Page 9 of Enemies with an Earl
His heart drummed against his chest as he strode to the bellpull. He couldn’t get the bloody knot undone. He’d been trying for the last half hour, even contemplated cutting it off. But he’d pulled the thing so blasted tight, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t end up slitting his own throat in the process.
Felix jerked the gilt handle of the bellpull and then collapsed into one of the leather armchairs in front of the hearth. He dropped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. He had hoped he could mostly attend to himself. Leave the duties for the Duke’s valet to complete when he wasn’t around. His eyes flew open, and he glared at the ceiling. But no. Only thirty minutes into their arrival and already the man’s hands would be on Felix. That slit throat was starting to look mighty appealing.
Urgh. Control.You are in control.
It would be fine. He could keep his desire hidden. It wasn’t as though this was the first time he’d had to suppress his attraction. Itwasthe first time the man in question would be responsible for dressing and undressing him, though. He groaned.
Why had Giles’s gout chosen this week of all weeks to flare up? Felix really needed to start searching for a new manservant, settle a small provision on Giles, and let the poor fellow rest. But Felix kept hesitating…because Giles was comfortable, safe. Giles had been his father’s valet. He was akin to family. Loyal and trustworthy. And most importantly, he was a rickety old man and not smolder and sin on legs.
A knock sounded on the door. Felix fisted the arms of his chair. Fuck.Breathe.Panic tangled around his lungs, squeezing him of breath. Because it wasn’t just that he feared his desire for the man would get out. It was the memories that sometimes came rushing back when he set eyes on the man. Unwanted. Unbidden. Unbearable.
“Enter,” he called out, eyes locked on the glowing hearth.
The softswooshof the door sounded behind him, followed by heavy footfalls.
“My lord.”
A shiver skittered down Felix’s spine at the man’s low, rumbling tone. And the thing was, Felix wasn’t sure if it was from desire or disquiet.
He rubbed his sweaty palms on his breeches. He would just pretend the man was Giles. All knobby knees, balding pate, and kind blue eyes that were permanently crinkled from years of laughter. Most likely from the endless number of jests Father had forced him to endure. Feeling lighter, Felix stood and turned, a small smile tugging at his lips at thoughts of Father.
A smile that died instantly.
And with no way to stop them, the memories swallowed him whole. His lungs forgot how to pull in oxygen. His muscles locked tight. His vision clouded over, and all he could see was that courtroom. All he could hear washisvoice. That betraying bastard.
He forced in a slow breath and tried to ground himself, tried to do as his folk healer had taught.
You’re in your chamber at Devonford Castle. Your feet are on a plush carpet. Your fingers are rubbing soft buckskin.
He was safe.
They are just memories. They are not real, Felix.
His vision slowly cleared, greeted with searing grey eyes, irises that were charcoal-dark, swirling like smoke, and just as elusive.
Something flickered in the man’s gaze, his features hardening as the corner of his mouth curled. “You rang,my lord.”
Felix’s brows slammed together. Hell, he’d forgotten that bloody tone. It screamed contempt—so loud it drowned out the last of Felix’s unsettling memories. There was something condescending in the way the man spoke, somehow managing to turn a term of respect into one that sounded more like an insult. A prickly annoyance scraped over his skin. And just like two years ago, when Thorne valeted for him, the man’s scorn—tangible and ugly—hung between them. Felix wouldn’t tolerate anyone disrespecting the Earldom of Bentley.
Little did the man know, his piss-poor attitude played into Felix’s plan perfectly. It would make enduring his tempting presence much easier, would make it even easier to settle into the persona of imperious arse. Especially since the man clearly needed a healthy dose of being put in his place.
“Bramble, was it?” Felix asked dismissively, then strode to his dressing table. “I need assistance with my cravat.” He most definitelywas notgoing to admit he couldn’t get it untied himself. Or that he was the one who had tied it. The last thing he needed was to give the insolent man more ammunition.
The man’s jaw worked, and he muttered a stiff “Thorne” under his breath.
Felix slowly perused the man, who was taking his sweet-arse time ambling over to Felix. He didn’t miss the way Thorne’s tight black trousers stretched over thick thighs that spoke of an active lifestyle. A wide chest and shoulders so broad the man could only have attained that breadth from swinging a hammer. A very large hammer. Felix’s eyes dropped to the front of the man’s trousers. He swallowed heavily.
All the distress from before was completely gone now. Felix couldn’t wrap his head around why it happened, because Thorne didn’t look much likehim. He was tall, broad, and dark-haired. That was where the similarities ended. Yet, there were moments when being in the man’s presence dragged him back to that day, twelve years ago.
Felix could mostly fight through it. Use the techniques taught to him by the healer his father had found for him—a secret that would scandalize society if it were to ever get out. Felix nearly snorted. He was just full of secrets that would make society implode. But as much as folk healers were looked down upon by the aristocracy, that healer had been the only one to cut through the crushing weight of those memories, allowing Felix to finally breathe again.
And now he was standing here dumbly while Thorne stared at him. Shite. They had said words. What had the words been? Oh, right. Being a boorish cad.
“Come now, Thistle. We don’t have all day. Get to work on my cravat. I’ll also need attire pressed for dinner.”
Felix could hear the man’s teeth grinding. He almost felt bad for being so unaccountably rude. But the man was a bounder. And the alternative was much, much worse. It was better for the man to see disdain than for him to recognize the desire lurking underneath.
It was quite simple: no man would suspect Felix held any attraction to them if he gave the impression of disliking them entirely.
