Page 71 of Enemies with an Earl
Bentley’s shaking subsided at the last reassurance. Sam wasn’t entirely certain why it was reassuring, but he could tell by the tone of voice of the Jennings siblings that was their aim.
“Mr. Thorne,” Felicity said softly. “Would you mind coming closer? Slowly, please.” He went to stand, and she shook her head. “It would be best if you stayed on the ground.”
All right… He didn’t understand what was happening, but he had a feeling this might have something to do with the conversation between Bentley and Lady Bentley he’d accidentally overheard earlier. She’d been trying to discern what was wrong with her son. The weight in Sam’s stomach sank lower. He knew he was behind whatever was going on with Bentley. Seeing the perfectly put-together, the steadfast and stalwart Earl of Bentley reduced to this. Vulnerable.Scared. It was gutting.
“…the look in your eyes…I recognize it. It’s one you wore for one too many years,”she’d said. What could that possibly mean?
He approached, crawling on hands and knees, feeling quite a bit foolish.
Lady Felicity’s hand lifted, and Sam froze. “If you could just…let him know who you are. I think that would be helpful.”
“Then hopefully you’ll be able to pick him up, and we can get him to his chamber,” Mr. Jennings added quietly. “We can take it from there.”
Sam nodded and shifted the rest of the way toward Bentley, both Lady Felicity and her brother backing away slightly. Bentley eyed him warily from where he lay on the floor, body tense, like even in his inebriated state he was ready to flee. Granted, Sam highly doubted the man would get far, if he got off the ground at all.
“Bentley,” Sam whispered. “It’s me. Mr. Thorne. Do you recognize me?”
Cloudy amber irises searched his. Wary.
“The Duke of Devonford’s valet. You know…incredibly charming. Quick witted. God among men.”
The corner of Bentley’s mouth yanked up, and his body seemed to melt into the rug beneath him. “Sam,” he mouthed.
A shockwent straight through Sam’s heart. That was the first time those lips had ever curled around Sam’s name. His pulse pitter-pattered against his ribcage, and he swallowed roughly. “That’s right, my lord. I’m going to pick you up now, you understand? I’m going to get you to your chamber and tucked into bed.”
Bentley—Felix? Christ, Sam was all mixed up—nodded awkwardly on the ground. Sam slid an arm beneath Felix’s knees. “Lift for me slightly. There you go.” He slid his other arm behind Felix’s back, then hauled the very soused lord to his chest. Then—somehow—hamstrings straining, he pushed to stand.
Felix cursed and buried his head in Sam’s chest, hands clutching in a death grip. His slow, methodical breathing was overloud in the quiet of the library.
“Fifi? Are you well? Are you going to be sick?”
Felix’s body slumped. “No. Fine now,” came his muffled response.
“Let’s get him to his chambers. And quickly,” Mr. Jennings said, eying his brother like the man was going to cast up his accounts at any moment.
After a torturous three flights of stairs—becausefuck,of course they were in a big bloody castle—Sam pushed into Felix’s chamber, sweat dripping down his neck, chest uncomfortably sticky from having the warmth of the man in his arms pressing against him. Lady Felicity and Mr. Jennings hurried to pull back the covers and then the three of them lowered Felix into his bed, resting up against his headboard. It probably wasn’t a good idea for the man to be lying flat with how far in the drink he was.
Felix’s eyes were closed, his breath even.
“Is he…asleep?” Mr. Jennings whispered as Sam stepped away to leave the siblings together.
“Wherzhe?” Felix’s baritone echoed loudly in the room.
“What iswherzhe?” Mr. Jennings asked his sister.
“Thorne,” Felix demanded.
It was a single word, but it was clearly a command. Sam crept back up to the side of the bed. “I’m here, my lord. What is it you need?”
The man’s gaze slid slowly from Sam to his brother, and then his whole head flopped over to meet his sister’s gaze on the other side of the bed. “You all are dishmished.”
Lady Felicity snorted. “All right, then.” She turned to Sam and Mr. Jennings. “You heard the man. Let us make ourselves scarce. Apparently, he just needed Thorne to come over so he could tell him to go away again.” She leaned forward and pecked her brother on the cheek. “Get some rest, Fifi. You’re going to hate yourself in the morning.”
“No, not Thorne. Jush you two bumbles. He shtays.”
Lady Felicity’s gaze flicked up to Sam’s, a knowing glint reflecting at him. Mr. Jennings, however, was clearly very confused if his cocked head and furrowed brow were any indication. But Lady Felicity strode around the bed, wrapped her hand around the man’s wrist, and started dragging him from the room.
“It’s fine, Fitzy. Thorne has had to handle our brother’s pompous arse all week. He’s an expert by now,” came Lady Felicity’s fading voice. The man shrugged just as the door clicked shut behind them.
