Page 47 of Once a Gentleman
Andrew took a step forward, and then stopped dead when Kit stumbled back. He wouldn’t use his size to intimidate him, but…good God, what else did he have with which to arm himself in this fight? Because he appeared to have lost it before he even knew the prize for victory would be his entire future happiness, everything that would make his life worth living.
“If I told every man I took to bed that I loved him, in order to keep him sweet, as you put it, would there be such an ‘endless parade’ as that?” He could only try to persuade Kit with logic, since he had already tried holding him down and fucking him near-unconscious twice without any noticeable effect, but how could one use logic to convince a man of something as intangible, as inexplicable, as feelings? “Would not some of them wish to stay with me? Or am I so utterly unlovable that you believe each and every one of them has heard the same protestations of love and departed anyway, as you seem so determined to do?”
Kit flinched, his mouth dropping open. “I—of course not, but—you cannot be telling the truth,” he ended, his voice falling, as if he knew how weak that argument would sound. “You simply cannot.”
“Areyouso unlovable, then?” Andrew pressed. “Is it so impossible that I could love you?”
“It is so impossible that you could love me,” Kit said quietly. “It is impossible for me to believe it. Don’t demand that I explain myself!” he went on more vehemently, when Andrew opened his mouth. “I don’t believe it, and I won’t believe it, and I beg that you will consider the subject closed.”
“Consider the subject closed.” The subject of his being madly in love with the man in front of him, who had only minutes before lain in Andrew’s arms, with Andrew’s cock still inside him. “You cannot be serious, Kit!”
“Would you go?” Kit cried, color seeping into his cheeks, and that dangerous glitter still in his eyes. “I must—I need to bathe!” That came out nearly a wail, and Andrew winced, remembering that Kit stood there with Andrew’s spend trickling down his thighs, dampening his clean smalls, reminding him of what they had just done. The thought made his cock start to fill again, but no, damn it all, Kit would murder him if he grew roused again in the midst of this conversation.
He had no choice but to dress and leave Kit’s bedchamber, but he knew that if he did, that would be the end of it.
And he couldn’t bear it.
And equally, Kit would be gone, alone, unprotected and with—God, with only a few pounds in his pocket.
“You gave me a week,” he said, in a sudden burst of inspiration. “You promised me one week, and it has been less than a day—”
Kit’s fists flew to his hips, and he glared Andrew down in a way that would have done credit to any number of naval officers. “I promised one week on condition that I received no further insult under this roof. Your—I don’t know what word to apply to him, because I would not like to call another man a whore even ifhehas calledmeone, insulted me less than a day since then. That is hardly my fault!”
Oh, buggering hell, Andrew could no longer carry on this argument naked, with his cock really beginning to take notice. Kit’s anger roused him, and there wasn’t any bloody denying it. He snatched up his own smallclothes and began to tug them on.
At least on this point, he could come out ahead.
“The word to apply to him isfriend,” he said, though he knew he was rather stretching the definition. “An old school friend, to be precise, the Honorable James Rowley,” and he had the satisfaction there of seeing Kit’s jaw drop a little before he snapped it shut, “who appeared on my doorstep yesterday evening and subsequently spent the night here with his lover. And he did not call you a whore. He called you my secretary, as you were so quick to point out! And,” he said, raising his voice over Kit’s attempt at a reply, “I’ve explained to him that you truly are my secretary and he’s been waiting downstairs for the opportunity to apologize to you. Although by now he may very well have buggered off.”
“I don’t care who he is,” Kit sputtered after a moment, very clearly lying through his teeth. Well, at least the odd aristocratic acquaintance could be good for something now and then. “And you know very well that if you had to explain it to him, thensecretarywas not really what he meant, so you’re committing a terrible sophistry and—oh, hell. He still—he was at breakfast and—he really didn’t spend the night with you?”
It took Andrew a moment to parse that, and when he did, his heart lifted, borne up by hope in a way it hadn’t been since Kit’s dreadful reaction to being told Andrew loved him.
Kit’s last, plaintive question meant that he might not love Andrew, and might not even like him enough to have any gratitude for Andrew’s love, but…he wasn’t indifferent. Andrew had been divided, before, on whether Kit’s irritation at Andrew’s conquests had been driven by jealousy or by simple disgust, and now he had his answer at last.
“He most certainly did not spend the night with me,” Andrew said, more confident now that he thought he could at least convince Kit to stay the week. What could Andrew do given six more days, and definitely the nights, of persuasion? “As I said, he came to see me only because he had other business in Portsmouth. His other business departed at dawn, according to Samuel.”
Kit hesitated, and Andrew did not. He must press what little advantage he’d gained.
“One week, Kit,” he said softly. Ought he to beg? He would be more than willing, but he thought it might have the opposite effect on Kit, who would no doubt take any further display of emotion as lies and seduction. “One week, as you promised. Rowley is most dismayed that he offended a respectable gentleman in the act of attempting to retrieve his morning tea. And he—please believe me, for it’s the truth. He didn’t mistake you for a hired companion. He merely assumed that given my proclivities and your obvious attractions, you must be secretary and lover both.”
“A secretary who warms your bed would be a hired companion. And now, well. He was wrong this morning. He wouldn’t be wrong now.”
Andrew had no answer to that unanswerable truth. He knew it was both true and utterly false all at once, but he couldn’t put that into words—and Kit’s tone of weary dismay cut him to the quick. Kit put his hand to his brow again and massaged his temples. Perhaps he did have a headache after all.
And perhaps its name was Andrew Turner.
“Please,” he said, falling back on begging now that everything else seemed useless. “Please, stay for the week. As a favor to me.” Oh, Hell’s bells, he hated to mention Kit’s paid duties in the household, but if he didn’t offer the man a graceful retreat from his entrenched position, he would never back down. “You know I’ll be fleeced if I invest in that copper mine before you’ve read over all the reports they sent.”
Kit sighed deeply. “You have Robinson for that.”
But that wasn’t a refusal, and Andrew bit his lip to keep in more desperate words and waited him out.
“Very well,” Kit said, dropping his hand to reveal rather reddened eyes. “One week. Or until the mine contract is completed, whichever comes first.” Andrew wanted to shout for joy, to cheer— “And this,” Kit gestured between the two of them, “will not happen again. Not in any form. You will treat me entirely as your secretary only. Not that I expect you will want anything else, once you’ve left this room.”
Kit glanced at the washstand longingly—and rather pointedly.
I love you. Andrew bit his tongue savagely and cleared his throat. “One moment, and I’ll be out of your way,” he said, and gathered up his clothes, donning them with an efficient haste every midshipman mastered within weeks of going to sea.
He turned to Kit, fully dressed but for his unbuttoned waistcoat and loose cravat, and found him standing with his arms crossed defensively over his chest, gazing down at his feet as if he couldn’t bear to look at Andrew.
“Kit,” he said, the single word vibrating with all he wanted to say, all he wanted to do, the pounding pressure in his own breast that had him nearly mad with the need to seize Kit in his arms again.
“I will see you this afternoon, I am sure.” The words were more than a dismissal; they were a plea, and Andrew hated it, but heeded it. He slipped out the door and shut it behind him softly, standing a moment in the corridor to listen.
He heard nothing at all, and after a moment he turned for his own bedchamber, forcing himself to take every step that carried him away from where he so desperately wanted to be.
Kit would remain for a week.
Six and a half more days. And Andrew would use every second of it to win him.
