Convincing Arthur

by Ava March

  Both men jumped back at the sound of Leopold’s voice.

  Ignoring the shocked stares, he took Jones’s place at the horse’s head. “Easy, boy,” he crooned, gently righting the bridle. A few flicks of his fingers, and the small buckles under the horse’s throatlatch and jaw were done.

  Vice made to rub his head affectionately against Leopold’s arm, but he was already swinging up into the saddle and grabbing the reins. With a firm nudge of his heels, Vice leaped forward, eager to be off. As soon as they cleared the stable door, Leopold nudged the horse again. Vice slipped obediently into a ground-covering gallop.

  The cold November rain smacked Leopold’s face, stinging his cheeks. He squinted, trying to see more than a few paces in front of him, and asked Vice for more speed. The massive stallion gave it and more, his long strides devouring the gravel path under his hooves. Urgency pressed heavily on Leopold. Still not fast enough. The road forked two miles ahead. One way led to the village, the other around it. If he chose unwisely, he’d end up either past Arthur or farther behind him.

  Why the hell had Arthur left? Had Leopold done something or said something horribly wrong? Or was it what was not said or not done? He could think of nothing to explain the man’s abrupt departure. Last night defined perfect.

  You didn’t do anything but be yourself. Of course he left you.

  Those same doubts from two evenings ago came rushing upon him. Goddamn whore. Why would he want you? But he refused to pull Vice to a stop, to announce defeat, to give up on his chance with Arthur. He could not allow the man to sneak away at dawn, like he himself had done with so many lovers in the past. And certainly not without a word to him. Gripping the reins tightly, he leaned low over the stallion’s neck and dug his heels into his sides. Vice’s mane whipped his face, but he was numb to it.

  The sweet taste of relief hit his tongue when he caught sight of the carriage. “Halt!”

  The footman perched on the back glanced over his shoulder, then pounded on the roof. To Leopold’s utter gratitude, the carriage began to slow.

  Vice tossed his head in protest as Leopold yanked hard on the reins, pulling the horse to an abrupt stop to keep from colliding with the back of the carriage. He flung himself out of the saddle and tossed the reins at the startled footman.

  Not bothering to make sure the servant had a hold on Vice, he grabbed the small brass lever, yanked the door open and sat on the bench opposite Arthur.

  “Thorn?”

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Instead of worry and fear, the demand came out drenched with indignant anger. He wanted to both pummel Arthur with his fists for daring to leave, for daring to make him believe they could be together, and launch himself at the man, beg him to stay.

  Arthur leaned left, closing the door with a smart snap. A small brass lantern attached to the wall illuminated the interior. The brown leather bag lay at Arthur’s hip, within easy reach but not yet opened. “Back to Town,” he said, measured and resolute. “If you would be so kind as to remove yourself from my carriage, I can be on my way.”

  “No!” Savage and vicious, the denial popped out of his mouth, jolting even Leopold. He scrubbed his hands over his wet face, trying to calm himself. Screaming would do nothing to convince Arthur to stay. Rain beat against the roof, filling his ears to the point where he couldn’t even hear the pulse pounding hard and frantic through his veins. “Don’t leave yet. Come back to the house.”

  “No.”

  “But you agreed to stay until Monday.”

  “Schedules change, Thornton.”

  His schedule? Leopold desperately grasped hold of a possible cause for Arthur’s departure. “Did you receive an urgent note from London? From your secretary?”

  “No.”

  Leopold winced. Then that meant he was leaving of his own accord. “But, Arthur, last night—”

  Arthur stiffened, his gaze darting to the door. “Keep your voice down,” he admonished. “I do not wish my driver or footman to overhear anything you may say. In any case, there is nothing to discuss.”

  Arthur’s resolute stance caused a near-paralyzing fear to grip hold of Leopold. He could feel Arthur slipping through his fingers. He leaned forward, his hand hovering over Arthur’s knee for a moment before he snatched it back. He didn’t dare touch him. Not with the way Arthur pierced him with that hard stare. “Don’t leave.”

