Page 29 of Enemies with an Earl
Sam let his fingers linger as he aligned the cuff. Let his thumb circle over the inside of Bentley’s wrist. Bentley licked his lips. The man couldn’t possibly be missing the signs Sam was delivering. The click of the clasp echoed through the silent chamber.
They watched each other, whatever this was between them building.
“You are surprisingly competent tonight.” That low rasp slid over Sam’s skin like a caress.
Sam grabbed the hunter-green evening tailcoat and assisted Bentley into it. God, the color made the man’s eyes pop, a rich umber against a forest. He adjusted the lapels, giving them a small tug into place. A tug that pulled Bentley even closer, a hairsbreadth of space separating them.
“My stickpin.” Bentley’s warm breath fanned over Sam’s lips and sent his pulse soaring.
He turned, let out a slow breath, tried to get himself back under control, and picked up the gold stickpin. Because if he didn’t get himself under control, it was very likely he was going to kiss this man.Would that be so bad?Right before a formal dinner probably wasn’t the best time to maul the man.
He focused on securing the stick pin—the very simple stickpin—and cleared his throat. “I would have expected something much more…ostentatious from you.”
Lord Bentley’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t amusement that glimmered in his eyes, it was something that looked much like sadness. “It was my father’s,” he said softly. Fondly.
A swift sharp pang cut through Sam’s chest, there and gone in a breath. He’d never be able to begin to imagine what it was like, to speak of a father with a warmth like that. To hold on to something because you wanted to hold on to the memories. To have someone you wanted to remember, instead of forget.
“It’s nice…” Sam said, gaze lifting from the stickpin to meet Bentley’s. “That you have something like that to hold on to.”
Bentley nodded once, and then his attention dropped to Sam’s mouth and back up. And those damn intoxicating amber irises pleaded with Sam, pleaded with Sam to kiss him. Sam’s blood rushed in his ears. Just one kiss. One quick kiss now. And he’d have to hope they could continue after.
He leaned in. Bentley tilted his chin up.
Knock, knock, knock.
They jumped apart. Sam’s heart whirred, his pulse feathering so fast he could feel it in his throat. Somewhere in the distance Lord Bentley’s “Enter” registered. Sam gathered the shaving implements, fingers shaking slightly.Get yourself together.
“Felix, darling.” A woman’s melodic voice filled the chamber. “Are you all set to go down to dinner?”
“Yes. Your timing is impeccable, Mother.”
Sam almost snorted. Impeccable, his arse.
“…and might I add, you look radiant tonight.”
There was a beat of silence.
“And? What about me?” another feminine voice, one that had much more cheek to it, rang through the chamber.
“Eh. I suppose you’ll do.”
Sam choked on the laugh before he could squash it, quickly masking it as a strangled cough. Lord Bentley with a sense of humor? Never say it.
“You appear a bit flushed, Fifi,” the cheeky woman said. She was clearly the man’s younger sister, Lady Felicity. “Are you feeling unwell and can’t attend? Oh, you are? I guess I’ll have to skip dinner and tend to my ailing brother. What a shame!”
Sam turned, keeping his gaze low, but he could see Lord Bentley shaking his head at Lady Felicity who was smiling hopefully at her brother.
“I am perfectly fine, Flick,” Lord Bentley said. “We are attending our host’s final dinner.”
Sam glanced at Lord Bentley, but it was clear he wasn’t going to look in Sam’s direction. He took that as a clear dismissal and discreetly made his way to the door, then slipped out of the room.
Once in the hall, he sucked in a welcomed full breath. Well, if that wasn’t clear, Sam didn’t know what was. Now, he just had to hope he’d have another chance with the man before Bentley left the house party tomorrow.
14
Felix
Felixwalkeduptothe bell pull for the hundredth time that night. He stopped, attention fixed on the crimson fabric—the same deep red as the curtains draped around his bed. An intricate floral pattern in gold, ivory, and ebony wound down the length of fabric. The gilt handle gleamed, the flickering flame of the candlelight dancing across the ornate surface. Nothing had technically happened between him and Thorne before. There was nothing to deny. As long as Felix didn’t pull that handle.
