ΦΦΦ
“What the hell were you playing at during breakfast?” Rook demanded, as he and Jack tramped through the dank forest.
Rook was in a foul mood: he hadn’t slept a damn wink. His ‘masquerade woman’ had made an appearance in his dreams last night. It was dark, and he had her against that wall again, except she’d let him lift her skirts. He had been inches away from taking her, when her face had metamorphosed into Clara’s. She had been waggling that damn chess piece at him whispering, ‘Rook, I’ve never been kissed before’. He’d woken hard, wanting and confused.
“Don’t know what you mean. Excellent spread by the way, Hestia’s outdone herself.” Rook frowned, Hestia was another problem, but he’d fix this one first.
“I meant your outrageous flirting with Clara. Kissing her palm. Honestly, people noticed, you know, and I don’t want her talked about. She’s had enough of a trialwhilst she’s been here.”
“Actually,” Jack replied languidly, narrowly avoiding a branch that Rook twanged back in his face. “You were the only one who noticed the incident. Everyone else was too interested in their honey-glazed ham. Damn, fine stuff.”
Rook gritted his teeth in frustration. Jack could be annoyingly pedantic and calm at times.
“Honestly, Rook, she was upset and needed coddling. She’s remarkably clumsy for one so graceful. She also wears gloves a lot – wonder if she has trouble with her joints? Remember my cousin Marie? – terrible hip pain, even though she was only in her twentieth year…”
Rook wasn’t listening to Jack’s ramblings: he only heard that Clara was upset. Was that his fault? He had been an arrogant bastard at breakfast, and he could at least have given her a smile.
Hewas the problem. He liked Clara, and although she didn’t seem the type, his smiling and talking to debutantes often raised certain expectations of marriage in them. Moreover, how could he consideranythingwhen the masquerade woman still preyed on his mind?
Distantly, he noticed that Jack was still rambling. “You’re just being a dog in a manger, considering you were practically seducing that widow at breakfast. Wouldn’t bother if I was you. Screams like a banshee in bed – nearly went deaf,” he remarked, musing on the memory.
“Is there anyone at this house party that you haven’t tupped, Jack?” Rook bit out irritably, letting another branch snap in his friend’s face.
“Weelll,” he said drawing out the word. “Haven’t been with Clara. Virginal, of course, but such a tasty, little –”
He got no further as Rook pinned him to the nearest tree by the throat. Jack was strong, but not enough to pry Rook’s grip from his choking larynx.
“You keep your filthy hands off Clara. You’re not fit to touch her skirt, you bloody debaucher.” He shook him hard for extra emphasis.
If Rook hadn’t been so tired and confused, he would have taken Jack’s teasing as it was meant. However, a blinding, hot-white rage had overtaken his body, as he remembered watching Jack’s lips on Clara’s hand. At the time, he had wanted to fling his best friend at the cursed honey-glazed ham and whisk Clara away to tend to her wound. It involved her undressing – completely. He’d turned that look on the woman beside him, and she had looked at him as though it was Christmas Day.
“Can’t breathe…” Rook looked at his hand choking the life out of his best friend since short trousers and eased off. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He was acting like a jealous fiend; he had no right to Clara.
“Jack, I…” He let go, and his friend wheezed in a deep breath. He didn’t know what to say – he’d never acted like that before.
“Well, at least now I know,” Jack gasped.
“Know what?” Rook bit out irritably.
Although he had almost strangled the life out of Jack, he never worried that it might break their friendship. He knew many people would not understand their deep loyalty, despite circumstance or incident. As boys, they’d once not talked for a month, after a dispute over the ownership of a frog. They were supposed to share, but Rook had kept it hidden, and they’d each sulked in their own righteousness – Jack had first seen it, but Rook had caught it.
One morning, Rook had awoken to hear screams from his tutor. The frog was found in his bed with a sign around its neck saying ‘kiss me’. Rook had been blamed and birched, but he honestly hadn’t cared, as it had been so amusing; he had hunted out and found Jack by the pool.
“Let’s catch two next time, shall we?” Rook the boy had suggested.
“Double trouble, I like it,” Jack the boy smiled.
They hadn’t changed.
“Rook?” Jack’s voice brought him back to the present, and he looked at his friend. His face was back to its normal colour, although his voice was a little husky.
“I was thinking about that frog.”
“That was one of my best. Two birds with one stone. Got my own back, and got rid of that creepy tutor – used to pat my bottom, you know – filthy, old codger.”
“I didn’t know that.” And he realised how much they depended on each other. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me Jack. I cannot get Clara out of my head and then…well…there’s this other woman.”
“Ah, I knew it. Why didn’t you tell me, you old dog?”
