Thomas Thorne had kissed his fair share of people throughout his life. - perhaps slightly more than his fair share even - but it had never felt like this. This kiss â Vincent's kiss â burned. His lips, his hands, his waist, his hair... everywhere he and Vincent were in contact was aflame. Desire coiled low in his belly, his heart thumped rapidly in his chest, and he thought of nothing but Vincent.
When Thomas reluctantly pulled back to drag air into his lungs, Vincent teetered after him. Thomas' hand still rested across his cheek, his thumb settled just below a wide, confused eye. His breaths were as rapid as Thomas', and his lips â flushed from their kiss â were parted as he struggled for words.
He was adorable.
Thomas should have kissed him sooner.
He couldn't prevent the sudden laughter that burst from his chest.
Almost instantly, Vincent frowned. The past few minutes were a blur in his mind, but the laugh seemed to ground him to the present. Thomas was laughing. Why was Thomas laughing? Was Thomas laughing at him? His breath quickened slightly as he began to worry.
Quickly, he assessed Thomas' face. He was smiling â grinning even â and the expression travelled all the way to his eyes, even if they seemed a bit glazed. The man's black curls were in complete disarray, fluffy and combed back on one side as if fingers had... Vincent blinked once. Slowly. Had he done that?
"Use your words, Vincent."
Even though he spoke quietly, the proximity still shocked Vincent. They had parted, barely, and remained only a handspan apart. The hand that rested on his face moved, drifted up to his forehead where Thomas' thumb gently swiped across his furrowed brow.
"I can see you thinking."
Vincent was not entirely sure he was successfully thinking at all! The man was... overwhelming. He needed distance.
The thought triggered action and Vincent stepped backwards as he cleared his throat. They were no longer in contact, but he could still feel Thomas' eyes. He stepped again, this time turning away. Then he began to pace. The nursery was by no means the largest room in the house, but the distance from the window to what was assumedly a trunk of toys was exactly seven paces, and that was sufficient for Vincent's needs. He counted as he went.
Seven, fourteen, twenty-one...
Despite the vigorous movement, he felt his heartrate slow, the pounding in his chest reducing to a light flutter.
Twenty-eight, thirty-five, forty-two...
Now he could think, reflect on the past few minutes. Thomas had asked to kiss him. He had agreed. They had â there was a brief hitch in his step â kissed, and then Thomas had laughed. He didn't understand. Any of it.
Forty-nine, fifty-six, sixty-three...
He stopped, and turned abruptly back to Thomas. He was surprised to find him sitting easily on the settee, one leg crossed over the other and a soft smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.
Vincent's frown deepened. "The... Why..." he swallowed, his gaze flicking to the door. It was still early, but some in the household would be awake. As he spoke, he moved closer and pitched his voice low. "You kissed me and-"
Thomas interrupted with a tilt of his head. "You kissed me back."
The man was not wrong, and it brought a flush back to Vincent's cheeks. If he'd ever worried about not 'knowing' how to kiss, he needn't have. The moment Thomas' lips touched his he'd understood instinctively what to do, how to move, and when to part his lips... He blushed deeper at the memory and moved on.
"Fine. We kissed, and then you laughed." His frown was back. "Why?"
Thomas just smiled. "I was relieved," he said, "and happy." Vincent's expression didn't change so he continued. "Relieved that I finally asked and that you said yes, and happy," his grin broke free, "because it was a very good kiss."
He hadn't thought it possible for his cheeks to get hotter. With his gaze on the floor, he cleared his throat and focussed on the other part of Thomas' answer.
"Relieved?"
This time it was Thomas' eyes that darted to the door. "I'll answer all of your questions, but will you come sit down first?"
Vincent complied, settling himself at the other end of the settee. Each sat on an angle, turned in, so that they almost faced each other.
Then Thomas answered the question. "I was relieved because I was worried you might say no."
"'No'?" Vincent, unsurprisingly, was frowning. "Should I have said no?" It was perhaps not a question he meant to ask aloud.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas' grip tighten on his knee. It was a moment before he spoke. "Did you want to say no?" The question was almost asked on a whisper, and Thomas swallowed before he continued. "Did you not enjoy our kiss?"
