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Ryan permits Mr. Esposito to take his arm and lead him into the gardens. The shade and cool breeze are too appealing to deny even if he wanted to, and if Ryan is perfectly honest he doesn't really want to.
Mr. Esposito dances with him as often as Ryan will let him sign his dance card - never two dances in a row - and brings him to the coolest part of the room with a generous portion of lemon ice when the dancing has overheated him, and Ryan suspects the nosegay he received the other day was also from him. It's nice, having someone cater to him and relieve him of his life of constant duty. Ryan is not one to refuse those attentions, no matter the reputation of the man bestowing them. The neighbours are fond of gossip to the point of unreliability and his own reputation can withstand one short stroll.
Ryan struggles to make conversation, distracted by the warm hand on his elbow, the way Mr. Esposito directs them around the turns of the garden as though he knows the garden well, though Ryan has been familiar with it since he was a child and he has by his own admission never seen them before.
The unseasonable heat has all but the heartiest plants wilting, but the further into the garden they get, the taller the hedges until there is enough shade the beds are able to foster blooms. Mr. Esposito does not seem interested in this knowledge, just in walking deeper into the hedges.
Ryan isn't lost, couldn't get lost in this garden. He still manages to push thoughts of the path out of his mind, slowing and drawing out his fan in hopes it will add to the effect of the breeze.
Mr. Esposito leads him to a bench under one of the trees with wide-spreading branches, urging him to sit and so he does.
Ryan sighs with relief, leaning back and fanning himself harder. "We're by the sea, how is it still this warm?" he complains.
Mr. Esposito sits beside him. "I think I'm meant to say something about the sun trying to compete with your beauty." He smiles at Ryan. "But you'd probably think I'm making fun."
Ryan's already flushed with heat, but he looks away anyway. "I hardly think I'm competition for the sun. You're just being ridiculous." He smiles widely nonetheless.
"I am," Mr. Esposito agrees pleasantly. "My mother says I was born ridiculous and her burden was to turn me into a gentleman."
Ryan tucks his hand into Mr. Esposito's. "I think she did quite well."
It's almost too warm to hold hands, but their fingers stay clasped nonetheless. Mr. Esposito draws Ryan's hand closer. "I'd like to think so." His fingers stroke Ryan's hand, intimate even with silk gloves separating them. "I'd like you to think so." He lifts Ryan's hand and presses a hot kiss against his covered knuckles.
"I do," Ryan points out inanely, knuckles still held near enough he'd vow he can feel every breath Esposito takes.
"I thought you'd think you're too clever to let an army officer pay you his attentions," Esposito admits softly. "You're really clever, you know." He kisses Ryan's knuckles again.
Ryan knows he should withdraw his hand, should get to his feet and lead them back to the house. He doesn't want to. He wants to continue feeling each breath Esposito takes and let his knuckles be kissed until his glove wears thin and those lips brush against his bare skin.
Esposito seems in as much a hurry to let go as he is, thumb firmly curled around half his fingers. "Clever, and beautiful, and considerate," Esposito murmurs against his glove. The words graze against him like Esposito's teeth do and Ryan's breath catches.
"I'm not," he protests, or tries to protest; Ryan's voice is trapped and he's not sure Esposito could hear him when he could hardly hear himself.
Esposito looks over, meets his eyes, and Ryan has never been looked at in such a way, like he's a prize worth fighting for. He doesn't understand it; he's not so special as that and his family, though comfortable, is not particularly well endowed. There's no one to fight for him, Sarah's the pretty, charming one and he's content to be the sensible one. "You are." The words, though said quiet, are insistent. Despite the truths Ryan can see about himself, it's clear Esposito sees something else.
There's a narrow span between them on the bench; Ryan shifts right and their legs are just a hairbreadth away from touching.
Esposito lays another kiss, this one to the back of his hand, trailed quickly by a stroke of his tongue along the edge of Ryan's hand that is punctuated with a kiss near the flesh cradled between hand and thumb.
The moisture from Mr. Esposito's tongue seeps through Ryan's glove like it's not even there, lingering as Ryan asks himself why he's not withdrawing his hand even now. But his glove is still on, they're still abiding by the letter of propriety if not the essence of it; it will be a scandal should anyone see.
