Page 8 of The Shadow of the Count
“Anytime. Charles is quite taken with Naples. All that access to nearby ruins, you know. He loves the bustle too. Quite the working man’s city in its own way.” That fond, indulgent sound in Douglas’s voice made him smile. “Unless Grant requires us, we’re here.”
“If he does, I will meet you in London, of course, and we’ll send for Peter in the count’s castle.” A castle. He couldn’t wait to hear about the luxury and the books.
“Indeed. How droll.” He could hear the slight jealousy under Douglas’s light tone. His brother did love an adventure. Charles, his brother’s lover, preferred a bit more sedate life.
Soon, he feared, Charles would ask Douglas to retire, to leave the adventuring life behind. Then what would he do? He wasn’t sure Clark and Jeb would want him on their team, and they were rather volatile together anyway. The rich seminary student and the cowboy…
“I miss you, Doug.” It seemed important to say after Peter leaving. To let Douglas know he was loved.
“I miss you, Donnie. I’m ready to see you, tell you about Italy.”
“We need to get together. Once Charles has had his fill, you come to me, even if our mysterious benefactor has no use for us by then.” He missed Douglas like a sore tooth.
“You have my word. No matter what.” Douglas eased his soul.
“Thank you, brother. Thank you. I—It’s been rough.” So much so that his body ached and his head felt heavy.
“Well, I’m here to listen and to make things easier if I may. I love you.”
“Love you too. I might be able to sleep now.”
“Good. You sleep, I’ll finish reading my book, and the morning will come soon for both of us.”
“Yes. Good night, Douglas.”
“Night.”
He hung up reluctantly, but his snack had disappeared without him even knowing he was chewing, and his brother had made him feel better, even if he could still hear the echo of Peter calling to him. He would try to go back to sleep and have more pleasant dreams of Peter this time.
Five
When the knock came on Peter’s door several mornings later, he had settled into a routine. The count would let him out. Food would magically appear on the sideboard where he’d eaten the first night, and Peter would get to work in the library.
His room resembled a monk’s cell, and he felt like his life had become one of ecclesiastical severity as well. Work from sunup to sundown. Two meals a day. Then he was locked in, and it all began again at dawn.
Thankfully, the count’s library was…stunning. A dream job. There were scrolls, for heaven’s sake. Honest-to-heaven scrolls. Vellum. Parchment. Books that were as large as his torso, bound in leather with writing in languages he’d never heard of.
This morning, however, was out of the ordinary. He was still shaving when his door was thrown open, the count flying in as if blown by a strong wind. “Peter. I need you to write a letter. Immediately.”
“Ow!” He grabbed a towel to press against the cut on his neck. “Goodness. Of course.”
He was wearing nothing but his trousers, which was lucky, as he had only three shirts to last him for this job. The sun was barely turning the sky from black to purple, the promise of dawn still nearly an hour away.
The count stared at his neck, unblinking, for so long that Peter almost pulled his nightshirt back on. “The letter?”
“Yes.” The count grimaced. “I—” He stopped, his gaze caught by something behind Peter. “Who is that?”
“Pardon?”
“I—your photo. Who is he?” The count pointed to Donnie’s likeness.
My lover. My heartbeat. My soul. I know that now. How stupid I was to leave.“My beloved friend. His brother is a movie star in America.”
“He looks…like someone I once knew.” The count’s face changed, his expression softening almost shockingly. “He is in America?”
“London. Staying with friends.” Wistfully, Peter looked at Don’s face. How he missed him.
“Ah.” That softness disappeared in a flash. “I hope he enjoys that city. I often have business there.”
