Bribe for Nikerymis, as promised ^___^

[maderr]

She gave me options, and I chose to go with Pierce from Scandalous. It's cheezy and fluffy and not much else, alas. If you declare it unequal to snake twins, I will attempt to make up the difference ^^;;

From Afar

"You did it!"

Pierce ooffed as he caught the bundle of silk and ribbon that flew into his arms, laughing. "Of course I did it, goose. You're being unseemly again, Cress."

"Pish posh," Cressida replied, slowly releasing him, ignoring or oblivious to the way the enthusiastic embrace had crushed the various bows and frills of her afternoon dress. "You're my best friend and you've just won the most prestigious duel in the country." She reached up to kiss his cheek.

"Cress!"

She grimaced and rolled her eyes, then turned to greet her father, who continued to berate his only daughter while Pierce found himself attacked by all his fans and friends.

He fought his way through the crowd, accepting compliments, chatting briefly here and there, knowing he should be loving the attention but really wanting nothing more than to find his room and a bit of quiet.

And maybe a letter, of course, but…

"Pierce."

He looked up and broke into a genuine smile, not hesitating to embrace his older brother and then Artemis. "You made it."

"Of course we made it," Artemis said. "The carriage suffered a broken wheel, but we had spare horses for just such an occurrence and rode the rest of the way. I think Gideon was ready to simply run all the way here but thankfully we weren't forced to resort to such matters."

Gideon snorted and shook his head, regarding his lover with amused exasperation. "Stop trying to humiliate me."

Artemis merely smirked and continued speaking with Pierce. "I would imagine you'd like to rest a bit before the ball tonight, hmm? The girls will insist on dancing your shoes to pieces."

Pierce groaned. "Can't the Champion beg off?"

"No," Gideon said with a grin. "I'm afraid you had best resign yourself to your fate." His gaze shifted to just past Pierce's shoulder. "Miss Cressida," he said, sketching a bow. "I see you are as much an Original as ever."

Cressida flashed a grin. "Thank you, my lord. Master Artemis, it is good to see you again."

"My Lady," Artemis replied, accepting her hand and bowing over it. "Has your father not packed you off yet?"

"He can never catch me long enough to do it," Cressida said breezily. "At that, Pierce, let me escape with you."

Pierce shook his head, laughing. "If you want help, go pester your brother. That's what brothers are for."

"Oh, he'll just take Daddy's side," Cressida said, wrinkling her nose. "Honestly, I wish he were more like you. It's just rules, rules, study, study with him. Let's talk about something else."

"Yes, Princess," Pierce replied tolerantly. "Come along, we shall make our escape. Gideon, will I see you before you go home – beyond the ball anyway?"

"Of course," Gideon said. "I didn't come all this way just to laugh at you being danced to death."

Pierce made a face. "So kind of you, big brother. Very well, I will see you tonight and we can work out further arrangements. Come along, poppet."

Cressida smacked his arm, then slipped her own through it. "Do not call me that."

He only laughed in reply, but the amusement tapered off into one of their comfortable silences as they continued through the halls.

A soft sigh broke it, Cressida's fingers tightening slightly where she held to his arm. "Daddy is beginning to make more and more noise about marriage," she said, expression tight. "He made a brief comment hinting that he would like to hear an offer from your direction."

Pierce grimaced. "I told you that would happen if you insisted upon using me for your mischief."

"Well I could hardly count on Silver's help," Cressida said bitterly. "I told you, he would just take Daddy's side. Anyway, it will all be over shortly…won't it?"

He smiled. "I hope so, and if you are angling to hear if I've received another letter for you, the answer is yes. I will bring it to the ball this evening."

Cressida's eyes lit up. "Really? I was beginning to fret. He said in his last one that he will be returning soon. Very soon." She worried her lip, blue eyes dark with worry as she looked up at him. "He sent me a ring, too. I dare not wear it until he comes…"

Pierce laughed. "Seymour finally sent the ring, eh?" He winked. "He has been saving for it for quite some time, poppet. I am happy for you."

"We could not have done it without you, Pierce. I wish I could do something to repay you. I do hope Daddy and Mama do not prove too stubborn when he returns…" She bit her lip again. "I would hate to estrange myself, but Seymour…"

He stopped and drew her close for a brief embrace, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek. "You will have me, poppet. That does not count for much, but you have been my friend for a long time."

Cressida laughed. "Ever since the War of the Creek! Oh, I think Mama is still upset about what I did to that frock."

"You are rather rough on your clothes; I will give your mama that." Pierce halted as they reached the hallway in which her rooms were located. "Far thee well, poppet. I will see you tonight. I may even be willing to dance with you."

Lifting her chin, Cressida stared down her nose at him and intoned, "You will most certainly dance with me, rake. We will make of thee a proper gentleman yet."

Pierce laughed and swept a deep bow. "As my lady commands." He turned away and headed for his own rooms, leaving her laughing in the hallway.

His own amusement faded as he walked, and he replied to the compliments and congratulations cast his way only from habit. The Royal Fencing Championship was something he'd been trying to win for years; ever since he had taken up fencing at the age of twelve.

Even now he still felt that first burst of happiness, that not only did his adored big brother not hate him but wanted to teach him fencing. Now he had won the Championship in which Gideon had never had the chance to even participate.

He should be running through the halls in ecstasy and behaving with unbearable, grating delight. Oh, he was delighted and would likely get carried away with drinking once he had endured the ball and could sneak off to carouse with his friends elsewhere…

Right now, however, he wanted to see what his secret admirer had to say.

His heart beat rapidly despite his orders for it to remain calm. Unfortunately, the letters had flustered him right from the first. It had come mere days after his arrival in the palace, invited to stay as long as he liked by Prince Benedict himself.

