Winter's Knight (4 page)

Lucian combed through the crowd and tried to keep track of pleasantries while endlessly searching for a certain man. It was still early, and Lucian didn’t expect Shea to show untilwellpast fashionably late, but that didn’t stop Lucian from double-checking every large-framed individualina tuxedo twice.
“Lucian,” said a vaguely familiar voice, and Lucian turned to see Jonathan White, CEO of Phoenix Financial, coming closer. His thick, once-dark hair was now entirely white, though his eyebrows were still black. Jon’s large, brown eyes were warmand creased about the edges with laugh lines, and his smile was wide.
Lucian relaxed and extended his hand, genuinely pleased to see Jon. The manwas honest, intelligent, and kind, and Lucian valued all three of those commodities, though he could typically only mimic one of them. “Jon. Good to see you.”
“Saw you making the rounds and had to sneak in,” Jonanswered, squeezingLucian’s hand.
“I’m happy to make time for men such as yourself at these affairs,” Lucian said, looking Jon over. “And that tuxedo is perfection in its cut. Henry Poole? It must be.”
Jon laughed. “It is! Had it refitted after finding it hiding in the back of my closet two months ago. Leave it to you to know every tailor’s stitch on Savile Row by heart.”
“One ofmylesser talents.”
“But one no less usefulthancrackingthe whip inthe political hemispheres,” Jon said with a straight face that even Lucian had difficulty reading. Only the twinkle in Jon’s eye indicated the gentle tease.
“Far more family friendly, too,” Lucian conceded and was reminded of Clark’s side note from their chat two days ago. “Though speaking of whip cracking, I’m inthe market for a personalaccountant.”
“Finallygot rid ofBassett?”
“The firmdidn’t meet mystandards,”Lucianreplied coolly. “I’m sure someone who came with your recommendation would have a far better chance at matchingme.”
Jon looked momentarily uncertain but nodded. “I’ll get some names to your office.”
“I would consider it a personalfavor to be repaid in kind.”
“Isn’t everything?”Jonasked witha quick grin.
Lucian chuckled, shook Jon’s hand again, and gracefully departed to the next cluster of important personages. He was on his second flute of champagne and getting impatient with the missing Shea when suddenly accosted by a flurry ofhorrific lavender taffeta and silver sequins. Amatronly brunette woman wearing a ten-year-old mother-of-the-bride gown wrapped Lucian in an embrace and tried to suffocate him before lettinggo and smackinghimonthe arm.
“Lucian Edward Gray,” the woman trilled at a volume that made guests, plants, and possibly outdoor wildlife take note. “It’s been months since you called me or deigned to stop by so I can feed your skinny behind some decent food, and that is entirely unacceptable behavior, youngman!”
“Mrs. Ollivander, it’s so--”
“Don’t you dare!” Shea’s mother smacked Lucian again, and he stopped himself fromrubbing the forming bruise. “It’s ‘Mom’ or ‘Ginger’ if you have to, you idiot.”
“Sorry,” Lucian said, a grin cracking his face. “Mom.”
Ginger harrumphed in mock offense and linked her arm through Lucian’s, dragging him toward a tray of hors d’oeuvres and helping herself. “That’s better. Practically raise your butt, and you have the nerve to callme ‘missis’ anything. Honestly.”
“I assure you it won’t happen again,” Lucian said solemnly, an odd kind of contentment welling up inside him. Ginger Ollivander managed a thirty-thousand acre dairy farm, a horde ofkids, and a husband who thought bull riding was a relaxing pastime at sixty. Lucian and his reputation paled in comparison, even in his own mind.
“Then I’ll see you next week for barbeque.” Ginger sighed. “Maybe you could even find my wayward son and tellhimto come see me, too.”
“Shea’s not been home?” Lucian asked politely, though Clark had told him that Shea had avoided all familyand friends since quittingthe economics position.
“No, the dirty rat has not been home to see his mother. Not even for Thanksgiving. If I don’t see him this Christmas, I’mgoingto hogtie himmyself.”
“Now that I would love to see,” Lucian said, being thoroughlyhonest.
Ginger cackled. “I just bet you would. Haven’t managed to do it yourself for some unearthly reason. Remind me again why you aren’t married to my boy and raisinga gaggle ofgrandkids?”
“Childrengive me hives.”
“People give you hives. And Shea would take care of them. I remember how you are with children. Probably let them play with knives and somehow think it’s a lessoninsafety.”
Lucian violently cleared his throat in protest, but Ginger stared him down from the corner of her eye. “Right. You do make a point. I’ll see if I can talk Shea into the idea of settling down.” Lucian was proud when he managed to say the words without stammering. It was a near thing.
A honey-gold gaze just like Shea’s peered up at Lucian, the intelligence as keen and even more forthright. “Seeinghimsoonare you?”
