Winter's Bees (12 page)

They would make a fine couple.

Marcel chose his clothes carefully. The arm he chose to go with his outfit was made from black metal intricately sculpted to look like a tree with its roots twining around his shoulder, the branches stretching down to where they became fingers. He put it aside with his clothes and then tied his hair away from his face with a ribbon at the nape of his neck.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror beside the wardrobe. Not for the first time, he wondered why he had to have been born pretty instead of handsome. If he'd been handsome in a stoic, masculine way, Gilbert might have been moved to desire him a long time ago.

Crossing to his small dressing table, his hand hovered above the box with the earrings Gilbert had given him as an engagement present.

Gilbert had said he'd chosen them because of that afternoon and the godforsaken bee that had terrorized Marcel half out of his mind.

In hindsight, he should have been used to insects, including ones that were undeniably deadly. Gilbert was forever showing him new specimens of bugs, many of which could kill a human without any effort at all. In that moment, though, when he'd felt the bee alight on his throat, all he could think of was the story his father had told him of his aunt who had died after being stung by a bee.

It took all his willpower not to swat at the thing.

Time had seemed to slow almost to a stop. He was aware of every movement the bee made, the touch of its tiny feet electrifying his entire body. He was dimly aware of Gilbert asking him what was wrong and then hurrying over. Nothing seemed to snap into focus until Gilbert leaned over him, so close Marcel could feel Gilbert's breath ghost against his cheeks.

Gilbert's fingers touched his neck, so light it would have made Marcel shiver if he hadn't been holding himself completely stiff and still.

He was going to die. Gilbert would upset the bee somehow and it would sting him, and Marcel would die horribly. He couldn't die, not now, not where Gilbert could see him. It would upset Gilbert, make him cry. Gilbert got upset so easily sometimes; Marcel wouldn't be there to make him laugh again. If he died now, he wouldn't ever again see Gilbert laugh or smile.

He very much wanted to kiss Gilbert, just once, before he died.

Then Gilbert was turning, holding his hand up to the light summer breeze. There was nothing touching Marcel anymore, no feeling against his neck but the prickle of over-sanitized skin.

"There." Gilbert flopped onto the bench beside him, obviously pleased with himself. He started lecturing, probably about bees, while Marcel came to grips with the fact that he wasn't going to die—today, at least.

Gilbert put his hand on Marcel's shoulder, his grip warm and real, and Marcel turned towards him as if pulled. Gilbert was smiling, his expression open and happy with so much affection, and all of it for Marcel.

Want burned through him like fire. He wanted to press Gilbert down against the sun-warmed stone of the bench, to feel his small body under Marcel's. The desire to know what Gilbert's skin would taste like warmed from the sun made his hand shake even more than the fear had. He wanted to kiss him until neither of them could breathe and watch him come apart in Marcel's arms. He wanted to keep him safe, wanted to know Gilbert was his and no one else's.

This was not the first time he'd known he was in love with Gilbert, but it was the first time he had wanted him so completely.

It took him a moment to realize that Gilbert had just compared him to a bee.

"What? Why?"

Gilbert blushed scarlet, looking away and shifting uncomfortably. Marcel wondered if the comparison really was that unflattering or just tediously scientific. Gilbert tended to become embarrassed when he said something he thought sounded too scientific.

"I don't know," Gilbert mumbled. "They just do."

Marcel laughed and put his arm around Gilbert's shoulders, hugging him close.

"Oh, Berti." He pressed his face against the top of Gilbert's head to keep himself from kissing him senseless. "What will I do with you?"

It had used to be one of his most pleasant memories, even if he'd always wished he'd kissed Gilbert that day, admitted to him how he felt. Now it just made sadness lodge cold and heavy in his chest.

He couldn't wear the earrings, not tonight.

With a sigh, he turned towards the door to his bedroom. Time to go mingle and play good host for their guests.

Gilbert had joined the party before him for once, talking with his sisters. Henri was on her husband's arm, looking in good health after the birth of their first child. Charlotte was in full dress uniform, towering over her shorter brother and sister.

