The corner of Sebastian’s mouth turned up.
“Go to sleep,” said Lord Fine. “And bloody stay asleep, this time.”
Sebastian huffed, but the ever-present knot in his chest was looser. He watched the fire, listening to the rain against the window and feeling the mattress shift as Lord Fine settled.
You’re really, really not so bad,he wanted to whisper.
Chapter Nine
Wesley woke to pale light giving the room a silver-gray glow. The rain had stopped during the night, the morning cloudy and cool.
Sebastian was still asleep, burrowed deep under the blankets, and Wesley absolutely did not indulge in a long moment of eying what he could see of that handsome face.
Blood terrors.Christ.
An hour later they went together to the kitchen and foraged in the pantry for tins. Sebastian knew how to light a stove and put a kettle on, but Wesley’s searches only turned up chipped mugs and a box of tea so ancient the leaves had paled and lost their scent.
The manor had both a dining room and a morning room, but Sebastian had looked at Wesley with his big pretty eyes and saidthe stove makes it warmer in hereand Wesley had heard himself agree to sit at the scored wooden kitchen table like a fucking hall boy. Handsome men were a bloody hazard.
“Blanshard has reduced me to brewed dust for breakfast in my own manor.” Wesley picked up his mug with distaste. “If I didn’t already want vengeance, this might have done the trick. And why areyoueating biscuits?”
Sebastian dipped the biscuit straight into an opened tin of sweetened condensed milk. Like Wesley, he was dressed in country tweeds; unlike Wesley, the casual tans and browns suited Sebastian perfectly. “These are cookies. Biscuits are round fluffy breads.”
“No, you’ve just described scones.” Wesley pointed at Sebastian’s tin. “That’s also nothing but sugar and I saw you stir it into that dirt you claim is instant coffee.”
“I could eat this entire can with a spoon,” Sebastian said dreamily. “You should try it.”
“Absolutely not. All I want is proper tea.”
“Now who’s being delicate?” Sebastian said innocently.
Ugh, he was downright charming, teasing Wesley. “Put down that stone in your glass greenhouse, Caribbean boy on a Yorkshire moor.”
Sebastian grinned and popped the biscuit into his mouth. “We are going to York to investigate. I will buy you a proper tea in town, yes?”
“Hmph.” More teasing, perhaps, but Wesley wouldn’t mind letting Sebastian buy him drinks. “So what exactly are we going to be looking for today?”
“Traces of magic.”
“Traces of what kind of magic?” Wesley asked. “Mercier’s? The Earl of Blanshard’s?”
“Maybe,” said Sebastian. “But they are also murdering people with no witnesses. I am hoping to find some trace that will help us figure out how they are moving without being found.”
Wesley reached for a tin of kippers and the can opener. “Miss Robbins said you lot think Blanshard has the power to eat auras.”
Sebastian hesitated.
“Sebastian,” Wesley said warningly. “No sugarcoating.”
Sebastian sighed. “It sounds exactly like the story my family tells.”
“What happens in your story? Did your ancestors manage to stop this vampire paranormal?”
“A distant aunt, yes,” Sebastian said. “But we don’t know exactly how she did it.”
“Someone in your family stops a paranormal who eats auras and no one writes that story down?” Wesley said incredulously.
Sebastian winced. “Supposedly tía Casilda was supposed to marry an Englishman as part of some political alliance. But she refused and was disowned.”
