by Ava March
He tossed his coat on the bed and removed his waistcoat. So much for his plan to keep his hands to himself tonight. Maybe two weeks of abstinence had not been the best idea. Long accustomed to gluttony, his body wasn’t used to going without. But the possibility of Arthur had filled his head to the point where he had been unable to indulge with anyone else, not even for a quick, anonymous fuck. While he wasn’t above seeing to his own pleasure, he craved the touch of another as much as the release—the giving, the heady feeling of being wanted even if only for empty pleasure, as much as the getting. And taking himself in hand did little to quell those desires.
The end result of his self-imposed celibacy? Aroused to the point where he’d been unable to keep himself in check. To resist the temptation of being alone with Arthur behind a closed door. Hopefully he hadn’t scared the man off. In any case, the encounter served to cement Leopold’s intentions for the coming days. If Arthur remained at Ramsey House come dawn, then he’d stay until the end of their holiday. Four days. Leopold planned to use them to his full advantage, because judging by Arthur’s stiffer-than-usual posture and wary glances, Leopold would need all that time, and possibly more, to convince Arthur to continue their relationship when they returned to London.
Once he finished undressing, he gathered the garments on the bed and went into the dressing room, dumping the clothes in a pile on the floor. At some point tomorrow, the pile would disappear, and Jones would have the clothing returned to the hooks and shelves lining the small room. Most men of his standing employed valets, but Leopold found them inconvenient. What with their need to slink into a bedchamber before dawn to light the fire and make preparations for the coming day. His last valet had seen quite more than he’d bargained for one morning, and the man’s silence over the incident had not come cheap.
No valet meant he had to dress and shave himself, but it was a small price to pay to keep unwanted servants out of his bedchamber. Jones traveled with him when he came to Ramsey House to escape London and clear his head of the excesses of that city. The man saw to all the trivial matters like lighting the fire, tidying up and keeping his wardrobe at its best. With him for years, Jones knew all Leopold’s preferences, down to the full bottle of whisky and cut-crystal tumbler on the bedside table.
But he wouldn’t need to fill that empty glass tonight. The glimmer of hope filling his heart chased away the loneliness and pain far better than liquor. Arthur was here, in Leopold’s home, at last. Ten years of waiting had not been in vain.
And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.
Chapter Three
Crisp and bright, the early-morning sun bathed the field dotted with low bushes and a few clusters of pine trees. The twigs and dried leaves scattered over the grass crunched beneath Arthur’s footsteps. If he closed his eyes, he would think himself alone; Thornton’s strides were so perfectly timed with his own that Arthur didn’t even hear them. Chill air filled his every breath, clearing away the pent-up tension from his office as nothing else could.
His uncle had taken Arthur on his first shooting expedition when he had been but ten years of age, and the moment he had seen the dawn break across the field, he had gained a fondness for shooting. Whether he came home with a pheasant or two didn’t matter as much as the long, quiet walks. He had relished the chance to relax and simply take in the scenery and spend time with his uncle that didn’t include questions about his schoolwork, or later, discussions about the office.
He tipped his face toward the sun, savoring its feeble warmth. It had been much too long since he’d been out like this in the morning. London had parks aplenty, but they didn’t compare. It wasn’t ever truly quiet in the city, and no matter where he went, the sounds of carriages and people going about their day lingered in the air. Imposing on his few acquaintances who resided in the country was out of the question, and he had never indulged in such a home himself. His work kept him confined to Town, with few opportunities to leave for any length of time, so he couldn’t justify the expense of a country home when he could only use it a few times a year.
Therefore, he had jumped at Thornton’s invitation, quickly clearing his schedule and making arrangements for his secretary to send any pressing correspondences via express post to Ramsey House. A diligent worker and good-tempered, the young man kept Arthur on schedule, but he tended to consider most everything pressing. No doubt a stack of correspondences would await him on the desk in his bedchamber when he returned to Thornton’s home.
For now, though, he wiped thoughts of clients and all their various concerns from his mind and soaked up the morning and the opportunity to spend time with Thornton that didn’t include anything more than walking across fields. The footman trailing a good dozen paces behind them, with the bag containing Arthur’s sole successful shot of the day slung over his shoulder, kept away the possibility for more. Without the constant crackle of anticipation stringing his nerves taut, he could relax and simply enjoy Thornton’s company.
And he was turning out to be a nice shooting companion. Arthur glanced at Thornton, who walked beside him. The man’s gaze was fixed somewhere off to the left, toward a great expanse of open field with gently rolling hills. The slight flush on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose from the chill air made him appear so much younger than his twenty-nine years, but the stubble from the morning beard darkening his jaw firmly reminded one he was a man. The greatcoat he hadn’t bothered to button hung open, exposing the brown riding coat and tan breeches that hugged the lean muscles of his thighs. Surprisingly enough, he had kept rather silent, with only a question thrown out here and there, none of them loaded with double meanings, no talk of last night and no heated stares. But that could have something to do with the fact that eight o’clock could not have come and gone yet. Arthur doubted Thornton had seen this side of the morning in years. And he had to admit to a bit of shock when he’d come downstairs before dawn to find Thornton in the entrance hall, greatcoat and gloves on, waiting for him.
