Page 30 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
Georgie snapped his fingers. “You. Out.” But the dog continued digging through the bedding. Moving to the doorway, Georgie patted his leg and whistled. That earned him a bored look from Barnabus, who arranged himself on the bed in a shaggy circle.
“You’ve left no room for me.” As if the mongrel could be reasoned with. Force was out of the question, because Georgie couldn’t lift an eight-stone dog who didn’t want to cooperate. He took hold of an edge of the coverlet and tried to tug, but Barnabus only shifted to the exposed sheet, leaving Georgie with an armful of blanket and still no place to sleep.
“Well, that didn’t work,” said a voice from behind him. It was Radnor, leaning against the door frame, one hand jammed into the pocket of his dressing gown and the other carrying a stack of books. “This is what happens when you make a practice of bribing a dog with bits of muffin. You earn yourself an acolyte.”
“I’ll take an acolyte over a ravening beast any day.” Georgie had been fairly certain that if he kept the dog stuffed to the gills, he wouldn’t become the mongrel’s next meal.
“He’s harmless,” the earl said unconvincingly. His dressing gown was parted at the neck, revealing a triangle of dark hair.
Georgie suddenly felt exposed. Unlike the earl, Georgie was not accustomed to going about in shirtsleeves. But Radnor’s gaze drifted downward and lingered at Georgie’s chest, and then lower, as if he liked what he saw.
And god damn it, but Georgie’s nipples went hard. A shiver of awareness traveled through his body.
“You’re cold,” Radnor said, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows.
“Oh. Yes. Quite.” It wasn’t a lie, even though cold had nothing to do with Georgie’s shiver.
Radnor deposited the books on a table, then poked the fire and added a log. “This room is drafty.”
“The entirety of Penkellis is drafty, my lord. That’s what comes of not having the windows replaced or the chimneys repaired in a century or two.”
The earl shrugged. “I don’t feel the cold as much as you do. It’s a matter of surface area. I have less surface relative to mass compared to you.”
Georgie raised his eyebrows. “Indeed you do.” He let his gaze rake up and down over some of that surface area. And who could blame him?
“With the result that less heat escapes through my skin than does through yours.”
Really, it wasn’t possible to listen to this kind of talk with any semblance of equanimity. Surface area, mass—bugger it all to hell. There was no reason all this learned flimflam ought to go straight to Georgie’s cock, but it did so anyway.
“Perhaps you could extract your dog so I can sleep in my bed.” Georgie’s voice was sharp, with no finesse whatsoever.
And Radnor did precisely that. He didn’t need to be told twice when it came to Georgie’s comfort, did he? With one fluid movement and a ripple of flexing muscles visible through his threadbare dressing gown, he scooped the dog against his chest and headed for the door.
“Oh, before I forget,” Radnor said over his shoulder, “I brought you some books.”
“Books?”
“You were disappointed to find that the books in the library are unreadable. I found some novels in my own collection.” He gestured to the pile of books he had placed on the table.
“How did you know I like novels?” And who would have guessed that Radnor had a collection, of all things?
“A guess,” Radnor said. “Good night.”
“No.” Georgie winced at the stupidity he was about to commit. “Stop. Put Barnabus by the fire.”
Radnor regarded Georgie over the dog’s head. “I hadn’t realized you had taken a fancy to the dog, Mr. Turner. Hear that, Barnabus? Your affections are returned, you lucky fellow.” He crouched to set the dog on the thin rug that sat before the hearth. “I was out walking with him when he saw you tumble into the ditch, you know. It was too dark for me to see, but when he saw you fall he gave a howl and ran off towards you.” He was still crouched, petting his dog, and looked up at Georgie with the faintest hint of a smile. “I’m afraid he scarpered when he realized he wouldn’t get any biscuits.”
“Quite right,” Georgie managed, trying to put some acid into his voice just for show. “If he had come whimpering for sweeties, I would have pulled him into the ditch beside me.”
“Mean-spirited of you.” The earl was now smiling outright, a curve of soft lips set in his beard, and Georgie shivered again as he remembered the feel of both against his skin. Radnor’s unearthly pale blue eyes were in on the joke, crinkling warmly at the corners. “You still look cold.”
Georgie shook his head. “I’m not bloody cold, Radnor.”
“Oh? You look—”
“I’m not cold.” The man didn’t know enough to distinguish cold from arousal, and Georgie could not let that stand. “Come here.”
“Pardon?” He rose to his feet, plainly bewildered.