The first one had been rather decorous, if obvious in the less than casual emotions driving it. The second and third had also been…contained. The fourth had forced him to lock his door halfway through it, and after that he had learned to lock the door before even opening them.

Reaching his room, he opened the door and immediately looked down at the floor.

A hot rush thrummed through him, satisfaction and anticipation, lust and longing. Stepping inside, he closed the door and locked it, then bent to retrieve the letter.

Thick, cream-colored vellum. High quality, but no way to tell from which maker it came. He'd tried. Plain, unremarkable sealing wax closed it, stamped with a simple star.

He was hot and sweaty from the dueling, for it had gone on for most of the morning and well into the afternoon, but his discomfort faded entirely as he broke the seal and opened the letter.

The first paragraph and even most of the second were mild enough, but by the end of the third his pants had grown uncomfortably tight. He stroked himself through the fabric of his pants, eyes fastened to the carefully written words, addicted to them, to this admirer who was so heated yet dared not reveal himself.

Finishing the letter, he dropped it to the floor and fell back on his bed with a long groan, fumbling to get his pants open and take himself in hand, recalling everything his admirer had ever said, calling up a thousand images that failed to satisfy because his admirer could be anyone at all.

All the heated words and wicked promises flooded his mind as he continued to stroke himself, and he closed his eyes to focus, burning to know, needing to know, so deadly addicted to his admirer.

He came with a hoarse cry, spilling into his hand, cheeks flushed as he slowly regained control of his breathing. After a few minutes he sat up and moved to strip and clean himself up at the wash basin in his changing room. He'd have to call for a bath soon, but could stall for a bit longer.

Returning to his bed, he retrieved the letter from the floor and looked over it again, carefully avoiding the content, focusing only on the signature. It had never changed, but was the same now as it had been with the first letter.

Watching From Afar,
A pale and distant Star


*~*~*

"So does it still feel good to be Champion?" Cressida asked, taking a sip of champagne as she regarded him with amusement.

She really was beautiful, Pierce could well understand why so many of his friends were confused as to why he hadn't asked for her hand in marriage. Platinum hair, blue eyes, a figure that nearly every other woman in the room envied, resplendent in her white and silver dress, diamonds in her hair and at her throat…

…And her heart long ago given to a poor boy who had run away to make his fortune that he could ask for her hand in marriage and be given it.

"Lady St. Rose," interjected his friend Tobin. "I don't suppose you would honor me with a dance this evening?"

Cressida smiled at him and gave him her hand to be bowed over. "Of course I will dance with you, my good Marquis. First, however, I must claim a dance with our champion of the evening before I throw him to unmarried wolves in the crowd."

The men all chuckled, one accepting her glass of champagne as she presented her hand to Pierce.

Rolling his eyes, he took the offered hand and led her out to the dance floor. "How fare you, poppet?"

Cressida rolled her eyes as they began to dance. "Well enough. Daddy is getting much worse about this whole marriage thing. I wish Seymour would hurry and return."

Pierce sighed and shook his head. "As do I. Hopefully nothing will delay him, and we can finally bring this all to a close – albeit likely a very dramatic close."

"Let us hope not," Cressida said with a grimace. "I would like to be a happily married woman without having to kill people in the process. Killing is vulgar, and I try hard not to be vulgar."

"Merely improper," Pierce replied.

Cressida nodded. "Precisely."

Laughing, shaking his head, Pierce fell silent and simply danced. It was nice to dance with someone who was not after him or eager to hear all about his scandalous brother or long-dead scandalous parents.

He and Cress had been friends since he was thirteen and she eleven, when they had met at a creek that divided their family lands. Cautious conversation had turned into romping around the creek, ending eventually in a battle over who would rule it – Gideon had laughed hysterically to see him covered head to foot in mud, all the harder to hear he had drawn even with a girl.

They had been teased before at being fond of each other in a romantic sense, but they never had been – because the second day of their friendship they had been joined by Seymour, the son of a poor minor baron with a sour reputation bad enough even Gideon would not tolerate the man.

So the mischief had begun, all those years ago.

The dance ended and he bowed low over Cressida's hand as she curtsied. Into her hand he pressed the folded up letter he had received on her behalf the day before. "Where shall I take you, my lady, now you've had your dance?"

"Better take me back to my parents," Cressida said with a sigh, adjusting her skirts to discreetly tuck the letter away. "I should nip this in the bud before they start asking after your intentions." She looked up at him. "What are your intentions, Pierce? We always talk about me, me, me. What about you? Any lord or lady catching your eye? Did no one give you a…personal congratulation on your victory?"

Pierce rolled his eyes. "You are a lady, unwed at that, and should not be asking such base questions."

"Pish posh," Cressida retorted. "Tell me or I shall harass you relentlessly."

"Don't I know it," Pierce muttered. "Fine, I shall tell you. Later." He bowed again as they reached her parents – and a third party, one Pierce was surprised to see.

He nodded in greeting. "Silver."

"Pierce." Silver St. Rose was Pierce's age, and they likely would have grown up together if not for the drama surrounding the death of Pierce's parents, the way he had seldom left the grounds of Foxwood.

That and they were as different as night and day.

Pierce's life was fencing, and that he interspersed with all manner of other athletics. Shortly he would be leaving for the coast to spend the majority of his summer on his yacht. Silver was most likely off to yet another academy or university or what all to further his studies – which were great and varied. The man was to learning what Pierce was to fencing.

He was as handsome as the rest of the family; the St. Roses had always outshined the other jewels about them. Silver had the same platinum blonde hair and blue eyes as his sister, but the fine hair was cropped close and nonsensical, the eyes cool and reserved.

