Pleasure and Purpose (5 page)

"You might make me some tea, now" was all he said, and so that was what she did.

"Sinder's Arrow, man, you look fair busted." Alaric Dewan's blunt words made Edward look up from the mug of hot mulled cider he'd been studying and not drinking. Alaric slid onto the couch across from Edward, his long legs stretching out comfortably as he reclined, hands linked behind his head of blond curls. "Frankly, Edward, you look like you've been rode hard and put away wet, as our dear Cillian likes to say."

"I haven't been sleeping." Edward sat back, forgetting the cider, which held no interest for him. The library at the palace was otherwise empty this time of day, and he'd sought a respite from the monotony of court to sit and think.

Alaric lifted one pale gold brow. "How so?"

Edward scrubbed at his face before answering. He hadn't bothered with a looking glass over the past few days, but if Alaric said he looked bad then he assuredly did, for Alaric was honest to a fault.

"I've had much upon my thoughts" was what he finally said, more to appease Alaric than to reveal anything.

"Oh?" Alaric leaned forward to snag a biscuit from the tray on the low table between them. He ate it as he did everything else— with unabashed pleasure and gusto. "How so? Allow me to venture a guess. Our dear Cillian?"

Edward shrugged, unwilling to discuss his relationship with the prince. Alaric laughed. "He's been testing his dear papa again, aye? And therefore you. But there's something else, aye? Something at home?"

Edward scowled, annoyed but not surprised at his friend's insight. "Why would you say that?"

Alaric's shrug was too affected to be innocent. "Rumor has it you've secured a Handmaiden."

Edward made a low noise deep in his throat. "The members of this court are lacking in activity if they have the time to discuss my private affairs."

"So it's true?"

Alaric's frown left Edward unmoved. "I've no time to constantly train housemaids to properly clean and take care of me. I wanted someone who'd come already prepared." Alaric snorted. "My good man, a Handmaiden is no housemaid."

"I know that." Edward frowned harder. Alaric
would
insist on being deliberately obtuse.

"But that's the only reason you sent for her? To clean your rooms and press your clothes?"

Edward said nothing, refusing to respond to such a slyly made comment. Alaric reached over to flick the lace hanging in disarray from Edwards sleeve. "If so, she's been neglecting her duties."

Edward yanked his sleeve from Alaric's all too nimble fingers. "I haven't been home in two days. I've been sleeping in my court apartment."

"Why?" Alaric seemed genuinely puzzled.

Annoyed at having to explain himself but knowing his friend would pester him until he gave an answer, Edward said, "Because Cillian's had need of me, and I find it easier to concentrate on my duties when I'm here."

Because going home to Stillness meant giving in to temptation spurred by the time he spent watching Cillian live out his fantasies.

Alaric settled back on the sofa, this time propping his feet on the table, heedless of the way his boots knocked the cider jug. "When you have a warm and willing woman at home, waiting to grant your every need? I should think you'd be eager to get home to that. Not to mention how much it costs you. . . ."

"No more than any mistress would," Edward snapped. "And she expects nothing from me but what we've already contracted."

"You mean she expects no emotional ties," Alaric said, voice quiet. Edward let out a curse and got up to pace in front of the fire. Having such a longtime friend had its disadvantages, particularly when that friend knew your past and how it affected your present.

"There's no harm in admitting it, old man. It's well-known that you avoid such entanglements."

"Unlike you," Edward said, turning, "who breaks hearts left and right?" Alaric's shrug wasn't forced this time. "I do my share of wooing and bedding, but I leave my lovers grateful for our time together, not weeping. Besides, it's also well-known that Alaric Dewan is an exquisite lover but heartless as well, and anyone who accepts my wooing does so knowing a fuck is all they'll get from me."

"And you avoid liaisons with those who seek to change you?" Edward already knew the answer.

"It's always to our mutual benefit," Alaric answered without shame. "My lovers know what I am. But at least I'm honest wit them, and they with me. And with ourselves, which is the most important part."

"You think me dishonest with myself?" Edward would have gone to blows with another man over such a statement, but Alaric . . . well, Alaric had been his boon companion for long enough to earn the right to speak his mind.

