SIX
That day, when Blair went downstairs for breakfast, his head thudded heavily. He could only vaguely remember the events of yesterday night, and although he was sure he had said some embarrassing things, he couldn't recall what exactly they were.
Downstairs, the duke read his newspaper, his plate empty already. He never started without Blair, so he was curious as to what made the changed. He greeted him good morning, and he replied, but that was all of their exchange.
"Today we can begin on my adolescent years," the duke said, and Blair nodded. "It will answer the question you asked me yesterday night."
"The question I asked?"
The duke raised an eyebrow. "Whether or not I was experienced in making love."
"Oh, yes. Let's begin."
He propped the paper on the table before his, and then dipped his fountain pen into the inkwell.
"Let's see. I was around fourteen when I was sent into a boarding school too, the same as Charles. However, we weren't in the same grade, and rarely saw one another. We were in different dorms, and I was bullied by the other boys my age. You see, growing up, I had an effeminate face, and I was neither strong nor well built, so I was prey in a school of hungry pubescent boys.
"My first time happened in my dorm-room, a room I was sharing with another boy like me, expect he was ugly, pock-faced and oily, and the boys only verbally abused him, or occasionally threw balls at his head. However, one night, I awoke to someone holding me down—pinning me down—and covering my mouth. In the dark, I screamed and struggled, all too used to it after what the duchess did to me, but it was even more horrible there.
"I woke up the next day bruised all over, and I had no idea who my attackers were. Some said they were the boys a year up, others said they were from our class. I did not know. All the boys who tormented me had the same voice, same eyes, and they blended into one. I could not point them out, and the headmaster would not listen to me. Locks were not allowed in our school, and I did not want to go home, either."
Emmanuel looked over to Blair. "Does this answer your question, Blair?"
It was one of the few times he called his name, and Blair felt the iciness. He was humiliated. He regretted asking deeply, but he knew he could not change the past. He nodded, pressing his eyes together.
"But I knew it was because the boys were the sons of influential men. Politicians, lawyers, and even ministers. They would never be punished, and I had to deal with them myself. Nights after nights I stayed awake, and they knew, and stayed away, but I couldn't keep it up. I started falling asleep in class, and I was unable to concentrate on my studies, and teachers reprimanded me. Then one day, I was sent to the headmaster, and he gave me a trade.
"The headmaster at that time, and write his name down, clearly, Leopold Robert Shelton, told me I could go to his room; or I could stay in mine."
There was the banging of a fist on a table, and Emmanuel turned to see Blair standing, hand on the table.
"Tell me you did not—!"
"I did," Emmanuel replied calmly. "I became known as the school whore. The boys stayed away from me, but it was scribbled on all my books and on my desk. I read it, page after page of insults. I never knew why, but I could not throw it away. I thought I deserved it. Reading those dirty words made me understand, you see. It wasn't a trade at all. I had done such things with an old man of my free will."
"No, you didn't, Emmanuel!" Blair gritted his teeth. "You—you were sodomized by force."
"I did what I had to in order to survive. I became a whore." Emmanuel smiled. "You don't know how many times I've done it with men. And women. Even after I left school. For the smallest things, too. How did you think I convinced the duchess to allow me to become the duke, even after the death of Charles? There were her other two sons, after all. I had to get the title, get this position, somehow."
"But you did it for a reason."
"For wicked reasons." Emmanuel turned around, then slowly sat down upon the couch. "It wasn't as though I didn't have other choices, either. After I grew older, I still wanted the promise of safety over my head. I had rather be the headmaster's 'woman' than a woman for everyone to use."
Blair only looked at him, face pale.
"And you've felt it, haven't you, yesterday?"
Blair didn't respond.
"I touch men. I don't realize it, at times, but I do. At times I touch men, and they realize before I do, and when the time comes, I can't reject them. And if I sleep with those I employ, I have to let them go. I cannot continue on this sinful path." He lowered his voice. "So don't, no matter what, get involved with me."
Blair stayed silent.
He tried to speak, but he didn't know what to say.
He had always looked down upon the rich. He had always thought their life held no suffering, that they were ignorant to society's problems, and only ever worried about having coffee or tea with their scones.
And now what?
Now he had to write the biography of a man who had been through so much—been through sexual abuse, rape, and so much other tortures he could not simply describe, nor imagine.
What words he didn't say, what stories he didn't tell, hurt him more. They left it to his imagination.
He had noticed the way he moved. He had thought it was simply because he was a nobleman, but now he understand. Such movements were far too graceful for a normal man, for an innocent man.
He had been changed. He had adapted to this world, and he knew of his charm, and used them to his advantage.
And as much as Blair hated to admit it, he was attracted to this charm, this camellia-like man. Far lovelier than any woman, with his knowing smile and fair, milky skin.
And then he walked towards Emmanuel, and when they were but a hair's breadth away, noses touching, the duke only a few inches taller, Blair thought, long and hard.
Was it a sin to love another man? Not for his body, but for who he was. For the strange, the blatant charm shrouded in mystery, the strength despite his vulnerabilities, the kindness he didn't believe he had?
"If that's what you wish for, Duke. But I will stay by your side when you remember such sorrowful things."
"And then will you leave me?" Emmanuel's voice was so low, so soft, he sounded much younger than he was. He closed his eyes and thought of the last time someone said such a thing. He couldn't remember. No—he did.
It must've been his brother. Yes, back then, he said that once, maybe it was before he went to boarding school. He had hugged him, too, so tightly. And he wished he'd never let him go.
"No, I won't."
"Yes, you will."
The duke turned away.
"Once this is over, you'll leave. Just like everyone else."
And with that, the duke turned, and left the parlor room.
Blair couldn't understand, as he stared at the door. What had he said wrong? Why did the Duke leave? Why was he upset?
There was a thing about him; he couldn't trust Blair, and always pushed him away. He knew, for that night, and the sequential days, he had breakfast and dinner in his room. He asked Flemings if he was fine, and Flemings responded that at times, he preferred to be alone.
One day, Flemings said he had received a letter.
Blair read it, but did not recognize the name, Laurence O' Sullivan.
The letter was simple, it said:
"Dear Blair Millais,
Greetings from London. My name is Laurence O' Sullivan and I am a journalist for the London Times. I heard you are writing a biographical novel for the Duke of Thornton from Morris Davis. Would you and the Duke of Thornton agree to an interview about the upcoming novel and the rumors shrouding the fall of the Dukedom of Thornton? You can reach me at the following address. I look forward to hearing from you, as a fellow writer. Thank you for your time."
Crumpling it, Blair tossed it into the fireplace, which Flemings had started to light up some weeks ago, as autumn came and winter was around the corner. Nearly two months had passed, and yet Blair knew nothing of Emmanuel.
For example, what did the fall of the dukedom of Thornton mean?
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