The Sugared Game - K.J. Charles Page 0,78
decides to perform in front of, and primarily to yourself as you wonder if, after all, you are quite rational and have not been deceived, or deceived yourself. I spent a long time persuading myself I was wrong.”
“I heard Fuller say Etchil.”
“Keep that in mind. It isn’t going to make things easier with Maisie, though, right or not. I’m sorry about that.”
“She doesn’t like Waring,” Will said. “Can’t put her finger on why.”
“I expect because she is used to moving defensively through life. When people are obliged to keep an eye out for threats, their eyes tend to be sharp. That’s what women’s intuition means, if you ask me: being unconsciously alert for dangerous men. Let’s dress before we descend, shall we? I for one feel better when I look the part.”
Will readied himself accordingly, though he did not feel in any way better for wearing evening dress. He felt, and looked, like an idiot.
Kim knocked on the door while Will was attempting to control his unruly hair. He looked superb, as usual, born to the clothing, with crisp shirt front and gleaming white cuffs, not to mention glittering amethyst cufflinks.
“Fancy,” Will said.
“You scrub up nicely yourself.”
“Mutton dressed as lamb,” Will muttered. “Or something like that.”
“Nothing like that,” Kim said. “I said ‘sophisticatedly thuggish’ before, and I meant it. Smooth outside, hard centre. The effect is mouthwatering, trust me.”
He might even mean it, from the look in his eyes. That was a little bit heartening. “If you say so.”
“I do, I truly do. Let me adjust that tie a fraction.”
This apparently meant retying it. Will didn’t object to that. He’d done it badly, and anyway it put Kim in front of him, dark eyes intent and body close.
Kim’s hands moved gently at his neck. Will watched his face, noting the lines of strain around his eyes and the bruised-looking skin under them that betrayed exhaustion. Those were the only giveaways: the rest of his face was still, the way he liked to keep it when he had something to hide.
“Kim?”
“Mmm?”
“I don’t know how much this is hurting you,” Will said. “I don’t know how scared you are. But I’m here if you need to stop pretending for a bit. You’re not alone.”
Kim’s eyes were on his, very wide. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak. Will wasn’t sure what to add, or if there was anything else to say at all. They simply looked at one another, silent but for the whisper of breath, the gentle thud of pulses.
“I,” Kim began at last, and had to try again. “I would like to be—not alone.”
“Shoulders right here. Suitable for leaning on, crying on, or standing at for the purposes of a fight.”
Kim’s mouth moved in something that ended up as a smile. “They are magnificent shoulders and I shall take you up on it. Though in a fight I shall doubtless be cowering behind you.”
“Nice try, but I’ve seen you with a knife,” Will reminded him. “Are we going to do this?”
“Yes. It’s going to be ghastly.”
“We’ve both had worse.”
“Have we? Well, you have.”
Will took Kim’s slim forearm and ran his thumb over the black cloth that covered the old scars. “Pretty sure you have too.”
Kim paused on that. “Perhaps. I don’t know. Shall we go and find out?”
Will cupped the back of his head and kissed him. Kim’s hands came to his shoulders, gripping them, opening his mouth to Will and pulling him in. They kissed deeply for just a moment, a snatched few seconds in a world that gave no space, and pulled apart by what felt like mutual decision.
“Right,” Will said. “Now let’s go.”
LORD WARING’S STUDY was the sort of room Will might have expected—more oak panels, lots of books, an oil painting of a dignified man with a moustache, a watercolour of Phoebe, a big desk. There was an ornate fireplace with beautiful carving and a painted coat of arms at its centre. A large filing cabinet struck a rather ugly note of modernity.
Lord Waring was standing at the desk. “Ah, Arthur. And Mr. Darling. Shut the door.”
Kim did so, then came to stand by Will. “Well. What did you want to talk about, sir?”
“Oh, nothing formal. Just a little chat.” Lord Waring’s voice was genial. “I wondered what you’ve been up to in the past—oh, week or so. Since last Sunday, say.”
“This and that.” Kim smiled back at him. “Pootling about, don’t you know.”
Waring’s smile didn’t falter. “And you, Mr. Darling? I understand you’re a bookseller.”
“That’s