Esposito's lips press against the knuckle of Ryan's index finger, then brush up to his fingertip, gentler kisses dropped on the way. He kisses Ryan's fingertip, then does it again. The second kiss to his fingertip feels anything but chaste, even without the way Esposito draws the finger into his mouth after, first to the top knuckle and then to the base. His teeth scrape against the delicate silk as he draws the finger from his mouth. Esposito presses another pair of kisses to the fingertip and transfers his attentions onto the next fingertip.
On the second finger, he just kisses twice before scraping his teeth up and down the finger to the first knuckle and planting another kiss upon the fingertip. His grip on Ryan's hand seems almost desperate and he meets Ryan's eyes again.
Ryan's glove is damp, dark wet marks betraying the truth for anyone to see. He should be offended, he should be refusing such liberties.
He closes that hairbreadth of space in movements so minute they might be an accident.
"Please," Esposito whispers.
Ryan doesn't know what he's asking for, but he gives the slightest of nods. His heart is racing like the time he was thrown from his horse, sans bruises and with slightly less terror.
Eyes locked with Ryan's, Esposito transfers Ryan's hand from his left to his right and gives a tug. His left arm, now around Ryan's shoulders, nudges as well until Ryan's half turned toward him. Their knees press together all the more firmly.
Leaning close until Ryan can't look anywhere but into his face, Esposito whispers, "May I?"
Ryan knows what he's asking now, couldn't not know; he nods again, scarcely able to breathe.
Esposito closes what little space lingers between them, his lips fitting themselves to Ryan's. His eyes have shut and Ryan follows suit when all he can see is a blur of skin all too close to him.
Esposito's tongue brushes across his lower lip, the sensation stirring things in Ryan he's never had stirred by another. Despite how deliberate it is, how undeniable his own participation, Ryan finds it less unsettlingly improper than what Esposito just did to his hand.
The sweep of tongue is chased by another press of lips to lips. His own mouth returns the pressure and one kiss becomes two, becomes more than two.
With all too much finesse, Esposito's tongue glides along the seam of Ryan's lips. They put up no resistance, letting his tongue tease between them before Esposito gives Ryan a firmer kiss.
This more forceful meeting of mouths is followed by more deliberate actions by Esposito's tongue, no longer teasing as it sweeps into Ryan's mouth.
The hand holding his is so tight Ryan might try to get away if only he was focused on anything but the mouth against his, and the arm that was on his shoulder is now a row of fingers on the back of his neck, like Esposito knows what he wants while Ryan just knows that he does want despite knowing he shouldn't.
Esposito draws back enough their mouths are barely touching and Ryan catches a moment's respite before daring to initiate a kiss himself. The tongue returns to his mouth and this time does not depart so soon. It slides against his own tongue, stroking the top and trailing across the bottom and deliberately meeting the tip.
And then, abruptly, it's over. Esposito's tongue and mouth have abandoned him, his hands relinquish their hold, their legs no longer press together on the bench. Ryan meets his eyes, startled, baffled. The eyes still burn with that intense meaning, despite the space now between them. Then Ryan hears it, hears what Esposito must have noticed despite the distraction of kissing. There's Sarah's giddy laughter, the murmur of conversation drawing near. Ryan wonders if he looks as well-kissed as he feels.
Esposito draws a handkerchief out and dabs it gently at Ryan's lips. Ryan has no idea if it does any good, just clings to the handkerchief dumbly until Esposito's hold on it releases and Esposito is getting to his feet.
Ryan would sit there until his sister and her friends happen upon him, if it weren't for the return of Esposito's hand offering to help him to his feet. He feels even warmer now than when they first sat, but Ryan keeps Esposito's arm in his as they return to strolling along the garden path.
Esposito pauses to snap a spray of delicate bell-shaped flowers from a plant and offers it to Ryan. He clings to it like he's clinging to the handkerchief Esposito surrendered and wishes they had gotten lost in the garden, that he wouldn't have to be just a few minutes from pretending he never entertained an inappropriate thought.