Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Nicholas: Part Two

It started raining as Gideon left the Hartwright family home, where he'd spent his whole life, and started on a new path. But he didn't slow down. Even when the tears started to fall, mingling with the rain streaming down his face, he kept on walking.

He had to.

By the time he reached the London pub where Nicholas currently rented a room, his clothes were soaked through and his boots were heavy with mud. His breath puffed out on the cold air, and he couldn't stop shivering.

Nicholas was waiting outside for him, sheltering under the eaves from the rain, like he had always known that things would happen this way. Like he'd always known that this was the day Gideon left it all behind.

He took off his coat and put it around Gideon's shoulders, taking him inside without a word.

The room that Nicholas rented was simple: a bed and washstand, a heavy trunk for clothes, a fire in the grate. The curtains were drawn, which was curious, considering it was still daylight outside.

"Here," Nicholas said, handing him a rough-spun woollen blanket. "You need to get out of those wet clothes."

He left Gideon alone while he changed, and Gideon was grateful. Less than an hour ago, he'd wanted Nicholas to take off his clothes but now he was cold, wet, and so very tired. He dried himself off with the blanket, and dressed in the clothes that Nicholas had left folded on the bed for him.

They fitted a little too snugly – Gideon was bigger than Nicholas – but they were better than nothing.

Nicholas knocked on the door. "Are you dressed?"

"Yes."

Nicholas came back into the room, and stopped a short distance away, clasping his hands behind his back. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

"I'm not going home," Gideon told him. "Ever. That part of my life is over now."

It occurred to him that he had no idea what he'd do next. Nicholas had often suggested that Gideon come here to his room, so they could be private, but that didn't mean he was willing to put a roof over Gideon's head for anything longer than the time they'd spend in bed together.

Maybe Gideon hadn't thought this through, but it was too late now. He honestly thought he'd rather die than go home.

Nicholas slowly nodded. He didn't look surprised. "Let's get you something to eat," he said.

Downstairs in the main room, where a big open fire burned, and men sat around it, smoking their pipes, Nicholas bought a plate of beef and potatoes and a mug of home-brewed ale, and slid them across the table at Gideon.

"You'll feel better after this," he said.

"You didn't have to pay for it," Gideon muttered.

Nicholas gave him a gentle look. "Do you have any money?"

He didn't, Gideon realised. He'd left home with nothing but the clothes on his back. He had nothing, and that filled him with sudden panic.

"No, but –"

"I have plenty of money, Gideon. The least I can do is make sure you're fed."

This was news to Gideon. Since Nicholas only rented that one small room, he'd always assumed Nicholas didn't have much money. Then again, Nicholas's clothes were always tailored and fitting in with the latest fashions, and he could afford to take coaches to and from London when he came to visit Gideon.