Apparently Thornton was capable of getting out of bed at such an “ungodly hour”, as he had put it.
“The office keeping you busy?” Thornton asked, breaking his stretch of silence.
“More than busy.” So busy, he frequently took supper at his desk and walked home well after dark. “But I much prefer it to the alternative. Wouldn’t want to have to beg clients to take me on.”
The end of Thornton’s rifle grazed his thigh as the man shifted the firearm from his right hand to his left. Judging by the way Thornton casually held the rifle in one hand at his side, he was not an avid hunter. At least he kept the barrel pointed to the ground and away from their feet.
“I heard Amherst pulled his business from your office and took it elsewhere.”
Arthur furrowed his brow at the unexpected remark; then comprehension dawned. So that explained how Thornton had surmised he had split with Randolph. “Yes, he did.”
A rustle in a group of nearby low bushes caught his attention. He tightened his grip on his rifle, poised to swing it down from his shoulder, when a squirrel scurried into sight. The Dales of Yorkshire were renowned as prime shooting grounds, but pheasants must not be fond of Thornton’s property. He’d only spotted a handful this morning. No bother, though. The sun was shining, and it wasn’t so cold that his fingers and toes had gone numb. All in all, a pleasant outing.
They were well past those bushes when Thornton spoke again. “You are aware he wasn’t faithful to you.”
Alarm tightened his gut. Shocked both by the nature of Thornton’s casual statement and the possible truth behind it, Arthur stopped in his tracks and shot a glance to the footman.
“Don’t worry about Jones. He won’t hear a thing.” His ambling pace uninterrupted, Thornton flicked his gloved fingers, motioning for Arthur to keep moving.
Indecision locked him to the spot. He didn’t want to have Randolph’s exploits thrown in his face, declaring him a fool for staying
with the man for so long. But… A few long strides had him at Thornton’s shoulder once again. “How can you be certain?” He pitched his voice low. Regardless of Thornton’s claim regarding his footman’s poor hearing, he much preferred the servant did not overhear this particular conversation.
Thornton’s full lips thinned to a straight line; a furrow marred his brow. His gaze on his boots, he didn’t immediately respond. “I saw him at Delacroix’s on more than one occasion.”
He recognized the name—Madame Delacroix’s, a decadent West End brothel with a near-endless supply of beautiful women, and according to rumor, a handful of handsome, accommodating men as well. At least Randolph had the good sense not to go to some nunnery in the stews. Those places were rife with diseases. To his surprise, having Randolph’s infidelity confirmed didn’t hurt as much as expected. Could be because he had already accepted it as fact and resigned himself to it. Still, not a comfortable thing to have told to him.
Letting out a sigh, he looked beyond the field to the line of trees up ahead that marked a forest. “I surmised as much recently. Would you happen to know if he hired a…?”
“Both, but not on the same visit.” Thornton’s succinct reply saved Arthur the embarrassment of fully voicing his question.
He winced. A woman he could understand, not forgive, but understand to some degree. He’d known Randolph had been with a few women before they had started their relationship. But to hire a man? Randolph had had him. Well, when Arthur wasn’t at the office or poring over documents at home. He did have a tendency to immerse himself in his work to the exclusion of all else. Could the blame for Randolph’s indiscretions be laid at his own feet? Not that it mattered now. Still, it did not sit well.
“Did you leave him because of it?”
“No, that wasn’t the cause.” He couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder again, to confirm the servant was still a good distance back. “I should have known long ago, though, but I guess I didn’t want to know.”
From the corner of his eye, he caught Thornton’s single nod. “Understandable.” Thornton stopped. “Are we done looking for pheasants to kill, or do you want to continue the search?”
A reluctant chuckle shook his chest. “No need to continue the search. Bagged one. That’s enough for today.”
“Thank God. I was getting tired of lugging around this gun. Here, hand me yours.”
When Arthur complied, Thornton told him to wait there. He walked back to the footman and handed over the two rifles. With a nod, the servant turned and headed right, in the general direction of the house.
“Don’t care much for shooting?” Arthur asked, when Thornton rejoined him.
“It’s not something I excel at, not that I’ve ever expended any effort toward it. Don’t much mind a good walk, though. Come along. We’ll cut through the forest. It will let out near the stables. Breakfast will be waiting when we get back to the house.”
They picked up their ambling pace. After a few minutes of silence, Thornton spoke again. “So what was the cause, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Arthur passed a hand over the back of his neck and kept his attention on the break in the trees ahead, marking a path leading into the forest. “One evening he informed me, quite casually, mind you, and over dinner at my apartments, that he would need me to draw up papers for the purchase of a new town house. He believed the woman he planned to ask to marry him would prefer a house over his bachelor apartments.”
“Did he expect you to stay with him after he wed?”
Thornton’s incredulous tone offered a small measure of comfort. “Yes, but he didn’t bat an eye when I told him I wouldn’t. He just proceeded to finish his meal as if nothing was amiss.” The longest ten minutes of Arthur’s life. The realization that he had meant so little to the man he loved smacking into him as Randolph continued to take bites of his steak and discuss that damn town house on Hill Street. “Needless to say, I refused to assist him with the purchase.”
