davitt, jane - spoken from the heart

Spoken from the Heart - 1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher. Spoken from the Heart Torquere Press Publishers PO Box 2545 Round Rock, TX 78680 Copyright 2012 by Jane Davitt Cover illustration by Alessia Brio Published with permission ISBN: 978-1-61040-701-4 www.torquerepress.com All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680. First Torquere Press Printing: February 2012 Printed in the USA


ROMEO Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-William Shakespeare 'Romeo and Juliet' Act 2, Scene 2


Chapter One "So Galliero passed?" The barkeep set a jug of Reckton Red on the table in front of Julian, so full that the wine seemed in danger of spilling over the lip, and put a wooden cup beside it. A generous man -- or a barkeep who didn't realize that the court dandies had decided with the capriciousness of the very bored that the rough, peppery wine only peasants drank was fashionable. Julian would've wagered a month's wages that if he returned to the Saddle and Stirrup in a few weeks, the jug would've become a single glass, not over-full, and the price triple what he was paying today. He touched the black feather thrust through the first button hole on his waistcoat and nodded. "He died at midnight, or so I was told. I hear his last words were borrowed from his favorite play, but I'm not inclined to credit it. What man goes to his death with a smile on his face?" The barkeep snorted. "I say he did quote from Mischief and Mayhem. The man was born to make people laugh; why not Death himself?" Julian chuckled and poured himself some wine. "True enough." He raised his cup, regretting that his choice of an outside table had doomed him to drink from wood, not glass. The sunlight catching the crimson liquid and making it glow like a ruby would've been most effective. "Well, the theaters are closed in his memory, so I have the day in which to get drunk -- also in his memory." And regret the loan of twenty silver a month agolittle chance of Galliero's sister repaying him, even if Julian was at his most charming with the acid-tongued shrew.Spoken from the Heart - 4

The barkeep began to speak, but a group of laborers came into view. Their faces were sweat-dappled, their green jerkins emblazoned with the Duke's sigil, the stylized hawk dark against the cloth. "They look thirsty." "Aye, and they'll be in a hurry to get back to work. If you'll excuse me, sir" A hand was extended, respectfully but firmly. Wooden cups and payment demanded after each drink. Next time, he would sit inside, even if the smoke did make his throat close up and roughen his voice. Julian took the necessary coppers from the pouch at his belt and handed them over with a nod he made a shade less friendly than normal. He had yet to reach Galliero's stature in the theater, but he was Julian Melville, after all, and his portrayal of Dracor's death in A Man's Honor had reduced the duke's daughter, Lady Helena, to tears, her quiet sobs the only sound in the hushed theater. The crowd had risen to its feet, applauding him as he lay bloodied and broken, that damn sword digging into his hip, only professionalism keeping him from shifting it an inch to the left. The barkeep cleared his throat apologetically. "That'll be another six pennies, sir. We've had quite a run on the Reckton this week. Seems it's popular all of a sudden." Julian twisted his lips into an aloof smile -- damn -and tossed a silver piece on the table. "Keep the change and buy yourself a glass of it, since you were such an admirer of my late, esteemed colleague." "Thank you, sir." The barkeep touched a finger to the lank hair falling across his broad forehead and left Julian to drink alone, an unusual state of affairs for him. His pouch seemed considerably lighter. He really had to remember that grand gestures were only satisfying inSpoken from the Heart - 5

the moment. And the Reckton was sour on the tongue and would most likely make his gut tie itself in knots. He should be setting fashion, not following it, but what were the chances of that when even an inn keeper was unimpressed by him? Wellconsiderably better now that the Pinnacle Theater had lost its star actor. Guilt shamed him into taking an unwisely large gulp of wine in penance for his uncharitable thoughts. Galliero hadn't been a friend, exactly -- unless friendship was signified by the man's readiness to borrow money and ask favors from Julian -- but he'd been carelessly kind in those first years when parts had been thin and applause a bored, polite patter. Galliero had taught him how to beware of being upstaged, warned him of actors who would subtly alter the final word of a speech so that Julian's cue was missed, his response fumbled. Had spent an afternoon coaching Julian until his voice could fill the vast space between floor and balcony with a deep, resonant thunder, not a scared, thin squeak. And had introduced him to Lord Marcus as an upand-coming new talent in need of a sponsor with a wink and a nod Julian had never quite been sure was meant for him. Marcus' gold had kept Julian from starving and put velvet and silk on his back. If his ass had been left raw from too vigorous a use more than once, at least Marcus was careful with his prick when it was in Julian's mouth. An actor's throat and voice were precious, after all. Galliero's forte had been comedy, but he'd kept some juicy dramatic roles clutched to that increasingly wide chest of his that might just possibly fall to Julian if he approached Master Sampton, the owner of the PinnacleSpoken from the Heart - 6

Theater, with the proper mix of confidence and respect. They were to begin rehearsing Silence Falls soon. King Henry's mad scene -- what he could do with that! Galliero had wrung every ounce of pathos from the part the last time he'd played it, but completely missed the driving greed for power that still burned bright in the ruined mind. Julian had been cast as the king's childhood friend, powerless to arrest his monarch's ambition, endangering himself with every unwise word. A good role, to be sure, and one he'd been more than happy with, but nowperhaps His thoughts occupied by the pitch he'd need to make, the warmth of the early summer afternoon soporific, Julian allowed himself to drift into daydreams. The bustle of the square dimmed to a faint buzz, and he smelled not the heat rising off the cobbles or the rank stink of cabbages from the vegetable stall close by, but the dry, dusty air of the theater and the familiar, oily scent of the cosmetics his dresser applied so deftly to his face. The raucous voices of the stallholders bargaining with their customers, the endless rain of the fountain at the center of the square, its water clean and pure these days, thanks to the duke's orders -- all was muted, distant. His star was rising, his time was here. He would be feted, adored, successful enough, perhaps, to be able to introduce Marcus to a new protg, like, hmm, young Selwyn, perhaps. That mop of yellow hair, those bright, knowing blue eyes that could feign innocence so well Marcus would enjoy the conquest and never see the calculation behind Selwyn's winning charm. "You misbegotten son of a flea-bitten whore!" Julian automatically tried to place the line -- Season's Turn? Lady Whimsy's Wish? -- before realizing it hadSpoken from the Heart - 7

been said with genuine anger thickening each syllable. Jolted from his reverie, he turned his head, lazily interested in whatever had prompted the outburst. The justice stocks, discreetly tucked away in a corner a hundred paces or so from Julian's table, were occupied, and by the sound of it, one of justice's helpers wasn't happy. Julian grinned. Some of the duke's innovations were decidedly on the eccentric side. Offering petty criminals their choice of punishment had caused an uproar amongst the citizens even before word had leaked out about the nature of some of the options. With the idle curiosity of a man with nothing better to do, he swallowed down what remained of his wine, then refilled the wooden cup from the jug. Wine in hand, he sauntered over to the stocks, approving the relative cleanliness of the cobbles these days. His boots were new, their glossy black leather soft to the touch, the buff-colored cuffs as deep as the current mode demanded. Soiling them with mud or refuse would have been a pity. The young man kneeling in the stocks, his head a perfect height for the action he'd need to perform to be released from them, was flushed with indignation. Julian gave the prisoner a swift glance, the watchful guard another, then turned his attention to the man tucking his prick away inside his breeches, his mouth still spouting abuse. Julian summed him up at a glance. Tall, burly, with cold gray eyes and the tang of the ocean about him. A sailor, his skin burned dark by the southern sun, gold rings hanging heavy from his ears. "You'll not count this against what he owes!" the sailor told the guard, whose lack of interest was palpable. "The thieving piece of shit bit me."Spoken from the Heart - 8

"You got what you wanted." The guard looked pointedly at the snail's trail of white on the man's breeches. "Move on. There're others waiting." "Oh, I'm not waiting." Julian sipped his wine and gave the two men standing a sunny smile. "Just observing." "If you don't want to use him, you can move on, too." The guard didn't trouble to rest his hand on his sword. The duke's men rarely needed to draw steel within the city after the Night of Blades a decade earlier. He glanced down at the prisoner and scuffed his hand through the lad's thick, curling hair in a friendly way. "One more to service and you can go home to your mother and tell her what a busy day you had. Or lie. If you want my advice, I'd choose to lie." The sailor snorted, wiped his hand down his breeches, and slapped it, wet with come, against the prisoner's cheek. "I hope you choke on what he spills down your throat, you little--" "Citizen. Move on." The words stung like bees, sharp and swift. The sailor drew himself up and walked away, his gait unsteady, as if a deck still heaved beneath his feet, not the solid, unmoving earth. Julian watched the sailor go, letting the details of the man's walk soak into his mind. He couldn't recall a decent sailor's role, but who knew when it might come in handy to know how a man fresh from a voyage put one foot in front of another? An actor could learn a lot from simply using his eyes and ears. The guard cleared his throat. "If you've need of release, use him, otherwise" "Move on. I know." Julian sipped his wine again and gave the prisoner a considering look. The youngster's head was lowered now, but the mop of silky, auburnSpoken from the Heart - 9

curls and the slender wrists and strong, tanned hands he could see were somewhat intriguing. He wasn't surprised the guard had tousled that hair. It drew the eye. Julian let himself wonder what it would be like to plunge both hands into it and hold the lad steady before fucking his mouth in slow, luxurious strokes, but it was no more than a passing thought. Julian Melville didn't rut in public, and his partners were willing -- and clean. And usually older. The lad's jerkin was a grubby brown, his leather breeches patched and stained, and Julian put his age around nineteen, if that. "What did he do?" "Stole food from a stall. Caught with it before he'd gone a few paces." "I was hungry." The words were directed at the cobblestones, filled with a weary defiance. "I didn't -- at home, no one would've minded--" "You're in the city now, boy. Everything has a price, even kindness." The guard jerked his head at Julian. "If you please, citizen." Something about the bewildered hurt in the lad's voice caught at Julian. He hesitated, pity replacing his amused lack of sympathy -- the penalty was a kinder one than the loss of a finger, after all, which would've been the lad's fate under the old duke. "Can I buy his freedom? A whore would charge, what, ten coppers a time? I could give you fifteen?" He could afford that, and the glow of magnanimity would be pleasant. Even if the boy would most likely steal again if his belly was empty -- and though Julian was hazy on the exact wording of the law, he had a feeling the penalty for a second offense wouldn't be as light. The duke was eccentric, not stupid.Spoken from the Heart - 10

