At His Throat, a Promise (58 page)

“Harte, of course. I would like to visit him, Master.”

“Ellis, I know that this is diff—”

“Not difficult, Master. Impossible. I
need
to see him. I"m sorry that you can"t but I can, and I have to.”

“What makes you think you can? Do you think that Develyn would let you near Harte, even for a second, for nothing in return?

He would make demands you couldn"t meet. In fact, I doubt he"d even consider it.”

“He will,” Ellis insisted. “I know he will. He might not let me talk to Harte for very long or even at all, but at least I could make sure he"s
alive
.”

“Even if he did agree, he wouldn"t let me in to supervise.”

“Well, I kind of figured that, Master.” Ellis was counting on it, actually.

“I won"t have you going there without some sort of guarantee that he won"t hurt you! Don"t be ridiculous.”

“Chapter Three, Codicil Eleven of the Slave Law, Master. No master can make use of another master"s slave if the latter expresses, in writing, that use is not permitted.” William scoffed. “You actually believe that Develyn would accept that?”

“Of course. Because he knows you"re the one working his case; or you were. He"s done all he needs to do to hurt you, Master. He has his victory. He won"t risk breaking the law just to try and hurt you again, especially since he"ll assume you"re counting on him 502

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doing just that.”

William leaned back in his chair, fingertip tapping on the armrest. “So if you can"t offer yourself, what makes you think he"d want to see you? What"s in it for him?”

“We both know he"s a cruel man, but he doesn"t favour beatings. Long, drawn out abuse is his forte. That includes psychological torture. What better way, in his mind, to defeat Harte than by offering him a taste of his former life? Putting himself in Harte"s shoes, he"ll know that will break Harte. More than that, though, will be the idea that I"ll report to you anything I see—the knowledge that he can torture you by proxy will be too tempting to resist.”

William frowned. “When did you get to think like that?”

“I"m a lawyer, Master. You taught me.” Ellis grinned. It felt empty and wrong, but he had to convince William that he wouldn"t fall apart at the thought of seeing Harte.

“And what of Harte? Like you said, it will tear him apart to see you and know he can"t be with you, come back with you.” Grin faltering, Ellis looked away for a moment. “It"s…

regrettable,” he said, meeting William"s eyes again. “But I need to do this.” He was prepared with a thousand explanations for his demand, but William didn"t ask. Maybe he didn"t need to—Ellis was sure he understood. Though he didn"t know as much as he thought he did.

“I don"t like the thought of you going there alone.”

“Send me with Previs,” Ellis said, having planned for that.

William absolutely couldn"t go with him, and William"s driver was trusted above all others. “If I feel uncomfortable or if he tries to hurt me, I"ll run outside to the car.”

At once, William seemed to crumple. He fell forward onto the 503

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desk and dropped his head into his folded arms. Ellis watched, half in shock, as the very life seemed to slip from him, though he still breathed.

“Master,” Ellis said, coming around to kneel beside William, placing a gentle hand on his knee. “You won"t lose me, too.”

“You know how to cut to the quick of things, don"t you?” William said, turning a rueful smile on Ellis as he lifted his head.

“And what if you"re wrong?”

Taking one of William"s strong, broad hands, he cupped it to his cheek and leaned into it. “You have always asked a lot of my trust, Master, and I"ve given it to you without condition. Even when you placed me with Master Jude.”

William cringed and tried to pull his hand away, but Ellis held it fast, turning to kiss it before he continued. “And you were right to, because even you couldn"t have known everything. I"ll never regret that because it brought me to you and Harte forever. And we need Harte back. So trust me as I have you. I won"t betray it.” With worried eyes and an obviously heavy heart, William pulled Ellis into his lap. Ellis folded himself into the comfortable position, his hand on William"s chest.

“I trust you. I"ll make the phone call and write the letter that denies him use. Make sure you see him read it. If it comes down to it, we"ll need your testimony in court. But, Ellis… don"t let it come to that. Just see Harte and get out.”

“You can count on me.”

If William noticed that Ellis didn"t really agree, he didn"t say anything.

