Page 45 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
Far from displeased. If only Lawrence knew how impressed, how proud Georgie was. “Distracted is more like it. I’m afraid that if I look at you for too long, I’ll lose all semblance of decent conduct. The clothes fit, I see.”
“Perfectly. How did you manage it?”
“I took some of your old clothes with me to Falmouth and gave them to the tailor to use for measurements.”
“You thought of everything.” Lawrence took a sip of brandy, another unfamiliar gesture that made Georgie take notice of his . . . lordliness, or whatever this quality was that made Georgie feel like the street urchin he had once been. “The child likes you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“I hope I’m . . . ” Lawrence’s voice trailed off.
Georgie squeezed Lawrence’s hand. “You’re doing wonderfully.” He didn’t say that Simon’s life had been an exercise in lowered expectations, and that all Lawrence had to do was show up in order to secure a place in the child’s inner circle of loved ones. “You were everything you needed to be. You were marvelous.” And he had been—calm, engaging, patient. “What you said about his mother was exactly what Simon needed to hear.”
Lawrence bumped his thigh against Georgie’s. “Why don’t you look pleased with yourself? You’re the one who brought this about.”
Georgie chanced another sidelong look. The earl’s jaw seemed chiseled out of rock. Expensive rock. All that beautiful hair, unfashionably long though it was, had been combed and wrangled into a tidy queue. And that wasn’t even mentioning the superfine wool coat, the perfectly polished leather boots, the immaculate linen. He looked precisely what he was: a wealthy country gentleman, a titled aristocrat, possessing every privilege to be had. “Frankly, because I only now realize that I strong-armed an earl into giving me free reign with upwards of a thousand pounds.”
Lawrence was silent for a moment. “Ah. You mean now that I’m dressed the part you finally think you owe me some respect?”
Georgie shifted on the sofa. “Not exactly—”
“Bugger that. I wouldn’t have thought you gave a damn for rank and privilege.”
“I don’t. That’s the point.” He searched for a way to explain without coming too near a truth that couldn’t be unsaid. He wanted Lawrence to know what it meant for Georgienotto steal from him but didn’t want to risk saying so much that Lawrence was repulsed by his character. “I ordinarily wouldn’t think twice before taking every advantage of an earl.” Even now, Georgie’s worst angels were urging him to steal and thieve, to swindle and connive. Wasn’t that what he had planned when he came here? To help himself to whatever Penkellis had for the taking? He had only altered his course when he decided that it was unsportsmanlike, unworthy of him to trick a man as unworldly as Lawrence. But looking at Lawrence now, groomed and polished, Georgie felt predatory stirrings and didn’t know how to reconcile those urges with his fonder feelings. His thoughts were a tangle he couldn’t unpick.
Lawrence’s hand had strayed to the nape of Georgie’s neck, where it drew idle circles. “Did you profit from these expenditures? As far as I can tell, you didn’t buy yourself so much as a flower for your buttonhole.”
“No.” Not this time. But it would be so simple to slip that ring off Lawrence’s finger later tonight. It would be the work of seconds, and he’d be on the stagecoach back to London before he even had any regrets.
“I wouldn’t have minded if you had.”
Georgie sighed. “You’d mind.” Being stolen from was a blow to a man’s pride, but he had never given a damn about that before.
“If someone I cared about was in need, I might wish to help.”
“This isn’t charity that we’re talking about.”
“What preciselyarewe talking about, Georgie?”
Georgie winced. “Let’s not.”
“Have it your way.” The words might have sounded harsh if he hadn’t had his fingers tangled in Georgie’s hair. The intimacy of the touch, the gentleness of his voice, transformed the words into permission for Georgie to keep his secrets. “Come upstairs. I want you in my bed.”
Georgie half wanted to leap to his feet and run up the stairs two at a time. But when he tipped his head against the back of the sofa and turned to face Lawrence, he saw the man in all his aristocratic splendor: the earl in full panoply. “I need you out of those clothes,” he said, running his hand along Lawrence’s thigh.
“That’s rather the idea.” Lawrence’s voice was low and amused. “Unless you have something else in mind?”
Georgie licked his lips and saw an answering flare of desire in Lawrence’s eyes. “No, no. I mean, of course it is. But . . . Lawrence, I don’t want to be fucked by the Earl of Radnor.”
A wrinkle appeared on Lawrence’s forehead, and his hand went still. Georgie held his breath, but only the barest second passed before he felt the earl resume those slow circles on the back of his neck, heat like a brand. And then, finally, Lawrence asked, “Is that what you want me to do? Fuck you?”
The words sent a thrill of lust through Georgie’s body. “Yes.” It was a whisper. A plea. A confession.
“But not as the Earl of Radnor.”
“As yourself.” Georgie resisted the urge to smooth away the worried crease that appeared between Lawrence’s brows.
“I’m not sure I know the difference.”