Yet another reason for their distance was the monocle Silver wore over his right eye – the result of a childhood accident that had weakened his vision in that eye. Pierce wasn't certain Silver had ever really forgiven him for the mishap.

He watched Silver a moment more, looking for some cue, some indication, some clue as to what to say, if he should say anything at all…but Silver was nothing like Cressida, whom he understood so easily. He was a mystery Pierce could not solve; he sensed Silver had no desire to be solved.

Stifling a sigh, because he always felt vaguely guilty and more than a little confused that he could befriend the sister but not the brother, he turned back to Cressida and her parents, making polite chit chat for a few minutes before finally extracting himself.

Looking out over the crowded room, he gave a brief thought to the writer of his letters, wondering if he – because it was definitely a he, that much was certain – was here, maybe watching him. Oh, that thought heated his blood.

He reminded himself to behave as he approached a girl who had been sneaking him hopeful looks. So the night went, dancing with various girls, occasionally snatching a chance to talk to Gideon and Artemis – once even getting into a prolonged conversation that included Prince Benedict and his lover.

At last everything began to wind down enough he could make his escape, waving a farewell to his brother, saying his final thanks where necessary, before slipping away with his friends to carouse their way through the bars and hells and a pleasure house or two.

It was a mere hour or two before dawn when he finally dragged himself back to his room, exhausted, wrung out, but quite sated and pleased with the night.

Pushing open his door, he paused to look at the floor only from sheer habit – and was astonished to see a familiar looking envelope lying on the floor.

The lingering haze from a trifle too much drink abruptly dulled, and he knelt to retrieve the letter. He fumbled getting it open, nearly tripping as he focused more on the letter than on where his feet were.

Landing awkwardly on his bed, he swore softly and righted himself, sitting with his back against the headboard. Casting the letter aside momentarily, he struggled to get his boots off, stripping down to his linen shirt while he was at it. At last comfortable, or relatively anyway, he retrieved the letter and broke the seal.

He was silent as he finished it, frowning in thought.

Throughout all the letters, he had been troubled most by the underlying sadness in them. It was more obvious in some than others, but always invariably there…this one definitely held more of it than usual.

Oh, it was full of those things he always expressed…but more of that terrible sadness was apparent than usual.

He couldn't understand it. He wasn't stand offish or strict or anything. Hell, look at Gideon and Artemis. More than a few had been scandalized that an Earl would take up with his brother's tutor. Never mind all the stories Gideon had told him over the years about their parents…

Who wrote these letters that he felt he couldn't approach? Pierce read it again, happiness of the evening leeched away by the tangle of emotions stirred by his strange admirer. He'd tried before to deduce the man's identity, because surely someone who did something like this wanted on some level to be found out? Damn it, he didn't care who the man was – high class, middle class, low class… though he was inclined to think high class, there was something about the penmanship, the manner of speech, and the costly vellum itself…

It was stupid to fall in love with a man who hid behind amorous letters, but Pierce feared that was exactly what he'd done. The writer seemed to know him so well; more than once his letters had been filled with exactly what Pierce needed to hear. Kind words, stern words, thoughtful, intimate…

He lacked only a face and name to put to them, and he feared he would never solve the riddle.

The oddest part was that melancholy; that the writer literally seemed to fear ever revealing himself. Pierce could not fathom why. Was he so unapproachable? Certainly no one tonight had seemed wary or cautious around him.

So why did his admirer insist upon remaining pale and distant?

*~*~*

"Oh, they are insufferable!" Cressida kicked petulantly at a nearby tree, glaring at it when that only resulted in sore toes.

Pierce sighed and buried his face in his hands. "They are truly serious about this marriage thing?"

"Yes," Cressida said with a grimace, finally moving to sit next to him on the garden bench. "They think I am dallying and flittering about and taking nothing seriously. I am twenty one, getting on in years, and must think seriously of settling down." She propped her chin in her hand and gave a long sigh. "I very nearly told them I am already betrothed."

"You came to your senses in time?"

Cressida nodded. "I made myself take several sips of tea, and by the time I finished I had recovered myself." She sat up and stared at her hands, indecently bare but they two had long ago progressed past such things. They were as brother and sister, and only the rest of the world seemed not to get that.

Vexing.

Pierce took her hand and squeezed it affectionately. "They will come to their senses, poppet. I still say perhaps all this subterfuge is not entirely necessary. In the end, they want only your happiness."

"Yes, I know," Cressida replied with a sigh. "I wish we could have done without all this nonsense, but I do not want to cause an upheaval until he is here."

He squeezed her hand once more and then released it, reaching into his morning coat and pulling out a letter. "Here, perhaps this contains some good news."

"Oh!" Cressida brightened as she took the letter, tearing it open and reading the contents voraciously. "He's on his way home!" She looked up Pierce, eyes tearing. "As of this writing, he's getting on a ship. He'll be home in about a month."

"To judge from the date of the letter," Pierce said, taking it from her and skimming the contents, "it will be more like three weeks. Hopefully nothing delays him." He handed it back. "Good. In three weeks you can wear that ring of yours." He tugged at one of her platinum curls. "I will keep an eye on all incoming ships, and let you know the moment his arrives."

Cressida smiled and tucked the letter away in her dress, then folded her hands primly on her lap. "That is that, then. Now, Pierce. You have put off your own affairs long enough."

Pierce groaned. "I'm not telling you anything."

"Oh, that's means there's something to tell."

"I hate you."

Cressida beamed. "Tell."

"Oh, for—what does it matter? I'd say it's pretty obvious I have nothing resembling a love life."

