by Ava March
Thorn dropped his attention to the crumpled list in his gloved hand. Then his fingers relaxed. The paper fell to the floorboards. His lashes swept closed. A harsh wince pulled his beautiful features. “You hurt me.”
The quiet, hesitant admission sliced into Arthur’s heart. “I know. God, I know, Thorn,” he said, his voice cracking, his eyes welling with tears. “But it won’t happen again. I am so sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I allowed you to leave. I’m sorry I failed you.” His arms ached to reach out to Thorn, to hold him close, but he feared it would earn him a fist to the jaw. Not that he did not deserve one, but if given the choice, he’d rather do without the bruise. He had learned the hard way that his lover could pack a wicked punch when his emotions were pushed to the edge. “Jones informed me you did not leave your bed for days.”
The line of Thorn’s shoulders tightened. His entire body tensed as he shifted on the bench, his chin jerking slightly toward the window as if to avert his face. “Did he now?”
Arthur’s nod was lost on him as the man still refused to look at him. “Yes. He told me when I last called on you. It was the day after you disappeared. He was worried about you. I’d say almost as much as I.”
Unable to bear the distance between them another moment, he moved to sit next to Thorn. Not so close that their shoulders touched but close enough for Thorn to know he was there. Beside him. Where Arthur wanted to remain for the rest of his days.
As the carriage left the bustle of London behind, the neat rows of town houses giving way to great expanses of winter-dulled grass, he let the silence hang in the air. He didn’t encroach on it or fill it with another plea. His heart in his throat, he merely waited to discover if he had earned Thorn’s trust.
Chapter Nine
The heat from Arthur’s body added a trace of warmth to the chill air surrounding him, a potent lure that tugged on his heart. Even though a part of him wanted to bolt out the door, Leopold shifted on the bench, moving the barest inch closer to Arthur.
To think that not two hours ago he had given Jones a raise in pay. A boon for his loyalty. He knew the footman had acted out of concern for him. Still, it was not a comfortable feeling to know they had likely discussed him like some sort of patient in need of care. There was no point at all trying to hide it from Arthur anymore. More than that, though, he could not allow Arthur to continue in bearing the guilt when the full blame should not rest on his shoulders.
“You didn’t fail me, Arthur, not the way you believe. But you likely think I’m weak, and you would be correct. There’s something…” he took a deep breath, the air shuddering on the exhale, and forced the words out, “…wrong with me.” He had never confessed the truth to anyone—a secret he had been too ashamed to reveal. “Other men take blows and get up the next morning. Yet when I grow maudlin, it’s all I can think about. It’s why I drank until I was numb for so many years, but I gave you my word I wouldn’t give in again. And beyond that, I don’t want to be a drunkard anymore. Waking up with a pounding head had grown damn tiring.”
He felt the weight of Arthur’s scrutiny. Assessing him, measuring him. He kept his attention on his hands in his lap, unable to bring himself to meet Arthur’s gaze.
“Thorn, look at me. Please.”
He swallowed hard. Then, lifting his chin, he did as Arthur bid. He might be weak and pathetic, but he refused to add coward to the list. But instead of the pity he was certain he would find, nothing but concern filled Arthur’s hazel eyes.
“You told me it didn’t bother you to be around others who imbibed. I hope you know you needn’t lie to me, Thorn. I would not have thought less of you.”
“I spoke the truth. I’m not tempted by liquor the way you believe.” He wasn’t one of those hardened rakes who couldn’t start the day without a glass of brandy. “It’s more… I can feel myself growing maudlin. Liquor numbs it. Keeps the pain at bay. Over the years, it became a habit. But it wasn’t difficult to give it up. I didn’t need it. I was fine. More than fine. I was happy for the first time in…well, a long time.” Because he finally had the man he had loved for a decade. “Until—”
“I pushed you away.” Arthur laid a comforting hand on his thigh. A notched V pulled his brows. “It wasn’t you, Thorn. I was exhausted from working such long hours—and yes, I’m well aware I gave you my word I wouldn’t allow the office to consume me, yet I did. Definitely not something I am proud of. I should have told you I wasn’t up for anything more than crawling into bed together and falling asleep. But I didn’t know how to tell you that without you believing I didn’t want you. In the end, I made it much worse.”
