Chapter 362: Chapter 362: Dinner with Dragons (2)
Lucas opened his mouth to answer, probably with a polite, evasive phrase that would put the two women to rest until dessert, but the scent that hit him from the platter Serathine’s staff had just set down derailed every coherent thought he’d ever had.
It was something rich and buttery, maybe truffle or garlic, but all he could process was that it smelled wrong.
Horribly, stomach-turningly wrong.
He made a valiant attempt to hold his expression, but his face betrayed him before his manners did. His nose twitched, his eyes watered, and then, absolutely mortifyingly, he gagged.
Trevor reacted first, half-rising with an instinct that was equal parts alarm and helpless amusement. "Oh, brilliant timing," he muttered under his breath, sliding the offending dish out of reach.
Cressida’s fork paused mid-air, her sharp blue eyes narrowing as the sound registered. "Good lord," she said dryly, "is someone dying or just objecting to dinner?"
Serathine gasped and immediately stood, elegant composure cracking as she leaned toward Lucas. "Darling, are you all right? Do you need..."
Trevor was already there, chair scraping back as he rounded the table. "Move," he said, quiet but firm, taking the platter from a startled attendant and shoving it toward the sideboard. The air shifted; even Serathine stilled under the weight of his voice.
"Trevor, I..." Lucas began, voice hoarse, one hand pressed to his mouth.
"Breathe," Trevor cut in, kneeling beside him without hesitation. His palm came to rest against the back of Lucas’s neck, thumb brushing the skin there until he felt the shiver of another swallow. "In. Slow. Don’t look at the food."
Serathine glanced at Cressida, half-panicked. "Is he already having..." Her lips curved in an incredulous smile. "evening sickness?"
Cressida set her napkin down with regal precision, her tone bone-dry. "It’s called morning sickness, Serathine. The hour doesn’t make it fashionable."
Serathine shot her a look. "I’m aware of the term, Cressida, I’m just..." She gestured helplessly toward Lucas, who had gone pale again, shoulders tight as Trevor steadied him. "He hasn’t even had dessert."
Trevor’s head lifted, and the look he gave them was enough to silence both women instantly. "He doesn’t need dessert," he said, voice low and measured, but the possessiveness beneath it was unmistakable. "He needs air."
Lucas tried to speak through a shallow breath, words catching. "Trevor, I’m fine, I just..."
"You’re not fine," Trevor interrupted quietly, thumb tracing the back of his neck, a subtle grounding rhythm. His other hand moved to Lucas’s jaw, gently coaxing him to look up. "Don’t argue. You’re leaving this table before I carry you out."
The words weren’t loud, but the tone made even Cressida’s perfectly honed composure flicker for a second.
Windstone appeared from nowhere, a glass of water in hand. "The balcony is open, my lord," he said in that unflappable way of his. "Fresh air, minimal witnesses."
"Good," Trevor said without missing a beat. He slid his arm beneath Lucas’s, guiding him up with surprising gentleness. "We’re taking a break."
Lucas winced, letting himself lean into Trevor despite the mortification tightening his chest. "You’re making a scene."
Trevor glanced down at him, a crooked smirk tugging at his mouth. "Darling, I am the scene."
Serathine huffed softly, torn between concern and exasperation. "Always so dramatic."
Cressida tilted her head, watching the two of them go, her voice deceptively mild. "And yet effective. He’s terrifying when he’s serious."
—
Outside, the night air was cool and faintly perfumed with garden jasmine. Lucas drew in a slow, shaky breath, the nausea already easing as Trevor’s scent and warmth wrapped around him.
"Better?" Trevor asked, still close enough that his breath stirred the hair near Lucas’s temple.
Lucas nodded weakly. "A little. Gods, that smell, why do rich people insist on cooking with truffles?"
"Punishment for existing," Trevor murmured, slipping his jacket from his shoulders and draping it over Lucas’s. "You scared them in there."
Lucas huffed a soft, tired laugh. "I scared myself."