Lucian started to answer and lost alltrain ofthought when he saw Shea shoving a path through the crowd. Lucian’s heart tripped a faster beat, his mouthwent dry, and Lucian took in every detail of the poorly-fitted tuxedo, the untamed brown curls, and the irked scowl marringShea’s handsome features.
“You look like someone just hit you in the mouth with a wet fish,” Ginger remarked, standing on tiptoes and scanning the ballroom. “Who are you meeting -- oh mysweet Lord!”
Ginger made it to Shea before Lucian could get there. The woman trotted like a pony in her two-inch pumps and flungherselfaround Shea’s neck.
“Oof.” Shea chuckled and hugged his mother tightly, picking her up off the floor and setting her back down. “Mom, what did we say about not making a scene the next time we see each other?” Shea asked, but the fond tenderness in his eyes was easy to see, and the crude cadence of his voice was gone in the face of family.
“You didn’t tell me it’d be years in between sightings, you rat!” Ginger retorted, making a fist and punchingShea inthe bicep.
“Ow!” Shea grinned without actually flinching. “Hey, I called, and it’s only been three years. Didn’t Cousin Vicky leave and move off to God knows for five before she evengot intouch?”
“Cousin Vicky isn’t my son.” Ginger tapped her foot at Shea, one hand onher ample waist.
“She makes a point,” Lucian interjected, grabbing champagne offa passingtrayand offeringit to Shea.
“This isn’t basketball, Lucian.” Shea accepted the glass and instead of sipping it properly, he swallowed it like soda. “I’d have a chance at basketball.”
“Easy on the booze, dear,” Ginger cautioned, and Lucian wanted to roll his eyes with Shea. “Now tell me why on earth you choose to show up here instead of at our Sundaydinner table?”
“Mom, I quit the big finance thing so I can’t face Dad, but Luke asked, so I’ve come to this function to be withhim.”
“Lucian always was good at knowing what was best for you,” Ginger said. “He’s almost as skilled as me.”
Something dark flashed across Shea’s expression, and Lucian stepped closer to the pair, fingertips brushing Shea’s back, and, to his delight, he felt a shakingShea leaninto the touch.
“Not so sure about that,” Lucian said. “After all, I obviously didn’t give him enough time to find a decent tux.”
“Yes, what is this Hulk impression you’re doing, dear?” Ginger asked, but sighed and continued before either man had the chance to retort. “I’ve read allabout this competitive gay sub-culture of yours. Aman has to pay more attention to appearances than any woman I know.”
“I’ma construction worker, Mom. Muscles kind of help with that.” Shea glanced askance at Lucian. “My whole wardrobe consists entirelyofjeans and t-shirts.”
“Even those can be fitted,” Lucian commented. “Though you do manage to make off-the-rack look desirable.”
White teeth flashed, and a smile relaxed taut muscle and touched the edge of Shea’s eyes. “Thank you.” He looked down at the too-long cuffs, the pants that needed a belt to stay up, and the dress shirt that someone could have mistaken for a tent. “Sorry. Best I could do on a day’s notice. The corner tailor just laughed in disbeliefwhen he saw my old tux next to me, and the rentalplace could onlyhemthe pants.”
“It’s good to see you here,” Lucian said, and Ginger’s knowing grin and quick glances between the two ofthemwere not wasted onLucian.
“Well. I should go find your father. Tell him not to interrupt you two. I expect results soon, Luke,” Ginger said, pointinga pink nailat Lucian.
“I’ll do my best to get him to agree to the terms,” Lucianreplied seriouslyand thenadded, “Mom.”
Ginger beamed, hugged them both with more motherly advice that Lucian didn’t note and that made Shea grumble, and dashed away in a crinkle of bad fabric.
“Terms?” Shea eyed Lucian with a suspicion spoiled bya glint ofhumor inone gold eye.
“Just the usual marriage, house, kids, et cetera,” Lucian said dismissively, when Shea’s eyes widened. “Nothingto worryabout.”
“Mom...”Shea said ruefully.
“Cares verymuch,”Lucianput in.
“Well, still. Sorry about that, and don’t think for an instant I didn’t see you change topics to save her. Thank youfor steppinginso adroitly.”
Lucian arched an eyebrow at Shea and started walking toward the dining tables, one hand still on Shea’s lower back. The suit fabric was rough but the body he could feel beneath three layers was warm and solid. “A compliment without the usual expletive?” Lucian hummed. “Pity. Was hoping for ‘fucking’ adroitly, at least.”
“You were quite adroit at fucking, from what I remember,” Shea said, rougher, a flush creeping pink and prettyover his cheeks, his curls tumblingforward to hide his eyes.
“So you were listening all those years to my tales fromthe bedroom,”Lucianmused.
Shea blushed deeper and coughed. “Uhm. Ah. So, Prince Lucian, what political trophies are you intending to bagtonight?”