“It’s not your fault, Arthur. That’s what I am trying to explain. It’s me. I swear I do it to myself. I can feel it creeping up on me. The worries build, compounding on each other, and then…” He heaved a sigh. He hated it. Hated that sense of all-consuming despair, the way it robbed him of all hope, and how he felt so powerless against it.
“Have you ever consulted a physician?”
Leopold shook his head. “Not on my own. My father used to send for them when I was an adolescent. Didn’t do a bit of good. And it wasn’t as if I was abed forever. Usually only lasted a handful of days, and it didn’t happen frequently.”
Arthur’s attention drifted to the bench opposite them. “That’s why your father spoils you.” He spoke as if the thought had just occurred to him.
He bristled. “Pardon? I am not spoiled.” He was a man of nine-and-twenty, very soon to reach thirty, not some child.
“Indulges, then,” Arthur said with a shrug. “And he does indulge you, to the exclusion of your elder brothers. He didn’t give any of them a town house in London or a country estate. I know, for my uncle used to draw up all documents pertaining to the purchase of property for your father. And I don’t mean it as an insult, so no need to take offense. I always rather assumed your father was living vicariously through you, but I would hazard a guess that’s not at all the case. He merely wanted you to be happy.”
Leopold tugged at the cuff of one of his gloves, righting it about his wrist. The Yorkshire property had been a gift on his twenty-first birthday. By then, he had firmly cemented his reputation as an unrepentant rakehell, the nights passing by in a drunken blur. And he could well remember his father pushing his brothers, each in turn, to attend university. A requirement and not an option. Yet the man had broached the subject once with him and only in passing. No discussions in the study, no debates on whether Oxford or Cambridge would suit him best. Nor had his father ever pushed him toward any particular area of employment.
It was not a comfortable feeling to think his father had coddled him like some sort of invalid. Was still coddling him, in fact.
“Thorn?” Arthur gave his thigh a squeeze.
“Obviously, I’m more pathetic than I realized.”
“No, no. That’s…” He let out a heavy breath. “Hell, I’m sorry I mentioned it. Should have kept my damn mouth shut.”
“But it’s the truth. Christ, I wish I wasn’t so weak.” And now that Arthur knew the truth, surely he would—
A large gloved hand cupped his jaw, turning his head. Lips covered his own. He eagerly opened for Arthur, desperate for a taste of him after being denied for days upon days. There was nothing soft or gentle about Arthur’s kiss. With a harsh, almost cruel edge, he slanted his mouth over Leopold’s again and again, tongue thrusting inside, twining with his, rendering him helpless under the onslaught.
Just when Leopold made to reach for him, to wrap his arms around Arthur’s waist and tug him closer, Arthur abruptly pulled back.
“You aren’t weak,” Arthur said, firm and determined, his eyes boring into Leopold’s from mere inches away, his hand still cupping his jaw. “And you aren’t pathetic. Stop saying it, and stop thinking it.” Brows lowered and jaw set, he stared hard at Leopold as if daring him to refuse to obey his command. “I love
you.”
Those three words killed the argument before it could make its way to his tongue. The inner resistance melted away.
“I love you too,” he whispered.
Arthur swept his gaze over Leopold’s face. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded once and then sat back against the bench. “You said you can feel it creeping up on you, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell me next time? Talk to me about what’s worrying you? Clearly it does no good for you to keep it locked inside. I’m not going to leave you, Thorn, so you needn’t fret something you say will send me running toward the hills. I have told you before. You’ve got me for as long as you’ll have me.”
He slanted a cautious glance at Arthur and met resolute hazel eyes.
