Florian woke with a gasp, heart racing as he scanned the room frantically. He was alone. Turning onto his side, he closed his eyes and wished for oblivion to chase away the nightmares that still haunted him.

"I can't do this," he whispered into the silence. The sheets around him were sweat-soaked and clammy and he felt like they were constricting him. With effort, he shoved them aside, then shivered in the sudden chill. He felt disconnected and vaguely unwell but he sent a firm command to his stomach and sat up.

A glance at the bedside clock told him it was later than he usually slept. That explained Ray's absence, and made him feel a bit better, if still a bit guilty for staying in bed so long.

He was just as happy to have missed breakfast and soothed his conscience by deciding to finish cleaning the attic. Washing quickly and putting on work clothes he hurried downstairs to find Laila and ask for more cleaning rags.

"There you are," Laila greeted him. "Finally joined us?"

"Yes. I'm sorry to have overslept. I was hoping you'd have some more cleaning rags I could use?"

"In the broom closet. Help yourself." She waved in the direction of the small room where the broom, mops and other supplies were kept. "Finally going to finish the attic? Ray wants that furniture moved and cleaned today before you inventory it. He's thinking of selling some of it." She carefully left out the fact that Ray had wanted someone else to do the actual moving.

"I'd better get the rags then. It'll be a full day's work. I'm getting a late start." He was so busy mentally reviewing what was left to be done that he paid her the barest courtesies as he hurried off.

Laila felt a twinge of guilt for misleading him but soothed her conscience by deciding to deliver his lunch to the attic.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was after nine when Ray returned home that evening after a day of appointments and errands and a visit to his club. He waved off Laila's offer of supper and disappeared into the study with a mission clearly in mind.

It was only then that Laila realized she hadn't seen Florian since she'd taken him his lunch at noon. With a sense of unease, she hurried upstairs, telling herself that he'd simply fallen asleep.

It wasn't much of a surprise to discover that she was wrong. She looked around, amazed at the change in the attic. The rest of the furniture had been moved and some of it shone softly in the lamplight, the wood freshly cleaned and polished.

She frowned at Florian's untouched lunch tray and at the man himself. He was dirt-smudged and disheveled although it didn't fully conceal his pallor or the sharp lines of exhaustion on his face. Ray was not going to be happy about this, or her "memory lapse" in neglecting to send anyone to help.

"Laila?" Florian's voice was rough from dust and fatigue.

"It's late. I thought you might want supper. Ray's back and he's in his study."

"How thoughtful of you to offer, but I'm not hungry." He looked around at the items still waiting to be cleaned and inventoried. "I was hoping to finish, but I suppose it will have to wait until tomorrow." He brushed ineffectually at a streak of dirt on his sleeve. "I'd better get cleaned up."

"You should eat something," Laila replied, picking up the untouched tray. "The doctor said┘"

"It's kind of you to be concerned," Florian interrupted smoothly with a gentle smile turning away to indicate the end of any discussion. He straightened a few items unnecessarily then moved around the room extinguishing all but one of the lamps. He picked that one up and turned, waiting for Laila to precede him down the stairs.

Quite certain that any further discussion of Florian's health would be met with his polite but stubborn refusals, she acceded to his wish and remained silent. They traveled to the second floor together where Florian bid her good night and turned towards his suite.

She descended to the first floor and made her way to the kitchen with the untouched tray. Once it was cleared and cleaned, she left a note for the cook requesting some of last year's strawberry preserves for Florian's breakfast, something she knew he'd like.

Sighing heavily, she made her way to the study and stood, indecisive. After several long moments, she heard the sound of soft snoring from beyond the door. Just as well, she told herself. She didn't need to bother Ray with this. Florian would eat tomorrow so there was no sense causing needless worry.

Happy to have the matter settled, Laila headed off to bed. Mornings came early in Ray's house and it wouldn't do to spend the day fuzzy from lack of rest.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At 2:19 a.m., Florian made a decision on something he'd been considering for several days. Still trembling from another round of nightmares, he clutched the edge of the sink and stared at his reflection, trying to build his courage to follow through on that decision. The letter rested beside his hand, slightly bent from his desperate grip. He didn't have to look at it to feel as if it were taunting him.

It was such a simple thing. Only one of the literally hundreds of invitations his mother had written in her lifetime. Was it such a surprise that one of them should end up here, forgotten, in the mending basket of the mansion's former owner - the Countess Laurent?

He'd been sorting the last of the furniture in the attic when he'd opened a small chest and discovered a jumble of small items including a mending basket much like the one his mother had used. It had been her habit to store unanswered correspondence as well as other small items that were part of her daily tasks. Apparently the Countess Laurent had the same habit.

