Table of Contents

Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Loose Id Titles by Ava March
Ava March

Convincing Leopold

Ava March

www.loose-id.com

Convincing Leopold
Copyright © June 2011 by Ava March
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Dedication

To Mandi and Sophia.

Chapter One

February, 1822

London, England

The click of a lock sliding home echoed in the study. More than a hint of reticence seeped into Arthur Barrington’s gut. Trying to

push it back, he briefly closed his eyes, but the effort proved in vain.

He tamped down the weary sigh that threatened to expand his chest and poured a second cup of tea, then placed the squat

porcelain teapot back onto the silver tray. A glass of brandy might better serve to revive his spirits, but he did not want to risk
encouraging his lover, Leopold Thornton. To Arthur’s knowledge, Thorn had not touched a glass or bottle of liquor since three months
ago when Arthur had pulled that bottle of gin from Thorn’s shaking hand. And he wanted to keep it that way.

But perhaps Thorn locked the study door only out of habit? He certainly had very good cause of late to turn the lock whenever

they were alone together in a room. Or perhaps he was exercising caution? Thorn was well aware of Arthur’s reluctance to share
even so little as a chaste kiss except behind not simply a closed door but a locked one. Even if Thorn’s plan for the remainder of the
evening involved nothing more than conversation, Arthur wouldn’t want to leave Thorn’s town house without a kiss good night.

Yes, that could be it. Not fifteen minutes ago, he had told Thorn over supper about his trying day at the office. Thorn had even

remarked that he appeared worn out.

Reassured, he picked up the two teacups and turned from the cabinet situated along the wall. With a wicked glint in his gray

eyes that Arthur recognized all too well, Thorn stepped from the closed door.

So much for his hopes that Thorn had anything benign on his mind tonight.

He didn’t fight to hold back the sigh. Quite the opposite. A part of him hoped Thorn would pick up on the hint.

The expectant smile pulling the corners of Thorn’s full lips dimmed a fraction. The barest of hesitations hitched his long, loose

stride.

Guilt stabbed into Arthur. Ah hell. You’re an arse, Barrington.

“Thank you,” Thorn murmured, stopping at his side to take the proffered cup.

Arthur tipped his head. They stared at each other for a moment as a debate raged inside of him. Damnation, he was tired. He

just wanted to relax and spend time with Thorn. To simply be with him. But how did one say “no, thank you” to a lover intent on
seduction? Thorn did not deal with rejection well, and that was putting it mildly.

The intensity of Thorn’s gaze, so filled with love and devotion, settled the matter for him.

Arthur forced his legs to take him past the navy wingback chair. His back hadn’t even touched the couch when Thorn sat next to

him, so close his thigh grazed Arthur’s. Awareness pricked the skin beneath his trousers, but the lethargy weighing down his
shoulders quickly dampened the tingle of desire before it could pool in his groin. Yet no doubt within a handful of minutes, his lover
would have the matter well in hand. Literally. And Arthur would leave the town house ten times more exhausted than when he’d
entered it.

He took a sip of tea to cover his heavy sigh and contemplated the fire in the gray marble hearth. The heat from the steady

flames easily reached the couch, seeping through his trousers to warm his shins. A potent lure to give in and let his eyelids drift
closed, but he refused to allow himself to deliver that insult to Thorn.

When he and Thorn had first arrived back in London from their short holiday at Thorn’s country estate in Yorkshire, there had

been quiet evenings interspersed with the more…vigorous ones. When he could simply enjoy Thorn’s company. The perfect balance
of searing passion and comfortable companionship. So perfect, in fact, they had reduced those lingering worries to mere
nothingness. Yet lately when he met Thorn in the evenings, all the man wanted was sex. Even when in view of Thorn’s servants, the
heavy undercurrent rode behind his lover’s every word, every glance, every discreetly cloaked touch.

You’re a damn prude for complaining about it.

Yes, indeed. His lover was a beautiful man—all lean, graceful lines and with flawless pale skin that begged to be kissed. A man

who could suck an orgasm right out of him. Who didn’t have a single qualm about putting that sinful mouth on the most…well, sinful
places on Arthur’s body. And who wanted to be with him, and only him.

That last bit still had the power to astound Arthur.

But why couldn’t they spend the evening together every now and then and not have it be about sex?

“Supper was quite nice,” Arthur said in an effort to pull his mind from his worries. “Please extend my thanks to your cook.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Porcelain clinked against porcelain as Thorn set his cup and saucer on the floor. A hard shoulder brushed against Arthur’s as

Thorn shifted, turning his upper body toward him. A hand settled on Arthur’s thigh. Long, elegant fingers which had never seen a day
of honest work kneaded his muscles. Adept and gentle, approaching a soothing massage, yet Thorn’s intention could not be any
clearer.

“You seem tense.” A chunk of Thorn’s wavy black forelock hung over one eye, the ends just skimming his long lashes, but it

couldn’t hide the concern that touched his gaze.

“As I mentioned earlier, I had a long day at the office. Didn’t get as much done as I hoped.”

“Unexpected visits from clients?”

“No. Not today. Fenton needed assistance drafting a will. Took an ungodly amount of time.” The new secretary would be the

death of him. The young man was supposed to help take some of the burden off Arthur’s desk. Likely would eventually, but given
Arthur had hired him a month ago, he still needed a considerable amount of assistance. And since his other secretary didn’t do much
more than keep Arthur on schedule and organize the office, Fenton needed the sort of assistance only Arthur could provide.

Thorn’s lips thinned into a compressed line. Then that thoroughly wicked smile tipped the edges once again. He leaned closer.

Warm breaths fanned Arthur’s ear. Slow and enticing, sensation rippled down his spine.

“Well then, let me help you to relax.”

The promise of sinful pleasures soaked Thorn’s voice, melting Arthur’s resistance as only this man could. The tingle of desire

sparked anew: stronger, hotter, sharper than before, enough to temporarily mask the weariness. He did not put up a fight when Thorn
pulled his teacup from his grasp, setting it on the floor next to Thorn’s cup.

Within the blink of an eye, the long length of Thorn’s body pressed against his side. Elegant fingers coasted up from Arthur’s

knee, not pausing once on their way to their target. With unerring accuracy, Thorn located Arthur’s prick beneath the placket of his
trousers and stroked the length.

He rested his chin on Arthur’s shoulder as his hand did wonders to coax Arthur’s cock to attention. He swiped his fingers over

the crown, then went back to pumping the length, his palm swooshing softly over the fabric. Seeking more, Arthur spread his legs and
pushed up into that wonderfully firm grip.

“I missed you today,” Thorn whispered.

A flush of warmth filled his chest. Damnation, it felt good to be missed, to know there was someone out there—or more

precisely, the man right beside him—who looked forward to seeing him. The edges of his lips quirked. “I just saw you this morning.”

He felt Thorn shake his head. “You didn’t wake me when you left, so I didn’t see you.”

Another stab of guilt to his gut. Arthur had been deliberately careful when he’d slipped out of Thorn’s bed. “It was not even dawn.

Didn’t want to disturb you,” he murmured. He had a strong premonition he’d receive another invitation from Thorn to remain with him
tonight, yet he pushed that worry from his mind and let the man’s hand command his complete attention.

“And I had such plans for the morning.” All traces of a pout vanished, replaced with a sinful, confident tease. “I guess I shall just

have to indulge them now.”

One tug and Thorn had the placket undone. Arthur lifted his hips slightly, giving him access to reach inside. With an ease borne

of near countless repetition, he pulled Arthur’s erect cock from the confines of his drawers and trousers.

Hand wrapped around the base of Arthur’s prick, Thorn bent his upper body over Arthur’s lap. “Love you.” Thorn’s whisper

teased the head of his cock. Light and delicate, a ghost of a caress that nevertheless tugged at his heart. Then those full lips opened
wide, and Thorn took him inside his mouth.

All thoughts that didn’t have to do with pleasure fled Arthur’s brain. Threading his fingers into Thorn’s hair, Arthur let his head fall

back as he gave himself up to the decadent sensation of his lover’s mouth, let the combination of slippery wet heat and perfect
suction coax the lust fully to the surface.

He blindly coasted his other hand along Thorn’s back, the sleek muscles hard as iron beneath the fine wool coat. Up and down,

Thorn bobbed along his length, each stroke somehow better than the last.

To think not ten minutes ago he had longed for a quiet evening. What the hell had he been thinking? Definitely not about this.

“Your mouth,” Arthur muttered, suspended somewhere between utter relaxation and pulse-pounding desire. Of their own accord,

his hips moved, nudging in counterpoint to those amazing strokes. “So good.”

Thorn’s purr reverberated against his shaft, adding another layer that nearly robbed him of all sense. In a long, slow glide, his

lover pulled up to tease the highly sensitive slit with the tip of his tongue. Then he plunged back down his shaft. All the way down.

“Ah, hell, Thorn.”

The most luscious constriction squeezed the head of his prick. Thorn swallowed, the muscles of his throat working in a

decadent massage. Arthur’s eyes rolled back. His fingers tightened in Thorn’s hair, and then he forced his hand to relax, to release
the harsh hold on those silken strands. The last thing he wanted to do was cause his lover pain.

After a moment that felt like forever yet like the blink of an eye, Thorn eased back and resumed those bone-melting strokes.

Arthur tipped his chin down, drawn by the urge to watch those lips that felt like wet silk slide up and down his prick. Thorn’s long

black lashes rested against high cheekbones flushed with desire. Each deep breath whooshed from his nose, tickling the base of
Arthur’s cock, his focus absolutely and completely on lavishing Arthur with pleasure. He had been the recipient of his lover’s skilled
mouth too many times to count over the past three months, yet each instance never failed to hold him in awe. And the sight alone of
Thorn’s full lips wrapped around his length was enough to bring him dangerously close to a climax.

Tingling fingertips of sensation tickled his ballocks. The muscles of his thighs drew tight to the point of trembling. Just as the

release began to coil down Arthur’s spine, Thorn pulled free.

Still crouched over Arthur’s lap, Thorn darted his tongue out to swipe his bottom lip. Unable to resist a taste, Arthur pulled the

man up and kissed him, sweeping his tongue inside the hot depths of his lover’s gorgeous mouth. On a low moan, Thorn shifted even
closer. What could only be an erection nudged his hip as Thorn met the strength of his kiss and then some.

Soft, eager lips, the hint of stubble from Thorn’s day beard, the enticing spice of his cologne… Arthur could have spent the

entire night on the couch with Thorn in his arms, their tongues twining together, poised right on the cusp of an orgasm. Not so close to
a climax that the need to spill his seed had crossed the line of desperation, but that perfect point where lust pounded through his
veins, heated his skin, every sense heightened and consumed by his lover.

Thorn broke the kiss far before Arthur was ready. Arthur leaned forward, pursuing those lips, but Thorn shifted back just enough

to stay out of reach.

“Do you want to bend me over the arm of the couch and fuck my arse?”

Hell, Thorn said the wickedest things. Crude and obscene and thoroughly erotic. A growl rumbled through Arthur’s chest.

“Yes?” Thorn asked, arching a dark eyebrow as he slid his hand along Arthur’s spit-slicked shaft.

Another tremor shook his thighs. “You damn well know the answer.” As if he could ever resist such an invitation.

Thorn’s lips, flushed red and wet, kicked up in a confident smirk. He got to his feet and moved to the side of the couch, one

hand tugging at the placket of his trousers and pushing the garment down while the other slipped into a pocket of his iron gray
waistcoat for the small glass bottle he always seemed to carry with him. He poured a generous amount of oil into his palm and set the
bottle on a nearby table. Bracing his other hand on the arm of the couch, he reached back under the tails of his coat.

The sight of his lover preparing himself without a single inhibition pushed Arthur to his feet. He quickly unbuttoned his coat and

shrugged it from his shoulders, letting it fall to the couch cushions. He didn’t miss the way Thorn’s hungry gaze tracked his every
movement as he made his way behind the man—his cock bobbing with each step, the need to bury himself hilt-deep in Thorn
cranking higher and higher.

Thorn bent his upper body over the thickly tufted arm and spread his legs as far as the trousers around his ankles would allow.

He flicked his coat and shirttail to the side, exposing his firmly rounded arse. Glancing over his shoulder, he winked. “Have at it, Mr.
Barrington.”

Arthur’s palm itched to give him a smack on the arse. Instead he pushed his own trousers down so they hung low on his hips, far

enough to prevent any unwanted oil stains. He palmed Thorn’s arse, pulling back one cheek to reveal his well-oiled hole, and pushed
inside.

Thorn let out a short grunt. Then he thrust back, fully impaling himself on Arthur’s prick. “Fuck me, Arthur. Fuck me hard.”

The last three months had convinced him that when Thorn asked for hard, he wanted exactly that. No consideration. Yet Arthur

held still for the space of three heartbeats, allowed his lover at least a moment for his body to adjust to the intrusion. Then he shifted
his grip, hands splaying over Thorn’s hips to get a firmer hold on him.

“I fully intend to.” The words were a growl. He pulled almost all the way out, savoring the slick glide, and then snapped forward

and picked up a hard, driving rhythm.

“Yes, yes.” Thorn moaned, bucking back, lengthening each thrust.

Grabbing Thorn’s shoulders, he slammed harder. Thorn took it all, begged for more. Hell, Thorn made him feel like a savage.

Primal and base. Unable to resist the need to completely dominate him. To fuck him so deeply the man would be forever branded as
his own.

The release once again began coiling down Arthur’s spine, drawing his ballocks up tight. Desperate not to come before Thorn,

he tilted his hips, changing the angle of his strokes, trying to peg the man’s gland.

Thorn’s gasping moans grew more frantic, the sounds hitching in his throat. Arthur leaned over Thorn’s back and slipped a hand

inside his lover’s coat pocket, fingers finding the soft linen.

He had just wrapped the handkerchief over the head of Thorn’s cock when the man let out a hoarse groan. His body clutched

Arthur’s length in time to the liquid heat splashing against the fabric.

Thorn’s climax sparked his own. Searing pleasure flooded his senses. He set his teeth against Thorn’s shoulder to stifle the

shout as he came, his hips sputtering to a halt.

He gave himself a moment to catch his breath, then tightened his hold on Thorn’s waist and straightened, taking his lover with

him. Thorn sagged against him, lax and boneless, allowing Arthur to hold him upright. He nuzzled the side of Thorn’s neck, dragged
his lips past the starched white cravat, over his jaw, and to his ear. “Kiss me,” he murmured, needing to feel those beautiful lips
beneath his own.

“I fully intend to,” Thorn replied, the pleased, sated smile clear in his voice.

Thorn turned, his arms wrapping around Arthur’s waist. Their equal heights made them perfectly matched, and all Thorn needed

to do was tilt his chin slightly to the side to claim Arthur’s mouth.

Soft and slow, with just a hint of tongue, Thorn kissed him. He had never been much for kissing before Thorn, the urge for that

intimacy simply not there. Likely a by-product of his one and only other relationship. Yet with Thorn, he could never get enough. And
the sounds the man made, those little rumbles of air in the back of his throat…

Arthur slanted his mouth more firmly over Thorn’s, swept his tongue inside, trying to get a taste of those delicious little sighs. His

lover pressed against him, bare prick sliding along Arthur’s sated cock, and let out a groan. Before the residual hum from the recent
orgasm could spark anew, Arthur pulled back, ending the kiss with a light nip to that plump lower lip.

“I could kiss you all night,” Arthur murmured.

Thorn’s lashes slowly swept up, revealing passion-soaked gray eyes flecked with midnight. “You’re more than welcome to do

so.” He dropped his voice to a mere breath of sound that still managed to hold the full weight of his offer. “And many other things as
well.”

Pliant and willing in his arms and with his cheeks still flushed with desire, Thorn was the very embodiment of temptation—sinful,

wicked, lush temptation. And by the man’s own admission, he had absolutely no limits when it came to carnal pleasures. But they’d
certainly draw the servants’ notice if they remained behind the locked door of the study until dawn.

A rueful smile teasing the edges of his mouth, Arthur gave his head a little indulgent shake. “Don’t tempt me, or we’ll never leave

this room.” He stole one more kiss but kept it quick and light. Then he released Thorn so he could tug up his trousers. Handkerchief
still clutched in one hand, he took the few steps to the hearth and tossed the soiled linen into the fire. God forbid Thorn spill all over
the side of the couch, leaving an obvious mark of the proof of their after-supper activities. Arthur doubted such a stain could be easily
explained to the servants.

As Thorn pulled his trousers up from his ankles, Arthur grabbed his coat from the cushion and slipped it on. “Your morning plans

had involved being bent over the arm of a couch?” He knew for a fact Thorn did not have anything that approached a couch in his
bedchamber.

Thorn lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “One must make do with what’s available.” A couple of deft tugs and he set his clothing to

rights. He had a remarkable ability to go from appearing completely debauched to completely presentable in a handful of seconds. A
skill no doubt learned from necessity.

Not something Arthur should really think about at the moment. In any case, Thorn had left those days behind him.

“My original plan involved straddling your hips and riding your cock until I came all over your stomach.”

The mental image formed in Arthur’s mind—his hands grasping Thorn’s hips, urging his lover onward as the man slammed hard

and fast on his prick. He let out a low grunt, his sated prick twitching its approval.

Stepping closer, Thorn smoothed his hands over the front of Arthur’s coat. He tipped his chin down, his attention on Arthur’s

coat as his nimble fingers righted the bottom button. “Stay with me tonight.”

With those softly spoken words, the exhaustion from the long day settled right back onto Arthur’s shoulders, his back slumping

under the weight of it. Every trace of postorgasmic bliss vanished, leaving nothing but bone-weary fatigue. He felt every one of his
thirty years. Hell, he felt damn near double that.

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

“So stop at your apartments in the morning.”

“But there’s a contract I still need to review for an appointment, and I left it on the dining table. I need to familiarize myself with it

tonight.”

“Read it when you get into the office.”

“There are other matters that require my attention in the morning.” He could reorganize his schedule and free up enough time

before the appointment, but if he remained with Thorn, he knew he would not be sleeping alone, nor would it involve much sleep.

