A Hidden Beauty

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

His eyes throbbed. Though he was still half-asleep, Micah felt every beat of his heart reverberating through his eyelids, etching into his corneas, echoing throughout his skull until rest became impossible, dreams painful. The act of opening his eyes, however, was more difficult than the desire, and he groaned as the merest sliver caused fresh pain to resound into his ears.

“It’s your own fault,” he heard Ewan say. Water splashed. Floorboards creaked. “You know better than to drink so much.”

“I didn’t think it was that much,” Micah muttered. His limbs were heavy, but he lifted a hand to his brow anyway, shielding his vision from the light that flooded it when he finally pried his eyelids apart. “Brandy has never had that effect on me before.”

“Maybe because you never drank your weight in it before.” Ewan appeared at the side of his bed, a glass of water in his hand. Scooping a strong hand beneath Micah’s neck, he supported it in order to help Micah sit up. “Here. Drink this. It won’t take the pain away, but it’ll wash away the feeling that you’ve licked the bottom of the brandy barrel.”

Swallowing the lukewarm fluid was like swallowing sand, but Micah struggled through the discomfort until the glass was nearly empty. He fell back onto the pillow and closed his eyes again.

“The worst part of it is, I don’t even remember the entire evening. I remember dinner, and I remember going to Mr. Dering’s house, and discussing Boston over the first glass of brandy…” Frowning, he tried to grasp the dark wisps of his failing memory. “I think we talked about addictions at one point, though I can’t for the life of me understand how we could have fallen into such a subject.”

Ewan snorted.

“What?” Micah turned bleary eyes towards the other man. “Why does that amuse you?”

“It doesn’t. You do.”

“Why?”

“Because if there is one thing you are, Micah…” Only in privacy did Ewan dare to use his first name, and then, it was usually reserved for when they discussed the most personal of issues. “…it’s unreserved. I don’t believe there’s a subject under the sun you’d find boring. And in the company of Jefferson Dering…” The thought trailed away, but the intent was more than clear.

Micah scowled. “You’re not making me feel better about my comport last night, you know.”

“Oh, is that my job now? Boost your ego when we both know you’ve been trailing after the man ever since you saw his lecture?”

Though Ewan’s tone was light, Micah knew there was truth to his words. With a shake of his head that made all the rocks in his skull tumble together, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

“I probably behaved like a fool last night.”

“Doubtful.”

“He’s never going to agree to meet up with me again.”

“Even more doubtful.”

“He probably thinks—Wait. Why do you say that?”

Ewan poured fresh water into the basin. “Because the man was bound and determined to get you home in one piece last night. The hour was growing late, so I asked Mrs. Ruark where I might find Mr. Dering’s residence. I’d just gone out to fetch you back when I ran into the pair of you.”

“Just because he maintains a sense of responsibility in seeing to a guest, does not necessarily mean he’d request that guest’s return to his home.”

“Perhaps not. Except he took full responsibility for your inebriated state. Not to mention, he seemed quite reluctant to pass you over so I could see you back to our rooms.”

Micah weighed Ewan’s words carefully. He didn’t remember making it back to the inn. There were vague impressions of a tall, slim body pressed to his, a strong arm thrown around his back, but he’d credited those to his disjointed dreams, images that dissipated with the dawn but always left him somehow unfulfilled. The thought that he might have spoiled the opportunity of getting to speak with Jefferson Dering again made him cringe. He sincerely hoped Ewan was correct in his assessment.

“I’d like you to deliver a note to Mr. Dering for me this afternoon,” Micah said. “With one of the gifts I brought for him. Hopefully, that will smooth over any discord that he might have about last night.”

“I really don’t think it’s necessary.” He caught Micah’s frown and shrugged. “Of course. As you wish.”

As Ewan finished the preparations for shaving, Micah rubbed at the stubble darkening his jaw. All he could do was hope that he hadn’t made a complete ass out of himself, and that Jefferson Dering was flattered enough to grant him another meeting. He did not wish to return to Boston with his tail tucked between his legs. It was difficult enough explaining away his studies and his poetry to his family; they would consider his premature homecoming as further evidence that he was wasting his time.

He didn’t want to think he was. If he didn’t have his poetry, Micah was entirely certain he wouldn’t have anything.