* * *

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AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

In his bedroom, Ellis sat at his desk and pulled out a pad of paper. The only stationery he had was William"s legal pad, but that would work perfectly for what he had in mind.

Putting himself in the mindset of William, Ellis began to write.

The letter was to Harte—it ended up being much longer and more involved than he"d originally planned. He"d thought it would be difficult to write from William"s perspective, but he missed Harte just as much, so he had a lot to say.

The hardest part was accepting and ignoring the fact that he was deliberately going against what his master had told him.

Instead of getting easier, the feeling that he was doing something bad just got worse and worse. He had to do this, though. It was for Harte, and in the end, for William as well. William would surely forgive Ellis"s disobedience.

So for two pages he wrote about how he missed his slave. Ellis wrote nothing that could be used against William, including the word
love
and all permutations of it, but the emotion was obvious in every line.

When the letter was complete, he signed it with a flourish—

William"s name, first and last—and set it in his drawer. He wanted to see how William had fared with Develyn—having to call the man who"d stolen his slave must have been torturous, and Ellis hoped William hadn"t said or done anything drastic. Instead of going downstairs, he simply sat on his bed and waited. William would come to him with the news, if there was any.

He must have fallen asleep—he was doing that a lot lately, it seemed—for William was nudging him and he hadn"t heard the door open.

“Everything okay?” Ellis asked in a quiet voice. Half of him wanted to tell William everything, reveal his plan, confess, and 505

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

take the punishment. That would be selfish, though. Harte might not be counting on him, exactly, but he needed
someone
. Though Ellis trusted William with his life, he needed a faster resolution.

William didn"t answer, only tossed the letter onto Ellis"s pillow and walked away. He closed the door harder than was strictly necessary, and Ellis knew he was upset.

Ellis had the letter. Now he just had to find the courage of his conviction.

As he"d hoped, William hadn"t sealed the letter. Perhaps so Ellis could read it and fully comprehend what he was getting himself into. Ellis did read it; it said nothing more than he was expecting. In legalese, it reiterated the law Ellis himself had quoted while explaining that if Develyn were to ignore the letter and use Ellis, it would be seen as rape against Ellis, and through Ellis, William. If Develyn went against the advice of the letter and had sex with Ellis, Develyn would be charged.

He would certainly have his slaves taken away.

Ellis brought the letter to his desk and took out the love note from “William” to Harte. He listened carefully for a moment, letting out a deep breath when he heard the faraway sound of William"s study door closing.

Folding the legal letter almost in half with about an extra inch on one side for a flap, Ellis placed his own letter inside so that the legal letter formed an envelope with the writing on the inside.

With his own sealing wax, Ellis melted a puddle onto the flap and branded it with the house signet.

For all intents and purposes, the legal letter was now an envelope for Ellis"s letter to Harte, which Develyn would think was from William himself.

If only the hard part were over.

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AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

* * *

From Ellis"s bed, the crisp whiteness of the room was overwhelming. It shone, even in the darkness. He badly wanted to sleep—he needed to. His eyes were tired, scratchy, but they wouldn"t stop seeing. Even though he knew better, he kept checking the drawer of his desk to make sure it was closed. He almost felt as though the letter would jump around and rattle the drawer open, exposing him.

It was a betrayal. He"d sworn he wouldn"t abuse the master"s trust, but he"d been lying through his teeth. He"d had every intention of doing so, even at the moment of his promise.

If, after everything was over, William no longer wanted him, it would still be worth it. Harte would be home and safe, and he and William would have each other. Ellis would have his memories and the knowledge that it would only be a couple years until he was free. Then maybe he"d see Harte again.

Because it was dark and he was lonely and scared, Ellis let himself think about the other possibility. Maybe William wouldn"t be so angry—maybe he would be happy. Maybe he would keep Ellis.

He didn"t entertain those thoughts for long, though. He wasn"t foolish.

So focused was he on the desk drawer, he almost didn"t hear the bedroom door creak open. He closed his eyes, but could feel them twitching under his attempt to appear asleep. Hopefully the night would hide all his lies.