The question brought back the memory, and Vincent felt tension coil in his stomach. "I- I did." He cleared his throat. "But... do men kiss?"
"It may not be common â or at least, commonly spoken of â but yes, men may kiss if they want to."
Vincent was a master at reading between the lines. "The Ton does not approve."
Thomas' laugh was a harsh, humourless, bark. "You could say that."
It was the acid in his tone that made Vincent pause. Regardless of his personal thoughts, Thomas rarely expressed a negative emotion, preferring to keep his attitude blasé. But here... on this topic, there was too much anger to hide. His lip was curled, his stormy gaze fixed on a patch of floor in front of them.
"The duke," Vincent said softly, "does not approve." It was not truly a question, for he felt he already knew the answer. "Is this your secret? Your... attraction... to men?"
Despite the tension in his posture, Thomas' eyebrow quirked. "And so my secret is discovered. Is it as dastardly as you imagined?"
The more Vincent learnt of the Duke of Thorne, the less he respected him. "Not even close."
.
When Isabella stirred, they relocated, detouring to the kitchen where Thomas charmed an early lunch from the cook, before settling in the library. Slowly, as they entertained the small girl and enjoyed slices of warm bread and cheese, Thomas recounted his most recent trip to London. As he mentioned the disappearance of the Spanish women and the discovery of the terrified Lupe, he watched Vincent's face keenly, searching for any reaction to the news.
Vincent watched him in turn, his frown deepening. "The... I..." He sighed, setting his half-eaten slice of bread down on the plate before him and turning more fully to face Thomas. "It is not your fault. We have done the best we can to protect the women as they want to be protected, and it is not our fault. The blame lies solely with the men who hold them."
Thomas hadn't realised he was holding his breath until it released in a loud sigh. He couldn't help but chuckle at himself, running his hand along the back of his neck to loosen the tension he's been carrying there.
"How do you know me so well?" It was said on an exhale, and Vincent wasn't sure if he was meant to hear. "And to think I went to London to clear you from my thoughts!"
Vincent blinked. "The... I... You did?"
Thomas grinned at him from the opposite chair, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I did. And all you had to say was that the idea was 'reasonable'."
Vincent's brain was a little overwhelmed once more, and he blinked slowly, murmuring under his breath. "It was reasonable."
The other man laughed â loudly. He pressed himself to his feet with a slight shake of his head, grinning across the room. "It turns out you're quite a difficult man to seduce, Vincent Humphrey."
The only way Thomas' slow creep forward could be described was as a 'prowl', and the slightly predatory look on his face did nothing to discredit the term. He moved towards Vincent so gradually, but the man was frozen in place, even as Thomas leant on the arms of his chair and positioned their faces inches apart.
"I- I am?"
The answering chuckle was husky. "Oh, indeed. Do recall the day you found Isabela? We ran into each other in the servant's corridor?" For the first time he hesitated, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. He wasn't entirely sure how the telling of this story came across... "I was waiting for you. I'd learnt it was the only place in the house where I had a chance of catching you alone."
He waited cautiously for Vincent's response.
Despite being somewhat cornered in the chair, Vincent had not shrunk from the close proximity. In fact, as Thomas spoke, he wavered towards him, stilling suddenly at Thomas' statement. As the other man watched, Vincent's brown eyes settled on his, his lips parting as he searched for a response. The most promising response, however, was the sudden hitch in his breath.
"You, uh..." Vincent swallowed, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling. Suddenly, his gaze focussed. "You had a book to show me that day? With a flower?"
Thomas grinned, not at all distracted, but retreated graciously. He moved slowly across the library, scanning the shelves until he found the book he was after. He thumbed quickly through the pages as he brought it to the long desk in the middle of the room, setting it down gently on the smooth oak surface. With one hand, he held the book open, and with the other he pointed to a delicate illustration of a flower. It had a long stem, with several violet buds appearing near the end where they clustered into a point.
