be grand when we go back to London,” Will said brightly. “You’ll see.”
Chapter Six
A few times since they had been living in the gamekeeper’s cottage, Will had what Martin privately thought of as a Gloomy Day. This was probably making light of a serious matter, but Day of Remembering Being Tortured by a Madman on a Boat seemed a trifle grim, however accurate, so Gloomy Day would have to do. On those days, Will would sleep even heavier and later than usual, then spend the rest of the day with a teacup clutched in his hands, his gaze apparently fixed on something like a whorl in the plaster or a crack in the windowpane. Sometimes he seemed not to hear when Martin spoke to him. Martin, for the most part, left him alone; he found that if he refilled Will’s teacup or put a sandwich within arm’s reach, Will would absently drink or eat. If Martin dropped a blanket over Will’s shoulders, it would remain there hours later.
It reminded Martin of those months when Will only seemed to find the world bearable through the haze of laudanum, as if oblivion was the best he could hope for. That comparison was troubling, but it might have been even more so if Martin hadn’t remembered that, when they were children, Will could spend an afternoon watching a spider weave a web. Sometimes, for good or for ill, Will’s mind just went wandering. If Will needed to spend a day staring at the wall, so be it.
When, on a March morning, Will hadn’t budged from his chair for over an hour, Martin realized that this was the first Gloomy Day during which he was capable of actually doing something useful for Will. He brewed a fresh pot of tea and topped off Will’s cup, then dressed in a clean shirt and the better of the two pairs of trousers that sat in the trunk at the foot of the bed.
“Will,” he said, his voice sounding loud in the stillness of the room. Will didn’t answer, so Martin put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. Will, as he did whenever Martin touched him, however incidentally, almost leaned into the touch, and Martin wanted to slap himself. Will was probably starved for touch, stuck here in a cottage with only Martin for company. All those weeks, Martin had only thought about how he couldn’t bear to let Will touch him because every touch sent his mind reeling in forbidden directions, but he had neglected to remember that Will needed to be touched. Feeling like he was crossing a Rubicon, he squeezed the shoulder that was already under his hand, and then leaned in a bit in an awkward attempt at a sideways embrace.
Will turned his head to look up at Martin as if surprised to find him there, and then covered Martin’s hand with his own. Martin could feel the calluses on Will’s palm, the chill of his fingertips. It felt impossibly lovely, skin on skin, as if affection could be absorbed through flesh and bone. He could have stayed there for hours, awkward angle and all, soaking up the sweetness of it.
Instead he cleared his throat. “I’m going for a walk,” Martin said. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He had leaned, so now their faces were close, close enough that he could see the individual hairs that made up the scruff on Will’s jaw, the faint lines that had no business being around the eyes of a man who was barely twenty-three. It also meant he was close enough to see when something shifted in Will’s expression, when his gaze flicked down to Martin’s mouth and then back again.
He managed to give Will’s shoulder another squeeze before standing upright and making his way to the door. Before crossing the threshold, he turned around, grabbed the blanket, tucked it around Will’s shoulders, and then all but ran outside.
He walked until he was out of sight of the cottage, then braced himself against a tree. He was a fool, a prize idiot, stupid in ways he hadn’t even considered.
Martin was quite aware, and had been for years, that all he had to do was crook his finger and Will would come running. The fact that Will had walked away from his home and his work in order to play nursemaid to Martin was proof enough. But until today, Martin hadn’t considered that Will would oblige in more . . . carnal matters. He had