The Marquis de la Marche was there as well, with his tiny, ill-tempered lover on his arm. As always, Gregory cut a handsome figure, smiling charmingly and chatting with the partygoers who clustered around him, while Lord Ashcroft scowled at everyone, especially Gregory.

Marcel had never really understood their relationship, he thought, watching Ashcroft glare daggers at the back of Gregory's head. He sipped his champagne as if he were secretly plotting Gregory's murder. Gregory only smiled broadly and slipped his arm around Ashcroft's waist, holding him a little more familiarly than propriety dictated, but Ashcroft did not shift away or make any move to stop him.

Even if he didn't understand the ins and outs of their relationship, it was blindingly obvious to anyone that they were in love. Marcel suppressed a sigh, plastered on a smile, and went to meet the latest guest to arrive.

The guest in question turned out to be Elliot. Marcel had not remembered wrongly; Elliot looked very fine indeed in uniform.

"Marquis de Montespan." He bowed formally, and Marcel laughed, braced himself so he could take Elliot's hand in his own.

"Now, now, none of that, Elliot, we have known each other far too long and are far too good friends to stand on such formalities."

Elliot smiled at him warmly and squeezed his hand back. "Marcel, then."

"Here." Marcel let go of Elliot's hand and linked their arms together, glad he'd chosen an arm that allowed some movement. "Let me introduce you to my husband."

He led Elliot over to where Gilbert still stood, looking fetching in dark green, holding a glass of champagne in his hand. Gilbert turned, eyes widening when he saw Elliot.

"My husband, Gilbert André XVI, Lord de Blois. Gilbert, this is Mr. Elliot Roux, an old, dear friend of mine."

"A pleasure, Your Highness." Elliot let go of Marcel's arm so he could bow.

"Oh, no, no, I … that is …" Gilbert seemed at a loss as to what he should say, gazing up at Elliot, a blush darkening his cheeks. "Please do not call me that. Gilbert—Gilbert is fine."

"As you like." Elliot smiled down at him; Gilbert flushed even darker.

"Gilbert, Elliot is one of the best mathematicians I have ever met," Marcel said, trying to keep all emotion out of his face and voice. It was like agony, though, watching Gilbert blush and stammer under Elliot's attentive gaze. It was stupid; he'd picked Elliot specifically hoping Gilbert would be attracted to him, but seeing it now in person was a hundred times harder than he had ever imagined it would be. Watching the way Gilbert looked up at Elliot through his lashes, Marcel's breath caught in his throat. He dearly wished he could do or say anything that would make look at him like that, but there had even been a possibility of that ever happening he would not be standing here now trying to set his husband up with another man. 

"Oh, you are the naval officer involved in the fraud scandals. I mean, you investigated the cases of fraud, not that you committed any such thing." Gilbert blushed even more, if that was possible, and Elliot chuckled in a not unfriendly way.

"Yes, yes, I am, although I only paid a small part. Commander Adewuyi did quite a lot of the investigating as well."

"Elliot is being modest, he handles all of the figures and number checking." Marcel snagged a glass of champagne from a tray as a servant brought it by. He was going to need as many glasses as he could get if he was going to make it through tonight. Maybe if he were drunk he wouldn't have the desire grab and kiss Gilbert until he forgot about anyone besides Marcel wouldn't be as strong.

"Indeed?" Gilbert still gazed up at Elliot, and Elliot took a step closer to him. Marcel drained half his glass of champagne in one swallow and looked around for the servant carrying the tray before he gave into his urge to punch Elliot in the face. Mostly for so clearly being everything Gilbert wanted and Marcel wasn't.

"I shall leave you two to become better acquainted, then," he said, and turned, heading across the room towards another servant with a tray of champagne flutes.

This was going to be more painful than he'd thought. Marcel downed the rest of his glass, slipping the empty flute onto the tray and picking up a full one. He looked back over to see Elliot and Gilbert standing close together, heads bent towards each other. Elliot seemed to be laughing at something Gilbert had said, and Gilbert was smiling too, although still blushing fiercely.

It was like having shards of glass driven into his chest. Marcel wanted to congratulate himself, run away and hide, or just break down crying right here.

He downed another half a glass of champagne.