Seeing his mother's familiar handwriting on the envelope had been shocking enough - but the contents were far more disturbing. It was an invitation to a party in memory of his father and, written in his mother's fine, neat hand was a personal note to the countess which ended: The child's been sent away. At last it's over.

Like a man obsessed, Florian had explored every item, searching for more - letters, invitations, anything. Surely it took him hours, but he had no sense of the time until Laila arrived to tell him Ray was home.

He'd made the least effort at washing and had fallen into bed, exhausted and defeated with nothing more to show for his searching. He wished more than anything, that he'd never set eyes on that damned invitation.

He loved his mother, nothing would change that. But memories plagued him - of being rebuffed, of being hit or even sent away for extended visits to obscure relatives and friends. Florian had precious few memories of his father as anything other than a little-seen presence. Could she really have been relieved when he died?

Florian had learned very early to amuse himself quietly and to do as his mother commanded without question. He'd had few friends growing up and there had rarely been money for tutors, certainly none for expensive boarding schools. She'd overseen much of his instruction and had been quite demanding in etiquette and social graces, but hadn't put much effort into anything she deemed unimportant for a young aristocrat.

Alone, in the dark of Ray's mansion, Florian's nightmares replayed those last moments with his mother - the moment when she trembled as Ray demanded she choose between her son and the Rochefort family's treasure. The moment when he sold himself to a man he barely knew. Had she truly loved him less than she loved an unfeeling stone? Did it matter now that she was dead?

Giving himself one last look in the mirror, Florian gathered his resolve. Taking up his lamp, he walked through the suite and out into the hall. It seemed to take no time at all for him to reach the door to Ray's study. He could hear Ray's soft snores beyond and didn't bother to knock before entering.

"What?" Ray demanded, coming instantly awake, if not completely alert.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Florian responded automatically even if it wasn't quite true. He set the lamp down and moved to Ray's side. The younger man was standing, frowning at Florian - either for waking him or because he was out of bed in the middle of the night.

"If you've come to nag me about my sleeping habits..." Ray was cranky for having woken so abruptly.

"I haven't." Florian was proud that his voice remained steady even as fought the urge to run away and pretend he'd never come here in the middle of the night.

"Well then what are you wandering around for? You need you your sleep."

"Yes, I do. But I'm not getting any." Something in his tone of voice, or perhaps facial expression revealed what Florian had not said.

"Nightmares?"

"Yes, but not all of them from sleeping." Florian swallowed hard and gathered all of his resolve. He moved forward until they were barely a hand's span apart. "Why did you buy me? If you'd really wanted the Rochefort treasure, you could have forced mother to sell it. You know how little we had left."

"Don't tell me this is why you woke me up." Ray reached for Florian, placing a hand gently against his forehead. "You're warm. You should be in bed."

"Your bed?" Florian moved closer to Ray, staring intently.

"I told you I don't want a whore."

"But do you want me?" Florian already knew the answer. He could never compare to Ray in book knowledge, but he usually excelled at reading people. That surety gave him courage.

"What are you talking about? You're not feverish enough to be delirious."

"I'm perfectly rational and I'm asking if you care for me enough to share a bed, permanently." Florian pulled back a little, watching the emotions play across Ray's face. Even in the dim light he could see the curiosity and calculation give way to desire and perhaps even hope.

"I'm not asking you to be my spouse, not that you could be anyway. You're still the master. I won't ask that you be... faithful if you want to call it that. I won't even object to being whipped if I truly deserve it. In return, I want you to care for me as a person, not one of your jewels. And if you should one day decide you might feel something more for me, I want you to show it in your actions as much as with your words."

Florian stepped back, his heart still hammering in his chest, waiting to see if he'd spend the rest of the night in Ray's bed or in the cellar. When Ray pressed forward it was all he could do to stand firm.

"This is your one chance to pretend we never had this conversation. Once you're in my bed, you can't change your mind." As if testing Florian's certainty, Ray gripped Florian's shoulder and pulled him into a deep, demanding kiss. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing almost as heavily as Florian.

"I'm not going to treat you like a princess."

"I wouldn't stand it if you did." Florian kissed Ray back, just as hard and demanding as Ray had been. He felt a bit like he was going mad, but mainly he felt free, as if he had been suffocating and suddenly he could breathe.

What he was proposing went against everything his mother taught him. It went against everything society deemed acceptable. And yet, those weeks in Ray's home, those hours in his arms, they were beyond anything Florian had ever expected, or even hoped for in the future he'd dreaded as a fallen noble clinging blindly to obsolete ways and meaningless family pride.

So society and his mother be damned. He wanted someone to love him and if he couldn't have it, he'd take the closest available thing.

With a smile he held out his hand to Ray. "It's time for bed."

::end part 7::