Josh sat up. “How late?”
“Missed breakfast, late. I’m due downstairs for the letter folding class.” West drew off his shirt, plump cock swinging as he turned for a fresh one.
Josh stared at the planes of his back, the shifting muscles, the beautifully rounded arse. His own shirt tented. He ripped his wayward gaze away and climbed off the bed. “Do you need me to—”
“I’ll definitely be late if I let you valet.” He winked as he slipped into a fresh shirt, then pulled on his stockings and breeches. He paused to collect Captain Grose’s dictionary and grinned as he slid it onto the shelf.
Points for picking it up off the floor, at least.
Josh shrugged out of his shirt and washed up in the basin on the dresser, taking time to wash extra carefully around his semi-aroused privates. He was towelling off when West, doing up the buttons on his jacket, stole over to him.
His gaze travelled admiringly over Josh. He slipped behind him and kissed the crook of his neck. Hands clasped his hips and rolled down his thighs. “I promise to take care of your pipe later, Mr Fairfax.”
Another nip, and he was gone.
Josh found his party in the morning room, West at the front folding paper where everyone could see it.
Their eyes met with a sparkle as he slipped into the room and grabbed a sheet of paper.
Cassius hissed under his breath, “Up all night studying?”
“Yes,” Josh replied under his tongue. West’s instructions paused and the rest of Josh’s sentence filled the silence. “Studying every inch of my fiancé’s body.”
West struggled to suck in a laugh, and Josh heated.
Cassius huffed. “There’s something about you two that’s off.”
Josh’s jaw twitched. He forced a smile and a shrug. “Why do you care so much?”
“You’re pretending to be something you aren’t.”
“Who says I’m pretending?”
Cassius shook his head. “I don’t get why you’d try for him, but not for—”
West’s voice carried over the room. “In the seventeen hundreds the love letter became a”—West’s lips tipped up—“delightful way of communicating one’s affections. Letters at this time were a tender, heartfelt affair. Later in the century, there was a shift in style. The love letter became more necessary. Part of the search for the meaning of happiness. More romantic than anything we have today.”
The audience laughed.
Josh hummed.
West eyed him. “Do you disagree, Mr Fairfax?”
All eyes suctioned on to them again. Shit. What . . . Oh! “I suppose my style of writing must be very different from yours.”
West played with his paper as he looked at him. “Are you suggesting your correspondence to be just as or more romantic than the likes of Captain Wentworth’s?”
“No. Perhaps just more romantic than what you’ve experienced.”
Eyes darted between them, riveted.
“You think you have any idea what I’ve experienced?” West said softly.
“You claimed that the letters of then are more romantic than anything we have today. But emails, text messages, snap chat, are modern variations on the love letter.”
“And they’re more capable of making one swoon than half agony, half hope?”
“The emoji, a single smiley with heart eyes, can be sent in an instant, letting someone across oceans know you’re thinking of them. It can be sent multiple times a day, a person never has to go a night without knowing their partner misses them, loves them, wants them, desires them. Each message treasured, meaningful, analysed between friends, dissected and discussed. Each one causing the heart to agonize. To hope. So yes, I believe they are equally capable.”
Josh fanned his face with his paper. He’d . . . again, dammit. He’d gone too far. That was probably it for any more sex.
“Er, but perhaps this argument is better deferred to a private moment.”
West flipped his paper, cheek . . . dimpling?
Trick of the light. Surely.
“Sounds good to me,” West said, and lifted the paper again. “Fold here and here, then melt over a bit of wax and stamp here. Write the recipient’s name clearly and hand your letter to a footman or the butler. They will see that the post is delivered during the course of the day.”
Josh hurriedly stole a nearby pen and put it to paper, folded, sealed, and passed the envelope to Ashling, who was once more dressed for the part of footman. Subtly, she corrected the set of his jacket and straightened his neckcloth. She winked at him. “Good night, Mr Fairfax?”
“Uh, yes. Delight—wonderful.”
“I was afraid that your debate had rather affected your admiration of his fine eyes and even finer face?”
Josh quashed a groan. “Not at all,” he said. “They were brightened by the banter.”
She giggled and shifted her attention sharply to Professor Paisley, glowing as she took the professor’s envelope.
The professor’s gaze seemed to linger equally on Ashling. Abruptly, she turned to the room. “I fancy a walk around the grounds. If anyone would care to accompany me?”
Josh bowed, as did Wally—a little too deeply—and Cassius, with a smarmy smile.
Josh glanced at West, who shook his head slightly.
Fair. He probably had plenty to be going on with. Other tutorials to teach.
Other fascinating facts to shake his head at.
Fifteen minutes found them just leaving the house.
Ashling met him on the steps. “A message, sir.” She handed over a sealed letter, and Josh stepped away from curious glances. Behind him, Wally complained loudly about wanting to go back to bed. Cassius hushed him.
Josh opened the note.
Excuse yourself from your turn about the garden when you see the stone lane forking at the creek. Follow it through the woods for two minutes and take first left to the lavender fields. I’ll be waiting.
West
Professor Paisley led the walk, regaling them with the history of the English country house. She stopped suddenly and tilted her head back toward the clear skies. “It’s going to rain today.”
“Looks clear to me,” Wally said, confused.
“Just wait. I can feel the rain in my bones.”
“You must have very old bones.”
Professor Paisley eyed Wally like she wanted to clap him upside the head.
Josh was tempted to help her out.
He glimpsed the creek ahead and made polite excuses, hurrying his step until Cassius’s voice was drowned out by bubbling water.
West was waiting on the other side of a fence; he offered a gloved hand as Josh negotiated the stile. “What are we doing?” he whispered.
Though they had the entire field to themselves, West whispered back, “Follow me.”
They waded through a fragrant sea of lavender.
Josh gnawed his lip. “About earlier. I dare say you must find me very disagreeable.”
“Disagreeable? Please. You can argue with me all you like on any subject.” A wink. “Fair warning. I won’t always agree with you.” West paused. “I’m on the fence about the letters. This way.”