The guard shook his head. "'One Law for Rich and Poor'," he quoted. "Peasant or prince, he chose this, and he stays here until he's done, and I with him to see justice." With a rougher touch than before, the guard grabbed a handful of hair and brought the prisoner's head back, exposing his face and the pure lines of his throat, the fair skin tanned by the sun. "He's pretty enough to pass as a girl if that's more your fancy." "I am not!" The guard shook the prisoner's head by way of rebuke, his grip tight enough now to bring tears to the green eyes. "And making him hold his tongue would be a kindness. It's sharp enough that three likely prospects walked on by after hearing him." Julian laughed uneasily. Those eyes, blazing with indignation, and a swollen, lush mouth had his cock hardening, but he had some standards, damn it. "You sound like a man who wishes his task to be over." The guard grimaced and lowered his voice, though no one was in earshot. "I feel like the owner of an easehouse. Look, citizen, time's passing. I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd just--" "What's the rush?" There was a mouthful of wine swilling around in the bottom of the cup. Julian crouched and held it to the lad's lips. "Here. Wash out the taste of the last one." Eyebrows two shades darker than the lad's hair snapped together in a frown and his lips became a stubborn, tight line. "Go ahead," the guard encouraged him. "Nothing to say you can't drink something beside a mouthful of white."Spoken from the Heart - 11

Slowly, the lad parted his lips, suspicion darkening his eyes. Julian wondered what he'd looked like when he'd first arrived in the city, eager for adventure and trusting everyone. Younger? Happier? He tilted the cup and let the wine trickle into the waiting mouth. A swipe of a tongue to catch the last drop, and the boy's mouth was closed again, hiding white teeth that looked like they could bite very handily. One eyetooth was a fraction crooked, and the lad's breath was sour behind the taste of wine, but yes, he was pretty, if one's taste ran to that. Julian straightened. "Why the rush?" he asked again. The guard shrugged. "My time's worth something, though you wouldn't think it. I can't stand here forever. He gets two hours to work off his sentence or he takes the rest in lashes. Some go for the lashes from the start, but by the third, I'm guessing they wish they'd chosen differently, and by the seventh, well, they're usually past caring." A single lash didn't sound unbearable unless a man had seen the heavy, barbed whip used on criminals. Julian had. It sliced skin open and left scars. The pain and the blood loss weren't fatal, but the infection that generally followed sometimes was. "How long does he have left?" The guard glanced up at the clock tower two squares over. "Put it this way, he needs someone quick off the mark. A quarter-hour. Less." "Oh, darkness take it--" With a swift glance around to make sure no one was watching, Julian undid the placket of his breeches and eased out his prick. Embarrassment wasn't a failing of his, but the fearlessness an actor required to perform didn't extend to a situation like this. Sweat prickled hot and cold over his body, and he had toSpoken from the Heart - 12

close his eyes for a moment and think himself into character. A man with arrogance to spare, or nowhere to fall in people's eyes, would do this without thought. He'd been told he had the arrogance often enough Bending down again, he took the lad's chin in his hand and felt the bone beneath the flesh. No stubble to speak of, but he could see the scatter of freckles -- sunkisses, his nurse had called them -- across the lad's nose. "What's your name?" Teeth snapped shut in answer. "Fine." Julian glanced up at the guard. "What did he steal?" "An apple." "Should have been a sausage." That got a chuckle from the guard and a hissed-out protest from the prisoner. Julian returned his attention to the man whose skin was warm against his fingers. "Some ground rules, my little country pippin. I'm doing this because I'm in a sentimental mood for reasons that don't concern you. You bite me, and I'll bite you back. I'm clean, and I bathed this morning. I'm not so well-endowed that I'll choke you, but I'm above average, so I won't be offended if you don't take me all. No need to get fancy, just--" "You don't pay your whores by the hour, do you?" the guard inquired. "Because if this is how you do business, it must cost you a week's wages to get your itch scratched." Julian stood and worked himself hard enough to be sucked, the action familiar enough to override his qualms. "My apologies for being tedious, but I'm not in the mood to have my prick chewed." "Some men pay extra for a little pain."Spoken from the Heart - 13

Julian shuddered, his hand slackening. He wasn't averse to a certain amount ofexperimentation, but pain, well, pain hurt. The warm air on his cock, the mouth waiting for it, sullen, sulky, stubborn and so damned appealing -- his arousal built quickly, and he moved closer. "Suck me, Pippin. I'll make it quick." "His back will thank you if you do." The guard's remarks, delivered with a heavy jocularity, were beginning to irritate Julian, but he kept that to himself. He suspected the guard was genuinely reluctant to hand Pippin, or whatever the lad's name was, over to be flogged. Pippin closed his eyes, a wave of scarlet sweeping up from his neck to his ears. Julian ignored the evident shame the boy was enduring. If he went to the whipping post, he'd be naked, with the crowd jeering him until the expectant, avid silence fell. This was better. He ran his thumb over lips the wind and sun had chapped, and pushed it inside, not ungently. "Open for me." With a choked sound that could've been a tear or pure fury, Pippin did just that, and Julian slid his cock home, the sweet tingle of danger and delight making his balls tighten. He didn't expect anything in the way of technique, confining his hope to the sincere wish that Pippin would keep his teeth out of all-too-tender flesh. After a few shallow, slow thrusts to measure the depth, he relaxed enough to get some measure of enjoyment out of an experience that bordered on the surreal. He, Julian Melville, was getting his cock sucked dry by a country boy, in broad daylight, in Sandrin Square.


Friends and rivals alike might accept it'd happened should he ever be foolish enough to share the story, but no one would believe his motives were pure. The guard had turned his head away, giving an illusion of privacy. The pressure of the passing moments lay heavily on Julian, but it had been so long since he'd felt the sweet slickness of a warm mouth around his prick that rushing seemed a sinful waste. Marcus had never, would never, lower himself so far as to offer this, though Julian had often suspected he was tempted by a change in role. Dignity had always trumped desire. He needed to end this. His eyes slid closed, blocking out the scene before him, allowing him to recreate a better one. His bedroom, the candles burning with a fitful, flickering illumination, pouring out golden light against Pippin's fair skin. Pippin wouldn't be kneeling, bound, but crouched between his legs, eagerly taking him deep, choking himself so that Julian would reach out and smooth back the auburn hair, slowing down time, making Pippin see there was no rush, no need to do anything but let the pleasure build between them-"The clock will strike soon." "Oh, in the name of the Lady--" Julian glared down at Pippin, his fantasy in ruins. "Your tongue. Use it. You've licked a sugar cane, yes?" Pippin swallowed, the action itself almost enough, almost, and flicked his tongue, a liquid swirl that undid Julian completely. He had sense enough to keep his strangled moan mostly inside his throat, but it cost him. The clock struck the turn as he pulled free, his prick shiny and a pearl of white gleaming at its slit. "Justice done." With a brisk efficiency that Julian, weak-kneed and breathless, found distinctly jarring, the guard unlocked the stocks, freeing Pippin. JulianSpoken from the Heart - 15

fumbled his breeches closed and swept his hand over his hair, trusting that any disorder of his dark brown locks looked windswept, not messy. There wasn't a breath of air, but the tousled look was fashionable. It took a while to create, but appearances mattered, and he didn't grudge the time spent in front of his mirror, a wet comb in his hand. Pippin stood, swaying as if he was giddy. Julian supposed a few hours kneeling would do that to a man. He wasn't sure what to say, something of a novel experience for him. No perfectly crafted line from a play came to mind to help him out. If Pippin had offered him thanks, he would've been able to respond using the words of the masters, deftly tweaked, of course, but Pippin was staring at the cobbles, his head down. "You're free to go, lad." The guard pushed Pippin's shoulder, making him stumble. "Be off with you." It occurred to Julian that another reason for Pippin's unsteadiness might be hunger. One of his father's favorite sayings, delivered in a flat voice that brooked no dissent, had been that a job half-done wasn't done at all. The guard walked away without a backward glance, his job done, and Julian sighed inwardly and stepped forward, supporting Pippin with a hand under his elbow. Pippin was three inches taller than Julian, with broad shoulders and a rangy frame he hadn't quite grown into yet. "Pippin--" "That's not my name." "It's the only one I've got," Julian pointed out with some asperity. He drew a breath. "I find myself with an appetite, and we're no more than a few minute's walk from the best meat and potato pie in the city. I hate toSpoken from the Heart - 16