"I think you hide from yourself, Edward. Because of what happened back then." Edward stiffened, though he'd known where this conversation was going the moment it began. "That was a long time ago."

"Aye, by the Void, eons ago, and yet you still haven't done more than take the occasional company of a doxy to ease your needs!" Alaric shook his head as though in wonder.

"You're fair of face and form, with a well-filled purse and a good position in the court. Even if you seek not to ally yourself in marriage, surely you could set yourself up with a mistress?"

Edward looked into the fire. "Even a mistress who claims she holds no aspirations eventually wants to claim more than a monthly allowance."

"Unlike a Handmaiden, who is bound to provide service without reward." Edward nodded. From behind him, he heard the sound of scuffling and in the next moment felt Alaric's hand upon his shoulder. He looked at his friend.

"It wasn't your fault," Alaric said gently. "You have to stop blaming yourself." Mere words would do nothing to alleviate the years-long guilt. "I was there, too, when she died. I've as much fault as Cillian."

"You were a lad," said Alaric. "We all were. She was a whore—"

"She was a woman!" Edwards gut clenched at the memory of how she'd smiled when he'd asked her name, and how she'd not given it.

"She was rough trade and had been well used by many. Cillian has ever been one to push the limits." Alaric's fingers squeezed Edward's shoulder. "It was an accident."

"Does that release me from blame?" Again, Edward looked at his friend. "I don't think so."

Alaric hadn't been there that night. He didn't know what happened. Only Edward and Cillian knew, and one of them had gone mad from it and both became liars.

"You're the only one who doesn't." Alaric gave another squeeze and stepped away. "Go home to your Handmaiden, Edward. Allow her to service you as is her duty, if for no other reason than you've paid for the right to accept it. Get some rest."

"But Cillian—"

"I've had it from good authority that our dear Cilly has drunk himself into a stupor on worm and is passed out on the lap of Per-sis Denviel, that prat. Even his father doesn't expect you to be with him every moment."

Edward nodded, turning to face his friend and clasp his hand, having much to say but incapable of saying it. "You're right."

Alaric put his hand over Edward's briefly before releasing it. "Aye, and if not, you're no farther away than a swift ride. Go home.

Edward nodded. "I'll go."

Alaric grinned. "And mayhap I'll visit you tomorrow . . . see for myself this Handmaiden. I've never seen one. What's she like?'

"A woman," said Edward, thinking. "She's just like ... a woman. And though that answer didn't seem to satisfy Alaric, it was the only one he could give. Two days had passed, and she'd waited patiently, for true patience was its own reward. Yet there could be no denying how much better it was when the door opened and Edward strode in. He didn't ignore her, but he didn't approach her, either.

"You've made a tangle of yourself," she reproached, watching him struggle with the laces at his cuffs. "Has no one attended you while you were gone?" Edward stopped his struggle and allowed her to work the knots free. "No. I have no valet at the palace except for on formal occasions."

The lace came away in her hand and she folded it carefully and set it on the dresser, then moved to the other wrist. In moments she'd unfastened the rest of the laces on his shirt and moved to help him off with it.

"I'll run you a bath," she murmured, noting the dust on his skin.

"Very nice."

His praise warmed her, for she'd feared she'd been unable to satisfy him. She nodded and left him to start the water running. There had been patrons who'd never been satisfied with her efforts, no matter what she did. Something in their natures refused to allow them to find solace in anything. There was no shame in failing a patron like that, only in not trying her utmost.

Edward was different. He didn't seem unappeasable, and yet she wasn't certain what to do for him because he seemed so uncertain himself. She would have to try harder, that was the solution, and no other.

She looked up when he entered the bathing chamber, and the easy way he presented his nudity consoled her. He was relaxing in her presence. Becoming used to her. She waited until he'd settled onto the bathing stool before kneeling next to him, gathering scented lather from the bucket and working it through the thick darkness of his hair, then rinsing it with clear warm water and combing it with her fingers to lay straight about his shoulders. She washed his body as well, as he relaxed with closed eyes.

