Day Nine
Day Nine:
On the ninth day of Winterfic, Hazel gave to you, Leo/Logan/Finn Bridgerton AU Part Two.
The ballroom was all whites and silvers, and Logan kept close to his sisters’ sides. He didn’t like balls. He didn’t like smalltalk. He didn’t like introductions. Balls were all smalltalk, all introductions, two of the most painful, awkward things in the world. He wanted more than anything to have Finn by his side. Finn always said how much he loved balls, the formal dress, the food, the dancing. Looking around, Logan couldn’t deny that Finn would fit right in. Logan could picture him, by his side, leaning down and whispering things in Logan’s ear. He would have no problem with with the introductions, the constant remembering of names and how is your daughter, your Grace, the one studying art in…Rome, was it? Ah, lovely.
He imagined Finn, beside him, as his husband. Then they could dance as many times in a row as they pleased, and Logan didn’t like dancing much, either, but Finn did, and he had forced Logan to teach him each one—even though they’d never had any music.
Logan had given Finn the first dance lesson during the final time that Finn had snuck upstairs to his bedroom. He’d taught Finn the steps, clothed in nothing at all, in front of his roaring fireplace. Finn used to sneak upstairs all the time, but Noelle had caught him that night, and thank heavens it had been Noelle, but they’d both decided it was too dangerous after that.
That night had also been the last time they had been able to do anything…in full, and in their own time. Logan’s room had been a safe haven, but after coming to town there was no quiet forests for them to sneak away to with blankets and picnic baskets. No stars to lie beneath. Logan was so tired of merely unbuttoning their trousers, of rushed kisses, and being pressed against a wall, or a couch. Hurried hands over each other, cocks hard from the relief of each other’s presence, maybe a little from the thrill of it all. Feverish kisses, and nothing more. Being rushed, being out of time.
Logan missed what they had had that last night in his bedroom. The fire done up, warm and softly crackling. Finn, skin pale and creamy against Logan’s white feather pillows. Damn what his mother thought, Logan wanted Finn to luxuriate in the things that Logan could give him, soft feather beds included. He wanted that sight every single night as Logan pressed their bodies together, as he let Finn work him over slowly until he was inside, until Logan could sit up, nestled down onto Finn's warm cock, and watch the way he could make Finn’s mouth drop open with each roll of his hips. The way Finn had rolled them over, sheltered him in nice and close, and made him fall apart. The way he’d pulled the quilt over them. The way they had lay there afterwards, sweat cooling, Finn’s fingertips tracing gentle patters along Logan’s waist and hip as they talked. Just talked, like they always did. Like they could never run out of things to say. And of course, dances had come up. Teach me, Finn had said, and pushed himself from the sheets to stand in the space in front of the fire, bare and glorious. Come on, Tremblay, up you get. Logan remembered propping himself up onto his elbows and only being able to stare at how Finn had looked. How utterly gorgeous, more beautiful than the Greek and Roman statues in their gallery. More beautiful than anything.
They hadn’t needed music. It was heaven, truly, and torture, to think about how they had danced that night, bare skin brushing with each turn, each hardly-there touch of a hand—after all, the dances were not made for two to publicly embrace. They had danced and spun until neither of them could take it anymore, Finn’s hands firm on Logan’s hips as he lowered him to the plush rug, right there in front of the fireplace, and took him again.
Someone stepped on Logan’s foot.
“Get your head out of your arse, you’re almost up,” Noelle whispered. “You look like a bloody fortune teller gazing into the distant future.”
Logan blinked, and the chatter of the ballroom slammed back into him, making him suck in a breath. God, he just wanted to go home. He wanted Finn. He looked to the front of the room, where the throne stood, the Queen like a golden—well, puddle, really, in her silks and dressings. He studied all those who had approached her before him. He recognized many of the faces, eager as they were. All were outfitted extravagantly, only all looked too happy about it. Suitors, was the word that had been buzzed into their ears. You are looking for suitors.