eat alone, so if you'd be my guest, I'd count it as a favor." Pippin shook free of Julian's grip. "Back on the farm, I used to shovel shit. It wasn't so long ago that I don't recognize the smell." "It's possible the favor would be mostly on my side," Julian allowed, "but pride won't fill your belly. Did I mention the pepper gravy? Trust me, you can't come to the city and not taste Mistress Lindy's pepper gravy." Pippin was milk-pale beneath the tan, the dirt, and the freckles. "I have no money." "Old news." "I will not -- I will not do that again to pay for my meal." "It might be hard to credit, but you're not my usual choice of bedmate. Men, yes, innocents, never. Your company for the time it takes to feed us both is all I ask." "Why?" The question was a faint whisper, but Julian had been trained to hear the hiss of a prompter twenty feet away. He bent to pick up the wooden cup from the ground. "There are a hundred young men like you arriving in the city today, Pippin. More. Young girls, too, fresh from the country and disillusioned at best before the sun sets. I would have gone through my day without giving them a thought, but you were thrust under my nose and I can't turn my back on you and sleep easy tonight." He tapped Pippin's shoulder. "I have no wish for word of this to get out. My reputation for being a heartless frivol is dear to me. Do we understand each other?" "I don't understand most of what you say, but I'll go with you if you'll feed me, I suppose." Pippin's broadSpoken from the Heart - 17

shoulders drooped. "I've been hungry before, but not like this." Julian had known hunger and could remember how desperate he'd been to ease the cramped emptiness in his belly. He slipped his hand under Pippin's arm again, as he would've done with a friend, and guided Pippin away from the stocks. When they passed the inn, he tossed the wooden cup at a server, who caught it deftly and snatched the copper Julian threw next with a matching dexterity. Neatly done.


Chapter Two Mistress Lindy's was one of Julian's favorite places to eat when he was hungry, nothing more than that. He patronized expensive restaurants to show off a new cloak, fur-trimmed and fastened at the throat with an intricate pin worked in gold, or to ply his charm on a director or a fellow actor over a small plate of overpriced tidbits. Sometimes, he was there playing the role of Marcus' friend in such a way that no one could accuse him of being more, but everyone who looked knew what he was At times such as that, the food was the least important part of the event. At Mistress Lindy's, the food was everything. He found them a table tucked away at the back of the room, close enough to the kitchens that a man could eat on the smell alone. The irregularly shaped room, its rough walls whitewashed annually, though the framed playbills covering the walls made that effort pointless, was as quiet as it ever got. Lindy's was open around the clock, but those seeking a midday meal had come and gone, leaving spaces at the long table running down the center of the room, as well as free tables in odd corners. Julian saw some familiar faces, but deliberately caught no one's eye. He knew how to make an entrance, but he was capable of entering a room discreetly, too. The people who ate here usually had some connection to the theater or hoped to form one. It was perfectly positioned, a short walk from two of the major theaters in the city, the Pinnacle and its rival, The Garrick. Mistress Lindy herself had once been a costume designer of note at the Pinnacle, but when her eyesight dimmed after taking a million precise stitches, she'dSpoken from the Heart - 19

retired to open the eating house and her second career was proving as successful as her first. Pippin sat as if his legs would no longer hold him and shot Julian a look so full of shamed pleading that Julian averted his eyes. He was well known here, and within moments a server was at his side, a tall, lugubrious man with dark eyes, creased at the corners. Joe had been a comedian in a troupe touring the Realm. He harbored an abiding devotion to Lindy that, as far as Julian knew, had never become more than that, and when she'd left the theater life, so had he. In a nod to the past, a black feather had been tucked into the apron around his waist. Like Julian, Joe was showing his respects to a fellow actor. "Joe." Julian touched the feather he wore. "A sad day." Joe nodded, the movement of his head the jerky bob that'd once been his trademark, guaranteed to have an audience roaring with anticipatory laughter as they waited for the punch line. A lock of black hair fell forward over his face. "He'll be missed." They shared a moment of silence, then Julian gestured at Pippin. "He's not eaten for a while. Maybe a bowl of soup to start with?" Joe studied Pippin with an experienced eye. "Milk and bread first. If he keeps that down, he can have the soup." "I'm not a babe to be fed sops," Pippin muttered. Generosity only went so far. "No, you're an ungrateful brat who'll eat what he's given." Joe snorted, not unkindly, as Pippin blushed hotly, and turned to Julian. "And you? The usual?" It would've been cruel to eat pie when Pippin was eating mush. Julian sighed. "Soup."Spoken from the Heart - 20

Not a huge sacrifice. He'd stumbled in here once, with dawn still some hours away, his throat near closed after a grueling twelve hours of rehearsal with a perfectionist director. Mistress Lindy herself had slid a fragrant, steaming bowl of broth onto the table with a roll of bread so fresh from the oven that breaking it open had released a cloud of warm, yeasty air. The pat of butter had slid over the flaky surface and melted as it went, leaving the roll rich and soft. He'd fallen asleep and woken with the imprint of his spoon on his cheek a few hours later. Joe returned with a cup of milk and a slice of nutty brown bread spread with butter and cut into fingers before the silence between Julian and his guest could grow awkward. Julian tried hard to hold back his grin at the neat slices of bread, but failed. The smile faded when he saw how Pippin's hand shook as he reached for the milk. "Use both hands," he advised, keeping his voice low. Pippin's teeth dug into his lip, but he raised the cup without spilling and drank from it with a painstaking lack of haste that must've cost him dearly. A slice of bread came next, and again Julian watched with pity and admiration as Pippin bit neatly at the thin finger of bread and chewed it before swallowing. The taste broke Pippin's control. He moaned, the sound uncomfortably close to ones Julian had heard -and made -- during lovemaking, and crammed the rest of the bread finger into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of milk. The plate and cup were empty soon after, leaving a glossy shine of butter on Pippin's generous mouth and long fingers. "Feel better?"Spoken from the Heart - 21

"I've never tasted anything half so good," Pippin replied, with a simplicity that rang of sincerity. "Hunger's the best spice, so they say." Julian settled back in his chair. "Don't rush yourself, though. If you've not eaten for a while -- how long has it been, anyway?" "I had a mouthful of apple -- they threw the rest away when they caught me. Not that I was running, because I didn't think I'd done anything wrong." "Of course not." Pippin glared at him. "I'm not a fool! I know markets are for selling goods, not giving them away, but this apple was bruised and on the floor. I didn't think it mattered -- it'd been trodden on!" The unfairness clearly stung, and Julian, adjusting his ideas in the light of the new information, couldn't help thinking Pippin was right to feel aggrieved. "And before the apple was yesterday when a woman gave me some bread and cheese for digging a new hole for her privy." Pippin's chin came up. "I'm no beggar. I'll work for my keep." "Admirable. How long have you been in the city?" Caution darkened Pippin's eyes. "A while. Weeks." "You're lying, but I won't press you. It doesn't matter to me, after all." Julian's ready acceptance of Pippin's reluctance to share his story seemed to leave Pippin even more suspicious, but that was no bad thing in Julian's opinion. Country boys weren't necessarily nave and innocent, but they were often easily overwhelmed by the scale of the city. Julian had been born here and he knew its ways instinctively, but that didnt mean he underestimated its dangers. "Ah," Julian said, with an appreciative sniff. "Soup."Spoken from the Heart - 22

His bowl was filled with a thick, meaty stew, tangy with peppers and onions. He'd need to chew mint for an hour to leave his breath fresh enough for Marcus' liking. Pippin's held chicken broth, light and nourishing, shreds of meat giving it some body. It was hot enough that Pippin was forced to drink it slowly, and by the time he had, his face had lost its pallor. "I'm in your debt, sir." Pippin set his spoon down and made a pass at a bow. It wasn't entirely successful from a seated position with a table in the way. "You must tell me how I can repay you. Is there a task I could perform? Do you need--" "A privy dug? No, I thank you." "There must be some way I can repay you." Pippins persistence was charming, with the potential to become irritating. Julian waved in dismissal. "'An act of kindness brightens the dullest hour." He raised his eyebrows. "Sir Cyril? From Mountains and Molehills? Not familiar with it? Its one of Werskins wittiest comedies, in my opinion." "Its a play?" Pippin sounded doubtful enough to have Julians mouth hanging ajar until he collected himself. Showing surprise was uncouth. Showing ones back teeth to the audience, unforgivable. "Why, yes, its a play. Where youre from, do they not have a theater close by? Or do you make do with the traveling troupes?" He supposed the smaller villages and hamlets would be too remote to make a trip to a playhouse feasible, but few places were too small not to be on a troupes route. "Ive never seen a play or a troupe." Pippin shrugged indifferently. "Why would I wish to see liars prance about spinning falsehoods?"Spoken from the Heart - 23

