Page 39 of Enemies with an Earl
Sam rocked back on his heels and popped up. “I’ll take your boots down, so I can clean them this evening. The Duke mentioned you’ll be staying the night. Do you need me to ready anything for the morrow?”
Bentley pointed to a satchel resting atop one of the armchairs by the hearth. “If you wouldn’t mind pressing an outfit. I hadn’t expected to stay the night, so I wasn’t exactly worried about being presentable. I’m sure everything in there is wrinkled dreadfully.”
Sam ambled over to the satchel. “Never fear. You’re in good hands now.” He swept a flirtatious gaze over Bentley, and the man’s pale skin pinkened again. Bloody hell, he liked that. He sifted through the satchel and retrieved garments to prepare for tomorrow. He straightened, hesitated, and then snatched up the pair of leather slip-on house shoes.
He quickly brought them over to where Bentley still sat, rubbing his eyes, features drooping. It was the first time Sam noticed the dark bags under those amber eyes, the sag to his jaw. Something inside Sam softened. He could imagine it’d been an exhausting journey, and a stressful week, dealing with a lost sibling. When one actually cared about their siblings. Which Bentley so obviously did. A gentle whirring started up in his chest. Perhaps he should take it easy on the man.
He placed the shoes on the floor in front of Bentley, lined up so he could easily slip them on. “Shoes for you, my lord,” he said softly. “I’ll have hot water brought up for you straight away. And coffee?”
Bentley sent him a weak smile. “I definitely wouldn’t say no to a coffee.”
Sam nodded and backed toward the door, grabbing the man’s riding boots on his way.
“Black with a heap of sugar. Don’t worry, I won’t mess it up this time.” He winked.
Bentley shook his head, an amber wave falling over his brow, a half-hearted huff falling from him. But the reluctant smile tugging at his lips gave him away.
Sam’s gut fluttered.
Bentley liked his antics.
With that, Sam slipped from the room.
21
Felix
Thathadgonemuchbetter than Felix had been anticipating. He slid his door shut and headed for his sister’s chamber. Ithadstarted out awkward. Well, he’d started out awkward. Thorne had walked—no,barged—into Felix’s chamber and had been his typical insouciant self.
Did nothing faze that man? Felix had been standing there, nerves crawling through him like an infestation of ants, and Thorne had just…been as cavalier as ever. Like facing a man you’ve been very naked with was a common occurrence. He stumbled a step. Was that a common occurrence for Thorne? Some men did live more freely, especially those who had the advantage of anonymity.
Not that Felix cared, of course.
The man had called Felix out on falling into imperious aristocrat. Felix’sdefault, Thorne had said. It was. Though Thorne had said it was because Felix was affected by him. That was only part of the truth. The facade was Felix’s armor. He’d seen his father wear it, how men would straighten and defer when Father walked in a room, bending instinctively to his air of command. So, yes, Felix hid behind it when he grew uncomfortable.
It was safe.
Didn’t everyone deserve to feel safe? Was that so much to ask? Felix walked through a world that had already decided: he didn’t belong in it. So, yes, he fell into control and cold superiority.
But apparently his armor didn’t work on Thorne. The verdict was still out on how he felt about that. Vulnerability was a feeling Felix had spent years avoiding. It was a quick way to send him sweating through his skin, teetering on the edge of panic. Yet here he was…not panicking, instead put at ease by the man’s shameless tongue.
Oh God. That was not the best phrasing, Felix.
This was ridiculous.Thornewas ridiculous. He tossed out rude remarks without a care. Humble was obviously a word he’d never learned, and he waltzed through life in a completely unconcerned manner that Felix would never be able to wrap his head around.
It was as though the man wasn’t worried about anything. He’d bluntly accused Felix of being jealous over him. The man had been right, which only made it all the more annoying, but one didn’t just come out and say things like that. Especially a servant. There was a level of professionalism and deference expected. That was how the world worked. Even in the Bentley household, where servants were much closer to family, his staff would never address Felix or his mother and siblings so informally, or so brazenly.
Thorne tended to act more like he was an aristocrat himself, now that Felix thought about it. The man had said he and the Duke were close—like brothers—so perhaps he’d never had to truly act as a servant ought. Felix paused in front of his sister’s chamber and knocked.
He gave himself a mental shake.Stop thinking about a troublesome and tempting valet.He had important issues to address. Like determining what in the bloody hell Flick was thinking, running off, and what had spurred that display down in the Duke’s study earlier.
Felix frowned at the door. No response. He couldn’t imagine Felicity was anywhere else. A muffled groan filtered through the oak, and Felix’s chin jerked in. Amalegroan. His brows slammed together, and he pushed into the room.
“Flick, is everything all right?” he said as the door swung open. “I heard—”
Then the world detonated.
“What the bloody fuck! Get off my sister!” Fire erupted in his veins. His heartbeat thundered in a murderous rhythm. Because that—that—was the bloody fucking Duke, trousers down, prick out, Felix’s sister on herknees.
