With Everything I Have
Published at Smashwords
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“Sebastian.” Peter stood on the other side of the door in what might have once been crisp, white shirtsleeves. He wasn’t wearing a dinner jacket, but his trousers were coal black and there was a cravat at his throat in the same shade. He was too pale for such a dark colour but there was something striking in how he always dressed so plainly. Peter’s face could have been the work of an artist, fine cheekbones and slender nose, full lips, and eyes the shade of Scottish whiskey. Ornament was not necessary.
Despite the ancient claims of his family, there was more Norman than Saxon evident in the lean, unbelievably handsome lines of him. His eyebrows were what made him real, a man of flesh. They were too serious, bordering on thick despite the slight arch over the right one. His brows were the same dark brown as his hair, which someone, probably Smythe, who doubled as a valet when required, had tried to hold in place with pomade.