Seven
“Will there be anything else, my lord?” Gates kept his back turned and went about the room, tidying and silently fretting as Reginald quieted the rising panic and paranoia with more morphine.
What if this is my new reality? What if I’ve trapped myself inside the very prison I ran away from?
His brain would pummel him with awful accusations whenever it knew Reginald could hear it. There was a flash of terror just as he pressed the plunger but it faded as the burn spread up his arm. He still ached for Paul, though, and resented himself for allowing his addictions to keep them apart again.
He didn’t know why he couldn’t rest if he wasn’t in the lead or perfect and Reginald didn’t know why he was so afraid of losing Paul and Lavender. He didn’t just fear failure because it could cost him their lives. He feared failure because in his heart he feared it could cost him their love and trust.
The Paul outside his door didn’t love and trust Reginald.
Yet.
But Reginald’s confidence buckled as he stood. He tightened the belt around his waist and pulled the front of his robe closed, grimacing at the burgundy silk and velvet. It all felt so old. Reginald was inhabiting the body of a man his age but George had turned himself into a relic. He aspired to be like the dinosaurs at Boodle’s and dressed like them. The only thing exciting about George was his beautiful mistress and his stable of horses. Reginald sighed at the thought. He didn’t have time but he longed to spend a day with them.
“Do I take good care of my horseflesh?” He asked Gates and the older man nodded quickly.
“Of course, my lord,” he answered. “You are renowned for the quality of your cattle and the care you show them.”
“Then I’m not totally worthless,” Reginald said, then considered Gates. “I have not shown you great care today. I apologize.”
“My lord?”
Poor Gates. He didn’t know what to do with Reginald and wrung his hands nervously.
“I take it that it’s not in my habit to apologize.”
“No, my lord.”
“I’m shocked you’re still here. I’ve been a terror and I know the morphia scares the hell out of you,” Reginald said and Gates’s eyes dropped to the rug.
“I am gravely concerned but that would not change if I were to leave. I’ve been with you since you were a boy and I can’t help you unless I’m here when you need me.”
“Then I will endeavor to behave. For you,” Reginald clarified with a wink as he got into the bed. “But you’ll have to get used to the morphine and I cannot stop loving Paul. I need them both and I’d fall apart without them.”
Gates swallowed loudly and looked toward the door. “While it is not…” He gave his head a shake. “I will not comment except to say that Mr. Sloan appears to be a good and honorable man and I appreciate his concern for your welfare.” He offered Reginald a half-bow as he backed toward the door to leave. Reginald was tempted to ask Gates if he’d ridden a bicycle or if the house had a sewing machine. His mind raced as he thought of recent inventions so he could keep Gates with him but Reginald reminded himself that his butler’s day had been long as well.
“Thank you, Gates. That will be all for the evening.”
“Rest well, my lord.”
The door shut behind him and Reginald heard Gates murmur something to Paul before the house became silent save for the occasional creak or groan. He pulled the heavy coverlet around him but Reginald didn’t lay back as the hours of the night stretched before him like a long road through a cold, barren field. There weren’t any laptops or a never-ending worldwide web to comfort and distract him, no warm glow of a computer screen with its welcoming icons. Just a silent house and a city without the din of cars and LED lights.
Reginald was alone with his demons and George’s awful decor.
“To hell with this.”
He grabbed an armful of the coverlet as he rolled and slid out of bed. Reginald’s feet were chilled as soon as they touched the floor again but he’d rather freeze than face a night alone. He stomped across the room, dragging the blanket with him, and yanked the door open. There was a bemused snort but Paul didn’t seem surprised as Reginald trudged past his armchair. Paul was reclining with his legs stretched and crossed and his cheek was propped up with a fist.
“You should be in bed, my lord. You need to sleep.”
“I can’t if I know you’re on the other side of this door.” Reginald fell against the wall opposite Paul and slid onto the floor.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Paul protested but he shrugged and shut his eyes.
“This is the safest I’ve felt here. How is that ridiculous?” Reginald stretched his legs alongside Paul’s and crossed them as he pulled the quilt around him. Paul’s eye cracked open so he could study Reginald.
“I keep telling myself that we must have met before but you’re not someone I’m likely to forget.”