Page 35 of Enemies with an Earl
“Honest. There’s a difference. I’ll admit you weren’t too bad yourself.”
Felix shook his head, finally drawing in a full breath. Who would have thought he’d appreciate the man’s cheeky insouciance? They shared a small smile, and then Thorne slipped from the room.
Felix sank to the floor, arse hitting the cool wood floor. He rolled his head against the stone wall, staring blindly at the ceiling. He did it. He’d slept with a man other than Benedict. His skin prickled, and his attention snapped to the door. The closed door. The silent night. No one was going to come barging in. They were in Devonford Castle. No one would be storming anything.
Even though he knew the logic was sound, that it wasillogicalfor the Society to raid a Duke’s castle, he couldn’t rid the apprehension, the way his muscles locked, poised to flee.
You are safe.
Tomorrow, you will gather your family and leave with the rest of the house party guests.
No one will be the wiser.
Thorne would be nothing but a pleasant distant memory.
17
Sam
Samstaredatthebells on the wall, fingers drumming on the tabletop in the servant’s quarters. He’d delivered Lord Bentley’s coffee this morning while the man slept. Not even pulling back the curtains had awoken the man. Considering their late night and what had passed between them, Sam wasn’t surprised the lord was sleeping like the dead.
Sam had stood there watching the man sleep, mapping out the freckles on his soft cheeks, the way his eyelashes fluttered lightly. Then Sam had realized that watching a man while he slept…was the action of unseemly voyeurs or besotted fools and quickly left. It was purely that reason why he left. And not the odd, nearly irresistible pull to join the man in his bed until they were wrapped up in each other. And not to shag. Just to—dear fucking Lord—to curl up and cuddle?
Sam shook his head. He’d lost his mind. Which was made clear by the fact he was sitting here watching bells on the bloody wall, anticipating Lord Bentley’s call. He couldn’t deny he was hopeful for a repeat. They might be at odds in nearly every other way, but there was no denying on a physical level they were more than compatible.
Bloody hell, last night. His pulse spiked. There was so much more he wanted to explore with that man. The noises Bentley made—Sam groaned. Sam was a pianist, loved drawing beauty from an instrument. And he very much wanted to know what music he could coax from playing that man.
“Something interesting on that wall?”
Sam whipped his head around so fast a sharp pain sliced up his neck. He rubbed the twinge and winced. “Didn’t hear you come in, Molls.”
“I know. You were staring at those bells so hard I thought perhaps you were attempting some sort of sorcery, seeing if you could ring them with your mind.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “No, just surprised a certain entitled lord hasn’t rung yet. I’m twitchy, expecting his summons. With my luck, he somehow knows right when I’m about to start something and will ring then.”
Molls’s light brown brows drew together. “Lord Bentley departed already.”
His heart stuttered. Then resumed its regular rhythm, a strange hollowness spreading in his chest. He opened his mouth, but only an inarticulate, “Ahh” came out.
What had he been expecting? Some heartfelt farewell? What the fuck was wrong with him? He rubbed his chest. His daft organs were being daft.
It was just sex. Sam knew that. Another round would have been diverting, but this was probably for the best, anyhow. There were plenty of cocks in the sea. There wasn’t anything special about Bentley’s.
Totally forgettable.
Part Three
May 1817
18
Felix
Devonford Castle.
Eight months later…
May 1817.
