Page 25 of King's Man

He took the hint and moved away, toward the yard. “For what little it’s worth,” Nate said, pausing at the edge of the moonlight, “I wept every night for a month after you were gone. I thought I’d die of grief.”

“I just thought I’d die.”

Nate flinched but didn’t respond, and after a moment he walked away. Sam let him go, guts twisted into a knot of that sweet-sharp pain that was almost pleasure.

He told himself he had no regrets.

Chapter Nine

Between the sway of the chaise, the stuffy air, and the rain pattering against the roof, Nate found it hard to keep his eyes open the following morning.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept much the night before. Which had nothing to do with the discomfort of sleeping in the chaise and everything to do with the man pretending to doze in the opposite corner of the carriage. Sam rested his head against the window, eyes closed, but the way his fingers were clenched in his lap told Nate that he wasn’t asleep. He was just avoiding conversation.

They’d hardly spoken a word since last night’s encounter, and Nate cursed himself — and the gin — for pushing things too far. Well, he’d paid the price for his foolishness. He wouldn’t soon forget the way Sam had pulled away as if he’d found himself embracing the serpent in Eden.

The frustrating thing was that Nate knew Sam had wanted him. He’d felt it, and not just in the crude physical way a man’s need became apparent. No, he’d felt it in his heart as the old connection had sparked back into life, rusty perhaps but still intact. Still linking them soul-to-soul. He’d felt his own longing reflected in Sam’s desire, a building heat between them that fed upon itself, getting fiercer and fiercer.

But then Sam had pushed him away with a look of… Nate could only call it horror. At himself? At Nate? Perhaps Sam hated himself for still wanting Nate. It was an uncomfortable thought, but Sam’s reaction had been eviscerating.

And it had felt painfully like loathing.

He sighed and stole another glance at his companion, pressed hard into the corner of the carriage as if putting as much space as possible between them.

Love. Loathing. Two sides of the same coin, so the saying went. But once the coin had been flipped, was it possible to turn it back to —

The chaise lurched violently, throwing Nate sideways as it tilted sharply downward with an alarming thud and a squealing protest from the horses.

“Christ!” Sam startled awake as Nate fell, half sprawling across his lap, and grabbed him before he fell through the door. The chaise juddered to a stop. And then they were a breath away from each other, a tangle of limbs and surprise, eyes locked. Hearts thumping. A thick curl of Sam’s hair tumbled forward over his forehead. Nate fought the urge to push it back.

“Did we hit something?” It was a struggle to sound normal with Sam’s strong hands on his body.

Up ahead, the post-boy swore imaginatively.

“A rut, most likely.” Sam sounded gruff and looked quickly away from Nate. “We should get out.”

It took a little maneuvering given the steep angle of the coach, but between them they got the door open without falling out and Sam clambered down onto the ground. It was much closer than usual and filthy deep in mud.

“Stay here,” he warned Nate, eying his expensive boots.

“If we’re in a rut, we’ll both need to get out.”

Sam shrugged his agreement and turned to squelch around to the back of the chaise. Nate followed as the post-boy came around from the other side and they met at the back where Sam was staring at their rear right wheel. It had sunk past its axle in a water-filled hole. “Hell,” he said. “Cole’s going to gut me.”

The post-boy moved past them to examine the wheel, tutting and cursing the godforsaken roads. He looked about forty and was as tanned and wrinkled as a walnut. “Don’t think it’s broken,” he pronounced, then eyed them uncertainly. “If you gents are willing to help push, we should be able move her.”

Out of some old habit, perhaps, Sam glanced at Nate for his opinion.

He tried not to read anything into that unconscious gesture of confidence. “I think we’re up to the challenge,” he decided, taking off his coat. “Going to be muddy work, though. We might as well keep most of our clothes clean.”

Sam grunted his agreement and the two of them stripped off their coats and waistcoats and went to set them inside the chaise.

It wasn’t a warm day, but itwasJune, and the sun was strong when it managed to shoulder its way through the clouds. Nate could feel it against his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves. Around them sprawled a rugged heathland, distant woods crowning hills to the east. He’d not ventured beyond London during his time in England and this place was beautiful — it had something of the wildness he’d missed about the south. “Pretty country,” he said to Sam. “Where are we?”

He peered about. “No idea.”

Nate laughed. It was just a huff of breath, really — Sam had hardly cracked a joke — but Sam smiled a little in response and the ease and familiarity of the moment turned Nate inside out. God, they’d been so close once, co-conspirators in their secret love. Surely Sam didn’t really hate him, did he?

“Come on,” Sam said, brusquely. “Let’s get this done.”

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