Did they even realize they were looking for the person they were to spend the rest of their lives with? Logan wondered. Did they realize, did they think beyond the ball? Did they have any idea just how luxurious it was to spend hours in bed with someone, moving together, whispering to each other, tucking oneself in closer when you woke in the night. Logan would take Finn’s half-awake brown eyes and his mumbles about Hamlet over anything else any day. He would take the way Finn woke him up so early because he had to go to work, but he knew that Logan didn’t like waking up alone. Good morning, my love. I have to go, but kiss me first. When you eat the lemon cakes today at tea, know that I made them for you, all right? And his laugh when Logan inevitably tried to keep him in bed. Shh, I’ll come again tonight. We’ll walk the creek after dinner, okay?
No, Logan decided. Those who had gone to present themselves in front of the Queen did not know. They did not know.
“Lord Logan Marius Tremblay,” the footman announced loudly, along with two firm taps of his staff.
Logan felt the ballroom turn on him but he kept his eyes focused on nothing in particular, not even the Queen, as he took a step forward, then another. He’d never forced himself so hard into anything before.
“Bit plain,” he heard a whisper from someone as he passed by, no doubt about his suit.
What would happen if he turned around? Whistledown had named him for the season, surly that gave him some credit no matter what he did, enough to make his mother happy, even if he himself could not. If he stopped walking, if he stole away in the carriage back home, the carriage the Finn would see arrive, would wonder why he was back so early—damn everything, except you, marry me and we will be partners in—
“Lord Tremblay, your Majesty,” said yet another footman.
Logan managed the bow, but barely. He was right in front of the throne, The Queen looking down scrutinizingly.
“My Queen,” Logan said in the smoothest voice he could manage, all the while in his head marry me, and I will take you back to the country house. And you will make me, not king of the damn season, but king of my life, of all of my wildest dreams.
There was no reply for a long moment.
“An escort, for Mr. Tremblay?” rang the Queen’s voice.
This was the part Logan had been dreading. It would be whoever spoke first, and he’d have to dance with them, talk to them—
“I, my Queen, would like the honor.”
There was a murmur from the crowd, and Logan had no choice but to turn and see who had spoken. At first, all that registered was blond hair. And then Logan realized exactly who he was looking at.
The Knuts were not among the wealthiest families, they were the wealthiest. Not to mention, with the closest ties to the royal household. Lady Eloise Knut was her majesty’s cousin and closest confidante. Logan glimpsed his mother and sisters’ wide, delighted eyes.
This must be Lady Knut’s son. Logan couldn’t remember his name, but he knew there was only one, and that there had been a health scare of some sort when he was a child. What had it been—a bad fall off of—a horse, was it? A head injury? Yes, he could see the evidence. Above very blue eyes, at his temple, a curl had gone gray, as if the usual golden color had been cut and and bruised, and made lifeless. Only it didn’t make him lifeless. It was charming. Paired with his exceptional height, his lean build—it was handsome.
“Very well, Lord Knut,” the Queen said. “Come forward.”
Logan turned away, back towards the Queen—it was bad form to turn one’s back on royalty. He was just doing has he had been told, but he didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like this Lord Knut walking as though to sneak up on him from behind.
“My Lord,” said the same, clear voice, now at his side, only much softer. Just for Logan. “May I?”
Logan glanced down and saw that Knut was offering him his arm. Unless Logan was feeling particularly cruel, and likely to embarrass them both, he should take it. Logan could practically feel his mother’s willpower trying to reach him. Logan couldn’t deny that he was pleased by the May I. So rarely was he himself asked permission.
And people really wondered why he snuck around so much. It was only a bit of freedom. Or, rather, the pretense of it.
Logan took Knut’s arm with all the smile that he could manage, and allowed him to guide him towards the dance floor, where others were beginning to filter back into the music that had struck back up.
“Do you enjoy this dance?” Lord Knut asked. “We can wait for the next.”
“This one is fine, thank you,” Logan nodded, and then allowed Knut to smile down at him again and take his hand. He meant to lead, it seemed, and so Logan placed his other hand on the Lord’s shoulder. “I do like to lead, you know.”
Knut laughed, a gentle, open thing, as they turned into the waltz. “I apologize, I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“Next time? Presumptuous, sir.” The Lord released Logan in all but one hand and Logan spun when Knut prompted him to.
“I prefer the term hopeful,” Knut said, and pulled Logan safely back in.
“I’m sorry,” Logan said quietly. “I’ve forgotten your given name.”
He was worried Knut might be offended, but he just smiled. “Leo, my Lord. Leo Knut.”
