fil de la mer

Ch. 4

Smell of sweat and sweetness

The Duke descended the steps in pairs, almost losing his balance and becoming one with gravity.

Falling was the least of his worries, though.

He had to hurry, to make sure he hadn't missed his chance to entertain the dashing stranger any further. With necessary effort, he flung open the doors and stepped out into the open air.

Immediately he was greeted by the faint scent of the sea, a long train that led toward the gardens; Wriothesley followed, as if bewitched.

The garden was a serene maze of topiaries and flowers, each petal whispering secrets to the evening breeze. The pathways were lined with flickering candles, casting soft shadows that danced in the twilight. Above, the stars began to re-emerge, one by one, like shy debutantes at a grand ball.

Wriothesley's eyes searched the landscape, seeking the stranger who had captured his attention. His heart pounded like a drum, urging him forward. He moved quietly, not wanting to disturb the tranquil scene or alert his prey.

The sound of soft footsteps grew clearer, leading him deeper into the garden. He rounded a hedge, and there he was—Neuvillette, standing before a fountain. The moon bathed him in a silver glow, highlighting his sharp jaw and the curve of his neck. Wriothesley felt a jolt of something unidentifiable, a mix of desire and envy.

The cobblestones shifted slightly under his boots, alerting Neuvillette to his presence. He turned, his expression a mix of surprise and wariness.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world around them stilled. The duke took a step closer, his hand outstretched slightly, as if to touch the very air that surrounded the other man.

"I see you've found the garden's heart," the Duke said, his voice low and gentle.

"Your Grace," Neuvillette greeted, his voice as smooth as velvet. "I did not expect to find you here."

Wriothesley's hand hovered in the air, then dropped to his side, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I... hope I am not intruding," he stammered, trying to regain his composure.

Neuvillette offered a small smile, the candlelight glinting in his eyes. "Not at all."

"For a moment, I thought I'd lost you,"

Neuvillette turned to face the Duke, his guard slightly lowered. "Lost me?"

The Duke nodded. "Back there, at the party," he said, gesturing towards the manor. "You just weren't there anymore. I was told that you had left without saying goodbye."

Neuvillette searched his eyes. "And here I am," he said, his voice tight.

"Indeed," the Duke replied.

"Actually, the idea was to leave without telling you anything, but then I saw the garden and..." Neuvillette said, his voice trailing off.

The Duke's eyes widened slightly. "So, you were planning to leave me, eh?"

Neuvillette felt his cheeks warm under the Duke's scrutiny. "I didn't mean it like that, your Grace," he stuttered. "I just don't belong here."

Duke Wriothesley stepped closer, his gaze intense. "And yet, here you are," he said, stepping closer.

Neuvillette swallowed hard, feeling the heat of the Duke's proximity. He could feel the weight of his stare, as if it were a tangible force that could crush him or embrace him. The fountain's gentle burble was the only sound between them, a stark contrast to the tumult in his chest.