And damnation, he needed a decent night’s rest. Something more than the small handful of hours he’d been subsisting on for

the past couple of weeks.

With a light touch, he combed Thorn’s dark forelock from his brow. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy staying with you. I do. But another

night.”

Gray eyes searched his own. Then Thorn nodded. He took a step back, fingers slipping from Arthur’s coat. “I’ll call for my

carriage to take you home,” Thorn said, as casual as could be, without a trace of the frown that had creased his brow a moment ago.

Arthur did his best to hide his relief. “You needn’t bother.”

Thorn slanted him a dry look. “It’s not a bother, I assure you. Requires little effort on my part to convey the request to a servant.”

“Thank you, but I prefer to walk.” He walked most everywhere he went in Town. More than that, though, he wasn’t comfortable

taking Thorn’s carriage home. Logically, he knew gentlemen often lent their equipage to guests. But he was Thorn’s very frequent
guest who tended to spend quite a bit of time with him behind the locked door of the study, never mind the frequency of his overnight
stays. Those stays were easily explained—his office was significantly closer to Thorn’s town house than his own bachelor
apartments. Still, borrowing the man’s carriage somehow crossed the line into the realm of blatantly obvious.

“If you insist,” Thorn replied, as if the notion of walking when a carriage could be had was beyond absurd. To him, a man who

had grown up with an army of servants to see to his every need and who had an overindulgent and extremely wealthy viscount for a
father, it likely was.

Arthur followed him to the study door. The click of the lock sliding open echoed in the room. Before Thorn could turn the knob,

Arthur placed a hand over his. Thorn looked to him, a question in his eyes.

“It was good to see you tonight.” Arthur leaned forward, brushed his lips across Thorn’s, needing that good-night kiss. If he could

trust Thorn not to press for more, he would have readily agreed to stay. As it was, though…

He kept the frustrated sigh from expanding his chest and pulled his hand from Thorn’s.

Thorn tipped his head, then opened the door. They made their way down the grand staircase and to the white-marble-floored

entrance hall. Jones, Thorn’s middle-aged and ever efficient footman, materialized with Arthur’s coat.

After donning his greatcoat and gloves, he thanked Thorn again for the meal and stepped out the front door of the elegant town

house and into the chill February night.

He did not even make it to the street corner before he gave in to the exhaustion and hailed a passing hackney. After giving the

driver the direction, he stepped inside and settled on the leather bench. A snap of leather lines and the hackney lurched forward.

The golden rays from the streetlamps he passed seeped through the window, keeping the interior from pitch darkness. The

rhythmic jangle of harness and the clop of hooves formed a soothing lull that begged his eyes to just surrender to the lethargy and drift
closed. He gave his head a swift shake and focused on the passing buildings as the hackney wound its way out of Mayfair.

Damn, his eyelids felt heavy; it was a struggle simply to keep them open. Perhaps he should rearrange his schedule and push

off the contract waiting for him on the dining table until the morning. The idea of taking himself straight to bed, of seven full hours of
uninterrupted sleep…

Now that would be bliss.

Bliss? Rolling his eyes at himself, he dragged a hand across the back of his neck. When had sleep become such a precious

commodity? More precious than the prospect of spending time with Thorn, never mind buggering him?

The worry that had been nudging the back of his mind, the one that had refused to be fully pacified even with Thorn’s

reassurance that they would be all right, began to prod with considerable force.

When it came down to it, did they simply not suit one another?

What felt like an iron band squeezed around his chest. A wince crossed his brow.

No, no.

He wanted to be with Thorn. It went beyond a fear of being alone and encompassed so much more than mere lust. He truly

wanted their relationship to work. If he had not believed there was more than a thin thread of hope for them, he would have stepped
into his carriage on that fateful morning in Yorkshire and not turned back for Thorn.

Thorn obviously wanted to be with him too, for he had proved true to his word. To Arthur’s knowledge, Thorn had stopped

drinking to excess, had stopped spending his nights in various gaming hells or in houses of ill repute, and his name was no longer on
the tongue of every gossip in London. And above all, Thorn loved him.

The memory of those whispered words washed over him, tugging on his heart anew. Yet…

That sense of hesitation rushed over him. Things had been near perfect for a short while, yet lately… Was their relationship

beginning to run its course? Were their differences too much for will alone to overcome? Or was it something else altogether?

The hackney jerked to a stop outside the tidy brick building that held his bachelor apartments. He scrubbed his hands over his

face and pushed the questions aside. Now was not the time to contemplate his relationship with Thorn, not when his mind was near
frayed by a lack of sleep. He would only end up with no answers and a spectacular headache.

He willed his beyond-tired limbs into action and exited the hackney. He handed the driver the necessary coins, then made his

way inside the building and up to the third floor.

He shrugged the coat from his shoulders and lit a candle upon entering his apartments. His gaze skipped over his parlor and to

the dining room just beyond, landing on the stack of papers on the corner of the mahogany table. He should read them tonight.
Wouldn’t do not to be prepared, and he had brought them home for a reason. In any case, Fenton would likely need assistance with
something in the morning, taking what little time he could allot to review the contract.

He forced his feet to take him across the parlor, grabbing his leather bag from the cushion of an armchair as he went. He set

the candle on the dining table and pulled a pencil from his bag. The scrape of the chair’s legs against the floorboards cut through the
silence, masking his resigned sigh. Five or six hours of sleep were better than two or three, he told himself as he settled in the chair
and turned his attention to the papers before him.

Chapter Two

Leopold exited his carriage and gave his greatcoat a tug to straighten it. The door snapped shut behind him, courtesy of his

footman, Jones.

“I’ll be a few minutes. You can wait down the street,” he instructed Jones.

The unseasonably bright early afternoon sun provided little warmth, the air cold and crisp with winter’s chill. Leopold shoved his

gloved hands into his coat pockets and made his way to the now familiar red brick building on Clifford Street. Situated just off Bond
Street, Arthur’s office was in a prime area to attract clients who could more than afford his services. Leopold’s own father employed
him and had employed his uncle before him, hence how Leopold had initially befriended Arthur a decade ago.

For most of those ten years, Arthur had been involved with Randolph Amherst, a prominent banker in London, and Leopold had

been… Well, he would not use the word involved. Associated held more meaning than the situation justified as well. Perhaps
acquainted? Yes, he liked the sound of that. Didn’t make the drunken blur feel quite so sordid. For those ten years, he’d been
acquainted with a fair number of the inhabitants of London, inhabitants who had unfortunately not included Arthur. But Arthur had
finally come to his senses and left that damn heartless, lying, cuckolding prig. Determined not to repeat the biggest mistake of his life,
Leopold had not wasted a moment in his effort to convince Arthur that he, Leopold, could be worthy of him.

A decidedly long, lonely decade but definitely worth the wait, for he could now call the man he loved his own. A fact that both

thrilled his heart and brought its fair share of worries.

With Arthur occupied at his office, Leopold had found his days unsettlingly empty. Where before he’d spent the hours before

dusk sleeping off the prior night’s overindulgence, now he had a clear head and not much to do with it. Occasional calls to his father
and visits to his club took up some of his hours but nowhere near all of them. He avoided his elder brothers—they never bothered to
hide their disapproval of him—and he hadn’t many acquaintances that Arthur would not frown upon. He had quickly found the empty
afternoons provided ample fodder for his worries to build. Seeking to distract himself, he had taken to visiting Arthur at his office.

And after last night, he definitely needed a distraction. Or was it reassurance he sought?

He let out a huff of self-disgust. You’re worse than a damn needy woman. But he didn’t pause as he pulled open the pristine

white door and entered the building. Perhaps he would try to pry Arthur from behind his desk to go to a nearby tavern for a bite to eat.
Get the man away from the bloody paperwork that commanded his full attention.

He went up the stairs to the door with the small brass plaque that read Mr. Arthur Barrington, Solicitor. Without bothering to

knock, he opened the door.

Wilson, one of Arthur’s secretaries—the one Leopold didn’t much mind—looked up from the open drawer of a cabinet along the

wall of the anteroom of the office. He pulled out a sheaf of paper, then closed the drawer. “Good afternoon, Mr. Thornton. What can I
do for you today?” he asked, a distinct eagerness to please in his friendly brown eyes.

Leopold pulled off his leather gloves. “Is Mr. Barrington available? There is a matter I wish to discuss with him.” The usual vague

excuse, but it sufficed.

The slim man motioned to the open door a few paces from his desk. “He is in his office if you would like to see him now. Shall I

take your coat?”

He shoved his gloves into a pocket and handed the greatcoat to Wilson. The sight of another man standing behind the large

oak desk, sandy blond head bent toward Arthur’s chestnut brown one, stopped him just inside the door of Arthur’s office.

When Arthur had told him he’d hired another secretary, Leopold had initially been pleased, a sign Arthur was proving true to his

word that he would make time for Leopold. Then he had discovered just who Arthur had hired.

Edward Fenton, the youngest son of a well-respected gentleman and just out of Cambridge. Though they did not travel in

precisely the same social circles, Leopold had made his acquaintance on a couple of occasions at various functions over the years.
He had never heard a soul speak anything but highly of him. Fenton was polite, studious, intelligent, and handsome. Broad of
shoulder and with a masculine strength to his features. A younger version of Arthur.

And during his visits to Arthur’s office over the past few weeks, Leopold had also discovered that Fenton’s interest did not lie

solely within the business of the law.

Could Arthur feel the force of Fenton’s gaze? Those blue eyes focused on Arthur’s profile as though soaking up every detail. He

doubted the young man heard a word Arthur said as Arthur, his attention on the papers before him, explained some point or other.
Did Arthur know it would take but a word from him for Fenton to bend over that desk and offer Arthur anything he wanted?

Arthur believes in fidelity. Over and over, he repeated the words in his mind in an effort to shake off the insecurity that had

draped over his shoulders like a damn cloak.

But try as he might, he could not ignore the fact that of late Arthur had been working more than his usual long hours. Could not

ignore how Fenton always seemed to be standing right there, at Arthur’s shoulder, whenever Leopold stopped by the office. Hell, it
hurt just to look at the two men together. So well matched, down to the similar plain, dark coats—they likely visited the same tailor—
and the same neatly cropped short hair. The sight alone lodged the worry deep within Leopold. The worry that one evening, very
soon, Arthur would pose that question to him once again.

“May I still call you friend, Thorn?”

It was all he could do not to recoil as the memory slammed into him.

Arms crossed over his chest, he stood there and silently waited. Waited for Arthur to notice him. But Arthur’s attention remained

fixed on that damn document, the silver end of his pen catching the sunlight streaming through the window as he made various
notations, and Fenton’s attention remained fixed on Arthur.

Leopold cleared his throat.

Arthur looked up. Leopold could tell by the way it took a half second for those hazel eyes to focus on him that the man truly had

no idea he’d had an audience for the past few minutes. “Good afternoon, Mr. Thornton,” he said, all professional politeness, as if
Leopold was simply another client come to call. “If you’ll just give us a moment.”

Us, not me.

Fenton flicked a glance to Leopold. Quick and dismissive.

He fought the urge to flinch.

Arthur turned his attention to Fenton. “Make these revisions, then have Wilson deliver it to his lordship.”

Taking the document from Arthur, Fenton nodded. He lingered just a bit, clearly reluctant to relinquish his place, before finally

moving from behind the desk.

Enough.

Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, Leopold leveled his coldest stare on the secretary.

Fenton’s stride faltered, then quickened, his gaze dropping to the polished floorboards.

Bloody insignificant bastard. He didn’t need Arthur’s assistance one bit. A ploy and nothing more. Jealousy rolled up from

Leopold’s stomach, yanked hold of him. It was all he could do not to bare his teeth and growl he’s mine as Fenton scurried past him.

Leopold flicked the door shut, likely much harder than needed given how the sound snapped through the quiet office, echoing

off the mahogany-paneled walls.

Arthur’s hands stilled above the pile of papers on his left. Then he selected the top one. Fortunately, though, he did not pick his

pen back up and instead finally turned his attention to Leopold. “How has your day been?”

“Good.” And soon to get significantly better. The tavern could wait for another day. He turned the lock on the door slowly, trying

to dampen the soft click as it slid home. Gaze pinned on his lover, he crossed the room. “Busy morning?”

Arthur let out a sigh, the straight line of his shoulders slumping the barest bit. “Yes.”

“Were you able to review those documents last night?”

“Fortunately, yes, else I would have found myself quite behind today.”

“You shouldn’t work yourself so hard.”

He shrugged. “It is referred to as work for a reason.” Arthur swept his gaze over him as he rounded the desk. A notched V

pulled his brows. “Any particular reason for today’s visit?”

Leopold’s lips quirked. “Yes.” His fingers itched to unravel Arthur’s crisp cravat. To pull the navy coat from those broad

shoulders. To strip away every trace of the conservative solicitor.

Arthur’s eyes flared, and he cast a distinctly nervous glance toward the door. “Thorn…”

“Arthur,” he teased, stopping beside him. Resting a hand on the arm of Arthur’s leather chair, he leaned down, lips brushing

Arthur’s ear. “Do you remember how good it felt last night when my lips were wrapped around your cock?”

“Thorn.” The warning was clear in his tone, yet Leopold didn’t miss the way the man’s breaths hitched. “Don’t. Not here at my—”

“The hot glide as I worked my mouth up and down your length,” he whispered, cutting him off. He traced the edge of Arthur’s

shirt collar with his other hand, the short strands of hair at his nape tickling his fingertips. “Your skin so slick and wet. Your cock so
damn hard and thick, filling my mouth. I could barely take all of you.”

He felt the shiver rack Arthur’s body. Heard the barely perceptible grunt rumble his chest.

“You did, though. Took it all,” Arthur said, low and hoarse yet edged with the rising urgency of lust.

“And I thoroughly enjoyed every moment.”

He let his hand drop to Arthur’s thigh, trailed his fingers up to the placket of his trousers. The heavy bulk hidden within jumped.

He stroked the rapidly hardening length, pushing the lust higher, needing to take Arthur to the point where he’d forget their
surroundings.

“I love sucking your cock.” I love you. “And I love when you take control. When you use me for your own pleasure. When you

grab me by the hair and fuck my mouth.”

Arthur’s hand, resting on the desk, flexed, then tightened into a fist. His hips thrust up, pushing into Leopold’s touch. Without

slowing the determined strokes on the man’s erection, Leopold chanced a quick glance at Arthur’s face. His eyes were closed, lips
slightly parted on quickening breaths, the notched V completely absent from his brow. All obvious hints of resistance gone.

“I want you to come down my throat, coat my tongue with your seed. I want to suck every last drop from you.” He nipped at

Arthur’s ear. “Hell, you always taste so damn good.”

Arthur groaned. “Damnation, Thorn.”

Another nip to Arthur’s ear. “Move back a bit,” he murmured, urgency and need hot on his heels. Just telling Arthur what he

wanted to do to him had his own cock aching and hard. He could almost taste the sweet, musky flavor of Arthur’s release. He
relinquished his hold on that stiff prick just long enough to push on the arms of the chair. Arthur must have cooperated, for the chair
easily moved back enough to allow Leopold to fit between Arthur’s thighs and the desk.

Working the buttons on the placket of Arthur’s trousers, he dropped to his knees, intent on giving his lover a blatant reminder of

just what he could offer him. Fenton may have a sterling reputation, but it was highly doubtful a whelp like him could come close to
matching Leopold’s skill at sucking cock.

He wasted not a moment freeing Arthur’s erection and wrapping his lips around the crown. One quick deep breath, then he

sank down, relaxing his throat and taking every inch of Arthur’s length.

Arthur’s growl rumbled around him, the sweetest of praises. If his mouth had not been already fully occupied, he would have

grinned in triumph.

Instead he swallowed around Arthur’s cock. That growl turned into a groan. He pulled back, grabbed the base of Arthur’s prick,

and worked his mouth up and down. His grip firm, pumping in counterpoint, his lips tight around the iron-hard length.

A large hand threaded into his hair, palming the back of his skull. With each backstroke, Arthur pushed down, his hips nudging

up, wanting more. The pressure light but definitely there. He could feel the tension in Arthur’s grip—hell, in his entire body. Could feel
how he held back, resisting the impulse to slam Leopold down and force him to take it all. The care, the consideration Arthur showed
him even when consumed by lust, made his heart slam desperately against his ribs.

Please, love me. Please need me for more than this.

But why would he?

Doubt reared its ugly head. Pain sliced into his chest. He shoved the near paralyzing worry aside and focused on Arthur. On at

least keeping the man bound to him with pleasure.

“So good. So damn good.”

Arthur’s murmured words filled his ears. The tang of precum teased his tongue. Needing to feel the hot splash of liquid heat hit

the back of his throat, needing to taste the proof of Arthur’s desire for him, he intensified his efforts. Hollowing his cheeks, he sucked
harder. Stroked faster. Arthur’s length hardened even further. The man was so close he could feel the climax begin to grip hold of him.

harder. Stroked faster. Arthur’s length hardened even further. The man was so close he could feel the climax begin to grip hold of him.

Arthur’s fingers tightened in his hair. “Bloody hell.” The curse was low, urgent, desperate. “Damnation, I want you.”

Leopold shot to his feet and turned. Yanked at the placket of his trousers. Shoved them to his knees. He spit into his palm, then

reached around and swiped between his arse cheeks, coating his entrance. Quick and hasty, but it would suffice. Holding his shirttail
and coat aside, he used his other hand to pull back one cheek.

“Hold your cock steady,” he urged as he lowered over Arthur’s lap.

The crown slipped over his entrance. He tilted his hips to the necessary angle and pressed down. Hard.

A harsh wince pulled his lips, clamped his eyes shut. Holy hell! Sharp pain screamed throughout his body, stinging his nerves,

demanding he lift up and escape the burning stretch. Somehow he kept the grunt inside.

“Be careful. Slow down, Thorn.”

With a shake of his bowed head, he ignored Arthur’s warning. Ignored the large hand cupping his bare hip, trying to slow him,

and sank lower. “Just had you last night,” he managed to get out through gritted teeth, trying for something that resembled a casual,
flippant tone. He really should have thought to prepare himself while sucking off Arthur.

