Pleasure and Purpose Read online

  "I do believe you've struck him dumb, my dear." Cillian laughed. "And the sight of our dear Edward without words is a rare one, indeed."

  Edward gave them both a half bow, Cillian and then Stillness, and when she extended her hand to him he kissed it. His fingers held hers, squeezing gently as he looked into her eyes.

  "You look lovely," he told her.

  Cillian coughed and held out his hand, too. "And what of me, dear one? Don't I look lovely, too?"

  At that, the room erupted into laughter, and Edward took Cillian's hand to shake but not kiss. "As always, my prince."

  This made Cillian simper and grin, and they all took their places at the table, Edward at the head with Cillian on one side and Stillness across from him on the other. This supper ought to have been no different than any other they'd shared since the brannigan had begun, but Edward found the presence of his Handmaiden had changed it greatly. Not from anything she did, of course. Stillness was as cordial and spot-on perfect in her social manners as she was when alone with him. She knew the proper forks to use and how to fold her napkin. She was, in fact, better trained in etiquette than any of them there, and yet he watched her gaze follow the conversations around them and watched as she sipped her wine out of turn and realized she had done so deliberately so as not to embarrass Lady Marvina beside her, whose manners seemed to have been learned rather less than perfectly.

  Pride filled him, though he had no right to feel it, for he hadn't trained her. He didn't own her. But watching Stillness make everyone around her feel comfortable with just the right amount of laughter, the perfect responses, by not being better dressed or spoken or mannered . . . yet at the same time being the epitome of a fine lady . . . yes, Edward felt pride.

  Edward watched as Alaric gave subtle service to Larissa, making sure her cup was always filled, fetching a wrap for her shoulders without her having to ask. He could have been any devoted suitor, but there was more to it than that when viewed by a knowledgeable eye. Edward wasn't the only one to see it. Cillian noticed, as well. When the party moved to the library for coffees and cordials, Cillian pulled Edward aside by the elbow. "Yon Alaric is smitten."

  Edward looked to where Alaric sat at his lady's feet, looking at her with clear adoration in his eyes. "I think it's a good match for him."

  "Do you?"

  Cillian's curious tone turned Edward's head. "I do. Don't you? He clearly adores her, and she—"

  "She'll chew him up and spit him out again." Cillian spoke fondly, almost in admiration.

  "She's a vicious witch."

  Edward looked at the Lady Larissa as she bent to feed Alaric a bit of something from her dessert plate. Soft affection gleamed in her eyes, and they laughed together as she spilled cacao on his chin. "I must respectfully disagree with you, my lord. The lady and the gentleman appear to be in great accord."

  Cillian snorted and pulled his tin of herb from his jacket pocket. He rolled a cheroot as he answered. "You can't convince me you're truly overjoyed for him." He held out his cheroot for Edward to light.

  "Of course I am." Edward pulled out his silver matchbox. Cillian's hand closed over Edward's wrist. "I gave you that matchbox."

  "Yes." Edward met his gaze without hesitation. "You did." Cillian stared into Edwards eyes without blinking, then bent his head toward the lit flame.

  "She won't share him."

  "I wouldn't expect her to." Edward reached for Cillian's tin without asking and rolled a smoke of his own. "But she'll not keep him from his friends."

  "She might, if she knows he's in love with you."

  Edward looked up at Cillian, who was smiling, and then to Alaric, who was busy with some story that involved a great many hand gestures and much laughter from all watching.

  "Don't pretend you never knew it." Cillian's exhaled smoke wafted into Edward's face.

  "You're far from stupid."

  "Don't." Edward shook his head a little. "Leave it alone, Cillian." Cillian merely gave him a sly grin. "I don't blame him, Edward. You did save him from his own smart tongue more than once. I'm half in love with you, myself, and you loathe me."

  Edward drew in more fragrant smoke and held it in his lungs while he traded stares with Cillian. The argument wasn't worth it. Cillian would have his way, as he always did. As he always had and always would.

  Edward let the smoke seep out to hang in the air between them, solid as secrets. "What game are you playing?"

  Cillian's gaze cut toward Stillness. He said nothing when he looked back to Edward. More smoke curled from his nose.

  "No."

  Cillian's brow raised. "You shared her with Alaric."

  Edward scowled, wishing he'd had the forethought to lock his doors. "She's not to be shared, Cillian."

  Something shifted in Cillian's gaze, a flash of emotion Edward couldn't identify. He'd have thought it might be grief, real pain, if he didn't want to refuse to believe Cillian incapable of such feeling.

  "I want her. I want a woman I don't have to fear breaking. And she won't break. I can see it in her. She's been well used, Edward; The chit's got scars."

  "She doesn't." Edward's stomach twisted as he looked at her again, his lovely Stillness.

  "Not on her skin, perhaps. But then, those aren't the ones that most matter. Are they?" Edward turned, infuriated by Cillian's languid tone. Their faces but measures apart, he glared into the other man's eyes. He smelled liquor and smoke on his breath and saw triumph in his eyes, and Edward backed off a step.

  "Your mercy, my prince," he said coldly. "I overstep."

  "You used to overstep all the time," gritted Cillian. "When we were friends."

  "I won't share her."

  "And when she leaves you and I hire her, how will you feel then?"

  "You don't get to choose your Handmaiden," Edward said before he realized Cillian mocked him.

  "But she will leave you, Edward. She has to."

  Edward shook his head, letting his eyes follow the curves of her face as she laughed across the room. "We're not in school any longer. Why must you always want what I have? She's not a horse or a jacket, Cillian!"

  "She's your Handmaiden, dear one." Cillian finished his cheroot and crushed it out in the ashsaucer on the nearby table. "And she also craves what you've been denying her. Doesn't she? She doesn't merely tolerate it. She yearns for it. Am I wrong in thinking so?" Edward said nothing in his fury. Cillian had ever been able to do this to him, reach inside and twist all the keys that wound him up. He would give him nothing.

  "But then, I would wager you haven't tried her out in that manner. Have you?" Cillian's smoke-rasped voice lowered. "You haven't stripped her down, tied her hands. You haven't yet beaten her. Even though the thought of it makes your hands shake and your prick want to burst."

  "No." One word, grudgingly given, and Edward cursed himself for even that. Cillian's low chuckle was like a finger running along the back of his neck, and Edward hunched his shoulders against it.

  "I know you want to. You always did adore that. Crossing their flesh with stripes. How many times did we work together, my dear Edward? You behind her and I beneath, tasting her while you fucked her and ran your fingers over the welts you'd given her? How many girls did we share that way?"

  It had been too many. And not enough. Edward's throat closed as heat rose in his face and crept down his stomach.

  "They loved it, and you did, too. You still love it, dear one. Why don't you give in to what you really want?"

  Cillian's breath blew against Edward's face as he stepped up behind him so close his body pressed along Edward's back. The rest of the party dissolved into shouts and cries of laughter, oblivious to the drama taking place in the corner, and Edward was grateful for that.

  "She can take what you give her, Edward, or they wouldn't have sent her to you. The Order of Solace doesn't make mistakes."

  "What / can give her," Edward said, his jaw clenched so tightly each word was painful.

  "Not you."