“Newt?” Logan repeated, as if he didn’t know the name.
Leo looked down at him, blue eyes peaking through a fringe of blond hair—and gray. The room spun behind him, and Logan thought perhaps he should feel dizzy, but he didn’t. Leo danced well. “Not like the animal.”
Another turn, hands touching, Logan’s back to Leo’s front, their hands clasped by Logan’s waist. “And how are you different?”
“There’s a K in it,” Leo said, and righted Logan so they were front to front again. “And no W.”
Logan’s own laugh surprised him.
He didn’t like balls. He didn’t like small talk, he didn’t like introductions.
But he also hadn’t expected to enjoy dancing with Leo Knut so much. Tall, like Finn, and talented, too. He smiled and made jokes at his own expense if he tripped up, which so many stuck up Lords—perhaps Logan included—didn’t always do. Logan barely even realized when the first dance bled into a second…and then a third.
“Good bloody Christ, Logan,” Noelle said when they finally left the floor. Leo had gone to fetch them drinks and Noelle had practically pounced on him. Logan wondered where on Earth his mother had gone. He’d expected five sets of hands on him, not just the two gripping his arm excitedly. “Baby brother, are you trying to wed him on the very spot? Three dances?”
“I lost track,” Logan said, and, honestly, he was feeling a little guilty about it. There was only one other person in the world with whom he lost track of time like that.
Noelle just smiled at him, patted his cheek, and Logan swatted her away. “Stop it.”
“You like him, don’t you?” Noelle said. “He’s very sweet, though I hear he spends most of his time in the country. Even while his family is here in town. That’s something you wouldn’t mind, though, isn’t it?”
Logan sighed. “May I remind you that we are not married? It doesn’t matter to me where he spends his time.”
But Logan had a flash of an image, a happy sort of tumble of a cozy parlor, summer rides on horseback, and sprawling fields. Gardens and slow walks in the evening. Finn. Leo?
“Well.” Noelle was looking at him carefully. “It could matter to you.”
Leo had spent part of the second dance describing his beloved country gardens to him, the different pathways, some lined with roses, some with wildflowers. Hardly anyone plants the wild ones, Leo had said. And I just can’t see why, they’re so lovely, and different. Do you like the outdoors?
I ride, Logan had said. And I’m very fond of walking.
And then the guilt swarmed him. Finn’s face, just that afternoon. Come back and tell me everything.
How on Earth was he to explain this?
A soft clearing of the throat made Logan break the stare down with Noelle, and Leo was there, holding two cups.
“Oh, look, there’s dear Lily,” Noelle said, and curtsied quickly to Leo with a smile. “My Lord.” She hit the back of Logan’s head with her fan. “Brother.”
Logan wished he had something to hit back with, but he had to settle for a scowl at her retreating back.
“Here, my Lord,” Leo said to Logan, and handed Logan his punch.
Logan smiled, and he didn’t know what exactly made him say it, but—“I think, Lord Knut, since the entire ballroom thinks we are engaged now, that you may call me Logan.”
The smile that Leo answered him with was too bright for Logan. He didn’t feel like he deserved it. He shouldn’t have said that, not when he would not be getting engaged to Leo Knut. Not when half of his mind was set on running away.
“Then you must call me Leo.” Leo held out his cup. “Cheers to starting gossip, everyone’s favorite thing.”
Logan laughed again, that very one that kept surprising him each time Leo brought it out. He clinked their glasses. “Cheers.”
“Your sisters are lovely,” Leo said as they watched the ballroom together.
Logan scoffed. “Even while whacking me on the head?”
“Even when,” Leo laughed. “Are they married?”
“Two are,” Logan said. “Noelle—the whacking one—she’s courting Thomas Walker, do you know him?”
“Oh, Thomas is one of my best friends.” Leo nodded. “Yes, that seems like a good match.”
Logan nodded. Good match. It was society’s phrase. Good, because Thomas was kind? Because Noelle loved him? Because they shared a passion for the races, for literature? Good, because they seemed to be meant for each other? No. No, that wasn’t what the gossipers would ever mean. It was a good match because he was of rank, and so was she, and they had money to spare and would unite two great houses.
“Oh no,” Leo said, and smiled, just a little. “I’ve said something wrong, haven’t I?”
