Duke of Camellias

EIGHTEEN

Blair walked out and then shivered at the cold air. A brougham waited outside the gate. Emmanuel opened it and the two men hustled inside, sitting face to face, as before.

Emmanuel closed his eyes and rested in the carriage, his head swaying gently to the movement and clacking of hoofs. Blair couldn't tell if he was pretending or truly at at peace, but either way, he turned to the curtains and lifted them again, gently, to see the dark streets, and the other beautiful row of houses pass by, but none of them with a garden that could rival the Duke's.

"Blair," Emmanuel suddenly whispered, making Blair jump.

"Yes?"

"Remember that night, when you said if you didn't leave me, I would have to trust you?"

Blair nodded. " I remember."

A strange, wistful smile overcame Emmanuel's soft, youthful face. "Say, if you don't leave, and after I trust you, what will come after that?"

Blair's eyes widened. He didn't understand. "What—what do you want to do?"

"I wonder." He turned his face away, and buried his chin into his coat. Blair wondered if he was crying, but then again, he was deathly still. Was that it? The end of their conversation?

No, it wasn't.

"Maybe you imagined I'd leave my house, and stop being a recluse."

"No, I didn't mean to force you to do anything!"

"Yes, of course you wouldn't. You aren't that sort of person. But then again, you do unconsciously wish for something by betting with my trust. What is it?"

He was right; Blair's bet had a hidden agenda even he couldn't understand.

"Maybe I did want something," he admitted softly, looking at Emmanuel'a profile and dark curls. "Maybe I wanted to be allowed into your heart."

"Why?"

"Because you intrigue me," Blair answered honestly. He thought of Emmanuel whispering into his ear the day prior, and blushed. No, what was it? "Your paintings are beautiful, but they are all so sad, so tragic, like my stories. I have Eleanora, maybe you have someone, too, that you can't forget."

"And what if it's Christopher Collins?"

Blair froze. What did he mean by that? Why was he telling him? His face flushed as he stuttered.

"I—I wouldn't tell anyone."

Emmanuel peered over, and Blair couldn't meet his eyes, but then he heard a chuckle. Slowly, the laughter grew until Emmanuel leaned his head on the back of the carriage seat, chin tipped up, still chuckling.

"Oh, you never fail to amuse me, Blair!"

Blair watched the beautiful man laugh, then casually drape an arm over the walking stick. He looked at Blair, eyes crinkled with laughter. Blair was surprised at how young Emmanuel seemed in that moment, and how happy. He closed his eyes, eyelashes spreading like a crow's wings over his cheeks.

"Blair, oh, I wish you knew how much you've changed me."

Blair wished he could elaborate at that, but Emmanuel's eyes continued to stay closed, as he hummed to himself, the smile never leaving his lips for the duration of the ride.

An hour or so later Blair and Emmanuel reached the Royal Opera House in Convent Gardens and entered the great hall. Blair watched women in mink stoles and wide crinoline gowns bustle about, men with jeweled opera spyglasses and flashy waistcoats diddly dally about, socializing and kissing the gloved hands of the ladies.