“Justifiably so.”
“And all he said as he walked out the door was, ‘Thank you for dinner.’ That was it.” Not even one passing reference to the years Arthur had given him.
“Bastard,” Thornton spat, disdain soaking the curse. “He never loved you.”
“He never led me to believe otherwise.” He sighed and kicked a small branch out of the way. “But I thought he at least cared…” He sighed again, frustrated more at himself than with Randolph. “Damnation. Apparently he and I held completely different views of our relationship. And after my uncle passed away, Randolph became more important to me. He was all I had left. Maybe I should have spent less time at the office, and then perhaps he wouldn’t have hired a man at that brothel.” He winced. Hell, that hurt, even more than Randolph’s indifference.
“Don’t, Barrington. Don’t blame yourself because Amherst was a damn heartless, cuckolding prig.”
“I know I shouldn’t, but…” He swore he could feel Thornton bristling, preparing to press his point. He held up a hand to stay him. “No, you’re correct,” he said, resigning himself to Thornton’s blunt and rather accurate description of his former lover. “It’s just… I was with him for a decade, yet I actually knew so little about him.” He knew Randolph’s body as well as his own, but little else of what defined him as a man. Arthur hadn’t realized he’d held no stock in the concept of fidelity, hadn’t had the faintest notion Randolph wished to marry until he’d mentioned that town house. It dawned on Arthur that they had not been much more than acquaintances who shared a bed. And even then, it had been perfunctory at best. More often than not, Randolph had fucked him. They sucked each other off on occasion, but that was the limit of their play. And he had been content with that? More grateful to have someone in his life than anything. “We never talked about anything except work and Town. Mundane things. I know more about the Bank of England than I do about him. So I shouldn’t be surprised it ended the way it did.”
Thornton shrugged, and Arthur found it the ideal response. He was a much better listener than Arthur would have imagined. The patient stretches of silence, the perfectly timed indignation, the open acceptance. Perhaps it was the morning hours, the illusion of camaraderie that strolling through a field with another man brought, but something about Thornton had prompted him to talk about Randolph. And it felt good, as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. He’d never discussed his preference for men with anyone, not even Randolph; he’d treated it as a given. Considering last night, obviously Thornton liked men, at least as much as he liked women, so no worry he would brand Arthur a depraved sodomite. He didn’t need to hide that side of himself from Thornton. And he treated Arthur as if being in a relationship with another man was completely natural and not something to avert his eyes from.
It reminded him why he and Thornton had been friends so many years ago. The younger version of Thornton had a knack for making Arthur feel at ease. Though Thornton came from a wealthy, aristocratic family, he had never once made Arthur feel the lesser for his meager, common roots. London may have turned him into a hardened rake, but it thankfully hadn’t stripped that quality from him.
“You’re nearing thirty,” Arthur said. While nearly of the same age, Arthur was the elder by three months. Thornton wouldn’t turn thirty until March 17. The date was stamped forever in Arthur’s mind, as ten years ago Thornton had dragged him to a tavern for a celebratory pint of ale. The event marked the first time Arthur had indulged to the point of drunkenness. Not something he had repeated much since then, but he had to admit it had been rather fun to let loose and throw back pint after pint with Thornton.
“Yes, why?”
“Do you plan to look for a wife soon? That seems to be the required age.”
“Who told you that?” Distaste flickered across Thornton’s face.
Arching a brow, he shot Thornton a knowing glance.
“Oh. Him.” Thornton rolled his eyes. “Was that the excuse he used?” He didn’t wait for
confirmation. “No. No wife for me. I have three older brothers, two of whom are already married, and the other holds the desire to do so, whereas I do not. How about yourself? Will you marry at thirty?”
Arthur shook his head.
“How about after thirty?” Thornton asked, as if he truly cared about the answer.
“No, I don’t plan to ever marry,” he admitted.
He had known for some time that a family would not be in his future. No wife, no children to call his own, and he had reconciled himself to that. But when his uncle passed away four years ago, he had actually contemplated marriage. The old man had never married, making Arthur his only family. But as an only child, Arthur had no nephew to keep him company or to stand beside his grave and watch as his casket was lowered in the ground. And being so utterly alone in the world frightened him more than he cared to acknowledge. He’d found the prospect of building a family for himself a tempting option…for the span of about a few days, and then he’d come to his senses. Women had never appealed to him, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of deceiving one for his own selfish purposes. Instead, he’d clung to Randolph.
Quite the mistake, and he saw that now.
Tall trees blocked the sun as they entered the forest. The dirt path provided only enough room for two, and Thornton moved a bit closer, the hem of his greatcoat brushing against Arthur’s with each step. Hopefully he would not end up alone. When he returned to Town, and if he applied himself, certainly he could find an amiable man with similar interests and goals in life. After all, men inhabited half of London. There had to be someone out there he could look forward to spending the evening with after a long day at the office. Someone who would think of him when they were not together. Someone who could come to care for him.