Cressida pursed her lips. "Which is odd, really. I know for a fact that every available girl flitting about this Season would gladly accept any offer you made. I've noticed you prefer men in the general run of things, however."

Pierce sputtered. "How do you know that?"

"Honestly," Cressida replied, motioning impatiently. "Men think girls notice nothing. We notice everything. That aside, we are best friends. Tell me why a famous fencer, the most eligible and popular bachelor around, is alone. Are you pining?" She winked. "Have you a lover as secret as mine?" The teasing smile turned into a playful pout. "Why have you not told me?"

With a long suffering sigh, Pierce gave up. He had been longing to tell someone anyway, and he'd known this would come up after they talked about Seymour. Slowly he explained the letters he had been receiving for the past couple of years.

"Did you bring one with you?" she asked when he had finished. "You must have known I would pester you."

"Oh, I knew, poppet." He pulled out the letter he had received after the ball two weeks ago, because he would not show her the more ardent ones even under pain of death. "I'm not showing you all of them…"

Cressida snickered. "Boys and their propriety, honestly." She read the letter, brow furrowing, a pensive frown on her face as she finished. "Watching from afar, a pale and distant star? Pretty…"

"What's wrong?" Pierce asked cautiously, not liking the expression. "You'd better not be about to say something that will dash my hopes." He tucked the letter away.

"Not a bit," Cressida said with a smile. "That phrase just sounds familiar, is all."

Pierce froze, breath catching. "What? Familiar? How do you mean familiar? How do you know it?"

Cressida shrugged, looking away, that pensive frown still on her face. "I can't recall just yet." She turned back and smiled at him, reaching up to pat his cheek. "It'll come to me."

"I hope so," Pierce said, frowning. "I would really like to know who he is."

"Mmm," Cressida murmured.

Sighing, disliking the feeling that he wasn't being told something – especially after all he had finally broken down and told her, Pierce stood up. "I must be off, poppet. There are three gentlemen waiting to taste bitter defeat at the tip of my rapier."

"Go, then, and I hope your day is a good one. Will I see you at the Waterston ball tonight?"

Pierce grimaced. "Very likely. Gideon says I am not allowed to avoid all this frippery."

"Frippery provides good stories to gossip about over tea the next morning, and if you are a young miss in need of a husband, frippery is a battlefield." She clapped her hands together and gave rather an evil looking grin. "There is a rumor going round that Marquis Asbury will be proposing to Celeste Caruthers tonight. My money is that he will propose to Jane McArthur instead."

"Girls scare me," Pierce replied, then turned and fled the garden, chased out by Cressida's taunting cackles.

He fled back to the palace and changed quickly into his fencing garb, taking his sword down to the dueling areas and throwing himself enthusiastically into it.

Hours later a halt was finally called, and he exchanged pleasantries and accepted compliments for the next hour or so. When the men at last all took their leave, he gathered his things and headed back toward his room.

Rather than the main hallways, he cut right just outside the dueling area and headed instead in the direction of the library, intending to take the stairs just beyond it. The route was quieter, less used, and this time of day he was not likely to see anyone.

But as he passed by the library itself, someone called his name.

It wasn't a voice he heard often, but the cool, precise, clipped tone was familiar all the same. He turned slowly around and sketched a brief bow. "Silver."

"Pierce," Silver replied, returning his bow. "I wonder if I might have a word with you, regarding my sister."

Brows going up, stifling a groan at where this might possibly lead, Pierce nevertheless nodded. "Of course. If you will give me a moment to freshen up, I will return to speak with you."

"Of course. I apologize for delaying you, but I wanted to catch you before someone else did."

"I'll be back in a moment," Pierce replied, and continued on his way, frowning. He cleaned and changed quickly, worry only growing. Damn it, what did Silver want? He had never inquired into his and Cressida's relationship before. Silver was the very definition of cool and remote; he seemed made of ice at times.

Perhaps it was only his own guilt coloring his perception; he had thought so before. It was his fault Silver's vision was half-ruined, after all, and everyone had considered it strange that Pierce got along so well with the younger sister but not the brother who was his own age.

Bah. Perhaps this conversation would result in some positive change. He doubted it, but anything was possible.

Smoothing down his velvet afternoon jacket, a simple understated deep brown, he pulled on his boots and combed through his hair one last time before finally returning to the library.

Silver sat in a small alcove on the second level, a wide balcony area where people often gathered to quietly converse over tea. Pierce had seldom come here himself; books required sitting still and that wasn't something he did even remotely well. Only Artemis had ever been able to make him study with any sort of focus.

Silver really was handsome, but as always he reminded Pierce more of marble statues or an austere painting. Nothing like his bright, vibrant sister.

"Silver," he greeted, taking the seat clearly meant for him.

Closing the book he'd been reading, something Pierce noticed was in a foreign language, Silver looked up at him. "Pierce. Thank you for being agreeable enough to speak with me. I apologize if I am interfering in any plans."

"Not at all," Pierce said, helping himself to the tea tray, wishing he could have a more substantial meal. He took a sip as he sat back and motioned for Silver to continue speaking – and paused, briefly startled. He'd been expecting the standard tea blend most commonly drunk around the palace. It was good, but he much preferred a stronger blend himself. He'd know the taste and aroma of his favorite Rutherford & Stone blend anywhere.

Odd. He'd no idea Silver favored it as well.

"I am nipping a potential problem in the bud, if you will," Silver said, regarding him with that unreadable expression Pierce found so frustrating. He read people easily; it was part of the reason he got along so well in society. Silver he could not figure out, and that only made it all the more awkward to be around him. "My parents seemed determined to think that you and my sister are an ideal match. While I certainly see their logic, I do not agree."