Logan looked up to find Leo’s blue eyes darting across his face, and wondered what he must have seen there. Logan had gotten lost again, as he had while waiting for his turn to be presented. Finn was his match, his perfect one, but he was not a good match and no one would ever see him that way. It made Logan so angry that he wanted to take all of the frills on all of the ridiculous clothing and tear them apart.
“No, I’m sorry, I…” Logan swallowed. “No, you haven’t. I was only…” He tried for a smile of his own. “I do that sometimes, it isn’t…”
But whatever Logan had been about to say fell right from his tongue as his eyes drifted to slightly behind Leo, to the glass doors that led out to the gardens. Standing there, half hidden yet framed by one of the glass panels, was Finn. For a long moment, Logan was sure he was only imagining it. Why, after all, would Finn be here? But then Finn raised a hand to him, gestured behind him with his chin, and disappeared.
Leo blinked in confusion, and then glanced behind him. “Logan? Are you all right?”
“I beg your pardon,” Logan said, and pushed his cup into Leo’s hand. “Excuse me a moment, please. Just a moment.”
Logan didn’t really remember how he got outside, only that he ignored many greetings that were cast his way—something he would surely regret later. He burst into the warm summer night and followed in what he hoped was the direction Finn had gone in. It would be somewhere hidden away from the house—tall hedges, perhaps, or the garden’s maze. No, not where they could get lost or discovered. There, Logan thought. The trees were tall and thick and designed to grow in a circle. Beneath the music coming from inside, he thought he could hear the trickle of a fountain.
He couldn’t help the way he ran, nor the release of breath when he saw Finn standing there, moonlight reflecting off of the water of the fountain, casting him in cool, marble tones. He was in his work clothes still, minus the apron. No jacket, just his shirt and trousers and boots. His hair was damp, like it got when he splashed water over his face and neck, and raked wet fingers through it after a long day. He’d come straight from home, then.
“Hello,” Finn said softly.
Logan smiled, let out a laugh, striding forward. “Hello. What are you doing here?” He reached Finn and took his hands into his own, as he’d wanted to all night. He kissed one of his knuckles and laughed again. “God, I…I thought I was imagining it for a moment.”
Finn smiled, tracing a hand down Logan’s cheek. “It’s me. I just…” Finn swallowed. He was breathing hard, as though his heart was pounding, and glanced back towards the party. He gave his head a little shake. “I thought of you dancing all night, and I just…”
Logan took a step closer, or perhaps it was a step away from the party—from certain blue eyes, and kind smile, and…and guilt at having enjoyed himself so much. Especially looking at Finn’s conflicted, sad eyes.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” Finn said softly. “But I came because…after everything we said this afternoon, I just wanted you to know that I…That no matter what happens…”
Logan just shook his head and put his hands on Finn’s shoulders, his cheek. “Darling, no. I want you here. I’ve wanted you here all night.”
Finn leaned into Logan’s hands, smile creeping onto his face. “Have you been dancing with stuffy good-for-nothings?”
Logan bit his lip. “For the most part.” For all but three.
Finn arched a brow. “Count me jealous.”
Logan laughed, then pushed up on his toes and kissed him. “Don’t be. You know why?”
“Why?”
Logan took a step back, bowed, then held out his hand as he would have on the dance floor, should he be the one leading. “Because we can still hear the music.”
Finn laughed, brown eyes brightening. “Well. We have made do with less, haven’t we?”
Logan looked at Finn standing there. The two of them, hiding in a garden to be free. He should have been able to walk Finn through those doors, have the music swell and surround them, dance six times in a row because, yes, this is my fiancé.
“Yes,” he replied to Finn. "Much less. So much less than you deserve.”
Finn shook his head. “No, no. None of that now.” Finn gave a mocking little bow back, and looked up at Logan with a smile. “And I’m leading.” He straightened, holding out his hand. “May I?”
May I? A fleeting thought of Leo flashed before his eyes. Leo, standing there alone, waiting for him, holding two cups. He should go back. He should.
“You may,” Logan said, because he wanted this, too. He had wanted this all night.
But Finn knew him too well. Logan had never been able to hide anything from Finn. As they joined hands, Finn kept him close even as he asked the question that Logan knew must pain him.
