The Christmas Chevalier by Meg Mardell

Author:Meg Mardell [Mardell, Meg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: NineStar Press, LGBTQIA+, historical/Victorian England, holiday/Christmas, gay, trans, friends to lovers, coming out, humorous, slow burn, mistaken identity, deception romance
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2020-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

The unthinkable had happened.

He wished to again be Alvenia Lexington. Madness, of course. It was just that the light from the window was so bright. And Laura was so close. Her warm fingers examined the contours of his head until he felt she must know its interior. Her breath on the back of his neck was warm. And yet it gave him shivers. He felt scrutinised.

Seen.

It was so easy to withdraw beneath the surface of Alvenia: Her stiff dresses were an artificial outline, her mocking laugh made people keep their distance, and her powdered maquillage betrayed no emotion save wry amusement. It was absolutely suffocating inside that perfect facade. But it was strangely safe.

“There now!”

Laura’s voice sounded triumphantly behind him.

“And yet my head remains attached to my neck. Will wonders never cease.”

His barber was not listening to his feeble witticisms, but rummaging through that ridiculous bag of hers.

“Wait a moment; I will find a mirror for you to look.”

“There’s one on the washstand.”

“Yes, but you need two—aha! Now, just hold this up while I find the right angle.”

‘This’ transpired to be a ladies’ pocket glass. A very chipped one.

“How the deuce am I to see anything in—”

Suddenly, the cracked pane revealed the back of a gentleman’s head. Close-cropped dark hairs framed a fine skull. His own, and yet its shape was uncharted territory. The hand stroking the bristling hair at the nape was far more familiar—and even more disturbing.

“See? Quite even now. And, consequently, quite a bit shorter… Do you mind?”

“No, of course not. Had to be done… Thank you.”

Laura bounced off, evidently quite pleased with herself. Released, Alvy tried to reason more calmly. Laura had been fixated on her scissors and comb. She had doubtless been no more aware of Alvy during those long minutes than she would have been of a dog who needed a burr combed out of its fur. She had stroked his hand simply to calm him down, unaware of the sudden almost unbearable sensitivity of his skin.

His nerves were shot; that was the truth. This bloody blackmailer business had shaken him. Badly. He would be damned if he would pay that slippery bastard a penny. He must call Carver’s bluff. He must inform his mother that he had jumped the balustrade of one of the town’s most formidable hostesses and played a prank of dubious taste.

He must tell Laura that he had awkwardly waltzed his way around the room with her in his arms, her grey eyes shining beneath her gold mask, her scented, silk-covered weight coming closer and closer… Hell, perhaps he was damned either way.

At least he was determined to be damned by his own hand.

“Ah, I’ve got a letter to write… Will you get on all right without me?”

“Oh dear, whatever shall I do without you? But I shall persevere, never fear.”

Laughing, she returned to her dirty boxes, unaware of his continued gaze as she busied herself with their small stock of supplies. Her work shirt was rolled up to

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