章節 9: Chapter 9: Peach Blossom, Part 3
Once, the portrait had hung in his father's salon. After his mother's death, he had apparently ordered it destroyed. Aubrey had found it buried away in the attic while searching desperately for a place to hide from his infuriating cousin when he was young.
The portrait was unsigned, something which had always puzzled him, but Aubrey was grateful simply to have it.
"She's beautiful," Ruthven said. "The other woman was your father's Pet, back then?'
"What?" Aubrey said, brow furrowing. "No, Mina belonged to my mother. My father did not acquire a Pet until a few years after they died."
"But - " Ruthven stopped and shook his head. "A mistake. I should know better than to make assumptions. My apologies, Master."
Aubrey stared at him a moment, but at last shrugged it off. "I do not believe my father ever had a Pet before Elisabeth. But from what little people have told me about him, my father and his brother used to be quite the men about town. He did not settle down until he met my mother."
"I am sorry he lost her, that all of you lost her. Lost them," Ruthven said quietly.
The solemnity of his tone drew Aubrey up short, and he found he was staring again, but Ruthven's eyes were fastened on the portrait.
Finally he just nodded. "I am told he was quite different when she was around. I wish they were both still alive."
Ruthven finally pulled his eyes away from the portrait. "They live on in memories, in the way they are still loved and always will be. You look much like your father, but you have her smile and grace."
Aubrey rolled his eyes. "Grace? Perhaps you should consult a dictionary and confirm you know the proper meaning of that word. I assure you, I do not possess grace."
"Yes, Master," Ruthven said, but his tone didn't match his words. Instead, it was as though Ruthven was not trying very hard to hide his amusement. He looked at Aubrey directly, dark eyes holding some deep spark.
It made Aubrey's cheeks hot, that spark, and he jerked his gaze away, eyes falling upon the letter to his book merchant.
Ruthven abruptly snatched it up and stepped away from the desk.
"Give that back," Aubrey snapped. He stood up and moved around the desk to take it back, furious that Ruthven would just invade his privacy so - even if it was just a list of books he wanted.
He was just reaching out for the letter when Ruthven lowered it and stepped forward, and Aubrey found himself hastily taking a step back - and another, and another, until he collided with the desk, grunting in surprise.
Ruthven set the letter down, hands falling on either side of Aubrey, a playful smile curving his too-pretty mouth. "If you want to know about Pets, I am more than happy to answer all your questions."
Aubrey scowled. Ruthven was standing entirely too close, and he did not like the fact Ruthven had pinned him so neatly. That strange, unwanted feeling prickled along his skin again, the sense that for all he was a Pet, Ruthven was not the submissive type. "What are you? Are you really a Pet?"
"Of course, Master," Ruthven said. He opened his mouth, displaying the unmistakable fangs.
He still smelled like peach blossom and apple, overlaid with hints of velvet and silk, a touch of sweat and the lingering traces of tea. Aubrey breathed in the tangle of scents, heady and distracting. He tried to glare, but instead found himself captive.
So dark. Ruthven's eyes were so dark, and even when they were a mere breath apart, he could not tell their true color. They looked like night, like the sun had finally set and nothing but shadow remained. Not truly black, but too dark for any one color to shine through.
They stood that way for a minute or an eternity, he could not tell which. It was only the chiming of his clock, striking the second hour of the afternoon, that finally broke the strange spell. Jerking, Aubrey turned his head away. "Get away from me," he said curtly.
Ruthven promptly pushed off the desk, stepped back, and dipped his head and shoulders in an elegant half bow.
"What in the hell are you?" he asked again.
"Yours," Ruthven replied.
"Ridiculous," Aubrey said. "You drink tea, you read, you act like no Pet I've ever met."
"How would you know? With all due respect, you do not like Pets, and avoid them. How, then, do you know the way they behave?"
"You are impertinent," Aubrey replied, moving to sit behind his desk once more, feeling slightly dizzy from the loss of blood but stubbornly ignoring it.
He did not look up when he heard Ruthven return to the window seat, but continued to sort through the paraphernalia he had unpacked but not sorted and put away.
"Do you really dislike me so, Master?" Ruthven asked.
Aubrey paused in the process of sorting through his book lists. "What?" He frowned at Ruthven, who stared implacably back.
It was more than a little disconcerting, but Aubrey refused to give in to the foolish emotion. "I neither like nor dislike. I do not know you well enough to make such a decision. I know only that you do not act like any other Pet I have ever encountered. Friends of mine, from school, had them. I have never known François and Elisabeth to act like you." He shrugged. "It's not that I dislike Pets. It's simply that I detest they are slaves. It brings me no joy to see anyone enslaved."
Ruthven smiled, then lowered his lashes to look through them in that way that drove Aubrey crazy. "I am your willing Pet."
"There's no such thing," Aubrey snapped. "No one wants to live such a life."
"If you say so, Master."
Aubrey ignored him and went back to poring over his lists.
Willing Pet. Ridiculous.
They remained that way, Aubrey working, Ruthven silent in the window seat, until Carmilla knocked softly upon the door and peaked her head in to announce that dinner would be ready in an hour and he should go freshen up.
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