“Ellis?” came William"s voice, soft and strangely uncertain.

Abandoning the façade, Ellis opened his eyes. “Master?” Perched on the edge of Ellis"s bed, the master seemed smaller, 507

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like all that made him strong and larger than life had left with Harte—or maybe was prepared to leave with Ellis the next morning.

William had avoided Ellis after giving him the letter. At the dinner table, William had spoken only to inform Ellis that Previs would drive him to Develyn"s house at ten o"clock the next morning. There had been no words of caution or warning, no last-minute confessions on either side. Ellis had nodded and William had gone back to his asparagus. There was infinitely more unsaid than said.

“If this is something you need to do for you, I won"t stop you.

You won"t be punished in any way for going there. But I don"t like it, and I need you to know you"re going against my advice.” William looked so solid, so tangible in the fleeting moonlight.

Ellis pulled him down by the arm and William allowed himself to be led. Curling against his master, who lay stiffly, Ellis thought about what was really being said. William didn"t want him to go.

William would be happy if Ellis changed his mind.

Ellis so loved to make William happy.

It was almost a physical pain when he whispered, “I understand. And thank you. But I do need this.” Anticipating William"s attempt at withdrawal, Ellis latched on to his arm and held it against him. “Please, Master. I"m scared, too.”

William"s voice cracked when he whispered Ellis"s name.

There was need, heavy and aching between them. But it was as though there was a vacuum in the room. Nothing could be said and something important had been taken away.

It was for William, Ellis knew as he let the night take him. It was for William as much as it was for Harte, for himself. For 508

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William.

* * *

“Or even just flick the light switch back and forth a few times,” Previs suggested. It was about thirty minutes into a lesson on personal safety, and Ellis was ready to bolt from the car, even if it meant the driver coming after him and mostly likely dragging him back.

“Good idea,” Ellis said instead, thinking about how much it would hurt if he had to jump from a second story window or something. He felt like a character from one of Harte"s television shows, all intrigue and suspense. How those people didn"t have ulcers, he didn"t know.

“And you don"t have long, so don"t dally.” As if Ellis would take the time to peruse the wine cellar or side garden while he was there. “If I don"t go in now, I"ll be late and Harte might be punished for the transgression.” It was low and cruel—Previs was a kind, fatherly man—but Ellis couldn"t bear it any longer. Knowing Harte was right behind those doors…

The house was ugly. There was no denying it. It was supposed to be modern but just looked gaudy. The outside walls looked like Styrofoam, though he supposed they were just stuccoed. There was a huge tree to the side of the house—Ellis wondered if that was the one Develyn"s slave girl had been tied to when she"d gotten pneumonia. The very thought of it made his gut curdle with rage.

“Of course, of course,” Previs rushed, his face full of apology.

“Go on, then. I"ll be right here, won"t go anywhere. Just be careful.

Mr. Goddard… he wouldn"t be able to stand it if something were to happen to you.”

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Ellis just nodded and opened the car door. The letter felt like fire in his hand; he almost couldn"t keep his grip on it. He knocked on the front door of the tacky house, eyeing with disdain the unattractive stained glass windowpanes.

To his surprise, which he hid admirably, it wasn"t a servant that opened the door, but Develyn himself. True to the description William had given: short and thin, hairline marching steadily back, small eyes with an unkind bite. Develyn peered at Ellis, looking slightly upward as Ellis had a height advantage. Because Develyn was a master who believed in the ritualism and precision of slavery, Ellis fell to his knees and bowed his head.

“Ah, you must be Ellis,” Develyn said, a sneer in his voice.

“Harte speaks of you.”

Ellis didn"t want to know the circumstances that would prompt Harte to do such a thing; he wouldn"t have of his own free will, Ellis was certain.

“Well, get up. I was in the middle of something when you showed up.”

Now well versed in the games certain masters played, Ellis trailed behind Develyn with forced meekness. The master turned into what appeared to be an office, gesturing for Ellis to kneel beside the desk chair. Ellis did, wishing he were in William"s study, at William"s knees, instead.