The blue of his eyes took on the storms that skirted his boats. Ash in sapphire waters, lit from below. He listened to Ada picking him up and dropping him into a place where she thought he'd still fit. But these were a man's tailoring, and he sought out her passions instead of fearing them. It is a significant difference in the grown animal to the little pup. In the end it was the kind of bliss that disguised itself as frustration for him. He'd not lived his teenage uproar here, so he had the sense to wrangle any sprouting antlers before they could challenge mother. He decided to savor it, instead. How many creaking nights had he wondered if Ada would just come out of the shadows to order him home - bind his hands on the matter so his mission would be over.<br/><br/>It was his pleasure also to pull her along, trying out these new arms on a woman who'd stayed virtually the same. Effective. He looked back sometimes, to see how Ada looked when she was forced to do something she'd rather not, and then at Matilda, who was the picture of a brave debutante. And after a short spell of objection in her eyes, she was also as struck in the recently reconfigured room as those girls seemed to be often. On Tillie, though, it was endlessly more sincere.<br/><br/>Mother was not so overwhelmed by his suggestion, and he listened to her set up the rules as she thought they ought to be. Was it unfitting that he also read her figure and counted the motions of her breasts as she spoke? It was nothing unfair in what she wanted of course, as the lady with her well tamed hair would think herself, but he'd already had the men come in. This was not an inspiration he'd had recently. He'd dreamed and sweated for this arrangement. Her entitlement, arguably correct, stirred some anger in him, but he let her have her speech, and then buried his frustrations in Matilda's company instead. At least Ada had treated him to an impressive sortir. He supposed his role was to ask for forgiveness later. It would be delightful if she expected that when he came.<br/><br/>And his sister did not disappoint. Their familiarity and equal newness was a breeding ground for games. It would seem his beloved fox would not leave him wanting. He was grateful for how fast she seemed to adhere to him again. Fast to mother's defense, as she should be, but they didn't stay on that long while she placed herself at a corner, where she looked lovely. How expressive, his baby sibling turned fair woman, talking him from a marital bed.<br/><br/>"I don't know anything about ladies, Tillie." he promised as truly as anyone can say a lie, and moved closer to her. And then his heart compressed tightly for her returning dainty. What formidable danger she could be. Perhaps it had been out of mercy that she'd not let some weakling take her away. With the deft he'd not owned when his smaller leather shoes had stepped on these floor last, he sat beside her and took her hand before she could fully remedy whatever creases she saw in her dress.<br/><br/>"I'm happy to be here, Matilda Bradshaw." he said and undid his vest with the stroke of a finger. Magic, really. He continued to kill buttons on the center of his shirt while preserving the collar and his cravat. "Do you know how well I could have done with a pretty like you by my side in Shanghai?" He held her wrist with two fingers, and guided her hand into the parted, expensive cotton, so she could discover his lack of undershirt. Sternum, chest, rib cage, all of it elegantly svelte, and all of it with that inherent rhythm. And here is my heart, sister.<br/><br/>He looked at her like she was still speaking, the way he was reading her face and moving his eyes over her beautiful complexion. It was an alarming way to take in a person, and it had bought him some stutters in the past during which he could insert viper-words or practice pick-pocket savvy. "I did so miss you out there, Tillie." he said with a wave of misery that was owed her. He left her hand where it was against him, like it was perfectly commonplace, and combed his hands into her free hair to lift it to his mouth and nose. His chest filled with her scent and then he let that exclusive, ruby-grown wealth fall back.<br/><br/>"You were always fantastic." he breathed with his eyes closed. When his shoulders lowered and he looked at her again, he discovered something he'd forgotten, judging by his expression. All his fingers combed into the back of her head to bring her in. He kissed her worse than before, with his own scents, like she remembered, but amplified and a little more threatening, mixing up with her own, from having bathed in her tresses just now. Because he couldn't stand not to, his tongue came out to petition for hers - an invader, but not a marauder. He'd let her protest if she wanted, by reflex, at first, and then he'd make it deeper still, looking for approval. She not hated it in the front yard.<br/><br/>Ewan Bradshaw had come back a wildling with a gentleman's frame.