The morning, Blair woke up in a daze.

Emmanuel had walked him to his room after that, and simply parted with a "Have a good-night, Blair. I enjoyed the present a lot."

Blair didn't know which one he referred to.

The kiss seemed surreal—too surreal to believe. After the kiss he had grown extremely warm. The whole night, his chest was tight, and he could not bring himself to focus on anything.

They had kissed. Emmanuel had kissed him, but they were men. But then again, Christopher was a man, and the two had done such things. Had Emmanuel saw him that way, too?

It had been his first kiss, if he didn't count the time a girl named Sophia kissed him when he was twelve. She must've been nine, and Blair was shocked at the girl's courage, but it had not counted. Not for him. That kiss had not made him feel hot or restless.

Did he love Emmanuel, in that way?

Love. The word was strange. Blair had wrote a number of romances, and always thought he would settle down with a nice girl and have a family. It was what everyone did, wasn't it? To love a man was wrong.

It was a sin.

Blair had not thought of rejecting the notion although he knew it was going to happen. No, truth was, that night after the ballet, when he held his sleeve, he had wanted something. Was it that?

If so, what Emmanuel said that night while drunk was right. Blair was being confusing, and truth was, he was confused himself. He had always thought of Emmanuel as beautiful, but he always thought it was only natural, akin to admiring a portrait or statue. He didn't think that he had such—such lustful thoughts.

When Flemings came with a jug of water, and poured it into his basin, he splashed his face with hot water before getting dressed, once more in a simpler outfit, for the holidays had passed.

When he went down, all had seemed normal again, for the servants had cleaned up the front hall, and Emmanuel was down for breakfast again, tea and newspaper at hand. At the sight of him, Blair casted his eyes downward, and ate quickly.

"New Years' is coming," Emmanuel remarked without a 'good morning'. "If you wish to leave and go back home, you may, for most of the help are going." Blair looked up quickly, and finished his biscuit before answered.

"No, thank you, I don't have anyone to go home to."

He could see Eleanora's grave, but he didn't want to see Morris again. He had been running away from what he told him—it must be a mistake. The Duke was cold, but not cruel. He did not despise his family to that point.

"Very well, then." Emmanuel read his newspaper without care, but Blair smiled. The peace might be ephemeral, but it was all he wished for in the moment.

The following days were the same, and Emmanuel even proposed teaching Blair to paint. Blair understood he still didn't want to speak about his past, and accepted. For a week or so, he dabbled with charcoal on paper.

As heinous as his drawings were, always lopsided or taking up too much space, so that he squeezed apples into the corner, or flowers were cut off at the top of the paper, Emmanuel only chuckled and continued to teach him patiently.

"Look," he would say, "start with a circle, just here and there, as placements. See, sketch softly, like this. Hold the charcoal close to the top, and use your wrist."

Blair followed his instructions diligently, for he always had a passion for learning, but never got a chance to learn because his mother worked alone and died when he was young. He taught himself reading from books and an older friend from the factory.

As the two sat in the drawing room, Blair balancing the sketchbook on his knee and hunching down to draw, Emmanuel painted before the easel, a wooden palette on one hand and another thin long brush in the other.

Blair had also brown accustomed to watching him paint. He moved like a dancer, gracefully and without hesitation. Colors spread on the canvas before they formed shapes, then depth and then slowly, trees, mountains, or figures. Emmanuel occasionally had a book by his side, and used it as reference for his paintings, looking left and right, and Blair would catch glimpses of his sharp profile and long lashes.

He turned to stare at Blair.

"May I ask if you're drawing me, or admiring my beauty?"

"I like watching you paint," Blair replied, walking to his easel.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere." Emmanuel looked up at him, and Blair thought he would kiss him again.

Emmanuel reached out and twirled a finger around Blair's lock.

"I've always liked the color of your hair. I recall noting it the first time I saw you, and you reminded me of a dog."

"And I always thought you were like a cat," Blair said, "enigmatic and fickle."

Emmanuel laughed heartily, and then stood up. He traced Blair's eyelids, then his nose, then to his lips. Blair raised a shaky finger to Emmanuel's face, but he only reached the tip of his nose before retreating.

Emmanuel caught his hand, and smirked.

"Come on, what's wrong? You were admiring me earlier, now I'm all yours."

Blair rolled his eyes.

"I was not."

"Come on. Touch my face."

Biting back a laugh at his childish demand, Blair put his hand back on his face. Emmanuel closed his eyes and only let himself feel the younger man's hand.

Within a few minutes in, they both heard a knock at the door.

Emmanuel frowned. "Who is it?" Flemings had left, and his servants knew to never disturb him while he was painting.

"It's Ethan, the footman, your lordship!"

"Come in."