Julian cleared his throat. "Ah. Youre from the Westerlings." Pippins lips set mutinously. "You say that like it marks me as a provincial lout with straw for brains. Yes, I am, but Im here, arent I? I left." "So you did, but it seems youve brought some baggage with you." "Plays arent real," Pippin explained kindly. "Theyre stories at best, and the wise man deals in facts." "Yes, well, Im an actor," Julian told him with some asperity, "and if I act, I eat, its as simple as that. I entertain folk. I put a smile on their face, a tear in their eyes, and a thought in their hollow, empty heads. Not my words, no, but I breathe life into ink on paper, I make characters who exist only in a playwrights mind live and stride the stage, if only for a few hours." He paused and realized midway through his impassioned speech hed stood and raised his voice, declaiming, not speaking. A patter of applause from the tables around him had him bowing in polite acknowledgement before he sank gracefully into his chair. Pippin was silenced, his eyes wide, the ready color rising in his face once more. "Im sorry for overwhelming you with my eloquence." Pippin shook his head. "Ive never met anyone like you before. Youre an actor? Thats all you do?" The incredulity in his voice was enough to make Julian cast up his eyes. "Yes, Im an actor. Currently with the Pinnacle Theater, and were about to start rehearsals for Silence Falls. You don't know it? No matter. Its a tragedy. Very epic. The stage cant stand empty while we rehearse, of course, so were alsoSpoken from the Heart - 24

performing a comedy. I have a role in that, a trifling one to allow me time to learn my lines for the tragedy. I work long hours, I sweat, I labor--" "I wager not as much as I did taking in the wheat harvest last year with a storm approaching. I didn't see my bed for two nights." "You'd be surprised." Julian studied Pippin. "You seem to have a glimmer of intelligence. Please don't make me label you as stupid. We come from different worlds, but if I promise not to make any of the Westerlings jokes I'm sure you're bored to tears of hearing--" "They joke about us?" Green eyes went wide and shocked. Julian cursed himself, but even as he scrambled for a way to retrieve the situation, he saw the amusement in those green eyes and narrowed his own. "Neatly done. Was any of your outrage and ignorance real?" Pippin shrugged. "It's true I've never seen a play, but my words belonged to my father, not me. I have nothing against actors. How can I when I've never met one -until now." "I'm not used to being someone's first." The mild innuendo seemed to pass over Pippin's head. He smiled, a frank, friendly grin that kindled an answering warmth in Julian. "Still hungry?" Pippin patted his flat stomach. "Yes, but I'll not impose further on your generosity." "I think I could stretch my generosity sufficiently to buy you a pie to take with you." There was something intoxicating about being the benefactor. Maybe this was how Marcus felt -- no. His largesse came with a priceSpoken from the Heart - 25

attached. Julian wanted nothing but the comfortable assurance that Pippin was well-fed, for today at least. Pippin lowered his gaze to the table. "I wish" "What?" "I want to do something to thank you." "Some might say you already did." Pippin looked puzzled. Julian sighed and tapped his mouth meaningfully. "Oh!" Pippin shook his head, the tousled locks of hair falling into his eyes. Washed, his hair would be the color of a copper penny. Cut by scissors, not hacked off by a knife, and it would frame his face beautifully. "I didn't choose that, and you didn't want to do it. I could tell. You were just being gracious. It doesn't count." "I wish I could think all my friends would see it in that light." "You wouldn't get into trouble?" "For helping justice? No. For using your mouth as if I was desperate for release -- for that, I'd get teased. Mercilessly. If you wish to repay me, wipe what happened between us from your memory." "I'm sorry." Pippin's voice was a stifled mutter. "I didn't realize how -- what an awkward -- I'm so sorry, sir." "It's done. Forget it. Please." Julian rose. "I'll leave the price of a pie with Joe. He'll give it to you when you leave, but for now, stay, rest a while. It's not too busy, and they won't rush you out of the door." "You're leaving?" Pippin swallowed and made a valiant attempt to smile. "May fortune smile upon you." "And you." Julian paused. "One thing. Your name. What is it?"


For a moment, he thought Pippin would refuse or lie, but when he got his answer, it rang true. "Alex Martin." Pippin glanced up at him. "I like 'Pippin' better." Julian shook his head. "Let Pippin disappear," he advised. "Welcome to the city, Alex Martin. May your time here be happy and profitable." He knew an exit line when he delivered it. Without a backward glance, he made his way to the entrance, leaving sufficient coin with Joe to ensure Pippin -- Alex -- would be able to put food in his belly for a few more days when the pie was a distant memory. Joe weighed the coppers in his hand. "He seems a likely lad, but he's not meant for the city." "I can't drag him to the gates and send him home to his mother," Julian said. "For all I know, what waits for him back there is worse than what he'll meet here." "The Westerlings are narrow-minded folk, but they're not unkind." Joe pursed thin lips. "Of course, sometimes a slap is easier to bear than being prayed over. They honor the Lady to the letter there." "You recognized his accent?" "Hard to miss." Joe raised his eyebrows. "Your theater needs a handyman to help build the new sets. Duncan was in here earlier and mentioned it. Does the lad know how to use a hammer and a saw?" "How should I know?" Julian curbed the irritation in his voice, unsure of its cause. Joe was being kind, and it was ridiculous to feel fettered, as if invisible ties were binding him to Alex. What he'd done had been a passing kindness. To have it extended, to see the lad every day, the blaze of hair catching the eye, would bedifficult. "Mention it to him, if you wish." "Me?" Joe's eyebrows rose in a nicely calculated show of surprise. "I could, but if you were to take himSpoken from the Heart - 27

along there tomorrow and introduce him to Duncan, well, you're someone who is someone. He'd get the job sure as snow in winter." "Not if he doesn't know what he's doing. And save the flattery for someone more gullible than I. What did you call my Lucius? Unconvincing and thin?" "You were younger then," Joe told him. "It's a role for an older man. In a decade, you'll play him again and I'll weep at your death. For now, there's a boy in there with his mother's milk still wet on his cheek and he reminds me too much of my sister's son for me to let him walk out of here alone." Julian glanced back into the dining room. Alex was standing now, a serving maid fluttering around him, a puzzled, pleased smile on his face as he tried to answer her sallies. He was tall, handsome, and he wouldn't stay out of trouble for an hour. With a sigh, he caught Alex's eye and beckoned to him. Alex made a clumsy bow to the serving maid, which had her giggling, then made his way to Julian. "I have a question for you," Julian said, without preamble. "A hammer, wood, nails -- you're familiar with them?" "Well, yes. On a farm there are fences to build, barns, sheds, furniture You wish me to build you something? Gladly, sir." Alex looked eager to begin. Julian hadn't realized how heavy a burden gratitude must be that Alex wished to shed it so quickly. "Not I." The eagerness disappeared, snuffed like a candle. Feeling like a brute, Julian added hurriedly. "The carpenter at the theater has need of an assistant. If you have the necessary skills, I will take you there tomorrow and introduce you to him. Duncan's a good man, though his tongue's as sharp as his tools at times. Well?"Spoken from the Heart - 28

Again the bow. "I'm grateful for your kindness." Alex sounded subdued, not elated. "As to that, you have Joe here to thank. It was his suggestion, not mine." "Oh." Alex gave Joe a smile as wide as his mouth could stretch. "You're very good, sir. I thank you." "No need," Joe said. "Something tells me you're not afraid of hard work, and it's a shame not to give you the chance to prove it." A family entered, the children clamoring to be fed, their parents looking harassed, and Julian tucked his hand under Alex's elbow and steered him back out onto the street with a farewell nod to Joe. "This has been the strangest day," Alex said. "I feelI'm not sure how I feel. Will you tell me what time I should meet with you, sir? And if you could tell me how to get to the theater, it would be a kindness." Julian smiled at him, a wry smile. "It might, but leaving you to your own devices would most assuredly not be. You can come home with me. If Duncan takes you on, we'll find you lodgings, but until then, I prefer to keep you where I can see you." He remembered Marcus would be calling for him later and temporized, "Or at least in a safe place. Come. We can go there now." Alex pulled free of Julian's loose grip. "Sir, I've no wish to seem ungrateful, but--" "I sleep alone," Julian told him, guessing the root cause of Alex's hesitation. "That is, I have aI'm involved with someone. I've no interest in repeating our earlier encounter, trust me." "Oh." For a moment, he fancied he saw a puzzling flash of disappointment in Alex's eyes, but it passed. "Then once again, I'm--"Spoken from the Heart - 29

"If the words 'kind', 'grateful' or 'in your debt' pass your lips again, I will demonstrate Alicia's scream of anguish from A Rake and a Rogue. When done properly, it's said to crack glass. I can't reach that high a note, but I wager I could leave you with a headache." Alex bit his lip. "I just don't know why you're being so, so" "If it helps, neither do I. We can set the puzzle aside for now, hmm?" Julian gave Alex's face a careless pat and gestured down the street. "Come. It's not too far a walk. I could afford a better neighborhood these days, but I spend so much time at the theater that it suits me better to be close to it." And here he was among friends. Known, respected, liked. Unlike Alex, Julian was content to stay with the familiar.


