Vasilywasdifferent.
And judging by the way Vasily had slipped one hand under the table and was running it up and down Mother’s thigh while glancing at him from under his lashes with a coy smile, he was just as eager as Mother was to take things further. As soon as the last mouthful of cottage pie was gone, Mother picked up both of their plates and took them over to the washing-up buckets where one of the serving girls relieved him of them.
By the time he got back to the table, Vasily was standing, one hand extended. His cheeks were pink, but he held his hand out in a fair imitation of confidence. Mother pretended not to notice the slight tremor and took the proffered hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Vasily ducked in close and pressed his lips to Mother’s in the briefest of kisses before pulling away again grinning.
Someone made a cooing sound—Cook, probably—but Mother pretended not to hear it, leading Vasily out of the kitchen with his head held high and ignoring the heat flooding his cheeks. This was all new, but that didn’t mean he had any reason to be embarrassed by it—not when it meant he got to have someone as intriguing as Vasily in his life.
And intriguing really was the best way to describe him.
Hestilldidn’t know who Vasily was or how he’d come to be here. He only knew that he’d clearly come from a life of privilege and Mattias had been involved somehow. An unwelcome suspicion hit him, one so absurd that he almost dismissed it out of hand, except—
What had Felix meant about Vasily being his equal? Why were the king and his husband so eager to keep an eye on their new groom? WhatdidMattias have to do with it? He walked along, lost in thought.
“Bryn?”
The use of his name jerked him out of his thoughts, and Mother lifted his head to find that they’d somehow made it all the way back to Vasily’s cottage while he’d been woolgathering.
“You haven’t said a word the whole way here. Did I do something wrong?”
Vasily’s brow was creased, and he pulled his hand out of Mother’s grasp and fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I shouldn’t have kissed you in front of Cook.”
“What? No. I like you kissing me. I was just lost in some foolishness.”
Vasily’s smile returned, although it was tinged with uncertainty. “Oh, good. Because I like kissing you too. But you look so fierce.” He raised an eyebrow. “So, can I ask what had you looking like you stepped in fresh dog shit?”
The words were out of Mother’s mouth before he could stop them. “You’re not a spy, are you?”
Vasily’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open in anOof shock, and Mother’s heart sank into his boots—right until Vasily let out a startled laugh. “Me?A spy?” He started laughing properly then, hard enough that his body was folded in half with the force of his mirth. His arms wrapped around his middle, and in between making snorting noises, he gasped out, “That’s—the most”—he paused to drag in a breath—“flattering thing I’ve ever heard!Me!” He hooted, and when he straightened up, there were tears running down his face. He wiped the back of one hand across his eyes. “I’ve never had anyone think I was clever enough to be a spy before. It’s quite the compliment.”
He was so entertained by the whole thing that Mother couldn’t help but believe him. He found himself grinning. “I told you they were foolish thoughts.”
Vasily had recovered from his fit of laughter somewhat, and now he draped his arms around Mother’s neck and leaned in against him, still breathless as he buried his face in the crook of his neck. “Aspy,” he repeated, and Mother could hear the stifled laughter in his tone.
And fine, itwasridiculous. Now he thought about it, spies were meant to blend in, and right from the start Vasily had done everythingbut.
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling slightly sheepish, and tucked his fingertips under Vasily’s jaw to draw his chin upward, not sure if he should apologise or join Vasily in his amusement. Vasily grinned at him. “I promise I’m not a spy. Although if Iwasa spy, that’s just the sort of thing I would say, so perhaps I am.”
He winked and leaned in for a kiss.
Mother slid one hand up Vasily’s back and settled his palm at the nape of his neck, teasing Vasily’s mouth open with the tip of his tongue and tilting his head so their mouths lined up better.
He was getting the hang of this.
Vasily seemed to think so too, letting out a soft moan and pulling away long enough to whisper, “Come inside?” before brushing his lips along Mother’s throat in a series of featherlight kisses.
Mother’s skin tingled with the echo of Vasily’s touch and his heart thundered in his chest in a combination of nerves and excitement as he nodded wordlessly.
Vasily unlocked the door, and they stepped inside.
“Oh!”
Mother couldn’t help the exclamation. He and Vasily mostly met at either his house or the stables, and the last time he’d been here the place had still looked somewhat sparse, as well as being in dire need of a clean and containing rather too much unwashed laundry. Now, though? It exuded warmth and cheer.
The coals glowed in the hearth, cutting through the chill of the evening and casting enough light to show that every last surface had been wiped clean. The place was free of clutter, the dust bunnies and cobwebs that had previously taken up residence in the corners had been evicted, and there was the hint of a soapy fragrance lingering in the air. “I see you’ve got the hang of housekeeping, then?”
Vasily laughed. “I spent two hours cleaning this afternoon because I planned to invite you over,” he confessed. He stepped farther inside, Mother following him, and lit one of the lamps, bathing the cottage in a warm glow. He set the lamp on the small table, which held a jug of wine and two glasses. Next to it a haphazard arrangement of long-stemmed red flowers, the ones that grew in the meadow near the stables, had been shoved into a clay vase. Mother turned to Vasily, biting back a smile. “Are you trying to woo me with wine and flowers?”
He ducked his head, but not before Mother caught his shy smile. “Is it working?”