  A sneer that held a distinct layer of disdain curled Arthur’s lips, making Leopold acutely aware of how he must look. Soaked through from the rain, water dripping down his face. He shifted on the leather bench and fought the urge to grimace as the cold, wet fabric of his breeches rubbed against his ballocks.

  “All right, then,” Arthur said, clearly against his better judgment. “I will give you five minutes.”

  His shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll meet you at the house.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Get out and get back on your horse,” Arthur said through clenched teeth. “I will meet you at Ramsey House.”

  Leopold nodded. At least Arthur was giving him a chance. Not much of one, but at least something.

  A bitter-cold gust of wind hit him as he got out of the carriage. He trudged to the back and mounted his horse once again. With a tug on the reins, Vice moved off the road. He waited under the branches of a tall oak tree as the driver turned the carriage, leaving ruts in the grass on either side of the road. As the carriage passed him, he stared hard through the window, willing Arthur to look at him, but the man’s gaze remained straight ahead.

  Not a comforting omen of things to come.

  He guided Vice back to the muddy road and set the horse to an easy trot, matching the team of four, unwilling to let Arthur out of his sight until the man heard him out.

  What he’d say to Arthur, how exactly he would convince him to stay for two more days, never mind that he was worthy of the man’s affections… He hadn’t the faintest notion. The distinct threat of rejection settled heavily on his chest, the weight pressing harder and harder, fraying his nerves near to breaking as he slowly followed Arthur back to Ramsey House.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’ll be but a few minutes,” Arthur instructed the driver as he got out of the carriage.

  Ducking his head to shield his face from the driving rain, he hurried up the few stone steps and into the house. He ignored the butler’s outstretched hand, the silent request to relinquish his greatcoat. No use giving it up when he would need it back in just a few minutes. He paused and glanced up the stairs. No, he would not have this conversation with Thornton in a bedchamber. Not when he could still feel every place on his body that the man had kissed him last night. The entrance hall would not do either.

  “My study,” Thornton grumbled, walking past him.

  Arthur did not consider himself a transparent man, but Thornton did possess an uncanny knack at reading his thoughts. He hadn’t had to ask anything of Thornton last night; before the request could form in his head, he had given him what he wanted. So in tune with each other. So perfect. He knew in his bones no future bed partner would ever come close to comparing with Thornton.

  Therein lay the source of the regret that had gripped him the moment Thornton had fallen asleep in his arms. And a source of his anger. How dare the man be so perfect yet also so wrong for him? Damn cruel. Like a taunt to his heart.

  Following the track of wet footprints, Arthur went down the corridor and entered the room on the right. The door shut behind him. He turned at the sound of a lock sliding home. Palming the key, Thornton leaned a shoulder against the door and crossed his arms over his chest, all pouting insolence. The ride back had taken him beyond merely wet to completely drenched, as though he’d had a swim in a pond without removing his clothes. Not that he would have had many clothes to remove. The black breeches clung to the lean muscles of his legs. The white shirt plastered to his sculpted chest revealed a hint of the copper nipples beneath th
e sodden fabric. His hair was tousled as if he’d just run a hasty hand through it, his jaw darkened with a morning beard, pale cheeks glistening from the rain… Absolutely gorgeous. Pure sin brought to life.

  But a temptation Arthur could and would refuse.

  The silence stretched taut, broken only by the intermittent drops of water falling from Thornton and forming little puddles on the wooden floorboards. The conversation was not going to be pleasant, but it was a necessity. He couldn’t risk Thornton continuing his pursuit all the way to London. And he wouldn’t put it past him, given the reckless way he had come after Arthur.

  Definitely had not foreseen that turn of events. Apparently Thornton took exception to any change in plan not dictated by himself.

  “You have five minutes. Then I expect you to unlock that door.”

  “And what if I refuse?” Thornton asked, his chin tipped down and his gaze pinned on Arthur.

  They were men, for God’s sake. Almost thirty years of age. Why did Thornton have to behave like a surly adolescent? “You won’t refuse. But if you do, I will simply pry the key from your hand.”