In a few moments, the pain would pass, he promised himself, and there would be nothing but pleasure. Thick, lush, glorious

pleasure. And he needed that pleasure soon, else he’d completely lose his erection.

The instant his arse finally met Arthur’s groin, he grabbed an arm of the chair, lifted up, and bounced on the thick prick,

stretching himself beyond wide. Quick and furious. Slamming down hard. Taking all of Arthur with each stroke.

The pain quickly shifted to pleasure, flooding his senses. His cock bobbed helplessly with each thrust, slapping against the hem

of his shirt pulled taut across his waist. He wanted to turn around. Straddle Arthur’s hips, slant his mouth over his lover’s and kiss him.
Have the man in his arms.

Needing to resist the urge, he tightened his hold on the chair’s arm and slammed down harder, chasing the climax building

within.

Arthur shifted beneath him. Harsh, hot pants brushed across his ear. An arm wrapped around his waist, tugged him against the

hard wall of Arthur’s chest. The movement changed the angle of Arthur’s prick. The crown slid directly across that perfect spot inside
him.

Ecstasy shot through his body. “Yes.”

“Thorn. I…” Arthur gasped for breath. “Can’t hold back.”

Holding Leopold tight to him, Arthur thrust upward. Sharp teeth pressed against his shoulder. The man’s deep groan

reverberated through Leopold’s back as liquid warmth filled his passage.

Fully impaled on Arthur’s cock, Leopold grabbed his own erection, furiously stroked the length. His back arched as the orgasm

seized him.

Panting for breath, Thorn slumped back, resting the full weight of his sleek body against Arthur. Eyes closed and not minding

the weight in the slightest, Arthur wrapped his other arm around Thorn and held him.

After a moment, Thorn shifted on his lap. A bristly jaw scraped across his cheek.

“Kiss me,” Thorn whispered.

The muffled sound of a door slamming shut cut through the thick fog of blissful contentment. Every muscle in Arthur’s body went

rigid. His eyes snapped open. He jerked his head, avoiding Thorn’s kiss, and looked to the door. The knowledge that it was safely
shut, that they were still the only two men in the room, did not calm his pulse in the slightest.

Hell and damnation. They had just fucked at his office. Had Thorn absolutely no sense of propriety? Could he be any more

careless? And the man was still sitting on his cock, for Christ’s sake.

“Get up,” he urged, careful to keep his voice quiet, yet the hushed words seemed unnaturally loud. Oh dear Lord. Had Fenton

and Wilson heard them? Had that been a client who had just entered his office?

He pushed on Thorn’s bare hips when the man didn’t move fast enough. Thorn finally stood, Arthur’s spent cock slipping from

his body. Arthur quickly tucked the damp length into his drawers and began to button the placket.

“Let me do that for you,” Thorn said, laying his hands over Arthur’s.

Arthur swatted him aside. “I can do it myself. See to your own trousers.”

Thorn nodded. With his usual quick efficiency, he repaired his clothing.

Frustration churned Arthur’s gut. Frustration not only at Thorn but at himself. He knew better than to give in. Had known exactly

what Thorn intended, or at least had a fairly good notion, when the man had initially rounded his desk, strides slow and predatory,
chin tipped down and intent gaze locked on him. Yet he’d allowed Thorn to overwhelm him with sensation. Allowed himself to give in
to the lust.

The top button of his trousers finally cooperated and slipped into place. As he tugged on his waistcoat to right it, his gaze

dropped to the floorboards beneath his desk. His eyes flared.

“Thorn. You…you…” On his office floor, no less?

“It’s all right, Arthur.” Thorn didn’t look or sound flustered in the slightest. He simply pulled that ever-ready handkerchief from his

pocket, leaned down, and swiped up his own pearly white seed.

“It is not all right.” He gestured toward the door. “I have two employees barely twenty feet away.”

“They won’t suspect a thing. We were quiet, and the door is locked. I saw to it myself.” Thorn reached out to lay a hand on his

arm.

With a harsh flick, Arthur shook him off. “The locked door matters not.”

“But, Arthur…” Thorn reached for him again.

“Go sit down.” He pointed to one of the leather armchairs on the other side of his desk. Thorn’s proximity alone added to the

noxious mixture of frustration and panic. The musky scent of arousal, of sex, clung to him, a constant reminder of what they had just
done.

A nod, and Thorn turned on his heel. He sat in the closest chair, limbs sprawled in casual disregard. Above the frustration and

distinct note of panic lingering in Arthur’s veins resided disappointment. He had thought Thorn’s reckless days behind him, but
apparently not. How could the man ignore such a risk? Might not be much of a risk to Thorn, who had the weight of his wealthy father’s

title behind him, but the mere suspicion of sodomy would lose Arthur every single client. He had explained that once before. Did he
have to bar Thorn from his office? Hell, he didn’t want to. He looked forward to the man’s afternoon visits, those little breaks in the
seemingly endless days. Well, he used to look forward to them. Now he wasn’t at all certain he could trust him.

“You gave me your word.” “I will be the very image of a proper gentleman.” Thorn’s vow from three months ago echoed in his

head.

His glare was lost on Thorn. Chin tipped down, Thorn tugged on one of his pristine white shirt cuffs, straightening it beneath his

black coat. His upper lip curled slightly, defiance etched in the line of his shoulders. “And I have kept it. The door is locked. It’s only
the two of us.”

He gaped at Thorn. And that made it acceptable? “Have you no common sense?”

Thorn’s fingers stilled. His features blanked, without a hint of expression. Any trace of defiance long gone.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” The low words were almost lost in the muffled snap of a drawer closing from the other room. He flicked his

gaze up at Arthur through his dark lashes, then went back to toying with his shirt cuff. It had barely been a glance, a mere instant, yet
the vulnerability, the true hurt in those gray eyes, gave Arthur pause.

He dragged a hand across the back of his neck and let out a heavy sigh. The frustration drained out of him. Ah hell. Thorn

wasn’t an adolescent. He shouldn’t speak to him as if he was one. The man had simply been himself. Wicked and sinful and tempting
as all hell when they were behind closed doors. And Arthur couldn’t help but admit that, technically, Thorn had kept his word.

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m the arse.”

Thorn shook his head. “No, you’re correct. I should have been more discreet.” He gave his cuff a final tug, then dropped his

hand to his lap. He opened his mouth, shut it for a moment, and then asked, “Did you enjoy it?”

What was almost the start of a chuckle shook his chest. “Of that you should have no doubt.”

One edge of Thorn’s mouth lifted, finally breaking that melancholy line.

Arthur tapped the edge of the document on his desk, straightening it. A contract to lease a property. Mundane and boring, just

like himself. Was Thorn getting bored with him? They didn’t do much of anything besides meet at Thorn’s town house or Arthur’s
bachelor apartments. Not three months ago, Thorn had led a very different life. From what he knew, or rather what he’d overheard,
Thorn used to rarely spend an evening at home. Could that be the source of his…restlessness of late?

He studied the man across from him. Wavy midnight black hair fell over his brow. His aristocratic heritage marked every

feature. Even with Thorn sprawled in the chair, his perfectly tailored black coat still managed to highlight the sleek lines of his body.
He was a creature of London, elegant and beautiful. And Arthur had been practically keeping him locked in the house.

He would admit to some initial hesitation as to Thorn’s ability to comport himself in the manner of a gentleman and not like the

debauched rakehell he had once been, but except for the afternoon’s incident, the man had given Arthur no cause to doubt him.

That little concern placated, he asked, “Would you like to perhaps go out tonight?”

Thorn’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “Out?”

“Yes, like to the theatre or…” Not a gambling hell. Definitely not that. He wanted to spend an evening out with Thorn, not tempt

him with an old vice. “Perhaps supper at White’s?”

“My uncle is hosting a supper party.”

That might do, and he could easily explain his friendship with Thorn—they were of the same age, had known each other since

Arthur worked for his uncle, who had been Thorn’s father’s solicitor, and he even considered himself Thorn’s own solicitor, since he
had looked over a document pertaining to one of the man’s investments a couple of months ago. “When?”

“Tonight. Nothing extravagant. He sent an invitation a while back. Don’t believe I ever sent my regrets. We could attend, if you

would like.”

Arthur nodded and added a smile. A supper party with some family and acquaintances could be just the thing for Thorn, and it

would not hurt Arthur to get out every once in a while. He began to wonder why Thorn had not mentioned the invitation before now, but
a knock sounded on his door.

Thorn stood and flicked his fingers toward the door. “I’ll unlock it. Fenton likely needs something or other. And I should be on my

way. Will you be home by seven?”

He nodded and made a mental note to inform Wilson he needed to depart by half past six tonight.

“I’ll be by then to pick you up.” With that, Thorn turned from the desk.

Arthur picked up his pen, forced his attention to the contract before him, and did his best to ignore the lingering scent of sex that

seemed to hang in the air.

Chapter Three

“Nothing extravagant?” he asked Thorn under his breath as they stepped through the double doors.

“It will be months before the Season starts.”

Arthur wasn’t quite certain how that explained the crowd before them. He had expected a nice meal consisting of a few courses

with perhaps two dozen guests. There had to be over a hundred people in the ballroom, and it wasn’t even eight in the evening. He
might not regularly attend such social affairs, but he knew a fair number usually did not arrive until later.

“My uncle’s not one for the country,” Thorn added. “He likes to occasionally host parties for those who remain in London over the

winter.” He stopped in his tracks and turned to face Arthur. Clad in strict black evening attire with an elaborate cravat framing his jaw,
Thorn was so gorgeous it almost hurt to look at him. “I thought you wanted to attend.”

“I do. Most assuredly.” Arthur smiled, hoping to alleviate the concern in Thorn’s gaze. If Thorn sensed Arthur’s unease, he would

not put it past his lover to demand to leave. A rather counterproductive outcome to the whole purpose of the evening. “Just not what I
expected. Your descriptive powers could use some assistance.”

Thorn arched a dark eyebrow.

“I take that back. They are more than adequate.”

“I should hope so,” Thorn replied drily, though his gray eyes held a distinctly wicked spark. “Would you care to eat now or later?

The supper room’s off to the left.”

“We needn’t have supper now. We just arrived.” He looked over Thorn’s shoulder. “There’s a gentleman who appears to be

coming to speak with you.”

Thorn glanced to the man. “Ah, my uncle. Our evening’s host. I’ll introduce you. Not to worry, he’s quite pleasant.” He turned,

extending a hand to a man who appeared to be well into his fifties. With a rounded belly and a stout build, the man bore no physical
resemblance to Thorn save the same gray eyes. “Evening, Uncle.”

“Good to see you, Leopold,” he replied with a hearty handshake. “I was pleased to receive your note today. Haven’t seen you

about Town, though your father had assured me you were still among us.”

“My father always speaks the truth. May I introduce my good friend, Mr. Arthur Barrington? Barrington, my uncle, Mr. John

Dunmore.”

They exchanged the usual acknowledgments. A tip of the head, a shake of the hand.

“Your brothers graced me with their presence as well,” Mr. Dunmore said to Thorn. “David even asked after you.”

“How kind of him.”

Why did Thorn sound bored by the news? He should consider himself fortunate to have a family, never mind one who cared

enough to inquire after him.

“Come, I’ll take you to him. He’ll be pleased to see you.”

Seeing his opportunity to relinquish Thorn to socialize with his family for a bit, Arthur gave both men a half bow. “If you will

excuse me, I am going to seek out a footman for a drink.”

Thorn’s gaze caught his. Arthur gave him another reassuring smile. Before Thorn could question him, he turned and began to

make his way across the ballroom.

It did not take long to locate a footman bearing a silver tray. Glass in hand, Arthur took up a spot along the wall. Thank heaven

he had thought to change into his best coat and don a pair of appropriate gloves before Thorn had arrived at his bachelor
apartments, else he’d have felt distinctly out of place. Not that he wasn’t acquainted with some of the guests. He recognized a few
clients and some other men he’d met in the course of his business dealings. Over the years, he had received invitations to a handful
of what he would define as supper parties. But an affair of this caliber, surrounded by members of the ton? Somewhere Thorn would
feel much more at home than Arthur would.

His own discomfort mattered not, though. What mattered was that Thorn enjoyed himself.

With that thought foremost in his mind, he kept the polite smile on his lips and contented himself with watching the guests. The

musicians in the corner were playing a waltz. Elegant gentlemen paired with graceful ladies moved about the dance floor. He could
easily pick out the unmarried ladies, dressed in white or pale pastel gowns, their gazes young and demure. He didn’t much mind if
Thorn did his duty and stood up with any of them. For a man of Thorn’s social standing, it was expected at such a function. Though
hopefully Thorn would not expect him to follow his lead. Dancing did not rank high at all on his list of accomplishments or favored
ways to pass an evening.

“Barrington, my good man.”

An ice-cold fist grabbed his stomach. He knew that voice. Deep and cultured and backed with a good measure of arrogance.

The man thought much too highly of himself. A fact Arthur recognized now and one he wished he’d have taken better note of years
sooner.

Keeping the polite smile firmly in place, Arthur took a step from the wall to greet Randolph Amherst.

“Evening, Amherst.” He hesitated an instant before accepting Randolph’s handshake. Brief and perfunctory, just as the man had

been in bed. With neatly combed blond hair and a thick, muscular build, Randolph differed from Thorn in more ways than his
appearance.

“How have you been, Barrington? I have not seen you in an age.”

Three months to be exact, and deliberately done on Arthur’s part. “I am doing quite well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Very well. The Bank of England continues to command my days, though I am giving thought to pursuing a seat in the House.”

Arthur tipped his head and fought the urge to shift his weight. He struggled to find some bland topic to discuss, or better yet, a

means to send Randolph on his way. To think he had once loved this man.

A sharp echo of pain bit into his chest.

Fool.

Yes indeed, and a pathetic one at that.

“I did not expect to see you here,” Randolph said. “I wasn’t aware you had a fondness for society. Not that it isn’t a pleasant

surprise.”

There were a lot of things about him that Randolph had never cared to learn. “I would not go so far as to deem it a fondness. I

arrived with an acquaintance.” Should he have used the term friend? He did not want to discount his friendship with Thorn as if it
meant nothing to him, nor did he have any desire to expose the full extent of their relationship. And why hadn’t the possibility of
coming face-to-face with Randolph occurred to him? Of course Randolph would use Thorn’s uncle’s “supper party” as a means to
flaunt his recent engagement to a daughter of a baron. “Did you arrive with your future bride?”

“Yes, she’s chatting with a few friends.” He spoke with such casual disregard that Arthur suspected Randolph felt no more for

his future bride than he had felt for Arthur. Poor woman. “I was planning to head to the card room for a game of whist. I could use a
partner,” Randolph added.

The tone of Randolph’s voice, the intent in his blue eyes… Arthur recognized it from a decade ago, when the man had first

shown up at his apartments. By the end of the evening, Arthur had lost his virginity.

Did Randolph wish to resume their relationship? No, no. Arthur had been quite clear in his refusal to continue…whatever it was

they’d actually had when the man had informed him of his intent to marry. His discomfort at having to converse with Randolph for the
first time since they had parted was simply making him read more into his words than Randolph intended.

As if somehow sensing his thoughts, Randolph took a half step closer, coming dangerously close to breaching the line of polite

distance. A hint of a smile curved his usually cold mouth. A mouth that had touched Arthur’s prick only on the most infrequent of
occasions. “I have missed our evenings,” he said, pitched for Arthur’s ears only.

Arthur stiffened, his grip tightening on his glass. His heart slammed against his ribs.

How was he to convey to Randolph—at a ton ball no less—that he had absolutely no interest in him anymore? And much to his

shock, he was now certain of Randolph’s intentions. Hell, he shouldn’t be shocked. Randolph held no stock in the concept of fidelity.
The man had visited brothels, for Christ’s sake, when they had been together.

That echo of pain bit into his chest again.

Arthur opened his mouth, but before he could get the word no out, a familiar hand settled on his shoulder.

“Ah, there you are, Barrington.”

Thorn’s drawled words washed over him. The tension briefly eased from Arthur’s spine only to seize it once again as the full

extent of the situation hit him. His former lover before him and his current lover at his side. And Thorn did not have a reputation for
being a model of discretion.

Please, Thorn, please don’t take issue with him.

“My apologies, Amherst, for the interruption.” Thorn tipped his head to Randolph, all politeness, as if he had never once referred

to the man as a damn heartless, cuckolding prig. Without a trace of anything more than friendship in his eyes, he looked to Arthur.
“The Duke of Menteith is in need of another solicitor and wishes to make your acquaintance. If you would, I will see to the
introduction.”

Arthur gathered his wits and nodded, jumping on a plausible reason to escape Randolph. “If you will excuse us, Amherst,” he

said, careful to avoid his former lover’s gaze.

He fell into step beside Thorn as the man wound his way around the perimeter of the ballroom. “You are acquainted with His

Grace?” he asked once his pulse had returned to something that approached normal levels. Menteith was a powerful duke with many
and varied business interests. To secure him as a client would be a huge boon for his office.

“He is my godfather. An old family friend. My father wishes to speak to you about something or other as well.” Thorn slowed his

step as they came upon a footman bearing a silver tray. “Would you care for another glass of champagne?”

“No, thank you.” He glanced down, relieved to see Thorn’s hands empty of any sort of glassware. Then he set his own glass on

the tray as they passed the footman.

Thorn led him into the supper room and to one of the tables situated near the tall windows, the velvet drapes drawn back,

revealing the night sky. Only two men sat at the table that would hold four. Thorn’s father, Viscount Granville, and across from him a
distinguished-looking older gentleman with short, white hair.

“I’ve brought you a solicitor, Duke,” Thorn said as they came to a stop beside the table. “Mr. Arthur Barrington. The best in

London.”

Thorn thought him the best in London? Far from the truth. He prided himself on being competent and trustworthy, and worked

hard to maintain that reputation, but he well knew he wasn’t the best the city had to offer. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a flush of pride
at Thorn’s sentiment.

