“So I’ve heard,” he said grimly. “Someday I’d like to inquire more.”
“I’m surprised Oscar hasn’t given you an earful already.”
“Perhaps he’s not as loose with his tongue as he’s made out to be.”
Guilt sliced through him, recounting one of their conversations.
“I’m not as bad as you think. Sometimes I run my mouth just to get away from my own thoughts. My own awful past.”
“Perhaps,” he replied glumly, spreading the clotted cream on the biscuit, then biting into it. It was so delicious, a moan escaped his throat, but the taste was delightful after weeks of bland food, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Ashwood shifted uncomfortably. “Speaking of Oscar…is it still your plan to return to Moon Flower when you’re well enough?”
“Yes, of course. They’re my family, and I need to see them. Even Oscar, who still deserves a good tongue-lashing.”
“He might very well hide from you.”
Bellamy chuckled heartily, and Ashwood joined in. It felt good to laugh together, but he soon regretted it. He’d do well to remember that he and Ashwood were not friends. He was brought here against his wishes, and the man had somehow broken down his defenses and reminded him why he’d once adored him so. He would need to work harder to keep him at arm’s length, the charming bugger.
Ashwood noticed the change in temperament and sobered, the air between them turning tense. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold your temporary buoyant mood against you. I know it’s only because you’re feeling better. I’m well aware you still don’t trust me and want to get as far away from me as soon as possible.”
“I…” He opened his mouth, then closed it, deciding he didn’t need to agree, nor explain anything. “Thank you for upholding your end of the bargain and respecting my boundaries—for the most part.”
Ashwood nodded, then frowned, and Bellamy hated that the mood had soured between them. Ashwood crossed the room to study the view outside the window while Bellamy finished eating.
“Will you ask Madam Langley for more potion to suppress your wolf?”
“I…it’s the only way I know how…” Though the idea made his pulse tick up.
“You don’t need to explain,” he said, turning toward Bellamy. “Had I been given the option, I might’ve done the same.”
Kipling had ruined Ashwood’s life, and being reminded of it made Bellamy angry all over again.
“But the way you speak of us…” Ashwood’s features screwed up in frustration. “It’s as if you consider us savages.”
“To me, you are!” His fingers stabbed at the air. “We will never see eye to eye on this.”
Ashwood turned away again, panting softly, his hands in fists.
Bellamy felt guilty for making Ashwood feel beneath him. The very way those gentlemen they’d begged to on the street had made them feel. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Ashwood held up his hand. “No need. You have a right to your feelings. I shouldn’t have pushed. I hope one day you’ll see there are good wolves and bad wolves, same as people.”
They were at a standstill, a crossroads of sorts, and the silence that descended felt palpable. He wished he could think of something to say to change the subject or lessen the tension, but nothing came to mind. For Ashwood’s part, his shoulders remained taut as if he was still silently fuming.
“Will you resume your, uh, duties again?” Ashwood asked, not looking at him. He obviously meant entertaining the men at Moon Flower, and Bellamy was afraid it would become another bone of contention between them.
“It’s not so bad,” he replied in a softer tone.
“She made you a whore,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I willingly chose to be one, several months after coming of age. In fact, I’d say it’s a more honorable profession than what you’ve been part of.”
Ashwood blanched, then nodded. After an elongated silence, he cleared his throat. “Have you enjoyed it? Sleeping with men?”
“It helped me learn much about myself and my preferences. Don’t tell me you’ve never…since we…” He trailed off, unable to say the words, even now.
“There was a time or two when I lost hope and was weakened by need.” He screwed his eyes shut. “But it’s not the same.”
The idea that he’d been with other men shook Bellamy to his core, so he could only imagine what Ashwood must be feel—no. Bellamy had done nothing wrong except believe Ashwood and his lies.
But he’d always dreamed his first time would be with Ashwood. Instead, it had been quite unremarkable, at Moon Flower, with a gentleman who’d been gentle with him.
“How is it not the same?” Bellamy asked him. “Fucking is fucking.”
“I’ve only ever longed for you. No one else could compare,” Ashwood confessed, clearly hurt, which only made Bellamy’s blood boil.
“And you think I’ve not gone through painful moments without you?” he hissed. “But pleasure can be separated from emotion, and in many cases, it needs to be.”