Maybe running away and hiding wasn't such a bad idea after all. Someone touched his elbow lightly, and Marcel turned to see Sushil Mukherjee.

"All by yourself?"

"Yes." Marcel forced down another sip of champagne, and Sushil's gaze went to Gilbert, who was still in enraptured conversation with Elliot.

"They seem to be getting on well."

"Yes," Marcel said again. His throat closed off, and his good hand began to shake. Sushil gave him a sympathetic look.

"Oh, Marcel."

"No." Marcel turned away. "This is for the best, I want this for him. I arranged their meeting knowing they would get on very well."

"Come walk with me," Sushil said, and Marcel nodded. They circled the room shoulder to shoulder.

"Why do you wish Mr. Roux—it is Mr. Roux?—and Gilbert to get on?"

"I …" Marcel shook his head. "I think Gilbert would be happier if he were to take a lover. Our marriage has strained his relationship with me. It is so hard for me to be tied to him thus and not have him, and it seems to be hard for him as well. But if he were to have someone else to take his mind off of it …"

"Perhaps." Sushil did not look convinced. "And what of you? What will you do if Gilbert were to fall in love with someone else?"

Marcel shrugged one shoulder. "Do what I have done all these years:  learn to live with the fact that he will never be mine and perhaps settle for an arrangement of convenience with someone else."

Sushil sighed a little and sipped his champagne. "I cannot believe that is all there is for you, Marcel, you are far too good a man to settle for that."

Marcel laughed, although there was no humor in it. "What can I do? I love a man who does not love me in return."

Sushil just shook his head.

By the time the party ended and they saw the guests off, Marcel felt exhausted and had the beginnings of a headache.

He excused himself as soon as he could decently do so and went into the library. The headache was probably due to the champagne, so he called for a decanter of water be brought to him.

Once the servant set it on the table, he downed a glass and then drank another more slowly. Settling himself in one of the armchairs by the fire, Marcel sighed deeply, held the water glass, and sipped his water, letting his eyes fall shut.

"Marcel?"

He opened his eyes and looked up. "I thought you had gone to bed." He pushed himself up and out of his chair to move a few steps towards where Gilbert stood.

Gilbert shook his head once. "I … No, I have not retired yet, as you see." He trailed off into silence for a moment and then squared his shoulders. "Marcel, we must talk."

"About?"

"About Mr. Roux."

"Ah." Marcel could taste bitterness at the back of his throat, and he turned away to set his water glass on the table beside the decanter. "You two did get on very well this evening."

"You set us up."

"What?" Marcel turned back to where Gilbert still stood, now with his arms folded across his chest.

"Oh, come now," Gilbert said. "You just happen to have an old friend who is a dashing military man, brilliant, kind, and the first time you ever think of introducing us is right after I have admitted to falling for such a man. Although Tristan is a poor shadow to Mr. Roux, I should hope. I am not good with such social matters, Marcel, but even to me your intent was blindingly obvious."

"And what of it?" Marcel crossed his arms over his own chest, feeling tired, heartsick, and now slightly put upon.

"Why?" Gilbert shook his head, so openly and obviously puzzled it made Marcel sigh.

He reached up and undid the ribbon that held back his hair so he could run his fingers through it, a nervous habit born of frustration and exhaustion.

"Because I thought if you were to take a lover, or be courted by someone you cared for, it would ease the tension between us," he said. "I knew you probably would not want to, so soon after being so badly treated as you were. But I thought if you were to meet someone, someone handsome, intelligent, and caring, someone who wanted to spend time with you and was interested in the things you were interested in, someone who could love you for the beautiful, brilliant man you are …" he trailed off.

Gilbert had a look on his face he'd never seen before. There was sadness and tenderness mixed with something else, something deeper, that cut through Marcel and made his breath catch in his throat.

"I did," Gilbert said, voice very soft and very gentle.

"Please." Marcel was already shaking his head, and he wanted to back away, wanted to leave and run away, but there was no way out. Gilbert was blocking the only door. "Please don't, I can't." He swallowed hard. "You don't care for me that way, Gilbert, you said so yourself at the Christmas ball."

Gilbert looked unsure for a moment, but then his expression firmed. "People can change."