“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” Arthur said with a half bow. He clasped his hands behind his back

as the duke assessed him for a moment. With the way that keen gaze seemed to take in every facet of his appearance, he had the
distinct impression that before him sat a man who expected nothing less than the highest standards.

He must have passed inspection, for the duke indicated the empty chair to his left. “Have a seat, Barrington.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Then Arthur tipped his head toward Thorn’s father. “Good evening, Lord Granville.” Before moving to sit down,

he glanced beside him, the thanks for the introduction on his tongue, but found the space empty.

* * *

Arms crossed over his chest, Leopold leaned against a corner of a wall just inside the ballroom, his attention half on the narrow

corridor behind him. Midnight had come and gone, the evening in full swing, the guests merry and lively, a few well into their cups,
their happy voices nearly overpowering the musicians. Yet all traces of his excitement had drained away a few moments after
stepping into the room.

A part of him still could not quite decide if tonight was some sort of test, especially after his afternoon call to Arthur’s office. He

couldn’t forget the sharp jab of Arthur’s finger toward the chair opposite his desk, that air of severe disapproval radiating from him.
He was well aware his lover valued discretion above all else. What had he been thinking, to suck off Arthur at the man’s office?

Exactly the problem. He had not been thinking clearly. He had allowed jealousy to get the better of him. His only excuse was that

jealousy was a rather new concept for him. He had never before had a lover for longer than a night. Never felt that harsh, defensive
need to protect his right to call someone his own. And not just any someone, but Arthur Barrington.

Fortunately Arthur had forgiven him for his lapse. Well, he hoped Arthur had forgiven him. Hoped and prayed the afternoon had

not turned into yet another mark against him. He had enough of those to overcome.

Letting out a sigh, he adjusted his cravat that had taken him three tries to tie correctly. At least Arthur could not take issue with

his appearance. And he could not help feeling a bit pleased Arthur had attended a social function with him. After they had returned
from Yorkshire, they had confined their evenings exclusively to his town house or Arthur’s apartments. Not that he minded. He much
preferred to spend time with Arthur alone than to share his company with others. Still, the thought that Arthur had been reluctant to be
seen out and about with him, as if Leopold’s reputation alone would taint him, had hurt.

But if the evening was a test, then he rather thought he had passed admirably. With Arthur occupied with the duke and a few

others discussing business, Leopold had played his part of the perfect gentleman to the hilt. Had sought only his father’s staid
acquaintances for conversation, avoided the card room, had partaken only of the weak lemonade from the refreshment table, danced
with a few ladies who were firmly on the shelf, and steered clear of any silly chits with marriage on the brain. Hell, they refused to even
glance in his direction, though they didn’t know they would be as safe with him now as with their grandfathers.

That was the trouble with reputations. They tended to stick with the tenacity of a leech even after one no longer deserved them.

Not for the first time, he wished he had not turned to vice and drink. If only he had been strong enough to resist the urge to find
something, anything, to dull the pain. He could feel that dark, hollow pain creeping up on him again, feel it using his ever-mounting
worries for leverage. Making him question why Arthur would even want to be with him, let alone stay with him.

The sound of a door clicking shut echoed along the corridor behind him, reaching his ears.

Finally. Took the bastard bloody long enough to use the necessary. Turning, Leopold pushed from the wall, then strode down

the corridor toward the one man he knew with absolute certainty Arthur did not want to be with.

His long strides ate up the distance, putting the ballroom and the eager eyes and ears of others sufficiently behind him. The

fierce, protective surge he had managed to keep at bay for the past few hours as he’d waited for an opportunity to get the bastard
alone rose within. Drawing his muscles tight, pulling his spine ramrod straight.

Amherst looked up from tugging on the end of his waistcoat and made to step to the side so they could pass in the narrow

corridor. Leopold moved to block him, stopping directly in front of the goddamn prig and forcing the man to stop short.

“I will give you the courtesy of conveying this to you once,” Leopold said, low, determined, and backed by an iron will. “Stay

away from him.”

A furrow of confusion flickered across Amherst’s brow; then realization dawned. “Barrington? You’ve set your cap for him, have

you?” A sneer of distaste curled his lips as he looked Leopold up and down. “He’ll have nothing to do with the likes of you.”

Leopold called on the anger pounding through his veins and kept his chin up. He even managed a smug, confident smirk. “You

certainly wanted to at one time. Or do you forget your disappointment when I refused to suck your cock? And he has plenty to do with
me, and I him.”

That took Amherst aback, his eyes flaring, but he quickly recovered. “I should hope you have not given him the pox.”

He clenched his hands at his sides, fighting the unbearable urge to sink his fist into the man’s jaw, and pretended he had not

heard that particular comment. “You have ballocks even going near him, let alone assuming he would want anything more to do with
you.” He would have never brought Arthur to his uncle’s if he had known Amherst had accepted an invitation. He swore he had been
able to feel Arthur’s discomfort from across the ballroom. A physical force that had drawn Leopold to his lover. Quite frankly, he had
no idea how he’d kept the rage under wraps when he had overheard Amherst’s blatant proposition.

“You know nothing about us,” Amherst said, all lofty condescension.

He narrowed his eyes. “I know everything. I know how you treated him with callous disregard. How you threw your money at

whores, then returned to his bed time and again without a second thought. How you did not give a fig when he refused to continue on
with you after you told him of your decision to marry. You broke his heart, you goddamn bastard,” he growled through clenched teeth,
no longer able to keep the rage contained. To think Arthur had once loved this man. Had willingly given Amherst his heart. Something
he had yet to give Leopold. But that agonizing fact mattered not at the moment. “I will not allow you to hurt him again. Come anywhere
near him and I will personally see to your ruin.”

Amherst looked down his nose at Leopold as if he were a particularly foul smudge of dirt on the floor. “You will do no such thing.”

“Won’t I?” He let the question hang in the air for a brief moment. “You would do well not to doubt me. Do you forget I am the son

of Lord Granville? You may sneer at me, but I have family and wealth behind me and the will and means to ruin you. To see you cast
from Society and removed from your position at the bank. No one will associate with you. No one will hire you. You will be left
penniless, with only the beggars for company.”

He paused, allowing the full magnitude of his threats to sink in—allowing Amherst a glimpse of his life if he dared to defy him.

He knew in his bones Amherst would not speak a word against Arthur or Arthur’s relationship with himself. Doing so could risk
revealing his preference for men. The man might be a heartless bastard without morals, but he had always shown himself to be a
discreet bastard highly concerned with maintaining appearances.

And if the man was fool enough to try to harm Arthur through a bit of malicious gossip, then God help him.

Confident he had Amherst’s full attention, he wiped the anger from his voice, leaving it icy cold. “I heard of your engagement. A

man such as yourself, the son of a mere country gentleman. Quite the ambitious sort, to have aspired so high as a baron’s daughter.
A pity if she were to learn her future husband is a sodomite. I highly doubt she would keep such news to herself.”

With that, Leopold turned on his heel, leaving Amherst ashen-faced and slack-jawed with fear.

* * *

Thorn’s footman snapped the door shut. Then the carriage lurched forward, leaving the elegant mansion behind. Arthur rested

his head against the interior wall and let his eyes drift closed. A blanket of exhaustion settled over him. Thick and heavy, weighing
down every bone in his body.

Thank heaven for Thorn’s town carriage. Sleek and black and pulled by a perfectly matched team of four, and complete with a

coal foot warmer on the floor that chased away the sharp bite of winter. He truly doubted he could have summoned the effort even to
walk to the street corner to hail a hackney.

Another late night. The last thing he needed. He had certainly not intended to remain at Thorn’s uncle’s home until after two in

the morning. Engrossed in discussing business with his new acquaintances and hopefully soon-to-be new client, Arthur had let time
get away from him. Should have brought Wilson along with him. The secretary excelled at pulling his employer’s nose from the
intricacies of the law and keeping him on schedule. If Thorn had not materialized at his shoulder and discreetly nudged him to notice
the tall clock in the corner, Arthur could very well still be at that ball. At least his lover appeared to have had a good evening. He had
spotted the man dancing twice, and fortunately Randolph had not approached him again.

A knee brushed against his own as Thorn shifted on the bench opposite him. He owed Thorn his thanks. Again. It had been

Thorn who had helped him get over the heartache of parting with Randolph, more than prodding Arthur to see the man for what he

was.

Cold, staid, and unfaithful. Everything Thorn was not.

And tonight, once again, Thorn had been there when Arthur needed him most.

“Thank you, for…” Opening his eyes, Arthur gestured to fill the void, struggling to find a word that described exactly the service

Thorn had paid him. “Interceding with Amherst.”

In the darkness, he could just make out Thorn’s hands stilling in the act of pulling off his white gloves. “You are not…upset I

interceded?”

“Of course not. I’m quite thankful you did. I had not spoken to him since the night I ended that relationship. Deliberately been

avoiding him.” Arthur shook his head. “Cowardly of me.”

“Not at all,” came Thorn’s quiet voice, steeped with compassion, from the opposite bench.

“Yes, it was. In any case, it was more than uncomfortable to have to engage in polite conversation with him.” He omitted any

mention of Randolph’s true intentions. Best Thorn remained ignorant of that fact. He wouldn’t put it past his lover to challenge his ex-
lover to pistols at dawn. “Thank you for pulling me away when you did. It shouldn’t discompose me so much to speak to him, but it’s
just… It hurt to see him.” To be faced with the man who had cared so very little for him. A physical reminder of his own desperate,
blind foolishness and the painful heartache that had followed in its wake. He shook his head again. “My apologies. I don’t mean to go
on about him. He means nothing to me. Truly.”

He felt the carriage shift slightly. A hard shoulder pressed against his as Thorn settled beside him.

“You were with him for ten years, Arthur. That’s not something one leaves behind in the blink of an eye.” Thorn laid a hand on his

thigh, but rather than arouse, there was nothing but comfort in his touch. “You needn’t apologize.”

Arthur let out a sigh, the tension breaking from his shoulders. “Thank you for understanding.” Thorn was wicked and wanton and

prone to bouts of volatility, yet the man’s mere presence could be so comforting at times—that soothing sense of quiet acceptance.

“It is I who should apologize,” Thorn said. “I should have thought to ask who would be in attendance before bringing you there

tonight.”

“But you should not have to. And you needn’t worry about it. The situation is over and done with. I shall never have to face him for

the first time again.” Nor would he continue to act the coward and deliberately avoid Randolph. If the man tried to proposition him
again, he would convey his disinterest in no uncertain terms.

Arthur looked out the window to the neat rows of stately town homes interspersed with tidy squares, the darkness of night

broken only by the streetlamps. Thorn’s team of four continued to wind its way out of Mayfair and to Arthur’s bachelor apartments, the
rhythmic sounds of their strides creating a calming lull that filled the interior of the well-sprung carriage.

If nothing else, the evening had served a valuable purpose, reminding him anew of the mistakes he had made with Randolph.

The prospect of being alone still frightened him a bit. All right, more than a bit. But never again would he allow fear to push him to
cling to a man.

Thorn’s touch shifted, pulling Arthur from his thoughts. His lover did not move his hand from its spot midway along Arthur’s thigh,

yet he could feel the change in Thorn’s intent. Long fingers splaying, grip firm, while the sleek body beside him practically melted into
his side. “I never did make good on my offer from earlier.”

“I want you to come down my throat, coat my tongue with your seed.”

Like a flint to stone, arousal sparked his senses. “We’ll be at my apartments soon.”

Thorn’s lips grazed his ear. “It will be at least another fifteen minutes before we arrive.”

“Not enough time.”

“Plenty of time if I apply myself. I could be sucking the last drop from you within a handful of minutes.” Thorn reached across him,

toward the shade on the window.

The thought of Thorn applying himself made Arthur’s ballocks begin to grow heavy with need, yet he could not forget the

lateness of the hour. He put a hand on Thorn’s chest, stilling the man’s fingers an inch from the shade. “Thorn—”

In one fluid motion, Thorn straddled his lap, knees bracketing his hips and firm, round arse settling on his thighs. Arthur blinked

against the suddenly dark interior, all traces of weak golden light gone.

Hands settled on his shoulders. He felt Thorn’s weight shift; then hot breaths fanned his cheek. “It’s only the two of us, and at this

hour the streets are practically deserted. I don’t want you to bugger me…yet.” Arthur did not need a lamp to see Thorn’s wicked
smile. “I just want to taste you.”

Just? He would never use that word to describe climaxing down Thorn’s throat.

Soft lips brushed across his, a teasing whisper of a caress. “Please.”

How could he resist when Thorn asked so sweetly, as if he alone held the power to grant the man his fondest wish?

Arthur cleared his throat and tried to mimic the haughty manner of a bored aristocrat. He certainly had heard that tone more than

once tonight. “If you must.”

Reaching between their bodies, Thorn tugged on the placket of Arthur’s trousers, firm and with deliberate purpose. “Yes, Mr.

Barrington. I must.”

Before Thorn could shift down, Arthur grabbed the man by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a kiss, slanting his mouth

over those full lips that would very soon be wrapped around his cock. Then Thorn pulled back, breaking the kiss and dropping to his
knees.

Arthur did not even have a chance to feel a wisp of air brush across his cock before Thorn took him inside and proceeded to

give a very clear demonstration of just how he could apply himself.

Suction and wet heat. Nimble flicks of his tongue and long, plunging strokes. Thorn did not ease up for an instant but kept up a

full onslaught of delicious sensation. The darkness robbed Arthur of sight but heightened his other senses. His ears picked up the
crude sound of his now very wet cock sliding in and out of Thorn’s mouth, drowning out the rhythmic clop of hooves on the street and
the jangle of harness. The vibrations of the carriage transmitted through the leather bench, tickling and teasing his ballocks. The
scents of sex, the musky note of arousal, and the enticing spice of Thorn’s cologne surrounded him, prodding the lust permeating
Arthur’s senses even higher. Had Thorn’s lips become softer, fuller? His mouth hotter? And his throat…

Tightening his grip in Thorn’s hair, Arthur let out a low groan as the man took him deep yet again.

In no time at all, the climax barreled down his length. Clenching his jaw to hold back the shout, he spilled down his lover’s throat.

Abruptly, cool air hit his cock, those soft lips gone. Arthur heard the rustle of fabric, the pop of buttons pulled from their

moorings, then the distinct sound of a fist working a cock. Mind still reeling from the blistering speed of that orgasm, he slid his hand
around to cup Thorn’s jaw. The man turned his head, pulling Arthur’s gloved fingers into his mouth. Sharp teeth pressed against his
skin through the fabric, almost hard enough to draw blood. Then Thorn let out a soul-deep grunt.

His jaw went lax, Arthur’s fingers slipping from his mouth. Thorn’s quick, heavy pants cut through the air. “I would hazard a

guess”—he gasped for breath—“less than a handful of minutes.”

Arthur leaned his head against the interior wall and chuckled. “Most assuredly.” Even as an adolescent, he had not climaxed

that quickly.

Thorn climbed back onto his lap to gift Arthur with a wonderfully slow, deep kiss. “Let me stay with you tonight.”

What he wouldn’t give to spend the night with Thorn, to simply hold him close and bask in his love. But he shook his head. “I

have an early appointment with His Grace. I am to present myself in his study at half past seven. The man must be one of those types
who can operate exceedingly well on little sleep. He was still at the ball when we left and looked to have no intention of leaving soon.”

“You should have proposed a later hour for the meeting.”

“One does not counter a directive given by a duke.” Thorn moved about in Society. He knew the way of things. Then a thought

occurred to Arthur. “And don’t send him a note. He might be your godfather, but this is business.”

Thorn made a noise somewhere between a snort and a harrumph. “All right.” The comforting weight of his body left Arthur as he

moved back to the opposite bench. “But don’t you have enough clients?”

One could never have enough clients. And no matter his success, he could never quite escape the worry that the client he

refused would be the last one to present himself at his office. “I can’t turn down the opportunity to take on His Grace,” he said, tucking
his sated prick into his trousers and doing up the placket. “And need I remind you that you are the one who made the introduction.”

Thorn let out another one of those little noises of discontent. Judging by the rustle of fabric, he was repairing his own clothing. “I

didn’t want you to spend the evening playing the wallflower,” he grumbled. “Much too handsome for that.” He sighed, then nudged
Arthur’s knee with his own. “Come to Ramsey House with me.”

“When?”

“Soon. Next week. Within the fortnight.”

“Thank you for the invitation, but it will take days to travel to Yorkshire.”

“I can guarantee an enjoyable carriage ride.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” An eager Thorn, willing to broaden Arthur’s knowledge of the most pleasurable ways to make long

hours in a carriage slip by, had made their return to London quite enjoyable. “But I can’t afford to be away from the office for such a
length of time. Perhaps by the spring Fenton will be able to manage on his own for a few days, and then I can join you. If you wish to
take a holiday now or need to visit the property, please don’t hold back on my account.”

Was that what Thorn needed, a bit of country air? It wasn’t the first time he had mentioned Yorkshire in the last month, though it

was the first time he had outright asked Arthur to accompany him.

But Thorn wiped away that possibility. “No. I don’t have a pressing need to escape London at the moment. Much rather wait for

you.”

The carriage slowed to a stop. Arthur lifted the shade to reveal a very familiar tidy brick building. They had arrived at his

bachelor apartments. “Did you have a nice evening?” he asked, glancing to Thorn. Hopefully the opportunity to socialize with others
besides himself had provided what Thorn needed. The man had been a tad…calmer on the carriage ride. Well, at least not as
aggressive as of late.

The streetlamp illuminated Thorn’s single nod.

“Good.” The carriage shifted, the springs creaking faintly as the footman hopped down to see to the door. Arthur held Thorn’s

gaze. “Tomorrow night. Yes. You have my word.”

The smile curving the edges of his lover’s mouth told him loud and clear that Thorn understood.

Chapter Four

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension there.

Did not do a damn bit of good.

“Fenton,” he called.

The young man materialized in the open door of his office. “Yes, Mr. Barrington?”

“Did you pull the last contract we did for Mr. Newbourgh before drafting this one?” Arthur indicated the papers on his desk

before him. The same papers Fenton had dropped off mere minutes ago.