Pierce's brows went up at that. "I should think by this point it is quite clear that your sister and I are friends only. She is a sister to me, Silver, surely you know that."

"I know nothing except that my sister has not been happy of late, and my every inquiry into the reason for her discontent is met with harsh rebuff. She is being pressured by my parents to select a beau and settle down. They seem confident that you are merely being slow in putting forth your own offer. As I said, though I see their logic, there are flaws in it."

"Oh?" Pierce asked. "I have already stated I have no amorous intentions toward your sister, but do tell me these flaws."

Silver regarded him coolly, the eye behind the monocle slightly darker than the other. It was a barrier all its own, that monocle, somehow only adding to the frustrating mystery that was Silver. A man who by all rights should be his friend and instead the man only vexed him.

"There is no reason for you to have delayed this long had you any interest in her," Silver replied calmly. "At least half the court has you two already married in their minds. You are quite well off, your family is good friends with the royal family, and despite the scandal in your family's past – and present – you are highly respected and well-liked. That you have recently won the Championship is only an added feather in your cap. My sister has a generous dowry and my parents more than capable of giving her a grand wedding. She is of suitable age, would make a perfect wife. There is not one single reason that you two should not already be engaged were that your intention. So I can only conclude that neither of you is so inclined."

"As you say," Pierce replied, sipping his tea. "You are obviously decided upon the matter, so to what purpose did you request this talk?"

Silver looked down at his book, expression still unreadable but his anxiety betrayed, Pierce realized, by the way he briefly but restlessly stroked the spine of his book. "Do you know the source of my sister's unhappiness?" He held up a hand before Pierce could reply. "I am not asking you to tell me; the two of you share a confidence that is none of my business. I am not prying. I merely wondered if you knew it, and perhaps could resolve it. She thinks me her enemy but she is mistaken. Everyone deserves to be happy."

Something in his eyes flickered, but too briefly for Pierce to figure out what it was or why it had been there.

Anyway, the words were plenty distracting on their own. He never would have expected to hear such a thing from someone so icy.

He shrugged. "It's hard to say; in a few weeks she may be right as rain or abjectly miserable. The outcome is reliant upon others, not merely she."

Silver frowned. "I see," he said slowly. "That sounds…very much like Cress being up to something." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was the plainest gesture Pierce had ever seen from him. Astounding. "Do give me some warning before the event crops up, and I will attempt to ensure our parents do not overreact."

"Ah—" Pierce blinked. "Certainly, if that is your wish. I'm sure your sister would appreciate it."

"I'm sure my sister does not care what I do or do not do," Silver replied. "That, however, is neither here nor there. I thank you for indulging me in this discussion, Pierce."

"My pleasure; I'm glad someone at least believes that I have no designs upon your sister."

"I'm sure I should be displeased you are not enamored of her," Silver said, and Pierce almost gawked to see the slight smile that curved his pale lips. "However, I grew up with her."

Silver was…making a jest? Pierce had to set his teacup down. "I'm grateful I could return to Foxwood Manor at the end of the day, that is for certain."

Silver smiled again, and Pierce returned, pleased that they two had somehow managed to share a jest – and wouldn't it annoy Cress to no end that they had been making it at her expense.

The moment faded, leaving them in a stark silence, and Pierce realized he did not want to dismiss himself though he could and probably should. Silver was probably most anxious to get back to his precious studies. Still… "Where are you going to study this summer, Silver? Is there a monument to learning you have not yet had your wicked way with?"

The look he got was briefly startled, and almost…disbelieving, though he could not fathom why. "I was considering visiting the eastern shore; the archives there are highly regarded and it would help a paper I am hoping to present next year."

"Oh?" Pierce asked, surprised. "Well, if you ever feel like escaping your dusty tomes for a day or two, you're welcome to join me on my yacht."

Again that disbelieving look, before Silver recovered his cool remoteness. "I will certainly consider the offer, and likely take you up on it. I thank you."

"I will depend upon your visit," Pierce replied, wondering at himself. What the devil would he do with Silver upon his yacht? To the best of his knowledge they had nothing in common. Granted his knowledge of Silver was thin…

Oh, bugger it. He had made the invitation on impulse but he would not retract it, and if Silver actually took him up on it he would figure out the rest then. Surely the man had a life beyond his books.

Silence fell again, and Pierce was damned if he knew how to restart the lapsed conversation. He realized suddenly just how thin his knowledge of Cressida's brother was.

"I never did offer my own congratulations on your victory," Silver said, startling him from his thoughts. Blue eyes locked with his, and Pierce could see the books behind him just barely reflected in Silver's monocle. "Your performance was most impressive, especially at the last. Gifford prides himself on his skills, but he has never learned to curb his impulsive nature."

Pierce blinked and struggled hard not to gawk. "Thank you," he finally managed. "I did not note your presence amongst the spectators."

Silver gave a slight shrug. "I was there only briefly, to pass the time before a meeting at the Academy."

Oh. Well, that certainly made more sense than Silver wanting to watch him. "I hope I helped pass the time sufficiently."

"Indeed," Silver said, reaching up to adjust his monocle.

A nervous gesture, Pierce realized abruptly. He wondered why Silver was anxious. Blue eyes met his, then Silver dropped his gaze. They lifted again, and he saw Silver was about to speak. "Pier—"

Below them the main doors to the library opened, the noise enough Pierce shifted his gaze reflexively to the source. Nothing of import. He turned back to Silver – and realized that whatever he'd been about to say, he was no longer going to say it.

"I am sorry to have kept you so long," Silver said. "I'm certain you've far more interesting things to be doing. Thank you again for indulging me. If you will forgive me, I have delayed in my day's work long enough."

