Poison by Megan Derr Page A

it. "Never mind, Gautier. I'll see my caller after all, thank you. If you could see the packing is taken care of and the travel carriage readied?"
    Gautier looked at him in surprise, but then quickly schooled his expression and tipped a bow. "Yes, your grace. I will fetch Andre and see he attends your packing. The carriage will be ready in a half hour."
    "Thank you," Ailill said. He let go of the door to fix his clothes and smooth his hair back down, trying to regain his calm, though his heart was thudding too hard and fast in his chest for calm to be achievable.
    He stared in surprise, mouth falling slightly open. The last time he had seen Ivan he'd been dressed like the merc he was:  cheap, rough clothes; good leather armor; sword and half a dozen daggers; hair unkempt; always smelling of sweat and horse, except when he smelled of sweat and sex.
    The Ivan before him was dressed in clothes as costly as his own, his jacket a deep, smoky gray that made his hard eyes almost pretty. His hair had grown out slightly and was a little disheveled, but far tidier than Ailill had ever seen it.
    "Vanya?" he finally asked, realizing he was staring like a nitwit.
    Ivan laughed. "I was starting to think you did not recognize me."
    "I admit you've gotten prettier since I last saw you," Ailill said, smiling. He closed the parlor door and strode across the room, holding up the calling card. "When did you become a duke?"
    Rolling his eyes, Ivan replied, "When I handed over the Minister of Magic. His majesty decided that throwing me into nobility was more appropriate than throwing me into a prison cell. Thankfully he did not also try to make me a Minister. That position was retired." He hesitated, then said, "You are looking well, Ailill. Much better than when last I saw you."
    "When last you saw me I was flopping about like a boy after his first binge," Ailill drawled, fighting an idiotic grin, unable to say exactly why he was so happy to see Ivan. He knew he had missed him, and definitely missed sleeping with him, but the joy keeping his heart thudding rapidly in his chest ...
    Well, he would figure that out later. Smirking, Ailill asked, "So are we done being polite, Vanya? Or are you too proper now that you're a duke to kiss me?"
    Ivan made that growly sort of noise that Ailill had always loved and grabbed his wrist, pulling him slowly closer. Sinking his fingers into the hair at Ailill's nape, he tilted Ailill's head and said, "No title is going to make me that proper."
    Ailill laughed, but it was immediately cut off by Ivan's mouth, as rough and hot as Ailill remembered. He had always liked that best about Ivan:  he did not hesitate about what he wanted. He enjoyed it and was not impeded by things like titles.
    Groaning, Ailill wrapped his arms around Ivan's waist, took the kiss deeper, and pressed as close against Ivan as he could get. He was ravenous, desperate, aching to have what he had so sorely missed for the past two years. Drawing back, gulping in breaths, loving the way his lips throbbed, Ailill said, "Here I worried you would not remember me."
    Ivan laughed softly and dragged his tongue across Ailill's lips, goatee scraping where it touched skin. "Now how could I forget you? If anyone was likely to be forgotten, your grace, it was a lowly merc."
    "A lowly merc who is now a lofty duke," Ailill said, amused, and then he went right back to kissing him, hating it when reality could no longer be ignored. Drawing back reluctantly, he said, "I want nothing more than to invite you upstairs to my bedroom and keep you there for a long time, Vanya."
    Raising his brows in silent query, Ivan replied, "Why can't you?" He smirked. "Somebody else in it? I can throw them out, I think."
    Ailill laughed. "Don't be absurd. No, I have been ordered to handle a very delicate matter by the Triad. I must leave immediately to carry those orders out. I nearly had my butler throw you out until I actually read the calling card."
    "I see," Ivan said, and he