Shaking his head, Fenton stepped into the office. “No, Mr. Barrington. I made certain to follow the notes you gave me, though. I

was quite careful to ensure I addressed everything you asked for.”

Arthur let out a sigh, but it did nothing to ease the frustration stringing his nerves taut. “When I handed you the notes, I asked you

to also pull the last contract done for him and use it as a guide. It was for the purchase of a property similar to this one. Mr.
Newbourgh requires very specific language in his contracts.” They had just discussed the new contract yesterday afternoon, not
twenty-four hours ago. How had Fenton forgotten? Arthur might have been slightly distracted, concerned Fenton would detect the
scent of sex that had certainly still lingered on the air, but he knew without a doubt he had conveyed the request to the secretary.

A furrow of worry pulled Fenton’s brow as he came to a stop at Arthur’s shoulder. “My apologies for the oversight, Mr.

Barrington.”

“Regardless of Mr. Newbourgh’s requirements, it is always good practice to check a client’s file before starting work on a new

document.” Something else he had told Fenton before. More than once, in fact.

“Yes, of course.” Fenton nodded. “If you would like, I will make the necessary changes posthaste.”

“Please do so.”

Fenton’s fingertips brushed Arthur’s as he took the proffered papers. “I will have it back on your desk in a couple of hours.”

Arthur tipped his head, then reached for his pen and the will he had set aside in order to review the Newbourgh draft. A will

Wilson had delivered just yesterday, yet the client had already changed his mind and requested revisions. Of course, the client
wanted it completed tonight.

As if Arthur had even a spare moment to see to it. Definitely not today, and especially not when he felt every one of the three

hours and ten minutes of sleep he had managed to get last night.

“Afternoon, Barrington.”

He looked up just in time to see Thorn reach for the open door to his office as if to shut it. Arthur quickly shook his head.

Thorn paused, fingertips on the solid oak.

Leave it open, Arthur silently mouthed. The last thing he needed this afternoon was Thorn on the prowl.

With a shrug, Thorn let his fingers slip from the wood. He crossed the room, stopping before Arthur’s desk. His usually pale

cheeks were flushed from the cold and his dark hair slightly tousled. The wind from the morning must not have died down yet.

“How has your day been?” Thorn asked.

“Busy.” Could Thorn not see the stacks of papers covering his desk?

“Was your morning appointment a success?”

“I believe so, but only time will tell. He turned over a few files to me, so that is a good sign.” Judging by the thickness of those

files and the man’s precise yet rapidly given instructions, he suspected His Grace was intent on putting him through his paces.

“I am sure you will sufficiently impress him, and in no time at all, he’ll pull the bulk of his business from his other solicitors and

hand it over to you.”

If only Arthur would be so fortunate. But regardless of how much or how little business the duke turned his way, Arthur was

determined not to let him down.

The weight of those files, the importance of them, pulled his attention to the corner of his desk. He would not be able to even

finish skimming through the various documents in order to get acquainted with them until he finished making the changes to the will.

He tapped the end of his pen against his ivory teacup, the last sips contained within likely long cold by now, then stilled his hand.

“Any particular reason for today’s visit?” he asked, trying not to let the impatience seep into his voice.

“Yes.” A slow smile spread across Thorn’s full lips…that less than twelve hours ago had been wrapped around Arthur’s prick.

He took a half step closer, his thighs grazing the edge of Arthur’s desk, and lowered his voice. “Supper. Tonight, at your apartments.
I’ll see to everything.” He quirked a brow. “Even the food.”

The promise of another near-sleepless night had resistance welling up inside him, but he tamped it down. He had given Thorn

his word, after all, and tomorrow was Sunday. He wouldn’t be needed at the office, though at the rate he was going today, he would
most assuredly need to bring a fat pile of paperwork home.

“You intend to cook?” To his knowledge, Thorn had absolutely no culinary skills, never mind that Arthur’s apartments had only

the barest definition of a kitchen.

Thorn scoffed. “Of course not. My cook will handle that. Just need to tell him what to prepare. Then I’ll bring it over. In there

anything in particular you would prefer?”

“No.” Arthur shook his head. Food was the last thing on his mind at the moment. “You may plan the menu as you see fit.”

“Are you certain? I want to—”

There was a light rap of knuckles on wood.

“Mr. Barrington.”

Arthur looked around Thorn to find Fenton back in his doorway. “Yes?”

“My apologies for the interruption.”

“It’s quite all right,” Arthur said to the secretary, motioning for him to enter the office.

Fenton rounded his desk. “There are a few different property-related contracts in Mr. Newbourgh’s file. Would you prefer that I

use one in particular?”

use one in particular?”

Had the man listened to him at all? Arthur resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort to push back the

pounding pressure beginning to build behind his eyes. “They all contain the necessary language, though it is always best to use the
most recent.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barrington, and again, my apologies for the interruption.”

Arthur waved the apology aside, sending the secretary back to the files. Wilson kept those files in pristine order. If Fenton

asked Arthur to identify the most recent contract of the bunch, he swore his patience would snap.

He’d had such high hopes for Fenton when he had hired him. The young man had interviewed very well. Though just recently out

of Cambridge and with no practical experience in the law, he had appeared quite eager to work under Arthur and put in the
necessary effort that could one day lead him to open his own office. He also presented a couple of very strong letters of
recommendation that spoke to his intelligence and diligence in his studies. Arthur had been damn certain Fenton had a brain in his
head and knew how to use it. Something now very much in doubt.

The addition of a second secretary was supposed to take some of the burden off Arthur’s desk, but he had yet to see a sign

that would happen anytime in the foreseeable future. Should he let Fenton go and replace him with someone more capable?

Damnation. Not an option. The man’s father was acquainted with a few of Arthur’s clients. He could not risk those clients pulling

their business over some bit of gossip that Arthur had unjustly terminated their friend’s son’s employment.

“Arthur?”

He snapped his gaze back to Thorn. “Yes?”

For an instant, so quick he almost missed it, a frown thinned his lover’s mouth. “Whatever you would like for supper, I will see to

it. Simply name it.”

He would just have to keep Fenton on and hope someday, very soon, all of Arthur’s advice and instruction would actually stick in

his head.

“Arthur. How about roasted chicken?”

“Yes, that will do,” he replied, eager to get Thorn off the subject and out of his office.

“Chicken it is, then.” Thorn gave a crisp little nod. “What time will you leave the office tonight? I’ll send my carriage for you so you

needn’t walk home.”

Arthur glanced at the papers piled on his desk. Midnight, if luck was with him. But he could not very well stay so late, not when

he had promised Thorn he could spend the night with him.

He held back his usual refusal of Thorn’s offer to lend his carriage. If he accepted, he could stay a bit later and still arrive home

at a somewhat reasonable hour. “Thank you for the offer. Probably not until half past seven.”

“I will see you before eight, then.” The little smile returned to Thorn’s lips. Then he turned on his heel and left Arthur to his work.

* * *

Leopold shifted the basket to his left hand and reached into his greatcoat pocket with his right. His fingers closed around the

brass key Arthur had given him shortly after their arrival back in Town. Arthur had cited practicality as his reason. He left his
apartments around dawn to go to his office. No reason for Leopold to awaken so early. He had given Leopold the key with
permission to laze the morning away when he stayed over and lock up behind him when he left.

Practicality aside, it had warmed Leopold’s heart that Arthur had given him a key—a physical sign that Arthur trusted him. That

piece of brass had kept his worries away for a good month…and then they had started to build again.

At first he had tried to tell himself his concerns were for naught. Arthur had seemed genuinely happy to see him in the evenings,

and his hunger for Leopold had matched Leopold’s for him. Yet lately…

He shut the door behind him, slipped the key back into his pocket, and set the basket down. The moonlight seeping in through

the windows provided enough light for him to locate the tinderbox. He swore he could feel Arthur pulling away from him, slipping faster
through his fingers day by day. Amherst presented no threat. Arthur would never return to someone who had been and would continue
to be unfaithful to him. But Arthur had once loved that man, whereas he still had not uttered those three words to Leopold, let alone
given any indication they were forthcoming.

But why would they be?

He gave his head a sharp shake, trying to keep the doubts from filling his mind yet again. Hopefully tonight would go a long way

toward placating those ever-mounting worries.

Most assuredly. He needed to focus on tonight and definitely not on his own faults, which he was already intimately familiar with,

or Fenton or the way Arthur, more often than not lately, seemed to want to be anywhere but with him. Hell, Arthur had certainly pawned
him off on another fast enough at his uncle’s last night. Though judging by how quickly he had brought Arthur to orgasm on the ride
back, at least Arthur still enjoyed it when he sucked him off. And above all, Arthur had given Leopold his word he could stay with him
tonight. He would not need to ask, to push or cajole, and he would not receive another thinly veiled no, I don’t want you.

At least not tonight.

Candles lit and fire started in the hearth, he draped his greatcoat over the back of an armchair in the parlor and set the basket

in front of the fireplace, figuring it would do to keep the food warm. After grabbing the bottles of fine Bordeaux and aged brandy
tucked under the towel in the basket, he went into the dining room. By his calculation, it would take at least a half hour for his carriage
to pick up Arthur and deliver him home. Plenty of time to get everything ready.

The only sounds that broke the silence were the light clinks of porcelain and silver as he focused on setting two places at the

mahogany table. Lips pursed, he surveyed the results, then moved one of the place settings. He would much prefer to sit beside
Arthur, but given it was Arthur’s home, Leopold should put the man at the head of the table.

He opened the wine and brandy and gathered the necessary glassware from the cabinet. Wine for before and during supper,

brandy for after.

What was he forgetting?

Tea. Yes. He should put on some water. He went into the ridiculously tiny kitchen—really, how did Arthur cook in there?—and

surveyed the small stove. He had watched Arthur light it on a few occasions, for this exact purpose, in fact. Couldn’t prove too difficult.

A few minutes later, he had water on the stove. Satisfied it would eventually boil, he gathered the basket from before the hearth,

pulled out the closed silver dishes, and put them on the table. The scents of roasted chicken, freshly baked bread, carrots, and
potatoes seeped from under the covers, quickly filling the room.

As he unbuttoned his coat and draped it over his greatcoat already on the chair, he checked the dining room and parlor.

Everything was at the ready, down to the empty wineglass on the side table waiting for him to fill it the moment Arthur arrived home.

If he could give Arthur a perfect night…

If he could show Arthur how easy it was to be with him…

If he could just prove to Arthur that he was worthy of the man’s heart…

The sound of a carriage coming to a stop jolted him from his thoughts. He quickly crossed to one of the parlor windows and

looked down to the street. A smile curved his lips. Arthur had arrived.

Chapter Five

“I can take your coat for you.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said, setting his leather bag on the floor by his feet so he could shrug out of his greatcoat. He did not miss

the frown Thorn directed at the bag. “I made the most of the drive. Had Jones light the lantern inside the carriage. But you have my
word I won’t touch the bag for the rest of the evening.”

That erased the frown. Thorn picked up the bag and took his greatcoat. Ignoring the wooden coatrack in the corner by the door,

he tossed the coat onto the back of the armchair that already held his greatcoat and black coat.

“Supper is ready if you’d like to eat now.” Thorn dropped the bag onto the chair’s cushion. “Or we can relax for a bit.”

“Now is fine. For supper,” Arthur clarified. Engrossed in reviewing documents on the ride home, he had not realized he was so

hungry. But the moment he had walked through his front door, the aroma of roasted chicken had gone straight to his empty stomach,
reminding him in no uncertain terms he not eaten since noon, when he had sent Wilson to pick up something for luncheon from a
nearby tavern. “It smells delicious, by the way.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Thorn grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass from the side table beside the couch. “Come along, then.”

Arthur followed him into the dining room. A single candle cast a soft, intimate glow over the table set for two. Though Thorn had

stayed the night often enough, they had never before shared a proper meal at Arthur’s home. As he took his place, Thorn poured him
a glass of wine. Arthur took a sip, savoring the rich Bordeaux as it flowed down his throat. Thorn must have brought the bottle from his
cellar, for Arthur knew nothing in his own cabinet approached the caliber of this vintage.

“I’ll be but a moment,” Thorn murmured. He disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a minute later bearing Arthur’s copper

teakettle and a plain white porcelain cup. “Would you care for tea?”

Arthur shook his head. Thorn saw to his own cup, then took his place at Arthur’s right. The food proved more delicious than he

had anticipated, which said a lot. Thorn had an excellent cook, and Arthur had sampled his creations many times over the past few
months. His lover kept the conversation to a minimum, something Arthur very much appreciated. It always took some time for the
stress of the day to lift from his shoulders, for him to be able to take a deep breath and feel his muscles finally fully relax on the exhale.
And much to Arthur’s relief, not once did Thorn make a not so subtle hint that he wanted more than Arthur’s companionship.

The meal was a precious glimpse of how it had once been between them…for a short length of time, at least. Not much more

than a month, really. Thorn’s presence comfortable and easy, no heavy, demanding undercurrent pushing for more to disturb the
soothing sense of complete harmony. And it had felt so damn good to walk through his front door and find Thorn waiting for him. A
reminder there was someone out there who truly cared about him and looked forward to seeing him. At times, Arthur still felt the ache
of the loss of his parents and his uncle—perfectly understandable, he assured himself. How could he not miss his family?—but Thorn
more than filled that empty, lonely place in his heart.

Last night must have been exactly what Thorn had needed after all. A bit of excitement to break up the monotony of spending

most every evening with Arthur’s boring self. As he looked to Thorn and met the man’s content smile with one of his own, he made a
mental note to plan another outing in the near future. Not one individual last night had commented on his friendship with Thorn, merely
taking it as a given worthy of no particular interest and laying to rest that little concern. And Thorn had proved true to his word from
months ago. One would have never guessed he had once spent his nights steeped in vice and debauchery.

Arthur swallowed a bite of chicken, and as he washed it down with a sip of wine, he glanced to Thorn’s place, his gaze landing

on the half-full teacup. Thorn had brought the Bordeaux solely for Arthur. He could not help being cautious where it concerned Thorn
and the man’s old habits, yet he needed to guard against straying into overbearing-arse territory. A glass of wine certainly could not
hurt anyone. “Thank you for bringing the wine, but you needn’t forgo a glass with supper because of me.”

“It’s quite all right. I’ve developed a fondness for tea.”

Arthur arched a brow in disbelief.

“Truly. And I found it easier to stop completely.” Thorn shrugged and speared a potato with his fork. “I know myself too well.”

It had not occurred to Arthur before, but had turning his back so completely on any form of alcohol been another force behind

Thorn’s restlessness of late? “Does it bother you to be around others who imbibe?”

“Not at all. I have you. Care for more chicken?” Thorn asked.

“No.” He set down his fork and rubbed a hand across his comfortably full belly. “Could not eat another bite. Supper was

wonderful. Please extend my thanks to your cook.”

Thorn tipped his head. “If you’re finished, you can retire to the parlor. There’s brandy on the mantel. I’ll see to the table.”

Dropping his linen napkin beside his plate, he stood.

Arthur pushed from the dining table. “Thank you, Thorn.” He laid a hand on his lover’s forearm, stilling him as he reached for one

of the silver dishes. Stepping closer, he leaned in to brush his lips across Thorn’s in a whisper of a kiss, skin gliding softly across
skin. “Truly. Thank you.”

Thorn lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s no bother to play the footman for you.”

It was on the tip of Arthur’s tongue to tell his lover the thanks were for more than clearing the table, but he had the distinct

impression Thorn fully understood and did not want Arthur to press the point. How exactly Arthur knew that, he could not say. Perhaps
it was in the way Thorn had remained so…deliberately nonchalant, as if they had merely spoken of the weather. So he paid Thorn the
same courtesy Thorn had paid him in the past and simply left him to his duties. If Thorn wanted to discuss it further, Arthur would be
there to listen.

From his spot on the couch, he could catch glimpses of Thorn moving about the dining room. Apparently his idea of cleaning up

involved stacking the silver serving dishes in the wicker basket he had obviously used to bring the meal to Arthur’s, though he did
take the plates into the kitchen. Arthur guessed he would find them piled on the counter in the morning, the remnants of supper dried
onto their surfaces.

Well, he could not complain. Thorn had said he would play the footman, not the kitchen maid.

Arthur brought the brandy to his lips and took a long swallow. Resting the glass on the arm of the couch, he let out a content

sigh. Arriving home closer to dawn than dusk had made for an extremely long day at the office, a full-body weariness pervading every
fiber of his being and keeping his nerves strung taut, never mind the added pressure of taking on a new client of the Duke of
Menteith’s standing. It all had rather turned him into an irritable bastard, yet coming home to Thorn…

He could definitely grow accustomed to this. Not that he held any expectations that Thorn intended to wait on him every night,

nor did he want that.

In fact, the feeling of complete and utter contentment clinging to his senses had nothing at all to do with Thorn’s domestic skills

yet everything to do with him. Or rather, them.

The evening had served as proof that his worries had been unfounded. Foolish of him to even fret. He and Thorn had just

needed time—that was all—to settle in together as a couple and find a balance that worked for them.

His chest suddenly felt lighter, as if a weight had lifted. That reluctance, the sense of…hesitation gone. In its place, rock-solid

certainty.

Yes, indeed. Thorn had been correct those months ago. They would be all right.

* * *

“Thorn, truly.” Arthur tried, yet again, to get through the man’s thick skull. He shifted on the bed, but Thorn followed, the long line

of bare skin against skin unbroken, squashing his effort to put even an inch of space between them. “I’ve had a long day and—”

“I know.” Thorn coasted his hand down Arthur’s abdomen. His erection pressed into Arthur’s hip, shouting his expectations

louder than the scandalous words he’d been whispering in Arthur’s ear since they had walked into his bedchamber. “I told you I’d see
to everything tonight.”

Persistent fingers wrapped around Arthur’s prick, which barely approached semierect. He closed his eyes and focused on

those talented fingers, on the hot breaths skimming his ear, the willing body plastered to his side. Tried to prod that spark of desire.
Tried to let it flare beneath the noxious mass of ever-mounting frustration and the exhaustion pulling hard and heavy on his mind,
but…

Damnation. Why did every night need to end in sex? Why the hell couldn’t Thorn be content with nothing more than a kiss?