"Sir!" The frantic footman opened the door and ran into the room, panting. "A man is waiting in the front hall, and refuses to leave!"

Blair shot up, book falling to the ground. He remembered the letter he had received months ago, and ignored. It couldn't possible be the same person, could it?

"What's the matter?" Emmanuel asked.

"I received a letter," he struggled to explain. He remembered him talking about the fall of the Thornton family. "He's curious about the novel we're writing, I think it's best to ignore him. I'm sorry I never told you, Emmanuel." He closed his eyes tight.

"It's fine." He opened his eyes, and saw Emmanuel standing up and rolling down his sleeves. "Let's go and tell him off, then."

Blair stood up and followed him out of the room. Ethan quickly hurried downstairs and gestured to the man.

The guest in the front hall was tall, even taller than Emmanuel. He pulled off his cap and brushed the snow to the floor, before Flemings by his side took it hesitantly.

When he heard the upcoming footsteps both men looked up, although Flemings looked exasperated while the other man smiled. His had pale skin with freckles, and he looked confident. Even a bit patronizing.

"Apologies, sir, I could not leave him outside in the snowfall," Flemings apologized Blair looked outside the window and realized it had been snowing quite heavily.

"Forget it, it's fine." Emmanuel looked over at him. "Who might you be, sir?"

"Good evening, your lordship, and if I'm correct, Mister Millais, I'm Laurence O'Sullivan. If I remember correctly I've written to Mister Millais in October, but never received a reply."

Blair glared at him. "Yes, and I don't think it's appropriate to come and bother the Duke without his permission."

"Yes, of course." He still looked smug. "You see, since I never heard back from you, I took the liberty to contact Morris Davis, who reported some news to you."

Blair grimaced. So it was all because of him that Morris went to see the previous Duchess of Thornton! Of course, Morris wasn't a busybody, he had to have been stirred by someone. In fact, now Blair was doubting everything Morris had told him; it could have easily been some trick of the journalist's.

"So you're a journalist," Emmanuel said, looking unfazed. Blair wanted to tell him to just kick the man out, but didn't want to seem too haughty. He was, after all, only a writer, not the head of the house.

"Yes, I'm a journalist for The London Times."

"That's quite an achievement for someone so young," he replied without much feeling. "I occasionally read from The London Times, but I prefer Blackwood's Magazine for Men."

"Because Mister Millais writes in it?" Laurence responded without missing a beat. "I'm interested in what type of relationship you two have, for it's been nearly six months since his employment but the novel still hasn't been finished."

"Writing and editing takes time," Blair muttered. "I don't want to produce something mediocre."

"Yes, of course." He had on the same smug grin.

"Anyways, as unfortunate as it is, I don't think we can offer you an interview, or whatever it is that you want, Mister O'Sullivan," Emmanuel replied.

"Oh, don't worry, your lordship, I'm not here to pressure you into an interview."

Emmanuel cocked an eyebrow.

"Then, pray tell, what are you here for, on such a snowy day?"

"I was sent here by Morris to see how Mister Millais is faring. He's worried, see, because he didn't come back home for the New Year's, and it's February."

"Morris did?" Blair's eyes widened. He couldn't help the guilt he felt. Of course he'd expect him to go home after nearly half an year. He really should've took the chance when Emmanuel gave him time off.

"Yes, Morris did ask if you'd like to return, and at least celebrate Easter with his family."

"That's months away!" Blair frowned. "Tell him I will, so please do leave."

"Unfortunately, you see, there's going to be a blizzard." Now Blair understood why he had on such a grin.

"How convenient," Emmanuel murmured under his breath.

"I hope it's not too obtuse of me to ask to stay until the blizzard blows away."

"That would be a week," Flemings frowned. "There's an inn close by, by the name of Greystone's. I'm sure the Duke could afford a carriage if you're in need."

"Unfortunately, I'm in much more than a need of a carriage; I haven't even got enough to spend a day at an inn!"

Blair couldn't help gritting his teeth. The man got on his nerves.

Flemings, Ethan, and Laurence all turned to the Duke. Even Blair couldn't help peering at him. Without a change in his expression, he spoke.

"Very well, then. I'll have a guest room prepared, you can stay until the blizzard passes."

Blair tensed up. Was Emmanuel serious? The man obviously had other plans. It was definitely a trap. Even Flemings looked dumbfounded.

"Oh, thank you, sir!" Laurence smiled, and for once, suddenly actually looked grateful. "Being poor is quite troubling. Is there any way I can repay you, sir?"

"Yes, just don't disturb me." Without another word, Emmanuel turned and started up the stairs. Blair stood there, unable to move.

"Ethan, go up and ready the second guest room. Mister O'Sullivan, you may give me your jacket and follow me..."

Laurence looked at Blair, and winked. Making a face, Blair left.