Page 20 of Moaning Under the Mistletoe
“Sea cale is a vegetable delicacy. It tastes a little like the soft inner leaves of a cabbage but saltier since it grows near the coast.” Blanched and then tossed in a butter sauce, sea cale was one of Ambrose’s favourite vegetables. He leaned forwards, hoping Oscar would like it too.
“Oh. I assumed it was some sort of fish cut into strips.”
Ambrose shook his head. “Try some.”
Oscar did, and the butter sauce made his lips glisten. Ambrose stared as Oscar licked the butter off his lips and hummed appreciatively. Watching him eat was far too erotic for a stodgy establishment like Whites. It’d been two weeks of almost constant fucking, and here he was, still finding Oscar’s most simple movements desirable. He hoped Oscar would want an extension to their time together once the next two weeks had passed.
“Do you like it?” Hopefully he wouldn’t say it was bland, like he had with the cressy soup.
“It is unexpectedly excellent. Personally I would add a touch of pepper, to counter the salt, but perhaps that’s unneeded.”
Ambrose’s chest puffed out as if he’d cooked it himself. “It is my favourite vegetable.”
Oscar ate more of the Sea Cale, and that was enough of an answer for Ambrose.
“The combination with the poultry is quite good.” Oscar hadn’t bothered to keep the sea cale with butter sauce separate from the woodcock, dipping the meat into the sauce.
“Is that a compliment?”
Oscar laughed. “I was quite harsh regarding the first time we ate here, wasn’t I?”
“Yes. Everything was bland and not as good as your mother cooked.”
He shrugged, still smiling. “I wasn’t wrong.”
“Perhaps you should employ her to cook for The King’s Book Club?”
From the way Oscar’s grin disappeared, Ambrose knew he’d said the wrong thing. “My father has not been in contact since Uncle Ismail’s will was read. I very much doubt that he would allow my mother to work for me in my sinful den of dissolution and debauchery.”
“He said that?”
“Not to my face. My sister arrived unannounced last night to communicate my father’s feelings to me.”
Ambrose went cold all over. That had been the reason Oscar hadn’t been able to be with him last night. “I ... I’m sorry.” He couldn’t tell Oscar that he wished he could’ve been there to support him. They were only having an understanding; they weren’t lovers in the sense that they’d be there emotionally for each other. Oh dear. Was that what Ambrose wanted?
“Thank you. I knew he might not be happy. You’d mentioned that he used to meet with Ismail, but he’d never told me that Ismail existed, which should’ve been a hint.” Oscar paused, his eyes shiny. “But he’s ... he’s my father. I expected that he might at least try to get past his ... disgust for my sake.”
“I am so very sorry. Please have the rest of my Sea Cale.” He couldn’t offer to hold Oscar, not here in White’s which was far too busy for a mid-week lunch.
Oscar blinked rapidly. “Are you offering me your favourite vegetable as compensation for my father disowning me?”
“I realise that is not adequate compensation. I suspect nothing could be.”
“But they are your favourite and I appreciate the gesture.” Oscar’s smile was a little wobbly, but it existed which made hope flutter in Ambrose’s chest. “I don’t need to eat your favourite, Ambrose. You have them. I’m going to have a little more woodcock because whoever named that bird, surely had me in mind.”
Ambrose chuckled. “A lot of bird names err towards the vulgar; cocks, boobies, tits...”
Oscar’s smile returned, lighting up the room. “Shags, windfuckers... It does make you wonder about the people who named them.”
It was much better to wonder about that than why a father would disown a brother and a son over something as silly as the club they owned. “I often wonder that.”
“Often? Don’t Earls have more important things to think about?”
He held Oscar’s gaze. “By definition anything that an Earl thinks about is important.”
“Was that a joke, Ambrose? Gosh, whatever is the world coming to.”
He bristled, then relaxed. “I can joke.”
