He sat stiffly in his seat, looking down at his plate, not quite ready to turn his head. Mere proximity thrummed through him. This was . . . too much. Mr West folded a napkin on his lap.
Josh’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. When do we get to hide?
Soup filled his bowl and murmurs of excitement registered from around the table. Laughter swelled at the other end as the names of favourite characters were tossed about. He took a breath and attempted small talk. “So. What’s your favourite Jane Austen story?”
West swirled his wine and drank, eyes glittering with something playful. “Sense and Sensibility.”
Josh took a gulp from his glass. “One of my top three. I love Elinor’s insensibility around Edward’s ring of hair.”
Mr West sipped and stared at him.
“She’s mostly considered the sensible one, but some of her thoughts and musings really don’t make any sense at all.”
Too much sparkle flittered in West’s expression.
Josh drained his wine and flagged for more.
West leaned in. “Truth?”
“Always better than a lie.” He winced.
Soft breath tickled his jaw. “I tried to read the books but they were all snoozers.”
“Snoozers?” Josh said, horrified.
“Very dense. Bit too much boring stuff.”
“But . . . but you work here.”
“I enjoy it too.”
“No, but . . . I assumed anyone working here would have spent their free time in lectures and discussions on the Regency era.” He scrubbed at his jaw, where it still tickled.
Mr West laughed.
Josh’s cock attempted to stand.
“I watched the movies.”
Josh grimaced. “I suppose the BBC miniseries are very well done.”
“I’m only familiar with the feature films.”
This couldn’t be happening.
The universe was testing him. How would he continue a conversation with a near total stranger when said stranger not only found books boring but had not even seen Colin Firth dive into the lake? What was left to talk about?
Why was he smiling like that? It was doing things to him. Shivery things.
What a mess he was in. Everyone at the table thought he and Mr West were roleplaying while secretly squeezing one another’s third leg under the table, Mr West was completely and smoulderingly oblivious—although he did occasionally frown at Cassius’s close scrutiny—and Josh couldn’t flirt for the life of him.
No wonder he couldn’t keep a boyfriend.
He was an academic snob who didn’t know how to have fun.
“So, Mr Fairfax,” Ashling whispered between them as she removed Josh’s bowl, “what do you think of Mr West?”
Oh, God. Roleplay time. “Ah, tolerable I suppose. But not enough to tempt me.”
Mr West made a choking sound, and Ashling sighed. “This will be a delightful weekend.”
She left with their bowls, and he found himself speared with a questioning look.
Josh straightened his cutlery, paying extra special attention to the distance between each piece.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for the next course. Conversation naturally pivoted to ohhhing and ahhhing over all the dishes paraded into the room and set before them. A whole sturgeon, arranged among greens as if it were swimming through pondweed, was placed at his end of the table with great ceremony. Girding his loins and embracing the spirit of the event, he served himself a generous portion.
Wally was gesturing wildly with his knife, quickly stealing the table’s attention, and Josh wasn’t sure how grateful he was.
“Come, one of you must know.”
Professor Paisley nodded toward Josh with a grin. “He’s an expert on this topic. I must rest my voice for tomorrow’s lecture.”
He was not an expert on the topic! Well. Okay, he was. But . . .
All eyes suctioned onto him, including a dazzling pair that were making the hairs on his nape lift.
He set his fish fork down. “It was considered impolite to . . . release wind in company. With or without noise.”
“Was that always the case?” From . . . Sir John. If he recalled his cheat sheet correctly.
“No. In the Middle Ages passing gas was simply a matter of course.”
The curl of Mr West’s lip suggested he was enjoying the awkward subject matter. Or perhaps he enjoyed the way Josh kept fidgeting with his neckcloth as he answered?
“In the sixteenth century they started keeping gas quiet—coughing over any lively sound, clenching.” Josh met Mr West’s eyes. “I suspect it kept conversation over fancy dinners more refined.”
Mr West grinned crookedly. “Anything to keep the company more than tolerable.”
A dozen heads were watching. Josh turned to them. “It became the thing to do and everyone did it. By the mid-eighteenth century it was considered very impolite to release wind, no matter how talented you were at keeping it silent.”
Laughter bubbled over the dozens of platters on the table.
Wonderful. The history of farting, a perfect metaphor for his current situation.
“They all sucked it in? How uncomfortable.”
He smiled wanly. At least dinner couldn’t get worse.
Cassius pinned his eyes on West, an evil glint in his eye. “You must be happy your boyfriend’s here for the weekend.”
“My boy—”
Josh panicked and stomped on Mr West’s foot under the table. He jolted a little with the shock but otherwise held himself together with surprising ease. He looked quizzically at Josh, read his desperation, and laughed. He faced Cassius. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Josh’s stomach dove to his feet, and his cheeks flushed. He wished the chair would swallow him whole and spit him out. Preferably into the library.
Cassius looked smug indeed.
Mr West cocked his head, as if noting the tight curl of Cassius’s lips. He turned and smiled pointedly at Josh. The promise of an inquisition flickered in his eyes. “I can’t believe you told him we’re boyfriends.”
“I—I—Well. It’s just—”
“I know.” Mr West sighed deeply. “I haven’t bought you a ring yet. But I will, darling. Do you think you can introduce me as your fiancé?”
Josh’s mouth fell open.
Cassius’s too.
Mr West stomped on his foot under the table. “Pretty please?”
Josh quickly composed himself, foot throbbing. “Yes. Of course.” He nodded and added a belated, “Honey.”
Mr West shook his head, amused.
Oh god. His carefully controlled, academically oriented life was spiralling into chaos.
“Excuse me, I must . . .” Mr West bowed his head, spearing Josh with a look as he left the table.
“Oh, right. Yes. I . . . must as well.” With a twisting stomach, he followed Mr West out of the dining room.
As soon as they were out of sight, Mr West cuffed Josh’s arm, a surprisingly tender pressure, and led him into a study. He shut the door behind them and leaned back against it, folding his arms. “Tolerable?”
“I thought we’d be talking about the boyfriend-fiancé thing?”
“We’ll get to that.”