Chapter Three Alex matched his steps to Julian's, sometimes forced by the crowds to fall behind, but never losing sight of Julian's dark head of hair. He was desperately tired, his head pounding and his mouth bruised, but the food had given him sufficient strength to make the walk less of an ordeal than it would have been an hour earlier. The city was around him, its sights and smells assaulting him, its noise overwhelming, but when he was close to Julian it went away, giving him a moment's respite as he stared into that handsome face, the expressions chasing over it like cloud shadows on a field, the well-formed mouth so quick to smile or twist in a grimace. Julian was all light and movement, his dark blue eyes alive with interest in everything around him. He dwarfed the city, reducing it to no more than a background for him, a piece of scenery to pose against. Alex had often pictured the city, lying on his back in the hay, chewing a juicy apple, tired from a day's work, but content enough. It had glittered in his mind's eye, the buildings white and tall, the streets smooth underfoot. He'd dressed the people in rich, bright colors, made their faces smiling ones, their voices low and pleasant. He'd been a fool. The people here were like the ones back home. Some were good-hearted, with time to spare for others, some were wrapped up in worry, or indifferent, hard. And though the buildings rose high, they were wood and brick, not gleaming marble, and the city smelled. It smelled worse than anything Alex's nose had encountered, a thick miasma of too many lives lived too close. The gutters were littered with refuse, the walls stained with piss in every alley. He'd heard people talkSpoken from the Heart - 31

of the new duke cleaning the place up in the years since he'd succeeded his father, but on the evidence Alex had seen, the duke had a mountain to shift with a teaspoon. Still, it was impressive. He'd wandered past fountains, water flying high into the air, rainbows dancing around the jets, seen windows, glass windows, wide and clear, and behind them a treasure trove of goods for the buying. In Dellin, there was a store where a man could trade for bolts of cloth or groceries, maybe a pretty piece of china or a pair of fancy shoes for his lady. Alex had been there once as a child and stood in front of the display of candy, his mouth sagging open as he'd turned his penny in his pocket and tried to choose between the brightly colored pieces of sugar. He'd thought that store as fine a place as the Realm had to offer and here it would be relegated to a side street, unremarkable, insignificant. Here, horses drawing carriages swept by, the horses fine-boned, their coats glossy, the carriages light as soap bubbles. He'd seen one tricked out in silver, burning his eyes in the sunlight, a lady inside it, her pretty, petulant face bored. She'd fanned herself slowly as she waited for the street to clear for her, diamonds glittering in her ears and around her neck. Her skin had been as pale as moonbeams, her hair a careless tumble of dusky curls piled high on her dainty head. She'd been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, though it wasn't because she was as remote as the stars that he didn't feel even a small prick of desire, only the same admiration he'd have given a perfect white rose, sweetly scented, its petals like white velvet. Julian led him away from the clamor and down a quiet street, wide enough for a carriage. Evidence horses had been here lay in steaming heaps here and there, butSpoken from the Heart - 32

Julian took care to cross the street where it was clear, frowning when he reached the other side and saw that a straw was stuck to his boot. "Damn those cleaners," he muttered, removing the straw and tossing it aside. "They're supposed to tend to the street twice a day, but they pocket their wages and leave the filth to mount." The street didn't look that neglected to Alex, who could see a boy with a bucket and spade toiling away at the far end, but he wisely kept his mouth closed. He'd heard his mother grumble like that, her hands busy, and she'd never wanted comforting or correcting. "Here." Julian gestured at a narrow slip of a house, the bricks a dark red, the door painted glossy black. "I'm so rarely at home that I don't require a mansion. This suffices." "It's finer than any place I've seen," Alex said diplomatically. In truth, his father's farmhouse was much larger, but that was made of wood, with tiny windows, the glass thick and close to opaque. "Really?" Julian affected a casual unconcern, but Alex could tell he was pleased. "Well, come in." Alex stepped over the threshold, assailed by nervousness again. He'd heard tales of the city and the wickedness to be found there. It was ironic that so far, the wickedest person in it seemed to be him. One appleand they'd been willing to cut-- His thoughts shuddered away from the penalty he'd avoided and the one he'd endured. Julian had helped him and Alex's instincts told him Julian was to be trusted, even though he sensed there was a gulf between them when it came to understanding each other. The house smelled comfortingly of bacon and bread, though it was stuffy, as if the windows and doors rarelySpoken from the Heart - 33

stood open. A formal room lay to the right of the entrance, full of couches upholstered in deep blue brocade and low, wide tables of redwood patterned in some way, intricate lines of black swirling over them, but Julian led Alex through a doorway to the left, into a shabbier, infinitely more comfortable parlor. Here, the chairs and couch were a mismatched collection and the fireplace was gray with ash, invitation cards and letters littering the mantelpiece above. A bottle that had once held wine lay on its side on a table cluttered with goblets and playing cards, tossed down as if the game had ended abruptly. "I had some friends over," Julian explained, following Alex's gaze. "Though I can't blame them for the disorder. It probably looked worse before they came." "I like it," Alex said, with more sincerity than before. His mother had kept the farmhouse rigidly neat, and the relaxed, homely clutter Julian lived in would have shocked her. Alex found himself envying the freedom it represented. "Well, let me show you around." The tour was necessarily brief because the house was small, but Alex still found himself marveling at the pump in the kitchen -- no buckets to carry! -- and fascinated by the fitted chamber pot in a small room under the stairs, a little cramped, but fresh-smelling enough. "I had heard of them, but never quite -- where does it all go?" Julian shrugged. "Down a pipe into the sewers, and from there, Lady only knows! Why would you care? I do know the bath water is directed down the same pipeSpoken from the Heart - 34

to keep it fresh. Speaking of which, a bath wouldn't come amiss for you." Baths were taken in the stream when it was warm enough, dunking down as the water rushed by, shivering as he raced back to the house, his balls shrunk tight. In winter, he did without, settling for a skimped wash of the places that showed until his mother took issue with him. Then he had to drag in the wooden tub late at night and set it before the kitchen fire to be filled with buckets of cold water and a single kettle of boiling water to take the chill off. It was a laborious task, and he always ended up chilled to the bone and with a splinter or two in his behind, the strong-smelling soap leaving his skin itchy. "I thank you, but I bathed not a week ago." If falling into a stream counted, and in Alex's mind it most certainly did. He'd twisted his ankle on that treacherously mossy stone, too. "So polite. So grubby," Julian mocked. "You'll be between my spare room sheets tonight, and I trust you'll sleep soundly, but not until you've scrubbed the stink of the streets off you. I'll see about getting you something to wear, too. Your clothing marks you as a country boy, and that's not the impression you wish to give." "It's what I am." Alex knew he sounded sullen, but though he'd quickly realized his clothes were outmoded and made people stare, they were all he had left of home. Considering he'd left it without a backward glance, it was astonishing how protective of it he felt now. "It's what you were," Julian corrected him. "See, the bath is through here." Alex put his head around the door and blinked in surprise. A metal tub, big enough to lie down in, theSpoken from the Heart - 35

sides smooth, was so much more than he'd expected that he became resigned to the idea of bathing. "The hot water comes from here." Julian indicated a large covered pot with a pump handle over it, set on top of a small stove. "See? You open the tap at the bottom and it runs through this pipe and into the bath. Just make sure to refill it and replace the cover." The simplicity and ease of the arrangement was appealing, but the thrifty side of Alex was shocked at the idea of wasting wood or coal to keep water constantly hot. It was true; people in the city did have money to burn. "I'll leave you to bathe and see if I've got anything clean you can wear." Julian eyed him appraisingly. "Yes, you're far wider in the shoulders and taller, but I'm sure I have something that will do until we can go to a tailor." "A tailor?" Alex shook his head. "Sir -- Julian -- I can't allow you to--" "You can repay me from your wages," Julian told him. He chucked Alex under the chin, a careless, friendly caress. "I don't do things by half. It's not in my nature. If I'm sponsoring you, why, you need to be a credit to me. Which means you need to be clean, not dressed in rags, and we must see about a haircut." "My hair is fine." Alex put his hand up to make sure it was still on his head. Julian was so quick to act he half expected it to have been shorn when he wasn't looking. "It will be." Julian left before Alex could voice his objections, and with nothing but an empty room to listen to him, words spoken aloud seemed pointless. He turned to the bath and, after cautiously experimenting with the tap, stood watching it fill. When the hot water was used up, he pumped in cold, letting it gush into the bath to temperSpoken from the Heart - 36

the heat. Steam rose, pale fronds of it curling through the air, and he sniffed the damp air, finding it to be spiced with perfume, a pleasant, vaguely masculine scent of bergamot. He traced the scent to an ambercolored piece of soap in a dish, a soft cloth beside it, and ran his finger over the slick surface of the soap before bringing it to his nose. Beside the faint smell of oranges, it reminded him of Julian. Alex bit his lip, remembering the feel and taste of Julian in his mouth, the clean musk of Julian's skin, the supple hardness of his cock. Slowly, not allowing himself to lose the memories, he undressed, letting his clothes fall to the stone flags of the floor, and stepped into the bath. The heat of the water made his skin flush and prickle, the novelty of the sensation overwhelming. He lay back, stretched out his legs and moaned aloud, the sensuous surge and lap of the water like a light caress. His cock stood up swollen, urgent, and he traced its length with a fingertip, absently aware of his lust, but more occupied with the events of the day. His weariness was bone-deep, his stomach still growling, but he was still conscious of a deep indignation at the treatment he'd received. Fear had choked him when he'd realized what penalty he could face. To lose a fingerhe couldn't imagine the pain, but he kept trying to do just that. His hands curled into fists and he struck the surface of the water, a sob rising in his throat. The humiliation of his ordeal was too fresh to contemplate without shying away from it. Men, foulsmelling, rough, using his mouth with so much contemptuous amusement, not seeing the joke, if there was one, was pointed at them. Julian had seen that the shame was to be shared equally and had still bared his flesh and lowered himself to the same level as the streetSpoken from the Heart - 37