Of course, Thorn had the energy to fuck. The man did nothing all day and had the luxury of sleeping until noon, or whenever the

hell he decided to roll himself out of bed, whereas Arthur worked. Had responsibilities and employees, including a not so intelligent
one, and a desk piled with papers courtesy of clients who constantly changed their damned minds and a demanding new one who
expected nothing short of perfection.

Thorn nipped at his ear. “Everything. Anything you want, Arthur, it’s yours.”

He wanted some goddamn sleep.

“Do you want to fuck my mouth? Or do you want me to suck on your ballocks?” He finally relinquished Arthur’s now limp prick

and drifted his fingers below to cup Arthur’s ballocks. “Perhaps lick your arse? I love how you feel under my tongue when your body
opens for me. I wonder if I can coax your hole to open enough to take a couple fingers alongside my tongue. Shall I try?”

No. Arthur gritted his teeth to keep the word inside.

Soft lips brushed his shoulder, pressed a kiss there, and then began to drift lower. He grabbed Thorn by the upper arm, intent

on keeping him from ducking beneath the blankets. In one seamless motion, Thorn moved to straddle his waist.

“Thorn, please, I—”

Lips slanted over his own, cutting off a fresh attempt to tell Thorn no without actually using the word. Maybe if he did not kiss

Thorn back, the man would get the hint.

Undeterred, Thorn dragged his mouth across Arthur’s cheek. “I know what I want.” Pure sin soaked the words purred in his ear,

yet rather than arouse, it served only to test the limits of his fraying patience. “I want your cock in my arse. Want to feel you stretch me
wide, stuff me full. Want you to make me so sore I’ll wince whenever I sit down tomorrow.”

Crouched over Arthur, Thorn rotated his hips, rubbing his ballocks across Arthur’s prick that wasn’t at all capable of stretching

anything wide at the moment.

“Enough, Thorn.” Planting his hands on his lover’s chest, he pushed. Hard.

Cool air whisked across his chest as the heat of Thorn’s body disappeared.

A heavy thump rent the air.

Arthur went utterly still.

No, no. He hadn’t actually…

Breath held, he blinked up into the darkness, the mattress beneath him perfectly, ominously motionless.

Thick and stifling, dread descended, sent his heart slamming against his ribs. He forced himself to push up and look beside

him. In the weak light from his small hearth, he could make out a shadowed form standing up next to the bed.

Guilt stabbed into him. He cringed. He had not meant to push him that hard. “Thorn, I—”

“Don’t!”

Harsh and sharp, the word snapped against Arthur’s skin. Ah hell. His stomach sank. Now Thorn was angry with him. He had

every right to be, though. Even if Arthur had tried, he could not have delivered a more cutting insult.

You’re a damn arse, Barrington.

Arthur dragged a hand through his hair and tried again to apologize. “Thorn, I didn’t mean to push you out of bed. I’m—”

“Bugger off, Barrington!”

Arthur jerked back at the pure venom in the curse. Thorn snatched his clothes from the floor and stalked to the door.

A sharp slam cracked through the room.

He dropped his head into his hands. “Bloody hell.” How had the evening gone so wrong so fast?

The night had been so perfect…up until the moment when they had walked into his bedchamber. Then the more recent version

of his lover had reared its head. Persistent. Demanding. Pushing and pushing and pushing. The bed looming behind him as Thorn
insisted on removing Arthur’s clothes himself. Those long, elegant fingers taking every opportunity to brush Arthur’s prick as they
stripped him bare with startling efficiency. The promise of another near-sleepless night had turned him into a downright irritable
bastard, and a selfish one at that. The type of man who would actually shove his lover out of bed.

His heavy sigh echoed in the near-dark room. He lifted his head and looked toward the closed door. Should he go after Thorn?

No. Call him a coward, but he honestly did not want to be the recipient of any more of Thorn’s curses. Not now. Not tonight. Best

to let the man’s anger subside.

He should have just told Thorn flat out that he was not at all up for anything more than slipping into bed and letting sleep overtake

him. But he had told Thorn he could stay and… Arthur shook his head. Instead he had let frustration and…yes, disappointment get the
better of him.

No, significantly more than disappointment, for each wicked word, each decadent touch, had chipped away at that rock-solid

certainty, snatching the hope from his grasp and allowing the worries, those doubts, to form anew. Worries he had firmly believed
barely more than an hour ago had finally been put to rest. And it had hurt far more than he could have imagined possible to have
those doubts slam back down on him.

The muted snap of a door closing reverberated in his bedchamber.

Thorn had left his apartments.

A sense of loss, sharp and acute, stole the breath from his lungs. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly, tried to push back the

threat of tears that suddenly stung his nose.

It’s not the end. He repeated the words over and over in his head. It had just been an argument, nothing more, and definitely not

irreparable. The last time he touched Thorn would not have been to push him away.

Pain lanced into his chest.

“You’re a goddamn fucking bastard,” he bit out through clenched teeth.

Yes, indeed.

His shoulders slumped. “Ah hell,” he muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Couldn’t very well deny the truth.

Feeling wrung out and utterly drained, he snagged the blanket clinging to the edge of the bed and lay back down. But as he

tried to quiet his mind enough so sleep could overtake him, he could not ignore the sinking feeling he had made the absolute wrong
choice in not going after Thorn.

Chapter Six

Leopold stopped at the street corner and glanced about. Thick clouds hung in the night sky, masking the moon, leaving only the

occasional streetlamp to illuminate the empty intersection.

Where the hell were all the bloody hackneys? By God, he needed one right now.

Clenching his hands at his sides, he fought to hold tight to the anger and wounded pride still churning through his veins. Fought

to keep the dark, heavy blanket of despair from completely overwhelming him. If he could just make it home…

Giving up on a hackney as a lost cause, he crossed the street and continued on. Definitely should not have sent his carriage

home earlier. He should have known Arthur would not hold true to his word. Should have known the man had simply been pushing him
off, yet again, last night during the ride from his uncle’s. Arthur had not really wanted him to stay tonight. The offer had been simply a
means to pacify him, a polite version of no. Now he would have to walk all the way to Mayfair. With each step he took, a twinge of
pain flared from his left hip. He would surely find a spectacular bruise come morning. A physical mark declaring Arthur’s true feelings.

He doesn’t want me anymore.

His legs gave out from under him, his knees impacting with the stone walkway. His gut lurched violently, his back bowing under

the force of it. The acrid taste of bile stung his throat, filled his mouth. He tried to fight it, tried to take a shallow breath and push it
down. But the effort proved in vain.

His stomach heaved. The remnants of his supper splattered the walkway. His stomach clenched again and again, the spasms

seizing his body and rendering him completely helpless, until absolutely nothing remained.

Hanging his head, he gasped for breath in long yet shallow pulls. Cold sweat pricked his skin. His gut ached as though he had

been the recipient of a prizefighter’s blow, but at least the spasms had subsided.

Far beyond caring enough to reach for a handkerchief, he dragged his forearm across his mouth. As he gave himself a moment

to verify that his stomach had finished torturing him, he stared down at the mess he had created on the cold, stone walkway.

You’re goddamn pathetic.

And weak and worthless and beyond fucking pitiful.

No wonder Arthur did not want him anymore. He did not even want himself.

The sound of an approaching carriage reached his ears. Unwilling to remain on his knees for all to see, he urged his limbs to

cooperate and pushed to his feet. The carriage rumbled past him, moving along at a nice clip.

To think he had once been so certain Arthur would come to love him.

Bloody fool. Why would a man like Arthur ever love someone like him? He had nothing to offer except his body and his skill at

sucking cock. He flexed his hand at his side, trying to throw off the painful memory of Arthur, soft and flaccid, beneath his palm. He
cringed; shame and self-loathing coated every inch of his skin. Arthur must think him the worst sort of whore. Desperately groping the
man, pushing himself on him like a bitch in heat. For Christ’s sake, Arthur had to throw him from the bed to get him to stop.

If Arthur did not even want him for sex, then what could he possibly want him for?

Nothing at all.

By the time he reached Harley Street, a cold more frigid than the February night air had lodged deep in his bones. He went up

the stone steps to his front door and made to reach into his coat pocket but stopped. Too focused on giving Arthur a perfect night, he
had not thought to grab his key before leaving the house. Why would he have needed to? He should have arrived home far after his
butler had risen for the day to begin his duties.

He could not recall seeing a carriage pass him on the street since before he reached Mayfair. It must surely be close to

midnight, his staff long retired. Still, he tried the knob but found it locked, as it should be. Letting out a defeated sigh, he raised his
knuckles and knocked. The servants’ quarters were on the fourth floor, far above him. If no one heard him, he would just… Hell, he did
not know what he would do.

The door opened, revealing Jones. Did the man ever sleep?

“Welcome home, Mr. Thornton,” he said, as though it was completely normal to need to let his master into his own home at such

a late hour.

With an automatic tip of his head, Leopold entered the house. The door clicked shut behind him.

“May I take your coat?”

One foot on the first step of the staircase, he paused and looked down at himself. Yes, his greatcoat. Should relinquish it to

Jones, though… Hell, what did it matter? Wasn’t as if he had never returned home before with a bit of the night’s revelry splattered on
the hem.

A shrug of his shoulders and he handed the coat to Jones. Then he made his way upstairs, each step requiring far more effort

than he felt capable of expending.

Familiar footsteps came up behind him as he pushed open his bedchamber door.

“My apologies in advance, sir. You’ll find your bedchamber unprepared, but it will only take a moment to see to it.”

Leopold nodded and sat in his favorite leather armchair by the gray marble fireplace. The plush rugs covering the floorboards

muffled Jones’s footsteps as he moved about the room, seeing to the candles, lighting the fire, tugging the drapes closed, and
readying the bed.

After prodding the fire once again, Jones stood and faced him, hands clasped behind his back. Ever the efficient footman. “Is

there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Thornton?”

For the first time in three months, he looked to the bedside table and wished it held more than a silver candlestick. The old

craving, that need rose up within. His throat was suddenly parched and begging for the harsh burn that would make everything go
away.

Get me a bloody damn bottle of gin.

Whisky would not even come close to blocking out the night. He so desperately needed to lose himself in the numbing

emptiness that could be found only at the bottom of a bottle of gin. Needed that comforting black blanket of nothingness to swallow
him up whole and take the pain away.

But his promise to Arthur kept the request from making its way past his lips. He might very well be a pathetic excuse for a man,

but he refused to add drunkard to the list again.

Leopold shook his head.

A little furrow marred Jones’s brow. His gaze swept over Leopold sprawled in the armchair. “Do you need assistance removing

your coat, sir?”

Another shake of his head.

The flames in the hearth popped and crackled, filling the silence.

Then Jones nodded. “Good night, sir.”

The fire had burned down to mere glowing embers by the time Leopold summoned the effort to push out of the chair and tug off

his clothes. He extinguished the candles, plunging the room into darkness, and crawled into his empty bed.

* * *

Arthur stopped before the front door of Thorn’s town house and took a deep breath to steal himself.

The morning after their argument, he had come to the conclusion that perhaps he and Thorn needed a couple of days apart.

Time for heads to clear and for emotions—more specifically, Thorn’s emotions—to settle. The law had taught him that hasty
decisions often led to regret. He therefore wanted to give himself time to think, to assess, to be certain of the course he intended to
take.

He had done a lot of thinking over the past two days. Quite frankly his relationship with Thorn baffled the logical part of his brain.

They were so dissimilar in almost every facet of their lives, not to mention their personalities. If he had followed through with his
original intention and actually searched for a man to spend his life with, he would have never thought to look in Thorn’s direction.

Yet being with Thorn felt right. More than right, in fact. Thorn felt like home.

That they were different did not make them wrong together, and he had decided once and for all to stop worrying about it. Thorn

was the man he truly wanted to spend his life with. And in order to have a chance at that, he and Thorn needed to have a
discussion… One that included a fresh attempt at an apology from him. No more trying to spare Thorn’s feelings or trying to guess
why the man had become so restless of late. Blunt honesty and nothing less held a hope for them. And he damn well was not about to
give up hope.

The coming discussion might prove uncomfortable, but if he had to beg for Thorn’s forgiveness, so be it. After the manner in

which Arthur had treated him, Thorn certainly deserved more than a bit of contrition from him.

And he deserved to not have Arthur stall on his front step all damn night.

Arthur gave his greatcoat a little tug to straighten it and knocked on the door.

At the click of the knob turning, he lifted his chin. “I am here to call on Mr. Thornton,” he informed the butler. A statement of the

obvious, as he had yet to knock on this door for any other reason, yet he gave it nonetheless.

“Mr. Thornton is not at home.”

Arthur blinked, taken aback. Not at home? It took a moment to process the butler’s response, and then a wave of

disappointment slammed into him.

Had he honestly expected Thorn to sit idly at home and wait for him?

Well…yes. If that wasn’t the height of arrogance, he did not know what was.

Somehow he kept from rolling his eyes at himself.

“Would you happen to know his whereabouts?”

“Mr. Thornton is not at home,” the butler repeated, his features cast in the stoic mask commonly worn by those of his kind.

If Thorn was not at home, then where? Suspicion began to form, but he pushed it from his mind. Thorn had given him no cause

at all to believe he would slip back into his old habits. Given the hour, Thorn could have gone to White’s for supper, or he could have
left to visit his father or…hell, he could be anywhere in London. Just because he wasn’t home did not mean he was deep in his cups
at some brothel or gambling hell.

Doing his best to hide his disappointment, he gave the butler his card, his fingers lingering on the crisp corner before

relinquishing it. He was tempted to write something on the back, but what could he write? I’m an arse. Please forgive me? Then
Thorn’s servants would wonder why their master’s frequent guest had cause to apologize.

Best to simply leave the card. When he returned home, Thorn would at least know Arthur had called.

He turned on his heel and went back down the stone steps, yet he paused when he reached the corner of Oxford Street. Might

as well return to his office. In any case, he had left his bag next to his desk. Had not wanted to give Thorn another reason to frown at
him.

He crossed Oxford Street, making his way toward Bond Street and his office. Tomorrow he would present himself at Thorn’s

door once again…though perhaps he should do so a bit earlier than today. He pulled the little leather-bound book from his waistcoat
pocket, flipped to the necessary page, and skimmed his schedule for tomorrow. It should not be too much trouble to have Wilson
move the appointment at half past four back an hour. Even if Mr. Brown proved more talkative than usual, Arthur could still leave his
office no later than five. Surely he would find Thorn at home then.

* * *

A door clicked shut. Leopold heard the soft jangle of porcelain against porcelain, the distinct clink of a silver tray being set

down. The scents of coddled eggs and sausages reached his nose. His stomach turned. He did not want food. He didn’t want
anything except to be left alone.

He kept his eyes closed as Jones moved about the room, prodding the fire, freshening the water in the washbasin, and

replacing the teacup on his bedside table with another one. The little noises washed over him with no effect. He merely lay there in his
bed and waited for the man to leave.

Another clink of porcelain. Judging from the direction of the sound, Jones was gathering the tray he had left on the dresser

during his last visit. Leopold had not bothered to lift even one of the silver lids covering the dishes, though based on the scent that had
wafted from the tray when Jones had delivered it—however many hours ago—it had likely contained some variety of broiled fish.

Jones let out a long sigh. He felt the footman’s presence beside him an instant before Jones spoke.

“Mr. Thornton,” Jones said, using that careful, quiet tone often used around invalids. He hated that tone. Hated the pity lurking

“Mr. Thornton,” Jones said, using that careful, quiet tone often used around invalids. He hated that tone. Hated the pity lurking

behind it. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

He couldn’t even summon the effort to shake his head. Arthur did not love him. Would never love him.

Another long sigh, backed with that damn pity. “Do you want me to summon Mr. Walker?”

Doctors and their tonics had not been of any help when he was an adolescent. Wouldn’t do a bit of good now. The only thing he

had found that helped was liquor, and only when he got to the bottom of the bottle before he reached his bed. Other than that, well…
time. But the knowledge the thick blanket of despair would eventually lift held no comfort at all.

He swallowed to moisten his dry mouth. If he did not respond, he would not put it past Jones to summon Mr. Walker. It wasn’t

that he did not appreciate the servant’s loyalty, but he would rather not have a doctor poke and prod him. “No.”

He swore he could hear Jones’s nod, confirming he understood his wishes.

“Mr. Barrington called yesterday evening. He left his card.”

Arthur? Before his heart could even begin to reach for the faint flicker of hope, he promptly squashed it. Arthur had likely merely

returned the basket Leopold had left at his apartments. Either that or Arthur wanted to officially end their relationship. As if being
tossed from the bed had not conveyed that clearly enough to him.

“If you have need of anything, sir. Anything at all. Simply ring for me.”

He needed Arthur’s love, but that wasn’t something Jones could deliver on a silver tray.

The door clicked shut again. This time softer, quieter. A deliberately slowed click of the knob.

Leopold rolled onto his back and opened his eyes to stare into the darkness above. The drapes were closed tight, blocking out

any hint as to the hour of the day. Given the eggs Jones had delivered, Leopold surmised it must be morning. Which morning, he had
not a clue. Perhaps the second or the third since Jones had been bringing him trays. Maybe the fourth. But what did it matter anyway?

Ten years he had waited for a chance with Arthur, and the long wait had been in vain. When the man had finally given him that

chance, Leopold had proved a spectacular failure to the point where he wasn’t even good enough to fuck anymore.

Hurt flared anew, radiating across his chest. He let out a groan, low and weak and even more pathetic than himself.

He had tried so hard to be everything Arthur needed. Given the man his heart, his love, his very self. Vowed his loyalty and

fidelity and held true to every promise, not that it had done a bit of good.

He rolled back onto his stomach and stared into the flames flickering in the hearth.

Arthur had made a promise to him in return, hadn’t he?

Well, yes. More than one, in fact. Had Arthur kept them?

No.

No, he had not.

That morning in his study back at Ramsey House crystallized in his mind.