"Of course," Pierce said, and stood up, sketching a brief bow before turning and taking his leave.

He left the library to go in search of food, but even when he ran into a group of friends and was coerced into going down into the city, he could not leave behind that lost moment. It irked him that he could not forget it, but he sensed it had been important.

What had Silver been about to say?

*~*~*

Pierce stormed into the sitting room ready to strangle her. Of all the things to do, and just barely two hours away from the start of her ball – he was going to kill her. "Cress!" He snapped. "Just what do you think—"

He stopped abruptly as he took in her ashen face. "Poppet, what's wrong?"

She bolted to him, tangling her hands in the black velvet of his formal evening jacket. "I know I shouldn't be here," she stammered, "but Pierce – Silver has found out!"

Pierce frowned and covered her hands in his own, dismayed to feel how cold they were. "I do not think that is cause for alarm, poppet. Your brother is not your enemy."

Cressida blinked rapidly, willing away tears. "But we were arguing—everything got out of control—I told him—" Her hands tightened in his jacket. "Then he stole my latest letter and stormed off and I think he has gone to confront Seymour. I wanted to go stop them myself, but—"

"No, that is the very last thing you should have done, idiot. Coming to see me was only slightly better. Get back to your parents at once, poppet. I will take care of Silver, all right? Do not get so upset. After waiting so long, Seymour should see you smiling, hmm?"

She looked at him, then nodded and let go of his jacket. Another blink and she was her usual self. He didn't know how she managed it. "Thank you, Pierce. I am sorry to add yet more drama to this affair."

"My family has a history of drama, so I'm used to it. Never fear, poppet. I will bring your beau to you one way or the other." Though he really didn't think Silver was anything to worry about. He'd seemed sincere about wanting only for his sister to be happy, and Pierce knew that Seymour would make her happy.

Though who knew. He'd not seen Silver once since their single meeting, except in brief glimpses. His few attempts to speak with Silver always ended in failure. It should not bother him, for they'd never really crossed paths overmuch beyond the time he spent with Cressida…but that unspoken sentence vexed him to the point of distraction. No reason for it, but there it was all the same.

Perhaps he could use this near-debacle to his own advantage once the matter of Seymour was secured.

He leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Off with you before anyone notices you missing, poppet. We will be back in due course."

"Yes," Cressida replied. "Thank you again."

"No thanks necessary – but you might have a bit more faith in your brother. He only wants your happiness, Cress."

She gave sharp laugh, the sound wholly unlike her. "Oh, the fine mess we've all made of things. Go, Pierce. I will see all three of you shortly, and in good temper. Understand?"

"Yes. Now go."

Cressida departed, and Pierce wasted no time returning to his own chambers to call for a horse and finish dressing. Mere minutes later he was riding through the streets, making his way to the Castlethwaite Hotel where Seymour was residing until he could obtain a permanent residence.

The ride was only fifteen minutes, but it seemed interminable.

What had Seymour been thinking in sending a letter directly to Cressida? Could he not have waited a mere few hours more? He would beat the man senseless if Silver had not already done the job.

Reaching the hotel, he handed off his horse to a waiting groom and strode inside, ignoring the attendants to go straight to Seymour's room.

He pounded upon the door, and could hear voices inside which abruptly stopped with the noise.

The door flew open to reveal a face he both knew and didn't – the last time he had seen it, Seymour had been a boy of eighteen, pale and scared but determined. Seymour had always been stubborn above all else. He was handsome enough – black hair and brown eyes, skin unfashionably dark but he suspected Cress would like that.

"Seymour," he greeted.

"Pierce," Seymour said dryly. "Have you come to join the party, then?"

"So it would seem," Pierce replied, entering the room as Seymour beckoned him inside, eyes seeking and immediately finding Silver standing by the sofa in the small front room of Seymour's suite.

Silver who always looked his iciest in formal attire. Stark black and white, a diamond glittering in the lace at his throat, more at his cuffs, accenting the hard shine of his monocle and the frosty paleness of his hair.

Yet his expression was not as aloof as usual. "Pierce."

"Your sister came to me in a tizzy," Pierce said in response to the unasked question.

"Serves her right," Silver replied. "The next time she comes to me to pick a fight, perhaps she'll remember to guard her tongue more carefully."

Wait. Cress had started the argument? That was an interesting detail to have left out. "What in the world were the two of you having a row about?"

"Happiness," Silver said, and the depths of the bitterness in his voice drew Pierce up short. He turned to Seymour. "So far, I am having trouble finding any fault in you minus your behavior in this entire affair, but I think I will blame that upon my sister. I am inclined this evening to blame everything on that idiot."

Pierce quirked a brow at that. "She was firmly of the belief that you were coming here to suggest pistols at down."

Silver merely gave him a withering look. "I might be good for giving a discourse on pistols, Pierce, but that is all. Such idiotic displays of drama are not worth my time. I came to see for myself that the boy who once played with the two of you in that damnable creek had grown up suitable enough to court my sister." He returned his attention once more to Seymour. "I am satisfied with this initial interview, but you still have my father to contend with and my mother after him. If I were you, I would not be alone with my mother."

Pierce stared. This was nothing like the Silver he knew…but then again, his frustration had always been in not knowing Silver at all. He was always so quiet and aloof – this assertive and commanding side, the quiet, gentle jests interjected throughout…

Intriguing.

Seymour chuckled. "You are a St. Rose through and through, Silver. Always so stern when I saw you as a child; you've not changed a bit."

"You have, however," Silver said. "I am thankful you've overcome the abysmal shadows of your father."

"I assure you, no one is more thankful for that than I," Seymour replied quietly.