  Thornton’s full lips curled in defiance. “You are welcome to try all you like, but—”

  “And I will succeed,” he said curtly, cutting off the retort. Thornton’s elegant build would not stand a chance against him. “I am stronger than you.” His hand itched to give Thornton a swift smack on the arse, to knock some sense into him. Clearly his father had indulged him to the point where he couldn’t tolerate someone going against his wishes. If Arthur needed another example of why he and Thornton did not suit, it stood right before him, slouched against the door and glaring daggers at him. “It was a mistake to accept your invitation, and I fully accept the blame for the situation we now find ourselves in.”

  “You damn well should. You’re the one who crawled into my bed last night.”

  “That was a mistake.” He should not have done it. Shouldn’t have given himself a glimpse of what he couldn’t have again.

  Thornton flinched, his eyes clamping shut for a brief moment, unmistakable pain pulling his features. The unexpected reaction startled Arthur, jolting him from the ever-tightening grip of anger. Could Thornton actually have feelings for him, ones that went beyond mere lust?

  Oh no. His stomach dropped to somewhere around his knees. That couldn’t be true. Notorious for his exploits, Thornton flitted from lover to lover without a backward glance. He had been certain Thornton hadn’t seen him as any different from the rest. But Arthur was getting a nagging and very uncomfortable premonition that Thornton held expectations that went beyond their short holiday.

  Damnation. The one time Arthur indulged with another for no other reason than pleasure, he chose a partner who wanted more. If he had more experience with such matters, perhaps he could have seen the signs and stopped their liaison before they reached this point. He had not intended to hurt Thornton; he well knew what it felt like on the receiving end. But it appeared he had done so, regardless of his intentions. “I apologize if my acceptance of your invitation gave you the wrong impression. But you and I, we do not suit.”

  “I suited you just fine last night, and yesterday morning, and the night you arrived.”

  “Yes, but I am referring to more than just physical compatibility.”

  “I’m good enough to fuck, but that’s all. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  When put so bluntly, it made Arthur feel like the worst sort of cad. But as his friend, Thornton deserved to know the truth. “Yes,” Arthur said with a grim nod. “Thornton, we are two completely different men. You don’t understand the concept of discretion. Hell, you didn’t even stop to don a cravat, much less a coat, before you chased after me.”

  “I didn’t want you to leave.”

  Obviously. “But it illustrates my point. You give little if any thought to comporting yourself in the manner of a gentleman, much less one who has something to hide. I cannot risk word getting out about my preference for those of my own gender. It would destroy my reputation, thus killing my livelihood. No decent man will employ a solicitor who buggers other men. And beyond that, I don’t have the weight of a wealthy, titled father to keep gossip in check and to keep me from swinging from the hangman’s noose. I will be honest with you, Thornton. I do not wish to spend the rest of my life alone. But I cannot accept a…partner,” he said, for lack of a better word, “who does not recognize the value of commitment.”

  “Oh, but Amherst was acceptable, and he’s just the model of fidelity. He wanted me to suck him off, but I refused him because of you.”

  Suck him off? He should have known there had been more to Thornton’s claim to Randolph’s infidelity. Obviously Thornton had done more than merely notice Randolph at Delacroix’s brothel. When in Town, Thornton practically lived at such establishments. And one time Thornton had said no. That was the proof he presented of his ability to remain faithful to another? Arthur kept the exasperated sigh from making its way past his lips. Enough. Time to cut directly to the heart of the matter. “You drink to excess.”

  “So I can forget you,” Thornton shot back.

  “You’ll swive anyone.”

  “They were all poor substitutes for you.”

  Arthur opened his mouth but promptly shut it as the significance of Thornton’s words sank in. Every one of his answers had to do with Arthur. And not just this morning, but even the night Arthur had arrived. When he’d asked Thornton if he needed another glass of whisky… “No. You’re here.” Thornton had been willing to drag himself out of bed before dawn to go shooting “…for you.”