“Merely being seen supports my interests in the tender, younger generations,” Lucian answered, letting Shea have the way with the conversation. “The governor’s here, should probably shake his hand and laugh when he tells me I remind him of Father. Accountant references, a few pledges to support the non-profit projects, and I should be donating enough to earnanother plaque.”Lucianshrugged. “Slow night, but seeing as the point was really to spend it with you,” Lucian paused to smile up at Shea, five inches his better inheight. “Not sucha terrible thing.”
“I like going slow these days,” Shea said and bit his lower lip, and Luciantried not to stare.
“Then shall we slowly make our way to uncomfortable chairs and plastic chicken dinners?” Lucian asked, squeezing Shea’s arm, loathe to stop touching the man. The dam on Lucian’s control was cracking this close to Shea’s smell, feel, very self. A thrill coursed through him. Shea was here, coping with family and discomfort for him. For a moment, he wanted to taste Shea’s lips so badly there was nothing else inthe world.
“Lead on, then,”Shea allowed.
“Gladly.” Lucian replied smoothly and navigated to their designated table without throwingShea against any sturdysurfaces.
Chances to talk dwindled to none as Lucian played the consummate politician and the speeches and presentations began. Lucian had no idea what food was served, but he memorized the way Shea managed a fork all over again, watched the way Shea’s mouth and throat moved inthe chew and swallow.
Lucian noticed when Shea grew restless with the games of wealth, toying with his plate and shifting in his chair. Lucian wanted to squeeze Shea’s thigh or offer some other gesture of comfort, but Lucian didn’t dare. It felt like pushing, graduating from arm to leg in the space of a mere hour and in front of witnesses. Shea’s talk of slow, his worried tone about taking things one step at a time, the way he wouldn’t quite meet Lucian’s gaze, theyalladded up to the need for care.
For anyone else, maybe that would be a tedious challenge, but somewhere between entree and dessert, Lucian realized with renewed clarity that he would do just about anythingto convince Shea that he meant what he said. Luciancared. He didn’t like the word “love”so much, wasn’t sure he understood it, really, but-
Shea inexplicably excused himself with a mumble in a lull between catty presenters, stalking away from the table and out of the hall with a purposeful stride. Lucian sat for a moment like a miniature glacier until he shook off the worry that Shea would merely leave, and he got up.
“Pardon me,” Lucian said to others, nodding and smiling with his best insincere turn of lip. He chased after Shea and panicked when he didn’t see the man in the reception room beyond the ballroom. Dark hallways, security, windows with no views, and Lucian took a deep breath to make himself think. He recalled countless dinner gatherings and Shea at eleven, fifteen, twenty getting up from the riotous table for a break. And Shea always went-
“Outside,” Lucian said to himself. He pivoted on a heel and marched to the nearest exit, which led onto a terrace adjacent to the gardens. The moon was full, the night air was cold but not bitter, and the wind was faint. Snow was piled on either side of the narrow concrete path that Lucian followed past dead twigs of trees and barren bushes. He came to a halt when he heard a faint chink to his right, and he saw fresh boot prints in the icy crust. Lucian smiled at the shape of the size twelve. Only Shea would wear motorcycle riding boots with a tux.
Lucian shoved aside prickly hedge branches and walked into a small clearing. A large oak stood on the far side, and the topiary blocked the breeze on three sides and opened onto a view of the golf course. A stone bench stood between the tree and Lucian, and Shea sat hunched forward on it, the amber light of a cigarette glowingbetweenbare fingers.
Approaching carefully so he didn’t slip on the slick pavers, Lucian counted the handful of stars above the halogen glow of the lights over the fifteenth hole. He blew fog in a long sigh and sat next to Shea, who said nothing. Lucian shivered, the chill of the bench seeping through to numb ass and legs. He inched closer to Shea, who glanced at Lucian with the same unfamiliar, unreadable mask Lucian’d seenShea donat Leaf.
“Thought you quit,” Lucian whispered, not wanting to disturb the peace with real volume. He plucked the cig from Shea’s grasp and sucked a sweet, deep drag ofnicotine nirvana.
“Never knew you’d started,” Shea said, bemusement replacingthe emptyexpression.
Smoke swirled, and Lucian crossed his legs toward Shea. Their shoulders brushed, and Lucian thrilled at how this casual touch out of a million others was different. “One does all sorts of things in the name of self-management.”
“Yup.” Shea stole the cigarette back, thick fingers brushing Lucian’s slender ones, and the coal glowed bright before he slumped, running one hand through his hair. “All kindsa things. Rubbin’ worry stones, chewin’ onpencilstubs, rerollin’fagends, drinkin’tequila bythe case, heck... studyin’ applied mathematics and game theory, somethin’ big enough to make my brain beg for mercy.”