“No, I just meant do you have plans to travel? You’ve been in Ravenport for quite some time. Surely you’re ready to set off on another little adventure?”
Evan caught another glimpse of Thomas standing by the door in parade rest with his spine straight and his chest pushed out, the way his hands were clasped behind his back highlighting the sheer breadth of his shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Lilleforth has its attractions. I might stay and explore them further.”
He cocked a curious brow at the ambassador. It was interesting that the man was so interested in Evan’s movements, given that this was thesecondfarewell dinner the king had thrown. A farewell dinner was normally the sign for the lastfew guests to pack their bags since it was considered a breach of etiquette to ask outright when someone was leaving, but Marchesi seemed oblivious.
Luckily, Evan had never cared about etiquette.
“What about you? Aren’t your obligations here fulfilled? I would have thought you’d be on your way back to Falsmark and their fine wines. Speaking of which, top up?” He lifted his glass from the table and waved it about, slopping some of the contents over his hand. “Oh, bugger.”
A serving boy darted forward with a bottle of wine and filled up his glass, and Evan downed a mouthful. “Mmmm,” he said. “This is a Falsmark red, right? The late harvest from the western river region if I’m not mistaken.”
The ambassador narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t aware you were such an expert on our wines, Your Grace.”
Oops. He’d been distracted, and forgotten he was meant to be ignorant.
“Well, I don’t know about that, but I can drink like a champion!” Evan flashed him a bright smile. “I only remember this one because I drank enough that I fell down a staircase once.” He took another swig and let the smile fall from his face. “Of course, it didn’t end as badly for me as it did for poor Calthrope. Such a dreadful business.”
“Dreadful,” the ambassador said with a sigh. Evan didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened at the mention of the dead man. He definitely knew something, and Evan was determined to get the information out of him.
“We should drink to his memory,” he said suddenly, lurching forward and waving the serving boy over. “It’s the least we can do.”
The ambassador pulled a face. “I don’t really drink.”
“Nonsense. It would be disrespectful not to mourn the loss of my friend with the finest wine, and I can’t toast him alone.” Evangave Marchesi his best pleading look, the one that had never failed him yet. “Just half a glass?”
The ambassador hesitated but gave a terse nod. “Half a glass. I find more than that gives me a sour stomach.”
“Excellent!” Evan exclaimed and clapped Marchesi on the shoulder. He grabbed a full glass off the tray and thrust it into the man’s hand.
The ambassador eyed the glass warily.
“To Stephen,” Evan proclaimed, draining his glass and looking at the ambassador expectantly.
The ambassador took a small sip, and his expression turned pleased. He tipped his head back and emptied the glass, then gave a little hum.
“That’s the fellow!” Evan said cheerfully and nodded at the server, who filled both glasses to the brim.
The ambassador only hesitated for a moment before taking the second glass and drinking half of it in one swallow, and Evan smiled to himself. They were drinking the rarest and most potent of the Falsmark wines, and Evan had taken their server aside earlier, slipped him a handful of gold coins, and requested that their glasses remain full at all times.
He sipped his own second drink carefully. Evan often had a full glass in his hand and people assumed he was always three sheets to the wind because of it, but it was amazing how a few deft movements could spill the contents of a glass over the sides. Which was a damn shame since this particular wine was delicious, but it couldn’t be helped.
Besides, he had several bottles stashed in his room, and he was hopeful that at some time in the near future, a certain captain of the guard might be tempted into sharing a glass—among other things.
He tried to imagine what tipsy Thomas would be like and how it would taste kissing his wine-soaked mouth. For all thatThomas gave the impression of being solid and sensible, Evan was convinced that hidden beneath his staid exterior there beat the heart of a confident, skilled lover.
Just look at how he’d responded earlier.
Despite Evan pouncing on him with no warning, he hadn’t faltered. Rather, he’d taken control of the kiss as easily as breathing, and while Evan was usually the one in charge, he had rather enjoyed being swept off his feet.
He just needed Thomas to sweep him a little further—across the room and into his bed, to be precise—and he was confident he could make it happen.
The ambassador had barely finished emptying his glass when their server filled it again. Marchesi beamed at him and drank the contents without hesitating. Evan chattered mindlessly through a fourth glass, then a fifth, watching the ambassador carefully, and before long the man’s cheeks were rosy and he was wearing the smile of someone who had hit the happy, loose-lipped stage of drunkenness, which was exactly where Evan wanted him. Right now, Marchesi would tell the world and its neighbour his business without hesitation.
Evan put a hand on the ambassador’s arm. “Oh my,” he said, full of fake concern. “You look rather in your cups, Ambassador.”
Marchesi nodded, his brow creased, and let out a hiccup.
“Me too,” Evan lied, leaning in close and giving a good impression of a drunken giggle. “Do you, shall we—” He waved a hand vaguely, spilling the rest of his own wine. “—oops! I think I need to take a walk. Join me? Otherwise I’m likely to fall into the garden beds again.”