"Sir, are you falling asleep?"

He cracked one eye open. "Aye, I fear I am."

"Then instead of the bath, you shall go to bed if that's where your body is telling you it desires to go."

His low chuckle warmed her as much as the praise. "Far be it from me to argue with my body or a woman, for I know I might be able to suppress my body but I can never win against a woman whose mind is settled."

The teasing tone made her smile and she held the fluffy towel for him as he stood. While he dried himself, she turned down the covers. Edward entered the room and looked toward the large bed with its four posts reaching to the ceiling.

"Would you join me? I'd like to have some warmth beside me." She nodded and stripped quickly, as comfortable in her own skin as she was in any garment. She'd been scrutinized so often in her nakedness she'd have thought no gaze could move her, yet his did.

Edward's eyes trailed over her face and down the slope of her neck, her shoulder, down one arm to her fingertips, over her hip, her thigh, across her belly. It touched briefly at her sex, her knees, her toes, then back up to capture her gaze. He smiled.

"The first time I saw you, I thought you were nondescript," Edward said. "I unwisely thought you bland and symmetrical and dull. Neither hideous nor beautiful." His words would likely have insulted another woman, but Nessa only nodded. "And how do you find me now?"

"You're not symmetrical. Your body curves and moves in a way that sets you apart from others." He touched the small crimson speck on her left hipbone, a spot the midwives called Kedalya's Kiss. "Your flaws make you unique."

"A flower is made more beautiful by its thorns." Nessa's voice dipped hoarse. "And to be fair, sir, you'd met me for but five moments before running off. Hardly enough time to discern anything about me."

He chuckled. "True. Let's get into bed, for I'm weary."

She nodded and dimmed the gaslights. He reached for her, spooning her against him. Nessa settled into Edward's arms, his breath warm on the back of her neck. He said nothing, so she remained silent. His breathing slowed. His hand rested on her belly. Her eyes drifted closed.

"I wasn't prepared for you, Stillness." She half turned but his hand pressed her still. "I studied the letters of information the Order of Solace sent, I reviewed the contract; to me all seemed in order. I knew what I was to provide and what I was to receive in return. And yet, I wasn't prepared."

She put her hand over his, her thumb stroking his skin. "Because I wasn't plain and nondescript?"

"Because I didn't truly believe you'd be able to help me." Nessa timed her breath to the rise and fall of his chest against her back. "And now?" He stayed silent for so long she thought perhaps he'd fallen asleep. When at last he spoke, his voice curled over her as deep and dark as the night itself. Like smoke. His words stroked her.

"Now I've become convinced I should at least allow you to try." This made her smile and she nestled further against him. "I relish the challenge." Edward chuckled again. "Say you that to please me or because it's true?"

"I think lying would displease you. So I don't lie."

"Have you had to make a habit of lying to your patrons in the past?"

"Lies, no matter how pretty the picture they paint, more often lead to grief than joy. So, no, I've not found it necessary to lie."

"But you have? If it pleases them?"

Nessa thought a moment, curling her fingers through his. "In the matter of whether or not a shade of rouge or cut of coat is flattering or not, I have perhaps been less than blunt in my answer. But if questioned as to whether a patron is right or wrong in some matter of manners or decision, though it might please them briefly to be told they are right if they're not, in the end it would only bring them grief to continue with poor choices."

"I didn't realize your duty was so tediously complicated." He moved their joined hands in slow, smooth circles on her belly. "How much effort you had to make to placate and anticipate."

"My entire purpose is to placate and anticipate. There is no greater pleasure than providing absolute solace. It's why I joined the Order of Solace." He nuzzled her neck briefly. "How long have you been a Handmaiden?"

"Seven years."

He made a surprised noise. "You can be no older than—"

"I'm eight and twenty."

"I'd have thought you a good eight years younger than that." Nessa stared into the darkness surrounding them and wrapped his arm a bit tighter around her. "The Order places no upper limit on the age of its initiates. There are those who come to their vocation years older than I."

Silence fell between them, brief and without awkwardness.

"Why did you choose it?"