Page 122 of Enemies with an Earl
“If you isolate yourself; people will talk. I’m not sure what they would find, how publicized your case was. But your seclusion would look suspicious, feed into the rumors. And if it was found out, people would treat it as an admission. That’s what happened with Mr. William Beckford. He lived alone, an exile of his own making of sorts, just still in England. Everyone knew of his preferences, but his wealth and seclusion protected him from any repercussions.”
She paused, her voice turning whisper soft. “However…if Felix was ever caught visiting you? It would implicate him. The Bentley name…”
Sam cursed under his breath. It would stain the Bentley name. Everything Felix and his father before him had worked so hard for, ruined. He’d be ostracized. Possibly force Felix into exile as well.
“There has to be a way to bury what happened. To erase it or hide it so deeply, no one in society would think to look. Even if I can’t—if we can’t—it would kill me to never see him again.” He stared beseechingly at Felicity and Ash, begging them to give him the answers he knew they didn’t have. “We have to find something that would outweigh the black marks on me, then there could be a way, somehow, for Felix and me to still…”
Two sorrowful gazes met his own, and he couldn’t bear the sadness reflecting back at him. He dropped his head in his hands and fisted his hair.Bloody hell.The relentless tide of emotions was too much for his body to take. Elation one moment, panic the next. Then in came this dizzying hope. A pardon. Safe. Possibility. Only to have it ripped away—fate, the cruelest pickpocket of all. And all he was left with was the question: did any of it even matter if he couldn’t be with Felix?
“We’ll do our best, Sam,” Ash said solemnly.
“I should bring this news to my brother,” Felicity added quietly. “If anyone can figure out how to fix this, it’s Felix.”
Sam’s eyes slid shut as pain radiated through his frame.Fix-it Felix.Don’t let this be the one thing you can’t mend, love.
60
Felix
March 1818
London.
The words in front of Felix blurred, and he swayed where he sat at his desk. He snapped straight and rubbed his eyes.Stay awake. He shook out his frame and settled over what had to be the millionth newspaper article he’d read in the last sennight. He was trying to find every mention of Sam’s trial he could find. Sam’s family had done an admirable job burying the fact they’d essentially killed their own kin. But it had made it into a few publications. It was difficult to find, not impossible.
He stared down at the current gossip column he was reading—trying to read. He blinked hard, but his bloody eyes were so dry, he couldn’t make out the words.
“You look horrible, brother.”
Felix’s attention lifted to his sister leaning casually against the door frame of his study. “Felicity,” he said, though it was scarcely intelligible, his voice gravelly with disuse as it was.
Her face fell, slim amber brows pinching. “Oh, Fifi. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks. You’re pale as a ghost and, gosh, your cheekbones have always been prominent…but tell me you’ve been eating.”
His gaze skittered away. He was…somewhat. He tried, he really did. But every time he ate anything, his body rebelled. His insides were twisted so tight with fear and despair, his body refused whatever he put in it. It never ceased to astonish Felix how mere emotions—something intangible—could have such a detrimental physical impact. It wasn’t anything he was a stranger to. He’d felt the crushing weight of panic, the haunting, ever-returning ghost of melancholy. But it still struck him every time how something so invisible could wreak such havoc.
He blew out a heavy breath. He wouldn’t be able to relax until he found a way to secure Sam a royal pardon. If Ash submitted the petition, it might carry more weight. Definitely more than if Sam tried to petition his own case. But their best option at success was to cast doubt on Sam’s guilt, something Felix had yet to figure out. Failing that, they’d have to pray the Crown would deem it too harsh to punish a peer. A thin hope, given how many aristocrats had fled England to escape debts or disgrace. The Crown didn’t hand out pardons like snuff at a gentleman’s club.
Felicity made a soft, sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. “Now that I’m here, you’re going to eat something. I’ll force-feed you if I must. But first, I have some news to impart.”
Felix perked up. “How is he?” he asked hoarsely.
Felicity’s gaze swept over Felix. “A hell of a lot better than you.”
A sharp pain rent through Felix’s heart. Oh. Not that he wanted Sam to be struggling. Christ, of course he didn’t. It was just… It was fucking painful to realize he was so much more affected over this.
His sister rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me smack those thoughts right out of your head. He is struggling just as much as you are, but he’s at leasteating and sleeping. He’s like an automaton at this point, Fifi. He’s barely treading water with all this estate business, and I think he likes that, because it doesn’t give him a spare bit of time or space of mind to deal with the fact that he’s heartbroken.”
Felix smiled weakly at his sister. It was difficult to be any semblance of rational right now. His last cup of coffee was still stained down his lawn shirt and waistcoat because he couldn’t even find his mouth at this point.
Felicity perched on the edge of his desk, her lips pinched as she lightly ran her knuckles up and down his cheek. “You’re not taking care of yourself, Fifi. Heavens, you’re gaunt. I’m going to make you eat something, and then you’re going straight to bed.”
Felix was already shaking his head, gaze blurring as he stared unseeing at the pile of newspapers on his desk. “There’s no time. I need to figure this out.I must.”
At least he could keep Sam in the same country as him. There was a comfort in that. Even if they couldn’t be together, at least he’d still know Sam was here. Perhaps a rare chance at seeing him at Devonford Castle. Felix would take it. The smallest piece of Sam was so much better than nothing. And he’d hold on to that.
“Felix,” Felicity said softly. “I come bearing some good news.”
His gaze flicked back to hers, his heart doing an extra hard thump. Christ, he could use some good news. Anything would be—