With something academic to distract him, Vincent's usual frown of concentration fell easily into place, and he crossed the room with confident steps to join Thomas at the desk. He tugged open a draw, sliding out a sheaf of parchment and unfolding it beside the book. Pressed between the slightly muddied pages was the flower Thomas had found at the confrontation between David and his family, with a delicate sketch made on the opposite page. The artist was actually their cousin Rosemary, who with very little urging had copied the flower as best she could onto the page for Vincent.
And now they compared it to the image Thomas had found.
After only moments, Vincent shook his head. It was not only the details that were wrong, but the general shapes did not align. It was not the same flower.
"I won't lie and say it's not disappointing," Thomas said, a hardness to his tone. "That flower holds the key to understanding what the duke is up to and finally holding him accountable for his crimes."
In Vincent's opinion, that was a lot of pressure to put on a flower. But he elected not to voice that comment.
At that moment, there was a hesitant knock at the door, and with a nod from Vincent, Thomas called out an invitation to enter. The door swung open a crack to barely admit Lupe, who smiled at them awkwardly, only half in the room, as her fingers worried at the grain of the wood. She appeared... clean. Thomas had mentioned Simon's kind offer to integrate her into the household staff â at least for as long as she wanted â and at Lupe's request she had clearly been given the opportunity to bathe and then a simple maid's uniform. Her hair was tied sharply back from her face, ageing her by at least a few years, but she was smiling despite her hesitance.
"Hola Tomás y Vicente," she said quietly, still not daring to venture further into the library.
Thomas smiled at her, edging around the desk and gesturing her into the room. "Hola Lupe," he said, "How are you settling in?"
She tilted her head to the side. Thomas searched for another way to ask the question but drew a blank, turning to appeal to Vincent instead. Still standing by the desk, his frown returned.
"Adapting? Adjusting?"
"¡Ah, sÃ, sÃ! Ajustando bien." She smiled slightly, pointing at the bassinet that cradled a sleeping Isabela. "Uh, Matilde say... to get."
Whatever Matilda's instructions, neither man would stand in her way, and both dipped their heads and encouraged her to enter the room fully and collect the child. From the moment Lupe bent over her bassinet, she was all smiles at the little girl, murmuring something in such quick Spanish to the child that neither man had any hope of understanding. Then she turned her attention back to the men. "For food," she said, tilting her head towards the door.
Vincent nodded.
Thomas thanked her.
As Lupe dipped a curtsey, awkward in itself and then made worse by the child balanced in her arms, her gaze fell to the table, and the sketch laid out between the books. She made a small noise as she straightened.
"Jacaranda, ¿s�"
She blinked up at them with a small smile that faded slowly as they stared at her. That was not a translation either man knew, and as Vincent wracked his brain for a similar pronunciation in Latin, Thomas did his best to repeat the word.
"Hak- Haka..." Thomas looked from Lupe to Vincent and back. "What?"
He and Lupe were competing for most confused frown. Shifting Isabela on her hip, Lupe stepped towards the desk, tapping a finger on the illustration. "Esta flor es una jacaranda."
This time when he looked to Vincent the man had already disappeared, walking purposefully towards a bookshelf and scanning the titles quickly. Thomas couldn't help but stand himself. He pointed at the drawing.
"Lupe, are you saying this is a Spanish flower? A, uh, jacaranda?"
The girl tilted her head from one side to the other but eventually nodded. "Mas o menos, sÃ."
As Thomas stood with his mouth agape, confusing Lupe further, Vincent returned with a thin book, setting it down on the desk. He leant over it, thumbing forcefully through the pages, until he stopped suddenly.
"The Jacaranda trees are native to the South Americas, but have been cultivated in Italy, Portugal," he looked up, "and Spain."
Thomas sat down abruptly.
Lupe frowned at them both, reaching out towards Thomas with the hand that wasn't supporting Isabela. "¿Estás bien?" She touched his shoulder gently, but he didn't seem to notice. His gaze was fixed on the desk, though the glaze across his eyes suggested he wasn't truly seeing anything. "¿Dije algo malo?"
