Page 70 of Enemies with an Earl
Mother glided up to the sideboard, where Felix was pouring his third whisky of the night.
“Who says anything’s amiss?” He sipped his drink, and disappointment washed over him. He didn’t even feel the burn that time. No longer granted the desired distraction from the suffocating dejection that had taken root inside himself. From the lonely future that awaited him. He supposed at this point he’d just have to drink until he felt nothing at all.
He went to throw back his drink, but his mother’s hand landed softly atop his wrist. “Felix. You barely touched your dinner. And the whisky?” She waved her hand in front of his glass. “This isn’t you. What happened?”
Felix forced his lips into a reassuring smile. “Nothing happened. I really am well.”
Her slim brows knit, and she pursed her lips. She was working her mother’s magic, somehow seeing more than he wanted to let on, so he dropped his gaze to where he swirled his whisky.
“I am not feather-witted, Felix. I know something is wrong. What I don’t understand…is the look in your eyes. I recognize it. It’s one you wore for one too many years.”
Felix gave his head a firm shake.No. They were absolutely not discussing this.
She let out a sigh. “Even your complexion is paler than usual.” She lifted a hand and cradled his cheek, the same exact way she had so many times before when he’d been a little boy.
He jerked back, needing space. His mother’s blue eyes dimmed, and he hated himself for causing her even that small amount of hurt. His throat constricted, a knot taking up permanent tenancy. But he couldn’t handle contact. He couldn’t handle someone else caring right now. He needed the safety of detachment, of pretending everything was fine.
What he needed was liquor. He threw back his whisky and hurried to refill his glass.
He drew in a measured breath. “It’ll pass, Mother,” he said quietly, still facing away from her. And it would. He’d survived the worst of it those first few years after the incident.
Then he’d finally started improving, and Father had passed. Somehow, he’d been able to bury his grief, assuming the role of Earl, of protector of his bereaving family. He’d lived a sort of vacant half-life for nearly a decade. He’d become the facade of Earl of Bentley because that was easier to be than the destroyed, pathetic man that existed inside him. But during the past few years, he’d begun feeling a bit more…human.
His mother’s hand gently squeezed his shoulder before falling away. “I’ll leave you be. But I’m sending your brother and sister to check in on you in an hour.” The soft tread of her retreating footsteps slowly faded away.
It had been a long while since he’d fallen into this melancholy. But every episode always passed. Which is why he knew this one would, too.
Felix threw back more whisky.
He’d just prefer to be unconscious until it did.
36
Sam
“No,Fitzy.Youmustgripunderhis arms. I’ll take his feet.”
Lady Felicity’s voice drifted from the library, and Sam halted at the hall. Then quickly jogged backward to the library doorway. Lady Felicity and her brother, Mr. Jennings, were attempting—and failing—to pick up their…sleeping? Drunk? Brother.
A hiccup shook Bentley’s body and echoed through the library. Drunk, then.
Lady Felicity turned and spotted Thorne. “Oh, Mr. Thorne!” She ran an arm across her brow. “Thank goodness you’re here. Would you be able to assist us with getting this lummox to his room?”
Sam stepped into the library. “Of course. How far gone is he?”
Mr. Jennings toed Bentley with his boot. Bentley reached out and grabbed it.
“Howdoo y’doo?” he mumbled, shaking the boot like it was a hand. And Mr. Jennings promptly fell on his arse.
Sam blinked. “All right, then. Drunk as an emperor.” He stopped before the man and dropped to one knee. It wouldn’t be an easy feat. Bentley was a big man, asolidone. He leaned over the man and went to slide his arms under him when Bentley’s eyes popped open. Unfocused amber eyes swept over him, then shot wide. He flinched and scrambled away, his breathing going from soft to ragged and sharp in a blink.
Sam sat back on his heels, mind spinning. Bentley’s entire body trembled violently, and his eyes were nearly black, fear glimmering back at Sam. Sam’s pulse took off, thrumming in his neck. He’d seen that reaction a few times with Bentley. But those had been during their initial meetings. Christ, so long ago that Sam had forgotten the man used to fear him. And seeing that disquiet reflecting back at him after the things they’d shared…
Sam rubbed his chest, his lungs refusing to cooperate. He might be covered in thick muscles, but it didn’t mean his heart was any better protected than anyone else. He was trying really hard not to be hurt. He knew it was his fault, but after nearly two full days of being avoided,rejected, he was ripped open and raw.
Felicity was whispering to Bentley, his brother crouched before him, hand clamped on Bentley’s shoulder. Sam couldn’t quite make out everything they were saying.
“He’s not here…” “…safe.” “Breathe…” “…Mr. Thorne.”