filth. Gratitude, profound enough to make tears come to his eyes, had Alex vowing to repay the man as soon as possible in whatever way Julian wished. Even if -- but Julian had said he had no interest in Alex as a bedmate. Alex took a deep breath and shook himself free of his sour thoughts. He was safe, he'd eaten, and he was wasting this marvelous experience. He sank back under the water until his ears were full of echoes, and then emerged from it, spluttering, and picked up the soap. It lathered at once, leaving the cloth foaming and his skin tingling after he'd scrubbed it clean. He even rubbed some through his hair, his fingers finding dense tangles his mother would have attacked ruthlessly with a wooden comb. He was experimenting with the feel of a soapy hand around his cock, still hard, indifferent to his woes and only concerned because it'd been days since he'd had privacy enough to tend to its needs, when Julian walked in, holding a towel. "Here, this one's clean." Alex squeaked, his hand flying away, then returning as he tried to cover the evidence of his activities. It didn't work, not even when he used both hands and the cloth. Julian chuckled. "I'm sorry to have interrupted you." "You shouldn't -- you should go!" "Why? Because you're naked or because you're hard?" "Both!" "Such a sweet innocent." Julian tossed the towel onto the floor by the bath. "You've seen me, after all, and I didn't blush. It's just skin. Actors tend not to worry about it too much. Why, in Ballad of a Jester, I had sixSpoken from the Heart - 38

changes in one act and had to strip bare in the wings, with no time to return to my dressing room. No one cared." He crouched down by the bath and put his hand on Alex's face, turning it so Alex had no choice but to meet Julian's blue eyes. "You have nothing to fear from me, I swear it. Believe that and do not insult me by flinching and hiding." His gaze dropped, a grin appearing. "Not that you're having much success. You're too well-endowed for a washcloth to be effective." Alex set his teeth, willing his blush to subside. "I'm not -- I know that I'm --" He cast up his eyes and moved his hands away, baring himself. "If you wish to look, as I did at you, then look." Julian shook his head and rose to his feet. "I've never liked staring through glass at what I cannot afford, and I think you'd cost me dearly. Finish what you started. I've left you some clothing outside the door." He left before Alex could find the words to keep him, but finishing what he'd begun was out of the question. Dressed in a forest-green jerkin and black breeches, his feet bare, Alex sought Julian out after his bath. He found his host in the main room, reading a note, a frown creasing his forehead. Julian turned to Alex. "This was just delivered and it seems my company is required elsewhere tonight." "Oh. Then you'll want me to leave. Do you know of a place where I would be permitted to sleep? A park, maybe, or the side of the river?" Alex quelled his panic at being left alone. It was foolish. He'd slept outside on his journey to the city, rolled up in a blanket, the night around him potentially filled with all manner of dangers and never given them a thought. The irritating jab of a stone of twig, the threat of rain, and his empty stomach - those had seemed far more important.Spoken from the Heart - 39

Everyone knew wolves didn't come this far south, anyway. "Why would you do that? I said you may use my spare room." Julian chuckled. "Oh, you're wondering how I could be so carelessly trusting as to leave a stranger here to ransack my belongings and steal whatever he can carry away." "I would never--" Alex took a deep breath. "You know I wouldn't do that, but, yes, it does seem" "Sweetheart, I've nothing worth stealing and five minutes searching would show you that. The furniture is too heavy for you to carry off, my clothes don't fit you well -- though black and green are delightfully dramatic on you, I must say -- and I'll be gone only a few hours." Julian shrugged. "Besides, I'm under the protection of Lord Marcus and everyone around here knows that. He's not a cruel man, but he's possessive of his belongings. If anyone was to steal from me or injure me, he'd take steps to make them regret it." "Oh," Alex repeated. "Is he your, uh, your" Julian gave him a cheerful grin. "He's sponsored my career and in exchange I smile up at the box where he sits, unless his wife is with him, though she's not fond of the theater or me, so that's rare. I also make sure my mouth and ass are available, along with my company, when Marcus is in the mood to be rebellious." The arrangement shocked Alex, but he took care not to let his disapproval show. "She knows about you and she doesn't mind?" "She's not interested in bedsport these days. Not with Marcus, at least. They have three sons and a daughter -or the other way around, I care not -- so the succession to the title is safe. Lady Rose, it's said, breathed a sigh of relief after delivering her last babe, and locked herSpoken from the Heart - 40

bedchamber door. If she opens it to the occasional handsome footman, she does it discreetly, and I'm only an actor, after all. If Marcus was dallying with one of her friends, she'd care, but me? No. I prove what dreadful taste Marcus has and how impossible he is to live with. I'm very useful to them both." "I can't imagine anything so... " Alex ran out of words, but rallied. "Should you be telling me this?" "Well, it's common knowledge among--" Julian paused and gave Alex a charmingly rueful smile. "No. No, I should not. Ignore me. Actors aren't known for their discretion, and I'm going to talk myself into trouble one of these days. Lord Marcus is a happily married patron of the arts who's kindly extended his interest in general to include my career in particular. 'Let that stand as the truth and let falsehood and rumor sit where they may.'" Alex was learning when to spot the moments when Julian borrowed words. His voice became resonant and his body slipped gracefully into a dramatic pose. "Is that from a play as well?" Julian nodded. "Treacherous Night. It could be due for a revival, but the public lost interest in political dramas. With the new duke, though, hmm... Maybe." "I've heard about the duke," Alex said, determined not to seem completely ignorant, though the duke's power didn't extend as far as the Westerlings, so the news he was the new ruler of Sorrent had been greeted with a shrug or a grunt for the most part. "Is it true he made his guard dress in black for a week when his cat died?" "Indeed it is. Dear little Stripes. The brute scratched Marcus once, and he had to smile through his teeth and pet the creature." Julian flung his arm around Alex'sSpoken from the Heart - 41

shoulders. "We've hours to pass before I need to dress and leave you. Why don't we get a drink and you can tell me all about yourself. Every detail." Flattered, if uneasily aware there was little to tell, Alex accepted a tankard filled with cider strong enough to make his head swim. His mother made apple juice, but never allowed it to ferment. The smell and taste were familiar enough, but the mellow happiness that followed was new. He found himself babbling, his hand on Julian's arm, as he tried to spin his story into something worth hearing. After a while, smiling to himself, Julian left the room and returned with a plate of cheese sandwiches, the bread lacking the nutty taste Alex was used to, but fresh enough, the cheese sharp and strong. Somehow, the cider in his glass became water, cool enough to be refreshing, and the room steadied. "Am I drunk?" "You were getting that way," Julian replied. "I forgot your belly was still mostly empty. Forgive me. So, your father wanted you to marry?" "I think he knew it wasn't likely that I would. Father was willing to let me work a field and keep the profits, though the land wouldn't have belonged to me, of course." No one split up a farm. Land was precious and went to the firstborn, in this case Alex's sister, Larissa. Alex would only get land of his own if he married a firstborn, and they were so sought-after that even the plainest, most foul-tempered had their choice of partner. "It sounds dull but safe. No one caught your eye?" Alex shrugged. "Not really. And to live and die within a stone's throw of my father's farmno. I could not. So I took my leave of them and set off for the city."Spoken from the Heart - 42

"With no coin? No belongings?" Alex smiled sourly. "I had both when I set out, but the road is hard on the trusting. My money was stolen one night as I slept in the common room of an inn, my pack taken from me by a river I crossed when it was too high. I was lucky it took only my spare clothing, not my life. That was some ten days ago. I've lived on rabbits and berries ever since, until I reached the city, that is." "It's a month's journey to the Westerlings on foot," Julian mused. It was longer than that to Alex's home, but Alex didn't correct him. People never seemed to realize how big the Westerlings were. "You've come a long way." Alex yawned, sleepiness overtaking him like a wave. Outside, the sky had darkened and he was used to going to bed early to save on candles. Julian had lamps, not candles, giving off a blaze of light, steady and golden. "Mmm. Long way. Don't want to go back. Might go south. S'warm down there." "Your skin would fry and the sun would burn out your eyes." Julian stroked Alex's hair, his fingers gentle. "It's an inhospitable land. This city is by far the best place to live in the Realm." "Have you traveled far yourself?" Julian laughed, pushing back his dark hair with an impatient thrust when it fell into his eyes. "Lady, yes! From one end of the Realm to the other when I was a journeyman actor in a troupe. I've sweated in the south, with the sand of the desert in my teeth, the stage gritted over with it, and in your own land, with the faces in the audience suspicious and applause scarce as smiles. I've performed before nobility and peasants, forgotten my lines and been beaten soundly for it, gone on stage with my head pounding from fever or my gut boiling fromSpoken from the Heart - 43

eating spoiled meat. I've been rich, I've been poor, and my head's crammed full of words." "It sounds exciting." Alex yawned again, wider than before, his jaw cracking. He gave Julian an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I'm just so tired." "Of course you are. I'll need to be leaving soon, so why not take yourself to bed and I'll see you in the morning." Julian made everything so simple. Alex used the chamber, drank another cup of water to take care of his dry throat, and followed Julian up the staircase to the two bedrooms, a lamp of his own swinging in his hand. His room was small, the sloping ceiling by the window making him duck, though it was inches higher than his head, but the bed was wider than he was used to, the covers clean and soft. He folded his borrowed clothing carefully and set it atop a chest at the foot of the bed, then turned out the lamp. His bed greeted him like a friend, and the cider made his passage into dreams a swift one. When he woke some hours later, it was to confusion and terror. He'd dreamed of the square, the men surrounding him, all clamoring for his mouth and more, the guard smiling and stepping aside. Rough hands had grabbed and mauled his flesh, and he'd experienced the pain of being entered, split open, broken. He gave a strangled gasp, his heart pounding, his skin wet. He fought free of the hot, damp sheets and sat up, glancing around him wildly in search of something familiar before he remembered where he was. With Julian. He sighed, the tension leaving him, and passed a trembling hand across his sweat-wet brow. He was with Julian. Safe.Spoken from the Heart - 44

