Chapter 2

By early evening the snow had covered the land as far as he could see and the wind was causing spectacular drifting. Charles banked the fires in the study, the kitchen, and his chamber. There was no point heating anything more. He had catalogued more of his snuff boxes, written a couple of chapters of his book, and tidied his papers again, so he picked up a book on the history of York and helped himself to a glass of brandy.

After a while his eyes began to tire. He tipped his head back and closed them for a moment and indulged himself. He pretended he was not alone. Pretended that there was someone with him; someone special. Someone who would come into the room and take the chair opposite him, but first would lean over, run a hand over his hair, and kiss him. Someone with whom he could exchange a Christmas gift, kiss under the mistletoe, and retire to bed with. Wake up with. So vivid was the image, so clear the warm promise of the kiss, that when there was a noise at the front door he wondered if he had conjured it from his imagination. He jerked upright and listened. There it went again. Charles hastened from the room into the freezing hallway, pulling the study door closed behind him to preserve the warmth. He dragged the bolt from the ancient door and heaved it open, wincing at the blast of icy air and wet, swirling snow that hit his face.

Standing propped in the door was the most handsome young man he had ever seen in his life. Charles’ jaw actually dropped. He was tall, with sodden, inky black curls plastered to his hatless head and eyes so dark they appeared black in a sharp angular face. He had the sort of direct, piercing gaze that made whomever was subject to it faintly uncomfortable. The eyes fluttered shut.

“Thank God,” the man muttered and staggered over the threshold. Charles grabbed him awkwardly and shoved the heavy door back, shutting out the freezing snow and wind. The man was dead on his feet. He swayed badly and Charles caught him under the arms, staggering a little as he did so. He was soaked to the bone and the icy chill of his body soaked into Charles. The man’s head lolled and Charles braced himself to hold him up, but he regained his balance a little and stood, swaying precariously. Charles maintained his grip on him just in case.

Before he could speak, the man’s eyelids fluttered open and Charles found himself eye to eye with that searching gaze.

“Oh…” he said. Dark brows narrowed into a quizzical frown, and those equally dark eyes ran over every inch of Charles’ face. “Oh…” he said again, and Charles held his breath, barely daring to move when the man ran his hand over his hair, actually touched him, and then trailed a thumb across his cheek. Charles’ mouth went dry and his heart thundered in his chest.

“Are you an angel?” the man said and brought his other hand up so he was cupping Charles’ face. Charles couldn’t have spoken or moved if his life had depended on it. “You must be,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, and his eyes continued to search Charles’. “You are all golden. A beautiful, beautiful golden angel,” he said in an odd singsong voice, and tilted his head to one side.

Charles’ knees were about to buckle so he held on to the stranger and presumed he was talking about his fair hair. “Thank you for saving me, beautiful angel,” he whispered, his eyes appeared to lock onto Charles’ mouth. “Thank you, thank you…thank you…” the stranger whispered as his mouth came closer, closer to Charles’ until it hovered so close over his that he could feel the warmth from the stranger’s skin, his breath, his very being.

Charles was not sure who closed the fraction of an inch until their lips met, touched, and held, but he knew that the strangled sound of naked, shocked pleasure and need came from his own throat. It had been an age since he had been kissed; he pressed his lips to the other man’s and squeezed his eyes shut. The stranger sighed and his lips moved over his with increasing, rhythmic pressure that Charles, after a faltering start, echoed. The man held his face, and he held it still whilst he dragged his lips away to touch them to Charles’ eyes, his forehead, and then came back to his mouth.

They kissed until the man pulled back again and Charles let go of him. His hands were shaking, so he balled them into fists and tried to breathe, tried to speak, but he couldn’t. The man smiled. Smiled right into his eyes. “Beautiful, beautiful angel, thank you,” he said, and crumpled to the ground.Chapter 2

Charles was shaking from head to foot with a soul deep ache coursing through every fibre of his being. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before in his life. The young man was sprawled on the floor, unmoving.