Pierce shook his head, laughing softly. "It would seem, then, that this affair is well ended. Seymour, shall we get you to your betrothed before she comes to fetch us?"

"Do not say such things," Silver said, looking pained. "I would not put it past her, and I do not want to deal with the debacle that would ensue. All of this nonsense is quite enough for me."

"Well said," Pierce replied, grinning. "Let us return before the ladies notice our names missing from their dance cards."

Silver made a face, and Pierce agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. He smiled in sympathy – and how strange it was to be exchanging such things with Silver.

The three men made their way out of the hotel, standing in silence as they waited for Seymour's carriage. Inside it, the silence stretched on, but for whatever reason it did not feel awkward to him.

All too soon the carriage pulled up to the St. Rose estate, and one by one the men clambered out, handing off their overcoats and hats to the footmen just inside the door.

Silver slipped away to join his family inside, while Pierce and Seymour waited patiently to be announced.

"I wish that we'd had time to speak before tonight," Pierce murmured as they were announce and entered the ballroom.

Seymour grimaced briefly. "Yes, I know. I can hear the reprimand in your tone."

Pierce smirked and bowed low before he was lost to the whirl of social niceties. Though he wanted badly to be close as the chaos played out, this was Cressida and Seymour's moment – and he would be less likely to become a target himself if he hid from sight.

He'd just finished waltzing with a girl whose name eluded him but whose dance steps were lethal to his toes when he saw signs the storm had begun – Cressida, her parents, Silver, and Seymour all ducking discreetly from the ballroom.

Half wishing he could be there to see the ensuing argument, half grateful he was not, Pierce took the girl he'd been dancing with back to her mother and went to find the next one to whom he owed a dance.

Just as he was bowing over her hand, a footman approached discreetly seeking his attention.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Beg pardon, my lord, but his lordship requests an audience at once."

"Of course," Pierce replied. He turned back to the girl with whom he'd been about to dance and made his apologies, then followed the footman quickly from the ballroom to what he knew to be the study.

He was greeted by an expression that was part glare, part resigned amusement. "Pierce, you knew about this."

"If I said no, would I stand a chance of being believed?" Pierce asked.

That earned him a few rolls of the eyes.

Lord St. Rose gestured to Seymour, who stood beside Cressida, his stubborn expression wholly unchanged, except it had been cuter when he was a boy.

Pierce strove not to snicker.

"What say you, Pierce? If you have been party to this ridiculous shenanigan, I can only hope you stand firmly by your decision."

"Of course I stand firmly," Pierce said sharply. "We three have been friends since we were children. I know how they feel; I know those feelings have not changed. This entire time I have watched the situation closely, prepared to end the entire matter the moment I felt it was necessary. Not once have I ever felt so. They have always had my support, and I will always give it."

St. Rose snorted indelicately. "I might have known some manner of scandal would follow in your wake, Pierce."

"Pish posh," Cressida interjected. "If we'd had a row in the ballroom – that would have been scandalous. I doubt this will even make the gossip columns."

"That is enough out of you," her mother said firmly, but there was a trace of amusement in her voice she could not entirely hide.

St. Rose glared at his daughter.

"Oh, honestly," Cressida said with a sniff. "I don't see what the fuss is about. Great grandmamma was not much better in the end, what with her sending those letters."

Silver stirred from the corner where he had been quietly observing the proceedings. "That has nothing to do with this," he said sharply.

Rather more sharply than Pierce thought was necessary, but then again he did not know this family story.

"Oh, phooey on you," Cressida retorted, and Pierce suddenly felt afraid for Silver. That gleam in Cress's eye only ever spelled trouble. Silver glared at her and snarled at her to be quiet, but Cressida ignored him – and around them the rest of the family had fallen silent. Clearly no one was willing to interfere when Cressida had that look in her eye.

She turned abruptly to him, smiling that too-sweet smile of hers that spelled not just death, but a slow and painful one. "Pierce, do you know this story?"

"Um—"

"It's rather embarrassing, so the family never speaks of it. My great grandmamma was in love with another man, but was forced to marry my great grandpapa. Still she could not entirely give up her love for the man she could not have."

"Cressida!" Silver hissed.

She ignored him. "She wrote him letters; the family only discovered this after she had died, and was quite horrified it had been going on for so long. We took her letters into our keeping. They likely should have been burned, but for whatever reason we have kept them."

"Devil take you then," Silver snarled abruptly, pushing away from the wall and storming from the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Well," said Lady St. Rose. "What the devil has come over my children this evening?"

"Pierce," Cressida said too sweetly. "Pay attention."

"Never fear," Pierce said dryly. "I know not what you're about, but I want to continue living. Finish your tale."

Cressida nodded approvingly at his words, and obediently continued. "The letters she wrote were quite pretty. At the end of each she always signed them 'watching from afar, a pale and distant star'. Because she'd always been called the Star, you see? It was her nickname among her peers."

But Pierce had stopped listening, all his attention focused solely on those words…and the way Silver had left. No – the way Silver had fled.

"I told you it was familiar," Cressida said softly. "We got into an argument because I said that he should tell you the truth."

Pierce nodded, trying to figure out what to say – but all he could manage was to make his clumsy excuses before bolting from the study.

Silver…

All this time it was Silver?

Damn and blast, where was the man?

He heard the sound of glass shattering, a muffled shout – and grinned.

Naturally. The library.

Bolting down the hallway, he had a brief moment of panic that the door would be locked – but then it turned easily beneath his hand, and he nearly tumbled into the room from surprise.

Shattered glass lay on the floor nearby, the scent of spilled brandy filling the room.

Silver was leaning against the back of a sofa, his back to the room, staring out the wide window overlooking the garden behind the house.

