Page 76 of Eternal Devotion

Mordecai

“Sir Isaac Newton?”

“Yes. Queer fellow.”

“He was gay?”

“No. Queer, as in eccentric. Quirky. Did you know he performed countless experiments on his own body?”

“I didn’t.”

“True story. He once stuck a sewing needle between his eyeball and the bone of its socket simply to see if it would affect his vision.”

“Oh god. That’s… stupid.”

I chuckled. “Indeed.”

Ensley grew thoughtful, head balanced on an upturned palm, elbow supported on the pillow as he drew lazy patterns on my chest. Although I could have seen him clearly without the curtain drawn, the cast of grey moonlight caressed the soft curve of his cheek and jaw in a wondrous way that made it hard not to stare.

I lay beside him, as he listed countless famous names from history whom I may have encountered.

“What about Albert Einstein?”

“Forgetful fellow. Despised wearing socks.”

Ensley’s amusement glowed, creasing his eyes. “Monet?”

“Vile temper. Only saw him once.”

“Who else?”

“I don’t know. Vermeer, Goya, and Turner. Queen Anne. King George the first, second, and third.”

“No shit.”

“You know I didn’t actually meet or converse with any of these people, Ensley. It’s hardly worth your amazement. They were important members of society in their day, so I… watched them. I’m an observer.”

We’d been in bed for hours, talking openly for the first time. My life intrigued him in ways I couldn’t fathom, yet something about sharing my experiences was both refreshing and terrifying.

I was not one to get involved or develop bonds with humans. It went against my self-made rules. I feared where this would end and how long it might take to mourn his loss when it was over.

“Did you meet or talk to anyone famous?” he asked, digging a thumb into my hip bone and sending a ripple of pleasure over my skin.

His hair blocked part of his face as he peered down the length of my chest, so I tucked the runaway strand behind his ear.

“No. I’m a recluse. I never—Drat. Scratch that. I forgot. I met Jean-Baptiste Lully. We strolled the Jardin des Plantes for an hour in late spring. It was dusk. I can’t remember why he was there, but I engineered an encounter and pretended I was a friend of his friend, or something to that effect. It was all quite clever.”

“Jean-Baptiste Lully. I don’t know that name.”

“He was a famous composer. He became a French subject working in the court of Louis XIV for a time before he was expelled. That was long after our promenade in the garden. He’s known for his operas and…” I smirked. “His affinity for having affairs with both men and women. Hence the expulsion from court… and my interest.”

“Ah.” Ensley’s eyes creased with a grin. “I see how it is. Were you one of his men?”

“No, but I’d heard rumors about his proclivities. It intrigued me, so I orchestrated our rendezvous and spent an hour in his presence. He was so… arrogant. Charismatic, sure, but all he wanted to do was talk about himself and his work. It was a bit disappointing.”

“What did you hope for?”

“I don’t know. Not sex, per se. I was curious. I don’t come from a time when homosexual relationships were openly acceptable, remember. To find someone like me was refreshing. This was before I met Cristofer, so I was quite alone.”