocate with a creative writing degree from Ohio University. 

Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize, she lives with her hottie husband and two precious pups in Northeast Ohio, although she'd really like to live in a Tim Burton film. She is author of the Bite Somebody series and Escape Trilogy. Learn more at SaraDobieBauer.com.

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