  Dumbstruck, he stared hard at Thornton. The man quickly averted his gaze to look out one of the windows in the study, but he couldn’t hide the way every muscle had drawn tight. The way his arms were crossed defensively over his chest, the white tips of fingers biting into his biceps.

  His responses, his posture, it all screamed of sincerity, but… Arthur glanced to the clock on the fireplace mantel. No reason to stay. Perhaps if months instead of weeks had passed since he’d parted with Randolph, he would be more open to giving Thornton a chance. As it stood, he simply was not ready to gamble his heart on the possibility of Thornton changing his ways. The memory of the wounds Randolph had left in his wake was still too fresh, too raw. And if this man broke his heart…a pinprick of the pain he had sustained two weeks ago.

  “Unlock the door, Thornton,” he said, unable to keep the regret from his voice. “Your five minutes are up.”

  “I’ve waited ten years for you. I think I deserve more than five bloody minutes.”

  Arthur dragged a hand through his hair. “Don’t exaggerate. It’s in poor form.”

  Still staring out the window, Thornton let out a mirthless chuckle. “Everything about me is in poor form. I have no cause to give you yet another reason to find fault with me.” He dropped his attention to his mud-flecked boots, his shoulders rounding, his brow furrowing. “It was April twenty-fourth, eighteen eleven. We ran into each other at Cheswick’s Tavern, and I went looking for you later that night. Decided to finally make my intentions known. Thought perhaps, well…” He harrumphed and gave his head a weary shake. “I went to your apartments. Was just about to knock when I heard his voice.”

  Arthur’s pulse skipped a beat. He knew exactly which day Thornton referred to: the start of the last ten long years with Randolph. “How long did you wait outside the door?”

  “Long enough to know you hadn’t invited him for tea.”

  “I didn’t invite him. He invited himself.”

  “Oh.” If not for the rigidity of his posture, Arthur would think he didn’t care. “Had you been seeing him long?” Thornton asked.

  “No. We went to university together, were friends of a sort, but I wasn’t aware he preferred men until he showed up at my door. It was our first time together. My first time, actually.”

  “With a man?”

  “Women never appealed to me. It was my first time with an
yone.”

  Thornton winced, as if those words caused physical pain.

  “My apologies.”

  Thornton shook his head. “You don’t owe me an apology. I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I waited too long to make my interest known. I didn’t want to rush you.”

  “You had no problem doing that this week,” Arthur pointed out.

  Thornton’s lips pulled in a humorless smirk. “Didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

  Where would they be now if Thornton had not been patient? If their friendship had turned to something more before Thornton became a notorious rakehell. Would they still be together, or would London have still sunk its teeth into Thornton, tearing them apart? One thing was for certain. He would not have refused the man then, just as he had not refused him two nights ago. “I wish it had been you. He was a bit of brute, and it damn well hurt.”

  Thornton shrugged. “Usually does the first time.”

  “But I would have at least enjoyed myself with you.” Arthur paused and passed a hand over the front of his greatcoat, fiddling with a button. “I fell in with Randolph because…he was there. He wanted me. And at nineteen years of age, I was more than a bit primed. Yet I was too young to know how to go about finding a man who shared my interests. I didn’t want to approach anyone, not even an acquaintance, for fear of choosing unwisely and having the tale spread all over Town. I was afraid to go to a molly house—didn’t want to get the pox, and paying a stranger to take my virginity didn’t have much appeal. My options were severely limited, and Randolph was a decent fellow. Attractive, if a bit of a condescending bore. It was easy to say yes to him and even easier to stay with him. If he hadn’t decided to find a wife, I probably would have never left. Yet I’m…I’m relieved that relationship ended.”

  Don’t ask, don’t ask… “Why?” Leopold scowled as he heard the word leave his lips. Hearing about Randolph, knowing Arthur had willingly spent ten years with a man who did not love him when he could have had Leopold all along was like having daggers driven into his heart. Granted, he had kept his desires well hidden from Arthur until two weeks ago, but still, it hurt.