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“I think Lord Damianos was the most handsome man there,” Aimeric said.
“And the rudest,” said Laurent. He marked his place in the book with a finger, but was resigned to the chapter remaining unfinished tonight. In truth he was too tired to concentrate for long; the party had run late, and the strain of being bright and well-behaved and effusive and polite, in turn, was finally taking hold of Laurent’s limbs.
“Lord, I agree,” said Nicaise. “He had such a disagreeable expression on his face when he walked in.”
Indeed; Damianos had looked around the room as though affronted by every aspect of it. Someone had tentatively offered a conversational opening around the admirable skill of their hostess in putting together a room, and Damianos had raised a ghastly spectre of awkwardness by declaring stiffly that the Veretian style had always been too ornate for his taste.
“Stop sprawling and get up off the floor,” Laurent told Nicaise. “Your best clothes are all over dust.”
Nicaise merely rolled over and propped his chin in his hands. “I asked him to dance, and he looked right down his nose at me. And do you know what he said? I didn’t know it was the custom in Vere for children to partake of adult pursuits. A child, me!” Nicaise pursed his lips. “A pity he’s so unpleasant. Piles of money, property all over the place, and he had lovely, strong-looking hands, don’t you think?”
He had. And his eyes had been dark and deep above the crisp white of his shirt, and there was something about the way his coat sat on his broad shoulders that had made Laurent’s skin itch with a sensation that was hot and cold and curious.
Laurent set his book down and picked at the laces of his sleeve, starting the long process of undressing, and forced his mind away from the memory.
“You are an insufferable flirt, Nicaise,” Auguste said; too mildly, in Laurent’s opinion. Nicaise could do with being sharply checked from time to time. One day the boy would flirt himself into serious trouble, if not into total ruin, and Aimeric was more than silly enough to be showing signs of following his younger brother’s example.
“Don’t worry,” Laurent said, keeping his voice light. “Lord Damianos and his twenty thousand a year refused me a dance as well. Clearly our family does not live up to his lofty Akielon standards.”
“Lady Jokaste did tell me he prefers women,” said Auguste. “Perhaps he reserves his affections for them exclusively, and he did not wish to hurt your feelings by saying so.”
Laurent forced a laugh. He had taken an instant dislike to the Lady Jokaste, with her arch looks and intricately braided blonde hair, and the way she hung from Damianos’s arm as though to protect him from being contaminated by the inferior society which surrounded them.
“That would have been less hurtful,” Laurent said. “An aversion to men is unfortunate, but one can understand it; to claim not to dance at all, when the objection is clearly to the partner and not the activity, is unforgivable.”
“And he must like men at least a little,” Aimeric chimed in. “I saw him bring a drink to that shy mouse Erasmus.”
“I thought that was a kind gesture,” said Auguste. “Erasmus is only a farmer’s son; you know he feels ill at ease at these gatherings, and half the people in the room were snubbing him entirely.”
“Auguste,” Laurent said, shaking his head at his older brother in exasperation. “You think well of everyone, and it has no place in this conversation.”
“No,” Nicaise said cheerfully. “Some of us have been rejected. As such, this is a strictly a bitching session.”
“Nicaise,” Auguste and Laurent said in unison, while Aimeric smothered a shocked laugh in a cushion.
“It hardly matters, anyhow,” said Laurent. “If his behaviour tonight was anything to go by, I expect Lord Damianos will make his excuses to escape Vere as soon as possible. With any luck, we may never be forced to endure his company again.”
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