‘Not with Martin about to walk in on us.’ Good God, this had been a stupid time to make a declaration. But he’d done it and Cassian had said yes, and Daizell couldn’t stop grinning. Cassian wanted this, wantedhim. Perfect. ‘You should go, and I’ll be up soon.’
Cassian nodded. ‘If you have to offer him anything to get it back—’
‘Donotsay that where he might hear you. Go on, clear off. Leave it to me.’
‘You’re wonderful, and – I love you. I do.’
‘Oh God, Cass.’ Daizell kissed him again, grabbing his hair. ‘Go, or he’ll walk in on entirely the wrong thing.’
‘Good luck.’ Cassian added a last swift kiss, and left him alone, quivering with joy.
Cassian felt the same. He hadn’t called him needy, or cut him off without a thought. He wanted Daizell.
Wanting wasn’t everything, he reminded himself. He had a disgraced name and dubious reputation; Cassian had an overbearing family and responsibilities – presumably thethings he needed to talk about – and that might be hard or impossible to overcome. Love didn’t conquer all; in Daizell’s experience it had yet to conquer anything at all.
But he’d still asked, because he loved Cassian, and the last few weeks had been perfect, and the only thing worse than the prospect of rejection had been the idea of losing that happiness because he was too afraid to ask for it. He’d asked, and Cassian loved him, and just for now he’d let himself hope for the best, because the best was more joyous than he’d dared to dream of in so long.
He was thinking of new ways to sayI love you, feet up on a stool to aid cogitation, when Martin came in.
‘All right, Daizell,’ he said with a nod.
It was hardly a greeting for once-lovers who’d not seen each other in a year or more. But Daizell also saw warmth in the other man’s eyes, and what looked like rueful embarrassment. He rolled his own eyes demonstratively. ‘Good to see you too.’
Martin took a chair, apparently feeling that the civilities had been dealt with. ‘So, what news? Forster tells me you’re big with it.’ He gave Daizell an assessing look. ‘You seem well-fed.’
That was the result of more than a fortnight eating at Cassian’s expense: Daizell had noticed his clothes were better-fitting. ‘I hope that’s a compliment.’
Martin shrugged. ‘I hear you’ve got a . . . now, what would it be? Patron?’
That took Daizell’s breath for a moment. ‘Whatdid you say?’
‘Wealthy, mousy, sharing your bed?’
‘Go to the devil.’ Daizell found his fists were clenched. ‘Really, Martin, go to hell, and if that’s what Forster said—’
‘I drew conclusions.’
‘I’ll draw your arse into the street if you don’t mind your tongue.’
Martin’s brows were up now. ‘I heard you were here with some pliant, plump-in-the-pocket sort. Am I mistaken?’
‘You’re a prick. He’s a damned fine man, and he’squiet, not pliant, and I’m not sponging off him—’
‘What, you’ve paid for your own food?’ He raised a hand as Daizell took a deep breath. ‘All right, all right, I’ll take your word. You’ve a wealthy – not patron –companion. Good for you. What are you doing with him, then?’
‘Helping him with something. Enjoying his company. One can do that, you know: be pleasant to one another and not treat people one cares for like punching-bags. One can talk about things, and care what each other thinks, and be . . .’ He waved a hand. ‘Together.’
‘Good Christ,’ Martin said. ‘Are you in love or something? Oh my God, you are.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Youare. Well, that puts a different complexion on it. A fellow with funds, though? I’d watch that if I were you.’ Daizell took a deep breath; Martin held up both hands. ‘Just saying. Rich men buy things and throw them away.’
‘I am not bought, and Cassian is not buying. He has money, yes, but there are more important things. He trusts me. Hetrustsme, Martin. He thinks my father wronged me, he’s trusted me with personal matters; he believes I can do well by him. It’s . . .’ He gestured, since he had no way of voicing what that was or what it meant, and if he did find those words, they would be for Cassian. ‘He trusts me.’
‘Do you trust him?’ Martin said. ‘Can you? Really?’
That was a brutal question from him. Daizell met hiseyes. ‘I love him. He loves me. I don’t know if we can make something of this but I trust him to try. That’s all anyone can ask.’