“I’m sorry I hurt you. Can you forgive me?” Arthur had asked.

“Just don’t do it again.”

“Never. I promise.”

And Arthur had given him his word that he would tear himself away from his work for Leopold “without a second thought.”

Yet every excuse Arthur had used to push him off had involved, or been a direct by-product of, his office. His hours there

growing longer and longer, the damn place occupying his mind when they were together and making Leopold feel like an unwanted
chore in the process.

Leopold scowled as those excuses tumbled about in his head. “I had a long day at the office… There are other matters that

require my attention in the morning… I have an early appointment… I can’t afford to be gone from the office… I’ve had a long
day…”

Arthur had not truly given him that chance, had he? No wonder Arthur did not love him. How could he have ever reached that

point when he had, in essence, relegated Leopold to merely a distant second behind a pile of papers? The man had broken his
promises, and what had Leopold done? Not much besides suck off Arthur at every available opportunity and feel sorry for himself.

Well, not anymore.

His eyes narrowed as determination and anger began to pound through his veins. If Arthur thought Leopold would let him so

easily get away with breaking his promises—not just one, but plural—then the man was fit for Bedlam. True, Leopold had let him off
easy that morning in the study, essentially handing the man his forgiveness with nary a fight. But not this time.

He had once fought for Arthur, and he would fight to keep him. Force the man to keep his word and give Leopold the chance he

deserved. The chance they deserved.

Flinging the coverlet aside, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head swam from the abrupt movement,

the shadowed outline of the armchair and the glow from the fireplace doubling for a moment.

Food first and then… He took a deep breath and cringed, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Good Lord, he stank. How could he

smell so bad when he had done absolutely nothing for days? Definitely needed to wash up.

He went to the window beside his bed and tugged one of the drapes halfway but not all the way open—he needed to give his

eyes a chance to adjust to the crisp, bright daylight. As he dug into the eggs and sausages, he picked up the Times nestled next to
the plate on the tray and checked the date. Tuesday, February 12. He’d call it two days in bed, given Sunday had likely come by the
time he had flopped onto the mattress. All in all, it could have been much worse.

He skimmed down the front page of the Times, pausing on the advertisement at the bottom. A smile curved his lips as a plan

formed to get Arthur to keep at least one of his promises.

But as he shaved the dark stubble from his jaw a few minutes later, the possibility Arthur would refuse to cooperate, that his

appetite had indeed been quenched of him and not merely doused under an ever-growing stack of papers, threatened to pull
Leopold back under the thick blanket of despair.

What if Arthur believed him unworthy? What if—

No.

With a forcible mental shove, he pushed back the darkness. Leaning down, he splashed water over his face to rinse off the

remnants of the shaving soap—focused on the sting of the cold water, the way it snapped his senses to attention. He would not allow
the doubts to chew away at him again. Not yet. Jones had said Arthur had called yesterday. For all Leopold knew, Arthur had not

intended to ask if he could still call him friend.

After he finished washing up, he went into his dressing room, got dressed, and then grabbed the leather saddlebag off the floor

next to the neat row of shoes and boots. The last thing he needed at the moment was to sit in a carriage with nothing but his thoughts.
He shoved a couple of shirts, drawers, cravats, and a spare pair of breeches into the saddlebag. Then he was out the door of his
bedchamber and striding down the corridor toward the back servants’ stairs, taking the quickest route to the stables.

Chapter Seven

Arthur took a sip of tea and turned to the next page of the contract on his desk. “Mr. Thornton is not at home.” The butler’s

words echoed in his head yet again. Where had Thorn been yesterday? What had been so important that he had been gone at five in
the evening?

The butler had given the same response yesterday as he had two days ago when Arthur had inquired into Thorn’s whereabouts.

Damn servants. Absolutely no help whatsoever.

Arthur let out a short grunt of frustration. Nothing to be done for it, though, but to try again today. He pulled out his pocket watch.

Not yet ten. The files and papers covering his desk screamed that he needed to remain exactly where he sat for many hours to come.
But damn if he would allow another day to pass without speaking to Thorn. Brow furrowed, he assessed the state of his desk. At the
very least, he couldn’t leave the office before luncheon. He needed to finish the contract.

He pulled his mind back to the paper before him but could not remember what he had just read. With a shake of his head, he

started back at the top of the page.

Four days had passed without a visit or even a note from Thorn. They had not gone that long without seeing each other since

their return from Yorkshire three months ago. Was Thorn intentionally avoiding him? Had he already moved on from Arthur?

No, no. Arthur forced his grip to unclench from his pen. They had only had an argument…where he had acted a complete arse.

But he had left his card both times he had called. Thorn would know he had attempted, twice, to speak to him. Surely Thorn would
take it as a sign that Arthur did not want to end matters between them. And he had told Thorn he had not meant to push him from the
bed, had even tried to apologize that night.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, willed his pulse to calm. It would be all right. Thorn loved him. Why Thorn loved him,

how exactly someone like himself had earned such a man’s devotion…he hadn’t a clue. But surely Arthur had not single-handedly
destroyed all traces of that devotion.

He had finally reached the end of the contract when a knock sounded on his door. He had shut his office door when he had

arrived that morning in an effort to keep Fenton from asking so many inane questions. The secretary would never learn to use his own
brain if Arthur made it too easy for him. Ah well. The closed door had worked for a few hours.

“Yes,” he called.

Wilson, not Fenton, stepped into his office. “You have a visitor, Mr. Barrington,” he said, stopping before Arthur’s desk. “Mr.

Amherst, a former client of yours. Are you available, or shall I have him schedule an appointment?”

Randolph was here? Good God. It was on the tip of his tongue to have Wilson tell Randolph he was unavailable, but instead he

said, “I can see him now.” No use prolonging the inevitable, and he certainly did not want Randolph knocking on the door of his
apartments.

He slipped his pen into the silver penholder, quickly tidied the papers on his desk, and then pulled his shoulders straight.

The man entered his office, his gaze scanning the room before shutting the door behind him. “Good afternoon, Barrington.

Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” He took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Arthur’s desk.

To his relief, his ex-lover’s appearance prompted no other emotion than a determination to express his disinterest in no

uncertain terms and send the man on his way. Arthur opened his mouth, intent on conveying said disinterest, when Randolph held up
a hand.

“Please. I intend to make this visit short, and I intend to make it my last. I always planned to take a wife. It’s an expected thing for

a man to do, and marriage can have its benefits if one is wise in their choice of a wife. The wedded state need not necessarily
prevent a man from seeking his pleasures elsewhere, but I can understand if you feel differently. I can even respect it. I…” Letting out
a breath, Randolph shook his head. The arrogance slipped from his features, replaced with what looked almost like regret. “I thought
we understood each other, you and I. That we wanted the same thing from each other. Please know I never meant to cause you pain. I
would be most thankful if you could find it within yourself to accept my apology.”

Arthur briefly closed his eyes, then opened them again. Yes, that was indeed Randolph sitting across from him, his muscular

frame nearly overpowering the chair. He could not conceive of what could have possibly prompted Randolph to feel the need to
apologize.

Wooden joints creaked as Randolph shifted in the chair. “Please, Arthur,” he said, his tone dangerously close to approaching a

plea.

“Apology accepted.” He could give no other answer. His relationship with Randolph was firmly behind him, and it would do no

good to be so churlish as to not accept the man’s apology.

“Thank you.” Randolph stood. “If I could ask another favor, please do not mention this visit to Thornton. I do not wish to incur his

wrath.” A distinct wariness briefly pulled his brows before he lifted his chin. “Yet I felt the need to speak to you one last time. Surely
you can understand and keep this visit between us.”

“Why would I mention it to him?” Had he done something at the ball to tip his hand regarding his relationship with Thorn? Thorn

certainly had not when he had pulled Arthur from his conversation with Randolph. The man had been all distant politeness. And it
wasn’t as if he had been plastered to Thorn’s side the entire night. Had mere association been enough to rouse suspicion? But
Arthur had seen Thorn speak to many other men that night. Surely Randolph did not believe all of them were buggering Thorn.

“Because he is my replacement.” Randolph let out an indignant huff. “Come now, Arthur. A man does not lurk outside the

necessary and threaten another with the loss of everything he holds dear for no reason. He made the consequences of coming
anywhere near you again very clear.”

“When did this happen?”

“At Mr. Dunmore’s supper party. I would have never guessed it of someone like Thornton, but the man has quite the protective

streak, at least when it comes to you. I can understand the appeal of him, but do be careful. He is the farthest thing from a model of
discretion.”

“A man can change.”

Other than those four words in defense of Thorn, who had indeed proved the truth in them, Arthur held his tongue. He was not

about to explain or justify or defend his relationship with Thorn to anyone, and definitely not to Randolph. Though now he had the
answer behind Randolph’s visit. During the tirade Arthur could only imagine Thorn had unleashed on him, Thorn must have said

something to make Randolph suspect just how hard it had been for Arthur when he had ended their ten-year relationship.

However much he did not approve of Thorn’s threats, he could not help but want to thank him. It warmed his heart that Thorn had

gone to such lengths to protect him, and he did not doubt for a moment that Thorn would see the threats through if necessary. Frankly,
he was amazed Randolph had taken the risk in calling on him today. Maybe he wasn’t as cold and selfish as Arthur had come to
believe.

“And you needn’t fear Thornton’s wrath,” he said, resisting the urge to leave Randolph in suspense. “Even if word were to ever

reach his ears that you called today, I will make certain he understands there is no cause at all to follow through on his threats.”

Eager to be done with this particular visitor, he bid Randolph good day. Yet this time when he watched the man walk away from

him, he did not feel even a twinge of that old echo of pain.

He made to reach for the next document that needed his attention, but paused, his fingers hovering above the pile on his left.

Thorn’s uncle’s “supper party” had been the night before their argument. Had Thorn overheard Randolph’s proposition? Arthur had
not confessed how uncomfortable conversing with him had been until after they’d left the ball. Randolph had earned Thorn’s hatred
over how the man had treated Arthur during their relationship, but had more than hate and a need to protect prompted his threats?
Had Thorn feared he would go back to Randolph? But he had told Thorn in the carriage that Randolph meant nothing to him…yet less
than twenty-four hours later he had shoved Thorn away.

A tight fist of worry grabbed his gut. He pushed from his desk. The hell with his office. He needed to see Thorn now.

* * *

“What do you mean? Then where is he? And do not tell me again that Mr. Thornton is not at home.”

One hand on the knob, poised to close the door, Thorn’s butler stared back at Arthur, lips pursed as though fighting the urge to

inform him yet again that Thorn was not at home. “Would you care to leave your card?”

“I would care to know Mr. Thornton’s whereabouts. It’s not even noon. Has he instructed you to turn me away?”

“If you would care to leave your card, you are welcome to do so. Otherwise, good day to you, Mr. Barrington.”

With that, the servant made to close the door. Arthur lurched forward, about to flatten his hand against the door and demand an

answer yet again, when the butler paused. He tilted his head, as if listening to someone. Beneath the rumble of a passing carriage,
Arthur heard a murmured voice. Not Thorn’s. Then the butler stepped back, relinquishing his place to Jones.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barrington,” the footman said, opening the door fully. “May I take your coat?”

The abrupt change in hospitality caught him off guard. He gathered his wits and stepped inside. As he shrugged his greatcoat

from his shoulders, he scanned the entrance hall, but it held only himself and Jones, with the dour, tight-lipped butler lurking along the
corridor leading to the back of the town house. “Where is he?”

Jones took his coat and folded it over his arm. With his free hand, he motioned toward the left. “If you would come to the

drawing room, sir.”

Thorn preferred his study. Arthur always went straight up the stairs to the first door on the right, never to the drawing room. He

studied the servant’s face but could detect nothing from his expression.

That fist of worry gave a fierce wrench. He tipped his head, and with his heart slamming against his ribs, he followed Jones into

the drawing room.

He knew before he glanced about the elegantly appointed room with its black and gold Egyptian chairs and white marble

fireplace that he would not find Thorn waiting for him. He turned to face the footman, prepared to start bellowing for Thorn, if that was
what it would take to make the man appear.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Jones asked as he closed the door.

“Where is he?” Arthur repeated through clenched teeth, his nerves near shot. “And if you tell me he is not at home, you will sorely

regret it.”

“Mr. Thornton left yesterday morning,” Jones replied, ever the composed servant, not at all cowed by Arthur’s threat.

That took Arthur aback. He had expected Jones to politely inform him that Thorn refused to see him and to please not call

again, not that the man was in fact not somewhere in the house. “When will he return? What prompted him to leave? Was he called
away on business?” he asked, grabbing hold of a possible explanation, but to his knowledge, Thorn did not have any business
interests outside of London except for his country estate in Yorkshire.

“I do not know where he went or why, nor how long he will be gone. He did not receive a note or a visitor that morning. The only

caller who has been by in the past few days has been yourself, Mr. Barrington.”

“Then where was he two days ago? The butler informed me he was not at home, but you are telling me he did not leave until

yesterday.”

With a glance toward the closed door behind him, Jones stepped farther into the room, coming to a stop a pace from Arthur.

The calm composure vanished, giving way to a concern that practically radiated from him. “Mr. Thornton was abed.”

“At half past seven in the evening?” Thorn had a dislike of rising early, but seven was considerably beyond any definition of

early.

Brows lowered and mouth grim, Jones nodded. “He returned home late Saturday. I readied his room, then left him for the night.

He remained abed until yesterday morning. I checked on him several times a day, brought him trays, which he barely touched. At first
I thought he was ill, but he did not want me to summon a doctor. That ‘no’ was the only word I heard from him for two days. And he
wasn’t foxed. He never asked for a bottle of whisky, nor did I find anything in his bedchamber to indicate he had sought one out on his
own. And then abruptly he left. One of the kitchen maids saw him go out the back door carrying a saddle bag. The grooms reported
he saddled a horse and left. No mention from him as to his direction.”

Arthur’s mind reeled, unable to make sense of what Jones had told him. “He did not leave his bed for two days?” he heard

himself ask, as if from a great distance.

“Unfortunately yes, though I suspect he got up at some point during that time. The trays weren’t always untouched. A piece of

toast gone, the pile of potatoes disturbed, a half-empty teacup. But he was so silent and still whenever I checked on him.”

“Does he know I called? Did anyone give him my card?”

“I told him yesterday morning when I delivered breakfast that you had called and left your card. He did not respond, though he

actually ate that breakfast. All of it. Perhaps he was simply unwell and felt better after he ate, but he always takes me when he travels.
He did not even ring for me to pack his bag for him. He simply left. I thought he had gone to see you, but clearly that is not the case.”

Arthur could not ignore the sinking feeling his call had somehow prompted Thorn to leave. But why? “Could he have gone to

Yorkshire?”

“Perhaps, but the distance and this time of year on horseback?” Jones shook his head. “I don’t believe so. He has always taken

his traveling carriage. And I saw one of Lord Granville’s maids yesterday and managed to discover, without explicitly asking, that Mr.
Thornton has not been by his father’s town house in over a week. It is possible he went to the family seat in Somerset, but still, quite
the distance to travel on horseback.”

At a complete loss for what to do, Arthur stared out the bowfront window. He had never felt so powerless in all his life. God only

knew where Thorn had gone and why. But Arthur knew one thing with absolute certainty—he had been the cause. His actions, and
lack thereof, had driven Thorn to his bed for days, and for a reason known only to Thorn, his call had prompted his hasty departure.

Why in the name of all that was holy had he allowed Thorn to leave his apartments? Why ever had he thought it wise to wait two

days before calling on him? He was well aware Thorn did not deal with rejection well. Hell, he had been the one to pry that bottle of
gin from Thorn’s shaking hand, his pale cheeks wet from more than the rain.

“I do not mean to cause you undue worry, Mr. Barrington, but I thought that since you are Mr. Thornton’s friend, you would want to

be apprised of the situation.” The man spoke the word friend without a telling pause. Amazing, considering Arthur was now convinced
Jones more than suspected the true nature of their relationship. Even more amazing, he had the impression it did not matter one whit
to Jones.

“Thank you,” Arthur said with a nod. “Please inform me the moment he returns home or if you receive word from him.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Barrington.”

Chapter Eight

The woman took a step closer, her violet silk skirts brushing his legs, and slid her small hand up Arthur’s chest. “So strong.” She

practically purred, the sound soft and slow as honey and designed to curl a man’s toes.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, carefully removing her hand from his chest. He looked over her blonde head and scanned the receiving

room of Madame Delacroix’s for a third time. Damnation. No sign of Thorn. He had not wanted to spot the man on one of the velvet
settees with a tart sprawled on his lap, but he damn well needed to find him.

“You needn’t look for another. I will gladly do anything you desire. And I cannot wait to wrap my lips around this.”

A hand palmed his prick through the placket of his trousers. Arthur could not stop the instinctive flinch. Must they always touch?

He cleared his throat and removed her hand from his person yet again. “Thank you for the offer, but I am looking for an acquaintance.
A Mr. Leopold Thornton. Do you know him?”

A smile curved her rouged lips. He did not care at all for the spark that lit her light blue eyes. “Yes, I have had the pleasure of

making his acquaintance.”

“Would you happen to know if he is here tonight or if he has been by of late?” Breath held, he waited for her response.

“I have not seen him for months. Pity that.” She gave a little shrug of a slim shoulder. “But I would like to see more of you.”

Tracing one of the fabric-covered buttons on his waistcoat, she leaned closer and gazed up at him from under the fan of her lashes.
“Come upstairs,” she implored, toying with that button as though impatient to tug it free. “Let me give you a night of pleasure you will
never forget.”

Taking a step back, he reached into his coat pocket. “I regret I must decline.” He took her hand before she could reach for him

again and pressed his last couple of pound notes into her palm. A tip of his head and he turned on his heel.

A burly footman shut the front door of Delacroix’s behind him. Arthur took a deep breath of cool night air, trying to rid the

combined scents of sex, sweat, and sticky sweet perfume from his nose. After not getting a wink of sleep last night, he had decided
to go search for Thorn himself. If he had to drag the man’s foxed arse from a whore’s bed, then so be it. But three brothels and two
gambling hells later and his pocket fifteen pounds lighter, no one had seen Thorn for months.