The house was quiet, but outside Alex's window, the city was still awake. Close by, a dog barked a warning at a crowd of people passing by, their voices overly loud and rough with drink, and beyond that was the hum of the city itself, a ceaseless buzz, a hive of people, restlessly, aimlessly moving. Exhaustion -- and the cider -- had helped Alex to fall asleep, but he wondered if he'd ever get used to the noise outside. It filled his head, pushing out thought. He went over to the small window, opening it and breathing in the warm night air. It stank, the whole city did, but it was fresher than the air in his room, ripe with his fear. He breathed in deeply, a stray breeze playing over his bare skin, cooling it. The moon had risen, the Lady riding the skies, silver-white, serene, illuminating his view with a soft, pearly light. A line or two of a children's verse ran through his head. Ladylight, soft and bright, shine down on me tonight. Bring me wishes, bring me smiles, light my steps along the miles. The Lady had lit his journey, but he'd clung to the shadows. They'd felt safer. His room looked out onto a small garden that was overgrown with weeds from the little he'd seen of it, backed by an alleyway leading behind the houses. On the other side of the alleyway, the pattern was repeated; another row of gardens, another row of houses. He could smell cut grass and compost, the homely scents leaving him melancholy. Someone nearby clearly took better care of their garden than Julian. Alex had left the farm vowing never to turn another shovel of earth, pick an apple, or weed a field, but in that moment he wanted to plunge his hands deep into the living soil and let it dirty his hands in an honest way, dirt he could scrub away under a pump.Spoken from the Heart - 45

The bath had left his skin clean, but he couldn't scour away the taint of being used. He put his fingers to his lips, bile rising as he remembered the second man, whose cock had been dark with grime, a louse crawling out of the thick thatch of reddish hair surrounding it. The guard had grabbed his hair and forced him to open his mouth, and the revulsion he'd shown had made the man before him laugh, a snickering, jeering chuckle. He stuck his head out of the window, desperate to avoid throwing up, and shuddered his way through a paroxysm as his body attempted to void itself of memories as well as the contents of his stomach. When it ended, he sank to the floor, leaning back against the smooth, cool plaster, and brushed impatiently at the tears trickling down his face. Baby tears. He was a grown man, too old to find refuge in crying or whining. He bit his lip, wondering if he was still alone in the house. He really needed to piss again, but he didn't want to disturb Julian. With no way to relight the lamp, he couldnt search for a chamber pot under the bed by anything but touch, and his groping fingers encountered nothing but dust and the light, clinging brush of cobwebs. Julian's housekeeping left something to be desired, but Alex was in no mind to be critical of the man. As noiselessly as possible, he opened the bedroom door and peered out. Silence greeted him, silence and darkness. The door to Julian's room stood ajar. Not troubling to dress, Alex scampered down the stairs, heading first to the kitchen for water to rinse his mouth of the foul taste clinging to it. It felt odd to drink when his need to piss was gaining intensity, but he gulped the water down until it was all he could taste, andSpoken from the Heart - 46

then relieved his more pressing need in the room under the stairs. He was tired, but the garden drew him more than his bed. He walked through the kitchen into the tiny passageway Julian used to store all manner of oddments and slid back the bolt on the door leading outside. He hesitated, aware of his lack of clothing. Something soft brushed his arm, and he jumped and then smiled at his fears. A cloak hanging from a peg on the wall, no more than that, a sign, surely, that the Lady wanted him outside where she could see him. He wrapped the cloak around him, marveling at the quality of the finely woven cloth, light, yet warm, and stepped out into the walled garden. He was as ignorant of cultivated flowers as Julian probably was, but herbs were useful and his mother's kitchen garden had been full of them -- wandering tendrils of leafy green mint, rosemary growing in tall spikes, a dozen others that she'd used to flavor and preserve their food. He could smell mint now and guessed at some point the tangle of green on either side of the narrow brick path had been a cultivated garden, producing vegetables for the household. He walked a few yards down the path, the bricks uneven under his feet, moss furring the cracks, and bent down to investigate what looked likeyes, it was! Rhubarb stalks, the giant leaves floppy, the stalks rising up stiffly, full of sour, mouth-puckering juice. In daylight, their mottled red and green stalks would please the eye, but for now he let his fingers trace the smooth covering, his mouth watering. Not his to pickeven if he suspected Julian would leave the rhubarb to soften and droop then rot into the soil. He'd learned his lesson.Spoken from the Heart - 47

Maybe he could ask Julian's permission to harvest it and try his hand at a pie. He'd never made one before, but he'd watched his mother deftly roll and cut dough and it didn't look difficult. The garden was some twenty strides long, no more than that, a tiny patch of land, but he could feel his optimism return just from touching something living. It was a timely reminder that even in the city the earth could thrust up strong green fingers, breaking apart the stone. A bench stood under a cherry tree to the right of the path. Alex sat down on it, after brushing aside a few pink and white blossoms that clung to its surface. Spring had turned to summer. He'd left the farm at the busiest time, something that had put a dour, angry frown on his father's face, but there had been no attempt made to stop him. It wasn't the Westerling way to hold someone against their will -- but Alex wished there'd been a single tear shed, a word or two of regret. He'd tried to be a good son. It wasn't his fault that he was weak when it came to the lure of a book, turning the pages eagerly when there was -- always -- something better he could have been doing. "You waste precious hours and candlelight," his father had told him, striking the poetry book from Alex's hands and sending it tumbling to the floor, the pages crushed and the spine broken. "Have done with such foolishness. If you've a mind to be a scholar, help me with the accounts. Your writing's neat enough and you're good at sums." Alex had gathered the book in his hands, loose pages slipping through his fingers, his anger bright and hot as the fire he'd been reading next to. He'd answered meeklySpoken from the Heart - 48

enough -- he was a man grown, but his father would not hesitate to drive his point home with the sharp smack of his belt across Alex's back if provoked -- but it was then that Alex had decided to leave. Better to risk the unknown than stifle under the deadly boredom of the certain. He leaned back against the tree trunk and jumped for the second time when a cat appeared from under a currant bush, winding its way between his legs, as black as the sky above, one ear torn. He reached down and let it sniff his fingers, then tried to stroke it. A hiss and the flash of a paw, claws unsheathed, warned him not to take liberties. Alex liked cats, always had. The barns at home were full of them, existing on scraps and mice, tolerated as useful. His mother picked out a likely mouser from a litter and kept it inside until it grew too old to hunt, but even the house cat wasn't given a lap to sit on. He'd petted them in secret, loving the ecstatic rumble of their purr, so uncomplicatedly happy. He coaxed the cat closer with soft words and, when it was used to him, picked a long blade of grass to tease it with, both of them enjoying the game. Eventually, he was permitted to stroke the rounded head and tickle it under its chin. He didn't try to pick it up. Likely it had fleas, for one thing, and if the cloak fell apart, he didn't care for the idea of those claws digging into his cock or balls. A jaw-breaking yawn reminded him he needed sleep. He stood, bowed gravely to the cat, and went back inside. Halfway up the stairs, he became aware he was no longer alone in the house, and froze. Low voices, interrupted by warm laughter, were coming from Julian's bedroom. He should be able to return to his own roomSpoken from the Heart - 49

unremarked if he was careful, but there were squeaking floorboards to negotiate and closing his door would require a steady hand. Swallowing his nervousness, he tiptoed to the top of the stairs and glanced at Julian's door. It was closed, light spilling out underneath it. Alex's bedroom door had swung shut, and Julian would've assumed Alex was inside, fast asleep, when he walked past with his lover. With sweat pearling his brow, Alex eased open the door to his room and slipped through, closing it with a click that sounded like a hammer blow to his ears. He lost his nerve and scrambled between the sheets, choosing speed over silence. He was sure the murmur from the room beside him would break off, but no voice called out a question, no knock came on the wall. His heart calmed, his body relaxing, muscles loose with relief. Safely in bed, he could think about sleep again and the opportunities the next day would bring. A theaterto go inside one, to become part of Julian's world He smiled drowsily and sighed a long breath into the softest pillow his head had ever lain on. A moan, long, anguished, had him sitting bolt-upright, the sheets clutched in his hands. He wasn't nave. He'd walked into the barn a few years before and seen his brother grunting, red-faced and ridiculous, his pale backside rising and falling as he fucked one of the Seldon twins. Alex hadn't tried to find out which one, but the sounds she'd been making had been like the ones coming out of Julian's bedroom and it'd been obvious she was enjoying Niall's attentions. He lay down again, but sleep was impossible. Each moan, each muttered curse, reached his ears through theSpoken from the Heart - 50

thin wall as plainly as if he was in the bed with them -and picturing that did nothing to cool his heated blood. "You're so hot for me tonight, love," Julian said, his voice husky. "Let me finish undressing at least before you enter me." "No. I need you--" There was a pause, then a rueful laugh. "Very well. You know when you pout at me, I can't resist you. Lady forbid your fine feathers are creased, my peacock." Alex frowned. Julian surely didn't pout like a child. The idea of it offended him. And Marcus sounded insufferably conceited, a typical noble, full of his own importance. "This jerkin is new," Julian said. "It was delivered a full week ago, but I waited to wear it until I saw you." "It sets off your blue eyes." Alex rolled his. "I agree, though, the view without it is even better." "As is the view I have." There was a soft, insinuating purr to Julian's voice. "How would you like me, my lord?" Alex squeezed his eyes shut and put his head under the pillow. He couldn't listen to Julian, his hero, his savior, acting the whore in this way. If Marcus was his lover, why wasn't it a meeting of equals? Julian sounded so anxious to please, as if a word out of place would cost him dearly. Even with the pillow blanketing the sounds from the next room, Alex could hear the unmistakable creak and thump of the bed as the two men moved from speech to action. Julian would be lying on his back, legs spread like a frog's, pinned and pierced. Or on his hands and knees, maybe, offering his backside up, his head lowered submissively.Spoken from the Heart - 51