“Will you trust me? I won’t let you down again.”
He took hold of Arthur’s hand. Soaked up the strength in the long fingers wrapped securely around his. Arthur had been an anchor there for a short while, providing the stability his soul craved…until he had allowed the worries and doubts to eat away at him. But perhaps, just perhaps, Arthur could prove a far better remedy than liquor. The man certainly tasted better than a bottle of gin. “All right.”
“Thank you.” Arthur gave his hand a squeeze. “And maybe it isn’t good for you to be so idle. It’s not that I don’t enjoy your afternoon visits, but it might also help to have something more productive to occupy your time.”
He nodded. “I’ve already come to that conclusion on my own.” His father may worry any exertion might be too much for him, but it felt good to know Arthur believed otherwise.
“Since we are being completely honest with each other, I will have you know that I owe you my thanks. I had a visitor the other day. Randolph Amherst. He asked me to keep the call from you, but I would rather you hear it directly from me than inadvertently through a bit of gossip. He—”
“That fucking bastard,” Leopold spat, protective instincts screaming to the forefront. How dare Amherst approach Arthur again? “I bloody well warned—”
“Thorn,” he said firmly, cutting him off. “There’s no need to go rushing out in my defense. He understands you’ve staked your claim on me.” A little pleased smile tugged at the edges of Arthur’s mouth. “Whatever threats you hung over his head are more than sufficient. No need to see them through to completion. He came by to apologize, of all things. Took me quite by surprise. Though I do wonder how he came to the conclusion that he had somehow caused me pain.”
That prig Amherst had apologized to Arthur? And what had he told him? “I haven’t the faintest notion how he came to that conclusion.”
“Thank you.” Arthur leaned in to brush his lips across Leopold’s in a light kiss. “I do hope you realize he was never a threat to you. I would never go back to him or seek out another. I only want you.”
If there were any doubts left in his mind, they were now gone. A smile curved his lips. “I will admit, I’ve been itching for an excuse to lay into that self-righteous bastard. The look on his face was…quite satisfying.”
A chuckle rumbled from Arthur’s chest. “I rather wish I could have seen it myself.” Silence fell between them for a few moments. Then Arthur spoke again. “You know, you still haven’t told me why you left Town or where you went.”
“I left because I was determined to make you keep one of your promises. As for where I went…” He glanced out the window and recognized the three old oak trees clustered near a small pond, their barren branches stretched out against the dull early-afternoon sky. “We are almost there.”
Arthur leaned forward to glance out the window. Then he looked to Leopold, a question marring his brow.
“I bought us a house and have spent the last couple of days getting everything in order. I understand that your office is important to you and requires your attention. I hold no expectations that you will ever walk away from it. But…” He turned his upper body toward Arthur, needing the man’s complete attention. “I need you to honor your word, to put us before your office. In any case, it isn’t healthy for you to work so hard. Yorkshire’s too far away for frequent visits, but Sinclair Abbey is less than two hours from London by carriage. I…” He gathered his courage. The possibility Arthur would refuse his request had diminished to near nothingness, but that possibility was still there, a little nudge that sent his heart beating in a rapid tattoo against his ribs. “I need you to agree to come away with me every now and then. Not for weeks at a time. Two or three days will suffice. I love you, and I need you to give us the chance we deserve.”
The carriage turned right, onto the long drive that led to Sinclair Abbey. The rattle of the carriage wheels on gravel filled the interior as he waited for Arthur’s response.
“You purchased a house?”
“Yes. I was not carousing about at brothels or hells.” He nudged Arthur’s crumpled list with his toe.
“Sorry about that,” Arthur said, contrition written all over his face. “I was worried and could not think of anywhere else you might have gone.”
“You are forgiven.” He sighed. It hurt that Arthur had assumed the worse, but he couldn’t very well blame him. “My original intention was to purchase a small cottage, but then I thought better of it. Sinclair Abbey is more than just a country house. It includes a large tract of property with an apple orchard and a farm. I figured it could give me a purpose, so to speak. A means to occupy some of my time. It also includes some woods, though I have heard the hunting is not nearly as good as can be found at Ramsey House.”