Pierce closed the door, and the noise made Silver visibly flinch.

What did one say in a moment like this? He still could not fathom it. Silver…this entire time his admirer had been his best friend's brother…had been the man who confused him like no other. "It was you the entire time?" he finally asked.

Silver stiffened, and did not turn to face him. "I would say the answer to that is obvious, Pierce."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Silver asked, sounding somehow both tired and curt.

Pierce motioned impatiently. "The secrecy. The letters. All of it. Why did you not simply say something? I was quite firmly convinced you could not stand me; at the very best, that you simply did not care one way or the other."

He strode across the room and around the couch, somberly regarding the man who still refused to look at him. "Silver…"

"What was I supposed to say? I'm sure you must have noticed by now that I am nothing like my vivacious sister. She can charm a room full of people with a single sentence, and I am lucky if I can string words together long enough to form a sentence, never mind somehow manage to interject charm. You two have been as peas in a pod for as long as you have known each other…"

Silver removed the monocle from his eyes and polished it with a handkerchief, and Pierce realized this was another nervous gesture. "For years I believed the two of you were or would be much more than friends. I could not even begin to compete with my little sister, and I did not intend to humiliate myself by trying."

Pierce frowned, but forced himself to remain silent.

"Yet much like my notorious great grandmother, I could not give you up." He shrugged. "So I wrote the letters."

"You were going to say something, weren't you, that day in the library?"

That startled Silver enough that he turned to look at him, and Pierce made his move, stepping close enough to reach out and grasp Silver's chin, keeping him from looking away. "What were you going to say?"

"I didn't know," Silver said. "I just… you were talking to me for once and treating me like I was normal…I was tired of the secrecy and feeling foolish. Initially I thought the letters would be enough…instead they just made it all worse." He jerked free and looked away again. "My stupid sister figured it out; that was the reason we were arguing. I said she had no place instructing me on matters of the heart when she knew nothing about it." His lips twitched briefly. "So of course Cress being Cress, she told me precisely how much she knew about it."

Pierce laughed. "She is quite irate with you."

"Yes," Silver said, face clouding. "So angry she told secrets that were not hers to tell."

Oh, he was really getting sick of not being looked at. Reaching out, Pierce sank his hands into Silver's hair and forced his head around and up. "I thought you must always dislike me, if not hate me, between monopolizing your sister and nearly blinding you."

"This?" Silver asked, touching the frame of his monocle lightly. "It was an accident, Pierce, and I've grown so used to it I scarcely notice. Are you really that concerned over it?"

"You never told me you weren't," Pierce replied.

Silver frowned slightly. "You were so upset I figured I wouldn't bring it up."

Pierce laughed and shook his head. "All this time…"

And it struck him then, really struck him, that Silver had been writing all those letters. Every last amorous word of them. He drew a sharp breath as the letters connected with the face before him.

It…was a surprisingly heady combination. He'd always noted Silver's beauty – he was at least the equal of his sister, and only Pierce's frustration and confusion where he was concerned had kept him from thinking of Silver in such a way.

"You wrote those letters," he said quietly, letting go of his grasp on Silver's hair to pin his hands to the couch, legs spread just so Silver's were between his. "Every last word was yours."

Silver looked at him, face flushing scarlet, and if that wasn't the oddest thing he'd ever seen…and he found he rather liked the look of a thawing Silver.

"You should have said something," he said quietly.

"I could hardly compete with my sister or any of the other brilliant stars around you," Silver replied. "Pale and distant, that's all I have ever been when it came to you."

Pierce grinned. "Your face is too red to be pale, and it seems to me you are far from distant now." He didn't let Silver reply, but took extreme liberty and kissed him.

He was fed a startled gasp, and used that to his advantage, deepening the kiss, and was astonished to hear himself groan – but Silver tasted like perfection, tart and sweet, and after a moment the mouth beneath his began to move, returning his kiss and that extracted a second groan.

The hands trapped beneath his tugged impatiently, and Pierce obligingly let them go, but only so he could take more liberties by touching.

Silver. He was kissing Silver, whose aloof façade hid a man capable of writing letters that made him hot and hard just thinking upon them.

He broke the kiss only to breathe, and the sight of the icy Silver with wet, kiss-swollen lips, his hair disheveled, and the monocle knocked aside…Pierce nearly lost himself then and there, utterly taken by the sight of Silver so well thawed.

It was a sight fine enough that he could no more resist taking another kiss than he could stop breathing. "Silver…" he breathed, licking those well-kissed lips before claiming them fully, feeling more than hearing the way Silver said his name in reply.

"All this time!" He said when the broke apart again. "I feel like an idiot."

Silver shook his head. "Well, I am dumbfounded you are kissing me, so I would call us even, Pierce."

Pierce looked at him, memorizing every line of that face in a way he never had before. He cupped the back of Silver's head and drew him close, kissing him long and slow, learning every last bit of that warm and pliant mouth, committing it to memory. "I've wondered as to the identity of my admirer for ages. I despaired of ever finding you."

Silver smiled ruefully. "I despaired you would discover me."

"I am happy Cress interfered," Pierce said with a grin.

"I am looking forward to getting revenge," Silver retorted.

Pierce smiled and leaned in so that their foreheads touched, utterly lost in those blue eyes which were no longer aloof. Hesitant, unsure, but no longer aloof. "Would skipping out on her betrothal ball to engage in base behavior be revenge enough?"

"No," Silver replied, then shifted so that his arms were around Pierce's neck and their mouths were only a space apart. "It is, however, a good start."

"Then let us make a start on your revenge," Pierce said with a laugh, and kissed his not so distant star.