Trevor’s hand lingered at his waist, steady and possessive. "You don’t have to be brave tonight," he said, his voice quieter now. "Just breathe. I’ll handle the dragons."
Lucas leaned into him, exhaustion tugging at the edges of his composure. "You always do."
From the doorway, Windstone’s calm voice drifted through. "Tea will be ready in five minutes. Shall I tell the duchess you’ve survived?"
Trevor didn’t look up. "Tell her we’ll rejoin them when he’s ready."
Windstone inclined his head, the faintest glimmer of approval crossing his face before he disappeared again.
Lucas smiled faintly, fingers curling into the lapel of Trevor’s jacket. "You’re supposed to be polite to them, you know."
Trevor’s eyes softened as he pressed a brief kiss to Lucas’s temple. "I’m polite to you. That’s enough diplomacy for one evening."
"You really are ruining the mood with your possessiveness." Said Serathine while approaching with a glass of mint water and Cressida in tow.
Trevor didn’t even turn at first; he simply tightened his arm around Lucas’s waist, steady and unyielding, before glancing over his shoulder with that infuriatingly calm smile.
"Not possessive," he said. "Preventative. There’s a difference."
Cressida arched an eyebrow, the reflection of the terrace lights glinting off her pearl earrings. "Only in your dictionary, boy." She crossed the stone floor with the steady grace of someone who had commanded boardrooms and parliaments in her time. "And before you glower at me like that, sit him down before he falls down."
Trevor guided Lucas toward one of the lounge chairs near the balcony edge, lowering him carefully until Lucas was resting back against the cushions. Serathine offered the mint water with the kind of expression that mixed maternal concern with mild exasperation.
"Drink," she said, her tone softened but firm. "And for the love of all things sacred, breathe through your mouth if I ever cook with truffles again."
Lucas managed a small laugh, accepting the glass. "I’m starting to believe that’s the only way to survive dinner in this family."
"Correct," Cressida said, smoothing her silk sleeve as she sat opposite him. "Though to be fair, you’ve handled it with more dignity than most." Her eyes flicked toward Trevor. "Even if your husband insists on behaving like a guard dog."
Trevor smiled thinly. "A well-fed one, at least."
Serathine groaned softly, though her lips twitched. "Could you stop circling each other for five minutes? We’re all on the same side here."
"I’m not circling," Trevor replied, voice even but unmistakably protective. "I’m making sure he doesn’t have to deal with anyone else’s panic on top of his own."
That silenced them. For a moment, even Cressida’s repeated retorts faltered under the weight of what he meant and what he was.
Serathine finally spoke, her tone gentler. "Trevor, darling, no one’s going to hurt him."
Trevor’s gaze slid toward her, steady and sure. "I know." He paused, the next words lower. "That’s why I’m here."
Cressida studied him for a beat, something flickering behind her cool composure. Then she inclined her head slightly, as though acknowledging a line she wouldn’t cross. "Very well," she said softly. "But you’ll learn, eventually, that protecting isn’t the same as controlling."
Trevor’s smirk returned, faint and sharp. "I’ll take notes from the women who wrote the book."
Lucas groaned, tipping his head back against the cushion, half laughing, half exhausted. "You’re all impossible."
Serathine smiled, brushing a hand through her red hair before crouching beside him. "And you, sweetheart, are the only reason this family hasn’t imploded yet. Finish your water and come inside when you’re ready."
The two women disappeared back toward the dining room, their voices already fading into quiet debate about menus, no doubt, or future baby showers Lucas was absolutely not ready to think about.
Trevor lingered behind, crouching beside the chair again, his hand resting lightly against Lucas’s knee.
"Still nauseous?" he asked quietly.
Lucas shook his head, eyes half-lidded. "Just tired."
Trevor smiled faintly, fingers tracing idle circles against his skin. "Then rest. I’ll keep the dragons at bay a little longer."
Lucas hummed softly, a sound somewhere between a sigh and laughter. "You already have."