He looked up the street and heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the worry and exhaustion that had been

his constant companions of late. No way could he make it back to his apartments on foot. He slipped a hand into his pocket, fingers
closing around the few remaining coins. Should be enough for a hackney to see him home.

* * *

As he hung his greatcoat on the rack in the corner of his parlor, Arthur took solace in the knowledge that he had not found proof

Thorn had slipped back into his old habits. That, at least, was something. But the city held countless hells and houses of ill repute. For
all he knew, Thorn could have taken up at some molly house in the stews. He cringed at the thought of walking into one of those
places.

“Can’t possibly check them all,” he mumbled to himself as he trudged across his parlor and into his bedchamber, the feeble

moonlight seeping through the windows providing just enough light to keep the rooms from pitch darkness. He knew of the existence
of such houses but did not know where to find them all. Just as he did not know where to find Thorn.

Desperate for some warmth to chase away the chill of the lonely room, he lit the fire in the hearth and poked at the flames until

they roared to full life. Thorn had taken a saddlebag when he’d left the house. Perhaps he had left London altogether in his effort to
avoid Arthur. The man could truly be anywhere. Arthur could search the countryside for days, weeks, even months in vain. Not that he
had the luxury of leaving his office unattended for weeks or months. The afternoon appointment with His Grace had solidified that. But
the news that he had indeed succeeded and could now include the Duke of Menteith in the ranks of his clients had not brought a bit of
happiness to disturb the ever-mounting worry that clung to his every thought.

After resting the iron poker against the brick surround, he pushed to his feet and began to unbutton his coat. Perhaps it was

best to remain in Town and wait for Thorn to return of his own volition. Even if Thorn did not intend to present himself at Arthur’s door
again, Arthur felt confident Jones would send word the moment his master arrived home. Thorn had family and a town house in
London. He could not be gone indefinitely.

Yes, he should remain in London and wait. It was the most prudent course of action. He draped his coat and waistcoat over the

back of the wooden chair at his writing desk, then tugged on the knot of his cravat. And searching thus far had yielded no results. He
needed to use what hours were left before dawn to get some rest, not spend them plaguing himself with questions only Thorn held the
answers to.

But logic and reason could not wipe that image from his head of Thorn, soaking wet and on his knees before the liquor cabinet

at Ramsey House. Bottles strewn about him, shoulders hunched and head bowed in utter misery.

A lance of searing pain sank into his chest, twisting deep, then flaring to encompass his entire being.

Knees threatening to buckle, he sat on the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands, the long length of his cravat

hanging loose and forgotten about his neck. The thought that Thorn could be out there somewhere alone, his heart beyond broken,
and convinced Arthur did not want him…

Pain sliced into his chest again. What he would not give to go back to that night. To grab Thorn before he could reach the door

and tell him he more than wanted him. That he needed him. Loved him.

Arthur let out a groan, low and hoarse and filled with wretched despair.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, eyes closed tightly against the hot sting of tears as the realization smacked into him. “You’re a

goddamn fucking bastard.”

All Thorn had wanted was to be with him. What had been so wrong in that?

Nothing at all.

But Arthur had pushed him away. Had pushed away a man who would have loved him until the end of his days. He had been so

afraid of repeating the mistakes he had made with Randolph. So scared of being left alone with a broken heart. Yet here he sat,
alone, his heart howling in misery, and it was all his own doing.

He hadn’t loved Thorn as he deserved. Hadn’t treasured him or cherished him. He had been too busy looking for faults, bracing

for Thorn to fail.

But in the end, he had failed Thorn. Absolutely and completely and in every way that counted.

* * *

Stilling his hand, Arthur lifted his head and looked to the closed door of his office. His heart lurched against his ribs. Had that

been—

No. Merely wishful thinking and a too-tired mind playing tricks on him. A damn cruel trick, though.

With a shake of the head, he turned his attention back to the list on his desk. He added Dennett’s to the column of names. As

that particular hell was located but a few blocks from his apartments, he had checked there on his walk into the office. Tapping the
end of his pen against his desk, he racked his brain for any other hells or brothels he could add to the list to check this evening after
his stop at No. 4 Bow Street. Runners were known to take on private assignments, and while there was no outstanding warrant for
Thorn’s arrest, hopefully a thick enough fold of pound notes would entice one to search the stews. And if that search turned up empty,
well, he would simply hire someone to search beyond London.

The door clicked open.

Frustration surged within. He looked up, intent on sending Fenton back to the man’s desk, but the words stopped in his throat.

“Afternoon, Barrington,” Thorn said, striding into the room, the length of his long dark greatcoat flapping about his calves. “If you

would put the pen down, I need you to come with me.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped. He blinked. Thorn was here, in his office? Had he conjured the man by will alone?

“Where have you been?” The question that had filled his head for the past two days popped out as he greedily soaked up the

sight of Thorn. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, a chunk of his black forelock grazed his lashes, and his gray eyes were pinned
on Arthur. A sight he had truly feared he might never see again.

Thorn stopped before his desk. “The pen, please. Put it down.”

“But—”

“I’ve already informed your secretaries that you are needed out of town and will return on Monday. Whatever you are working on

can wait. Come with me.” Thorn turned on his heel with a curt, “Now.”

Unwilling to let Thorn out of his sight, Arthur scrambled to push from his chair. He made to round the desk, then reached back to

grab the list and shove it into his pocket. Without a backward glance, Thorn strode through the anteroom of the office and out the
door. Grabbing his greatcoat from the rack in the corner, Arthur hurried after him.

Thorn’s team of four stood waiting along Clifford Street, mere steps from the building that held Arthur’s office. Jones opened the

door of the traveling carriage as Thorn approached. Arthur shoved his arms through the sleeves of his coat before following Thorn
inside and taking up a place opposite him on the black leather bench.

The door snapped shut; then the carriage lurched forward.

For a long moment, he could do nothing but stare at Thorn. The man’s attention was fixed out the window in the narrow door, jaw

set and arms crossed over his chest.

Arthur cast a quick glance about the carriage, noting the two valises on the floorboards. He did not recognize the black leather

one with the polished silver buckles. Must belong to Thorn. The other one with the scuffs marring the brown leather he recognized as
his own.

Thorn had stopped at his apartments and packed his bag while Arthur had been sitting at his desk, worried nearly out of his

mind?

His gaze snapped back to Thorn, who continued to stare out the window as though he were the only occupant in the carriage.

The man had not once glanced to him since they had left his office, let alone spoken another word. Nothing. No offer of an explanation
for his abrupt appearance. No answer to Arthur’s question about where he had been or a hint as to where he was taking him.

His breaths quickened, hitching in his chest. The last week, with all its worry and fear and indecision and heartache. The calls to

Thorn’s home, the visits to the brothels and the hells, and the sleepless nights. The ever-growing stacks of papers on his desk that he
had barely made a dent in of late and the devastating realization that he had failed Thorn. It all blended together, forming a noxious
riot that built stronger and stronger with each passing second. With each rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves against the street. Until
his muscles fairly vibrated under the force of it. Until he could not contain it another instant.

“Where have you been?” The question cracked across the distance separating them.

Without a change in his expression, Thorn turned his head to finally look at him.

“Do you have any notion how worried I’ve been about you?”

For that, he received a roll of Thorn’s eyes. “Don’t exaggerate, Arthur. It’s wholly unnecessary.”

“Don’t exaggerate?” A part of his brain was aware he shouted, yet he didn’t give a damn if all of London heard him. “I have been

worried sick about you.”

“I would have thought you would have been thankful for my absence. It left you undisturbed to see to your office.”

Arthur flinched. “Is that what you truly believe? That I would be thankful you disappeared for days without a word to anyone?” Yet

why wouldn’t Thorn? Arthur had certainly not given him any cause to believe otherwise. But having another shining example of how he
had failed the man he loved shoved in his face did nothing to calm the pulse hammering through his veins. “Do you have any idea of
the lengths I have gone to try to locate you? On your next visit to Ramsey House, you’ll find the note I sent via express post this
morning pleading with you to contact me. I spent last night traipsing about the city in search of you. Would you care to know where I
went?” Yanking the list from his pocket, he tossed it at Thorn. “Hell, I even planned to hire a Runner this evening to track you down.
How dare you sit there so unaffected when I was worrying your body would turn up in some gutter in St. Giles.”

Thorn picked up the rumpled list from where it had landed on the bench beside him. “You were worried?” Cynicism drenched

the question.

Arthur threw up his hands. “For Christ’s sake, yes. I love you. How could I not worry?”

Thorn went utterly still. He did not lift his gaze from the partially unfolded note. “You love me?”

“Yes.” Hadn’t he just said that?

Brow furrowed, Thorn pursed his lips and went back to looking out the window. The sound of paper crinkling filled the interior of

the carriage as he closed his fist around the note. “When did you decide that?”

He deserved Thorn’s doubt. Still, it hurt. “When I couldn’t find you. It’s just… I was…” The tension broke from his spine, his entire

body slumping as the anger drained out of him. Letting out a sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck. The time had come to try to

explain, to apologize, to lay himself at Thorn’s feet. He had lain awake last night praying for this very opportunity, and now that it was
before him, he refused to allow the distinct possibility of receiving another bugger off from Thorn to stop him. “I’m sorry it took me so
long. I wanted us to work. I wanted us to last, yet a small part of me was afraid. I knew if you broke my heart, it would… Well, hurt
would not even begin to cover it. It had been hard enough getting over Randolph. But you?” He shook his head. “I severely doubted
my ability to recover. So I held back. I waited. I guess you could say I was waiting for you to tire of me, to take up with someone else,
to fall back into your old habits. And when you began to get…restless, I took it as proof my worries were not unfounded. I should have
known, though, but I’m a blind fool. I caused that restlessness, didn’t I?”

“I don’t know what you are referring to,” Thorn replied, all indignant condescension, but he couldn’t hide the defensive note

lurking in his voice.

“Yes you do,” he said gently. It had been no coincidence that as the hours behind his desk had grown longer, Thorn had grown

more aggressive. Something he could see quite clearly now and something he should have recognized weeks ago, but he had
allowed work to consume him and in the process almost lost Thorn. Well, he hoped almost. Thorn had come back for him. Surely that
meant the man had not given up on him completely. “I want more than your mouth on my prick, Thorn. I want to be with you because I
enjoy being with you.” Hell, now he sounded like a simpleton. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he tried again to
explain why Thorn meant so much to him. “I love coming home and finding you waiting for me. I love knowing that you think of me
when we’re apart. I love just being with you. The way you listen without passing judgment, the way you put up with my boring self, the
way you make me look forward to tomorrow because I want to spend another day with you. I love you, Thorn. Please believe me. I
know I have given you every cause to doubt me. I have acted the arse more times than I care to admit. But you have my word I will not
act the arse again.”

“Your word? You’ve already broken it twice, Barrington.” Not Arthur, but Barrington. “Why should I trust you now?”

“Because I love you.” It was the only answer he could think to give. The only proof he had to offer. He’d already shown himself to

be a liar and a self-absorbed fool who had refused to cherish Thorn when he’d had him. He could only hold on to the hope that Thorn
could find it within his heart to trust him again.

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 wasn’t a frequent occurrence.”

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.

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 Thorn’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 shoulders to 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?”

Arthur considered for a moment. “Yes.”

Satisfied that particular problem was resolved, he rapped once on the ceiling. Jones opened the door, letting in a gust of chill

air. “Don’t bother with the bags. Jones will see to them.” Stooping to fit through the narrow door, Leopold exited the carriage and then
waited for Arthur at the foot of the stone steps.

Arthur followed him and stopped at his shoulder to stare at the stately country house with its four thick columns stretching past

the second-floor windows to support the broad stone portico. “Definitely not a cottage.”

“No, it isn’t.” He smiled as a rush of pride filled his chest. He had a fondness for Ramsey House, but Sinclair Abbey was so very

different. He slanted a glance to Arthur and lowered his voice for Arthur’s ears only. “It has seven bedchambers.”

“Really?” Arthur replied, brows arched in interest.

Leopold tipped his head. He swirled his tongue in his mouth, savoring the lingering taste of Arthur. “I would be more than happy

to show them to you.”

Arthur’s eyes flared. “All seven?”

“You aren’t expected back at the office until Monday.” He winked, then set off up the stone steps that led to the front door. Three

nights and two and a half days. Definitely manageable.

* * *

Arthur shut the bedchamber door and slowly turned the lock in an effort to quiet the metallic click as it slid into place. A good half

hour had passed since the servants had retired at nine, but it never hurt to exercise a bit of caution. Tugging his shirt from his
trousers, he turned from the door to find Thorn sprawled on the bed, his shoulders propped on a mound of white pillows and his legs
casually spread. One hand held a magazine while the other absently stroked his cock.

“Interesting reading?”

“The Farmer’s Magazine. And no, it’s not responsible for this.” He dragged his hand up his hard length, fingers closing around

the flushed head. A drop of fluid seeped from the tip. The magazine fell from his grasp, tumbling to the floorboards. “You are.”

“Very good to hear,” Arthur said as he crossed the room, drawn by the gorgeous expanse of Thorn’s bare skin.

“Bed number one,” Thorn murmured.

“You really believe we can christen them all before we return to Town?”

“We are not leaving until Monday morning. Plenty of time, if you are up to the challenge.”

A short holiday with Thorn and without his leather bag to offer even the potential of a distraction? “Most assuredly.” He stopped

beside the bed. When Thorn shifted as if to move to him, he held up a hand. “Remain where you are. I quite like the view.”

The edges of Thorn’s full lips kicked up. He settled back against the pillows. “Do you, now?” His lashes dropped to half-mast,

gray eyes glittering with an all too wicked spark as he spread his legs a bit wider. Those lazy strokes grew more determined, long
fingers wrapping more securely around the rigid length. Gaze pinned on Arthur, Thorn reached down to cup his ballocks.

Arthur pulled his shirt over his head. A thin moan slid past Thorn’s lips as the garment fell to the floor. A surge of pure lust shot

through his body. The man was going to make it extremely difficult not to tackle him and take everything he offered. But Arthur held
tight to his determination, forced himself to proceed slowly.

As he had paced his new bedchamber, waiting for the clock to strike half past nine, he had realized how selfish he had been of

late. Thorn was so aggressive, so eager, so willing to do absolutely anything to please him. Sucking him off, giving himself up for
Arthur’s pleasure. He even prepared himself for Arthur’s prick. Hell, it had been well over a month since Thorn had asked to fuck
him…not that Arthur should have been waiting for him to ask. Thorn had given him so much, and it was past time Arthur started giving
back.

Though… He raked his gaze over Thorn’s body. A faint flush warmed the pale skin of his lover’s flawless chest, his copper

nipples drawn into tight buds. How could he resist the opportunity to watch Thorn as he undressed? In any case, if Thorn started

touching him, whispering in his ear, he had a feeling his determination just might fly out the damn window.

He tugged on the placket of his trousers, let the soft wool whoosh down his legs. Bending his knees, Thorn spread his legs even

wider, opening fully to him. A single fingertip drifted slowly, tantalizingly over the smooth expanse of skin behind his ballocks.

Arthur yanked on the strings of his drawers. The sound of fabric tearing rent the air. The hell with his smallclothes. He shoved

them down his hips, kicked them free of his feet. “Stop,” he managed to get out.

That fingertip paused a hair’s breadth from that tight, pink hole.

“You do realize you are the very embodiment of temptation?”

Thorn arched a knowing brow.

Yes, of course he knew. The man had used every inch of that beautiful body over the past couple of months in his effort to pull

Arthur’s attention back on himself, and Arthur had been the fool who had refused to see the growing desperation behind every wicked
touch, every scandalous offer. He hoped tonight he could begin to convince Thorn that he would never be so blind again. Never allow
a mere stack of papers to come between him and the man he loved.

He extinguished the lone candle on the bedside table, plunging the room into near darkness, and then crawled onto the bed and

crouched over Thorn. Warm fingers, the tips slightly sticky with the proof of Thorn’s desire for him, made to take hold of the prick
hanging hard and heavy between Arthur’s thighs. Before Thorn could even fully wrap his hand around Arthur’s length, Arthur shook his
head.

“No.” Even though his body begged for that skilled hand, he drew it away. “Let me please you,” he whispered against Thorn’s

lips.

And he proceeded to lavish Thorn with affection. With each kiss and each touch, he showed him how much he loved him.

Skimming his hands over Thorn’s chest, pausing to pluck at his nipples. Dragging his mouth over every inch of his body, leaving no
spot untouched. Following the thick vein on the underside of his cock up to the crown. Swirling his tongue over the tip, lapping up the
droplet of fluid, savoring the taste of Thorn before opening wide and taking the man inside. He brought Thorn right to the edge, until
he was gasping and begging, thrusting up into each plunging stroke of Arthur’s mouth on his prick. And then pulled free and started
anew. Skimming his hands over now blazing hot skin, his touch light and gentle, calming, only to follow with his mouth once again.
Until the salty tang of sweat beaded the smooth skin beneath his lips. Until Thorn was writhing beneath him, tugging on his shoulders,
desperate fingers biting into his muscles. Until Arthur could not hold back another moment.

He pulled his mouth from the elegant curve of Thorn’s hip and shifted up. “Do you want to fuck me?” he asked, their harsh,

panting breaths mingling together.

Thorn shook his head. “Not tonight. Tonight I want you. Want to feel you inside me.” His legs came up to wrap around Arthur’s

waist. “Love me.”

“I already do,” Arthur whispered. “I will never stop loving you.” And if it took six more beds to convince Thorn of that fact, then

Arthur was more than up to the task.

Loose Id Titles by Ava March

Convincing Arthur

Convincing Leopold

His Client

The BOUND Series
Bound by Deception

Bound to Him

Bound Forever

Ava March

Ava March writes Regency-set erotic romances. She has a daughter and is married to a wonderful man who doesn’t mind in the

slightest that she spends her evenings writing naughty books.

Ava loves to hear from her readers. See what she’s been up to by visiting her on the Web at http://www.AvaMarch.com.