Page 17 of Enemies with an Earl
Felix’s shoulders sagged.
“Do you still want to skip stones?” Felicity asked quietly.
“How about you throw them at my head instead?”
He caught his sister’s eye, and she lifted her brows in doubtful optimism. “Do you think there’s any chance he prefers—”
“No.”
Most didn’t. And even those who did didn’t necessarily act on it. It was hard not to feel as though one wasn’t fundamentally flawed for their preferences. When society believed a person should be hanged based on who they chose to love, many suppressed those desires, buried them deep down. Even Felix, who had an accepting family, was all too familiar with shame’s clutches.
And then there was the risk that came with it.
He hadn’t been lying to his sister when he said there were certain places where he could go and find willing partners. But there was always a risk. Felix understood that more than anyone.
His thoughts drifted back to the footman. To the signal. After what Felix had experienced, he’d dedicated himself to finding a way to create safe spaces. And to assist those who needed a swift escape from the country.
That was howThe Harboragewas born. Founded by Felix, led by him and his two partners: Lord Kozington and Ryker Drake. A pair of powerful aristocrats and a man who owned the rest of them.
“Fifi?”
Felix shook off his thoughts and forced his lips upward. “The man’s a bit of an arse anyhow. Favorable looks don’t make up for a shite personality.”
Felicity side-eyed him. “Oh, trust me, brother. I amwellaware of that fact.” She urged her mount toward the pond.
“You enjoy Wessex’s company,” Felix called after her, but guilt slithered through his gut.
She did. He saw them together. They laughed, jested. Lord Wessex even joined them for their annual snowball fight each Christmastide. And still wanted to wed Felicity after. It was more than most could hope for.
“Come on, brother. Time for me to best you in skipping stones.”
7
Sam
Oneoftheirhousemaids,Molly, came rushing into the butler’s pantry and flopped onto the bench opposite Sam with a heavy thump. She immediately dropped her head to the table with a thud.
Sam glanced up from Ash’s boot, which he was polishing. “Everything all right, Molls?”
“Mm egguhted.”
“Was I supposed to understand that?”
She lifted her head, wisps of brown hair falling loose around her face, her white cap tilted at a precarious angle. “I’m exhausted. I swear nothing has happened as it should since the guests arrived yesterday.”
Sam’s gaze dropped to the pair of boots against the wall next up for cleaning. The ones caked with mud and manure.So muchmanure that he was sure a certain lord with a giant stick up his arse had stepped in the filth on purpose.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Even all the strenuous labor of unloading the grain delivery yesterday morn hadn’t been enough to work off the tension that had gripped Sam since a particular lord had arrived at the castle. Sam always assisted when the grain came in, helping with the larger sacks that contained two to three bushels, each one weighing as much as a full-grown man. He had plenty of experience tossing around grown men, so those larger sacks were left for him.
He’d jumped on the opportunity to work off his irritation. But not even the strain of muscles pushed to their limit, heaving around ten-stone sacks of grain, could bury the loathing—nor the lust.
The scent of fresh buttery dough and the sweet aroma of cooked sugar wafted into the room before Cook’s short, stout form bustled into the small space. “Jam tarts for my favorite boy.” Her cheeks split into a wide, crinkled smile.
“Ah, have I told you how much I love you, Cook? Both for the tarts and for making me feel young.” He winked at her while she settled a small plate of tarts on the table. He was far from a boy at one-and-forty, but Cook had taken him under her wing when he’d first arrived at Devonford Castle all those years ago.
When he truly had been a lost lad of eighteen.