Vincent winced as she turned her round eyes to him. "The... I..." The more he hesitated, the more concerned she looked. "Nothing is bad, Lupe. Please take Isabela for food. We will join you both in a moment."
She glanced between them once more before nodding. When the door closed behind her, Vincent took a seat.
Thomas didn't glance up when he spoke. "It's a Spanish flower." His hands had moved to his hair, his fingers gripping so tightly to his scalp that his knuckles blanched.
"It's a South American flower." It wasn't helpful, but it was accurate. And it made Thomas raise his eyes, even if only to scowl at him.
"It means-"
Vincent interrupted. "We do not know what it means. Anything we say at this point will be little more than conjecture."
Thomas let out a huff of air, reclining in his seat. Somehow the change in posture made him look angrier. "Fine, let's discuss what we know." He held his left hand out, gesturing as he spoke. "On one hand, we have the duke, a duplicitous scoundrel we know undoubtedly to be involved in criminal activity. And we know at least one of those crimes is linked to a Spanish fl-" He waved Vincent's correction off. "Fine, a South American flower cultivated in Spain." He held out his other hand. "And over here, we have the mistreatment and exploitation of women from Spain. Women who..." His hand closed into a fist suddenly. "Women who were taken by a man with skin as dark as mine, and who feared me from the moment they saw me."
It was the pain in his voice that had Vincent shaking his head. He closed the book of flowers with unnecessary force. "But-"
"But what, Vincent?" Thomas said, rising out of his chair once more. His eyes were wide with anger and his hair was wild and on-end where he'd clutched it. "Why won't you acknowledge what's right in front of us?"
"Because it will hurt you!" Vincent met him midway, his own frustration palpable. "If your father is involved in this, you will shoulder all the guilt he will never feel. You will take it on yourself â blame yourself â as you have done with all of his mistakes and misdeeds. He fathers children out of wedlock? You find them and shield them. He throws you out? You internalise the hatred. He nearly kills David? You put yourself on the line to protect the man."
Thomas did not move.
They stood a handspan apart, Vincent breathing heavily after his outburst, with their gazes locked. Suddenly, Thomas sat, the chair letting out a groan of protest at his sudden weight.
When he looked up at Vincent, his anger was gone. His smile was wry, but there was moisture in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Ouch."
Vincent's own ire faded instantly, and he clamped his eyes shut. He'd said too much, insulted him; he'd have to craft an apology now. He-
He jerked when he felt fingers wrap around his wrist. "None of that."
Vincent stared down at Thomas with a frown and allowed the man to pull him closer. "Stop worrying that you've offended me," he said, his lips quirking slightly. "You aren't wrong â on any count â and perhaps I needed to hear it." His eyes crinkled at the edges. "Perhaps."
Vincent scanned his face for any sign that he was lying, but found none. It wasn't happiness in his eyes, but it was no longer anger, and the hand at his wrist felt gentle.
When it was clear Vincent had no verbal response, Thomas gave his hand a soft squeeze and released him, both hands moving to his face to rub from chin to hairline. He let out a heavy sigh. "Just when I think I've seen the last of the duke, he unwittingly claws his way back into my life."
Vincent still wasn't sure what to say. Thomas' pain was clear, his predicament unpredictable, and Vincent longed to remove the problem. But he could not.
So instead, he stepped forward, bending to let his hands support him on the arms of Thomas' chair. Whether it was the sudden shadow or his heat, Thomas noticed and lowered his hands, smiling slightly. He raised one hand to brush lightly against Vincent's cheek, his smile widening when the man shivered.
"Are you going to kiss it better?" he asked on an exhale.
As could be expected, Vincent took the question very seriously. His heart beat once, forcefully, as he took in Thomas' gentle, dark features and the sadness that still wet his eyes. Then he nodded. "I'm going to try."
~~~
Hello Lovely Readers! Happy Holidays and let the #ChristmasCountdown begin! Have I finished writing? No! Am I stressed? Yes! And I excited? Also yes! I am so keen to finish this journey with you all at one of my favourite times of year - If you're celebrating a holiday this December, comment it here - I'd love to know!
xx Flo