Alex clenched his teeth and skimmed his hand down his body to slap and maul his cock, stiff again, Lady take it. He punished it with his hand, squeezing his balls roughly, the pain deserved. His unruly cock wouldn't soften and retreat. Alex panted harshly against the sheet and rolled to his back, letting the pillow slide to the floor. Ignoring Julian's pleas for Marcus to take him, use him, have him, Alex settled his hands at the crux of his problem and gentled their touch a little, though the strokes he administered were ruthless enough and the palm cupping his balls was tight against warm flesh. He took himself over, fueling his climax with safe, well-thumbed memories that owed nothing to the day's events or the scene playing out next door. His friend swimming with him, pressing his cool, naked body against Alex's playfully, his arms wrapped around Alex's chest. A kiss between two men hired to help with the harvest one year when the crop had been bountiful. One tall, his skin burned dark by the sun, the other a stocky redhead with a cheerful grin. They'd been talking quietly in a corner of the barn, their work done, their bodies close. Alex had been sent to tell them that supper was ready, but the words had stuck in his throat as he watched them move closer still and kiss, two tired men leaning against each other, the kiss slow, easy. The men had to know there was neither the time nor the privacy to use each other right then, but they'd kissed anyway and taken pleasure from it. Seeing it had left Alex empty, aching to be filled, to be loved in that way. He'd known then what he wanted, even if he dreaded sharing his knowledge with his parents. It wouldn't have mattered too much, not when he wasn't a firstborn, but the Westerlings thought highly of men and women who made strong, healthy babies. Those whose tastes laySpoken from the Heart - 52

elsewhere were tolerated, even grudgingly accepted, but they were rarely held in high regard. They were transients, leaving no legacy, contributing nothing to the community but their own brief span of years. Children were workers for the future, a safeguard for the community. It was everyone's duty to create them, care for them, and train them. Just at the end, as his belly was painted with white, his body shivering with pleasure, he shaped his mouth as if it still held Julian's cock and his cock pulsed once more, a final spurt leaving him. Drained, panting, he lay on the creased sheets and wished for a cloth with which to clean himself. Eventually, he got out of bed and found the heap of clothing destined to be washed, the clothes he'd been wearing when he'd met Julian. His undershirt served well enough as a rag, though his stomach was still sticky. The encounter next door was over, and the two men were talking. Alex sighed with frustration, fatigue dragging at his temper as he got back into bed. He wanted to sleep, and he wished Marcus would take himself home to his wife. "I have news for you." Marcus sounded uncertain now, less the noble, more the man. "I don't think you will be happy to hear it." "Marcus? What's wrong, sweetheart?" Julian's voice had changed, too. It was more natural, as if, the encounter over, both men felt free to leave their assumed roles behind them and be themselves. It should have pleased Alex to hear Julian address Marcus with genuine concern, not what he was beginning to realize had been an assumed servility, but perversely he resented the undeniable intimacy he was witness to.Spoken from the Heart - 53

"I -- the duke has ordered me to --" Marcus faltered. "I'm to lead the diplomatic mission to Serengine, and if all goes well, and there's no reason to doubt it, I'll remain there for a year to smooth over any issues. It's a great honor, of course, and Rose is delighted, already spending a small fortune on gowns, but" "You'll be gone from here for years." Julian's voice was flat. "If you sail, it's a month's voyage, by land, two. Once the winter snows fall, the mountains are impassable and the seas too rough to risk it." "It's -- yes. I will be." "I see." Julian's voice was gentler now. There was a pause, filled perhaps with a soft kiss or a sigh, and then Julian said, "I release you, Marcus. All ties that bind, all promises spoken." The silence that followed seemed endless, but Alex held his breath throughout it, caught up in the drama of the formal renunciation. "I accept and release you likewise," Marcus said finally, his voice heavy with regret. "I wish it hadn't come to this." Julian sighed. "I suppose it was inevitable. You're far too good at politics to be wasted here in the city where everyone knows your skill and takes it into account. Let Serengine be your new hunting ground. I'll wager it's conquered by your charm inside a month, as I was." "It took that long for me to charm you?" Julian snorted with laughter, and Alex heard the bed squeak. "It took one look and well you know it. So was that our final tryst or do you have a farewell gift for me? Mm, let me see, I think I've found something that would suit the purpose excellently well" Alex sighed, retrieved the pillow from the floor, and put it back over his head.Spoken from the Heart - 54

Chapter Four Julian woke to the enticing smell of bacon and a less welcome beam of sunlight striking him full in the face. He rolled to the side to escape it and felt the echo of every urgent caress Marcus had bestowed on him. He'd been used to the point of pain the night before, willingly, yes, but the aftereffects were less pleasant than what had come first. Marcus' cock had been like iron inside him, the thin film of oil coating it making each thrust drive deep. He'd welcomed it, abandoned to a lust that was spiced with loss, admitting finally to himself that Marcus had come to mean a little more than a source of gold and the route to even bigger roles to play. He wasn't going to pine away, lost to melancholy, garbing himself in somber hues, but he was going to miss the man. With a care he would only permit himself when he was alone, he got out of bed and dressed in a robe. He needed to bathe, to cleanse his body and ease the many aches his flesh held, but he was starving. As he walked down the stairs, it occurred to him to wonder how much Alex had heard. Truth be told, he'd all but forgotten the lad was there. Most likely, Alex had been asleep, exhausted by his adventures. They hadn't been that loud, after all One look at Alex's averted face, the tip of a scarlet ear peeping through the red curls, and Julian abandoned wishful thinking. "Good morning, Pippin." "I -- I wish you good day," Alex murmured. "I hope you do not mind that I -- the bacon seemed close toSpoken from the Heart - 55

spoiling, and I swear I have not -- this is for you, not me --" Julian crossed the kitchen and put his hand on Alex's shoulder, swinging him around. "You're my guest," he said, talking to the lad as he would a nervous child. "What I have is yours, and you're right, the bacon needs eating, but there's far too much for just one. Eat with me -- and if you were to let some eggs join the bacon and maybe a slice or two of bread as well" Alex smiled, his flush fading. "I can do that." "I'll brew us tea. I have a blend of leaves from Delcinte that's said to be the duke's favorite, though as to that, I can't say. It's pleasant enough." "Delcinte tea? Really? I've heard of it, but never tried it." Julian tried not to let his surprise show. Tea was no longer the luxury item it'd been in his grandfather's time. Trade treaties had brought the quantity imported up, with a corresponding reduction in price. "Never?" Alex turned back to the frying pan, deftly flipping a sizzling strip of bacon with a fork. "In the Westerlings, we use only what we have within our borders. We don't like to rely on outside crops or merchants to provide what we need. We tried to grow tea, but it needs a hot, damp climate, and for us, when it's hot, it's dry. We do steep herbs and dried flowers to make country tea, of course." Julian grimaced. He'd tasted country tea on his travels with the troupe, and no matter how much each seller had sworn by his recipe, it'd always tasted like wet grass smelled. "Well, I can't start my day without a cup of tea -- real tea -- and if you make the food, I'll brew us a pot. Here, let me get you the eggs"Spoken from the Heart - 56

They were at the stage where their plates were close to empty and the teapot down to its dregs when Julian broached the subject of the night before, choosing bluntness over tactful evasions. "Did we disturb your sleep?" "What? No, of course not." Too late, Alex added, "That is -- you brought someone back with you?" Julian rolled his eyes indulgently. Alex was so transparent. "I shall have to teach you to dissemble with grace. Yes, Lord Marcus returned with me for a while. It's unlikely you'll ever meet him, though. He leaves the city within a week or so on a diplomatic mission and will be gone for a considerable amount of time. Last night we said farewell." He was aware he'd pitched his voice to sound desolate, lost, a fitting tone for a man who'd bid his lover good-bye, but in the small kitchen, at a table covered with crumbs from the fried bread Alex had burned, it seemed excessively dramatic. The one role an actor could not play well -- himself, natural, unaffected. "You'll miss him?" "Actually, I will." Julian abandoned the pose of a bereft man. "He was charming, a skilled enough lover, and generous when it came to supporting me. The rent on this house has been paid to the end of the year, and he's left some money with his banker for me in case I have need of it. Not many men would be so thoughtful at the end of a relationship." He noticed the sour look on Alex's face and raised his eyebrows. "What? You don't know the man, so why the disapproving scowl?" "Last night -- I heard you, yes. I tried not to, but I couldnt block out the sounds. He -- the way you were with him. You were like a stranger." Alex must'veSpoken from the Heart - 57

realized how ridiculous that sounded, given how short his acquaintance with Julian was, because he sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't presume." "I suppose with Marcus I do -- did -- play to his need to be the hero," Julian admitted readily enough. Like many actors, he adored talking about himself. "He never let it show, but he was conscious that I'm an actor and he's a nobleman, and even between the sheets,

davitt, jane - spoken from the heart

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