“Who was he?” They turned together to the distant strings.
Logan closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against Finn’s shoulder briefly, then looked up at him. “He was kind, that’s all. They rarely are.”
He reminded me of you. He made me feel the way I do when I’m with you.
“It’s all right, Lo,” Finn said. “I…I hardly want you to be miserable. I’m only—curious.”
Logan smiled a little as they parted, palms pressed together, circling one another. “Jealous.”
Finn smiled. “But you already knew that.”
“Lord Leo Knut.” Logan arched a brow when Finn made an interested noise as they switched palms, circling the other way. “You know him?”
“Yes, actually,” Finn said. “Not know him. Know of him and have seen him. Do you know he accompanies his cooks to the markets himself?”
Logan frowned. “What, he doesn’t trust them?”
Finn laughed and drew them back together, trading Logan’s hand between his own behind his back. “No. He enjoys it. Peter, my friend, he’s the fire-starter for the Knut household.” They fell back into place, Finn’s hand low on Logan’s back. Logan loved it so much he could burst. “Says his Lordship’s down in the kitchens all the time—cooking.”
“Cooking?” Logan said, and let Finn pull him closer, let himself sink into the feeling of Finn’s laugh. “God.”
“And you can hardly make tea.”
Logan laughed, pinched Finn’s shoulder where his hand rested. “Oh, stop.”
Finn grinned and turned Logan once more just as the song came to a close, leaving them in a lapse of silence and pressed against each other. Logan, hand against Finn’s warm chest, the familiar, rough fabric of his shirt beneath his fingers, felt the peace he had been looking for all night. The peace, he could not yet admit to himself, that he had found glimpses of in a scene that was a mirror to this one. In blue eyes rather than brown, in a soft voice that made him laugh just as loudly as Finn did.
“You’ve been practicing,” Logan said softly. The night settled around them, Finn’s face thrown into soft shadows by the lights coming from the distant party.
“Only on my own,” Finn said back. “I wouldn’t want to feel anyone but you.”
“Finn…” Logan reached up to cup the back of Finn’s neck, to feel his soft hair slip through his fingers.
“What if I was wrong?” Finn whispered. “Earlier, what if…” He looked so conflicted suddenly, was holding Logan so tightly. “Logan, what if I told you that—that there was a way for me to be someone you could deserve, someone who you could be seen with—”
“Finn,” Logan breathed. “God, I don’t need you to change.”
“Yes, you do,” Finn said. “If we—if we were ever to be together, then, yes, you do. And…” Finn made a pained noise, pressed their foreheads together. “And what if I said that there might be a way, but—but it could not work.”
“No,” Logan said. “I don’t need a way. You don’t need a way. Today, you said I needed this ball. But isn’t that the fucking problem with me?” Logan laughed, but only bitterly, only at himself. “I’m useless. I do basically nothing all day because no one needs anything from me. I’m a youngest child of a wealthy family. I don’t need to marry for a title. I don’t need someone else’s money. I don’t need society’s good opinion, that’s for fucking sure. What I need is you, and I…” Logan had to break off, heart pounding hard in his chest. “I am so—so in love with you.”
Logan watched Finn’s brows draw together, eyes filling with bright tears.
“And I am in love with you,” Finn whispered.
“Then that’s it,” Logan smiled, tearful himself, and pressed up on his toes to kiss Finn again. “That settles it for me. That’s all I need.”
Finn cupped Logan’s cheek. “Logan, it’s not that simple…”
“It could be.” Logan hesitated, then sighed. “It should be. Fine. Then what is this way of yours?”
Finn’s eyes darted between Logan’s. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to be having trouble forming the words.
“I have to tell you,” he finally said. “Logan, I have to tell you something. Before tomorrow morning I have to tell you—and I was rash, I do know that, perhaps I…I was jealous and I do love you, so much that it hurts sometimes, but…Please, listen, I think this could help us.”
“Finn,” Logan shook his head, confused. “I don’t understand. Don’t look so worried, it’s all right.” Logan pressed up to kiss him again and kept close as he spoke, trying to sooth him. “It’s all right, we’ll be all right—”
Logan was cut off by a soft gasp that came somewhere to their left, making them both look up. Logan’s heart dropped into his stomach.
Because Leo was standing there, blue eyes wide.