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He nodded. “I can count on them and trust them.”
Ashwood’s voice cracked. “I’m glad you have them.”
“I am too.” He thought about their earlier conversation about their futures. “But it’s true that I’ll need to decide what to do from here on. I cannot stay in service to the gentlemen forever, nor do I want to.”
He saw the tic in Ashwood’s jaw, and wished he could make him understand how liberating it had been for him. On the other hand, he could see why it left a bitter taste in Ashwood’s mouth. If they’d still been Bell and Ash to each other, the jealousy might’ve been flattering, but now it left him feeling sad and hollow.
“What do you suppose you’d like to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had the opportunity to truly think about it, except perhaps with you, and even then, the dream felt out of reach. And obviously, I was right.”
Ashwood flinched, and guilt wormed its way inside Bellamy.
“Besides, I was too busy worrying about becoming a wolf.”
Ashwood frowned. “I can see why that wouldn’t sit well with you. Not after everything you’d seen.”
“It’s true that I don’t have a good grasp on what it means to be a wolf.” He thought again of the female wolves. “The pack you came across, though, intrigues me. Why they don’t fight for territory.”
“Perhaps they negotiate instead, or steer clear of those like Kipling who seem bent on power and less on compromise.” He stood to poke at the logs in the hearth. “The idea of living freely, without repercussions, certainly sounds lovely. As does the idea of becoming friendly with others, in case of danger.”
“Do you think they would take you in, knowing you’d been with Kipling?”
“I can only try to prove myself worthy.”
Bellamy knew his words were meant for him as well. He shut the book of pressed flowers and handed it back to him. “Azriel would love this. So would Madam Fairborn. She keeps an arboretum at—”
“Enchantment?”
“How did you know?”
“I cannot stay cooped up in here all the time,” he said with a laugh.
Bellamy smiled. “No, I suppose not.”
Bellamy grew stronger as the day went on, especially after a hearty lunch, which they’d taken at the table in the dining area. Afterward, Ashwood had challenged him in several games of draught.
“We play like this at Moon Flower in the evenings,” he said with fondness.
“I can almost picture it,” Ashwood replied, then made a move that declared him the winner.
“So now what?” Bellamy asked around a yawn, noting it was already dusk. He’d grown increasingly exhausted as the evening progressed, so perhaps he should’ve napped that afternoon, but it had felt too good to finally be upright. And in Ashwood’s company, as well, even though it would only add to his heartbreak later. In some ways, it was so much easier hating him and wishing him ill will. Now the waters were muddied, and he couldn’t wish the worst on him, not anymore—he’d already had his fair share.
“Now we should rest. I do think one more night near each other should do it. It’s energizing for me as well,” Ashwood replied, his tone tentative. “Thank you for giving me the pleasure of your company.”
“I enjoyed myself as well.” Bellamy glanced toward the bedroom. “But we cannot forget ourselves and pretend this is something else.”
“No, of course not.” Ashwood nodded, but his eyes were filled with melancholy, and Bellamy’s chest clenched.
Bellamy followed him into the bedroom, where exhaustion hit him again. He lay on the bed with Ashwood behind him, same as the night before. This time, however, the awareness of his presence—his every breath, the position of his hand near his hip—had peaked, and it was hard to shut down his thoughts enough to sleep.
“Remember when we’d dream of finding any sort of quiet moment together?” Bellamy said with a laugh. “Now look at us, forced to be together because of my illness.”
“Who would’ve thought a haberdashery would become our safe haven…” Bellamy felt him chuckle. “If only Gladstone knew what we were up to.”
Bellamy could feel himself stirring. Curse him. After all the men he’d been with, no one should affect him like this. And he wasn’t alone. He could feel Ashwood’s stiffness against his lower back, but neither of them pointed it out. Ignoring it seemed best.
“It was because we’re fated, obviously,” Bellamy said.
“What was?”
“The attraction…seeking out one another…”
“Perhaps you’re right. Except, we had not come of age yet. I adored you in the purest sense of the word, and I know you felt it too. Realizing we’re fated only enhanced my feelings for you. And even though you’re fighting your draw to me, no doubt to heal your heart, I will never forget you, no matter where I am in the world.”
Bellamy buried his head in his pillow as his heart thundered and tears sprang to his eyes. Thankfully, Ashwood didn’t mention it, but Bellamy could feel his soft pants against his neck and the shudder that quaked through him. Perhaps Ashwood knew as well as Bellamy did that they needed this finality between them. To ultimately move on.