Arthur’s jaw dropped. “You are going to become a farmer?”
He scoffed. “I don’t intend to actually till the fields.” Ridiculous notion. “The abbey already has a tenant. A genial man by the name of Mr. Clark. From what I have been able to discern thus far, he manages the fields quite well. And I will not need to spend every day there. Occasional visits will do, and Clark will send word when something requires my immediate attention. I know practically nothing about farming, but I plan to change that, and hopefully I can prove a decent landowner.” There was a lot he needed to learn, but he welcomed the challenge, looked forward to it even.
“I am certain you will be a brilliant landowner, Thorn. But who did you have write up the contract?”
Trust Arthur to worry about legalities. “A solicitor in the village handled the sale. No lease involved. It was an outright purchase. Very straightforward.” Amazing what a large enough bank draft could accomplish. “You are, of course, welcome to review the contract when we reach the house.”
Arthur nodded once. No doubt the man would have the document reviewed before supper. And if he found any cause for concern, Leopold was confident he would resolve it for him with his usual efficiency.
“Do you agree, then? You will come with me to Sinclair Abbey, and at least once a month?”
“Yes, Thorn. I agree. It’s a splendid idea. I truly enjoy the quiet of the country and had once contemplated purchasing a house of my own, but I could not justify the expense when I did not have anyone worth sharing it with.” He paused as a smile full of love curved his mouth, one Leopold had once doubted he would ever witness. Slowly he leaned forward, closing the distance between them, his gaze locked on Leopold’s. “Now I do,” he whispered against Leopold’s lips.
The kiss was soft and slow and filled every inch of his soul with Arthur’s love. A warm, comforting blanket that vanquished even the memory of despair and promised a future filled with hope.
Arthur pulled back, breaking the kiss. “I could kiss you all afternoon, but I believe we have arrived.”
As if hearing Arthur’s words, the carriage slowed to a stop. The springs creaked faintly as Jones jumped down from the driver’s bench. Sensing Jones approach the door, Leopold held up a hand to stay the footman.
“There is one more request I need to make of you. Please replace Fenton.” He knew he
could trust Arthur with his very self, but the thought of that whelp lusting after his lover day after day was truly more than he could tolerate.
Arthur frowned. “I will give you that he is not the most competent of secretaries, and he seems to have a small problem remembering instructions—”
“Because he is thinking about how he can best get your cock in his arse.”
The incredulity on Arthur’s face was almost comical. “What? I-I have never…”
“I’m not saying you have or that you ever would, but it’s what he wants. Why do you think he’s forever finding excuses to come into your office? He stands so close to you he might as well be sitting on your lap.”
“But he…he…” Arthur shook his head, completely flummoxed, as though Leopold had just told him one and one did not equal two.
Dear Lord, could Arthur really be that oblivious?
Yes, he could.
Leopold resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead patted his lover’s thigh. “It’s quite all right, Arthur. Simply replace him, and the problem will be solved.”
“But I can’t let him go. His father is close friends with some of my clients.”
“Then I will have a word with young Mr. Fenton.”
“No,” Arthur said, eyes wide, imploring him. “Please don’t.”
“I’m not going to threaten him.” Well, he would like to, but if that wasn’t what Arthur wanted… Pity that. It could have been almost as satisfying as laying into Amherst. “I will merely have a discreet conversation with him and explain that his eyes and his mind need to remain on his work. You can’t allow the situation to continue, Arthur.”
His shoulders slumped. “No, I can’t. He was supposed to help take some of the burden off my desk, not add to it. And now with the duke as a client, I need Fenton to do the work I hired him to do.”
“Maybe you need another solicitor versus a secretary. In fact, that’s what you should do. Bring another solicitor into the office to assist you and give Fenton to him. Yes?”
