Convincing Arthur

CONVINCING ARTHUR Ava March

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Convincing Arthur Ava March This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 870 Market St, Suite 1201 San Francisco CA 94102-2907 www.loose-id.com Copyright © July 2009 by Ava March All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ISBN 978-1-59632-979-9 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: G. G. Royale Cover Artist: April Martinez

Dedication To Sharon

Chapter One November 1821 Yorkshire, England

The deep amber rays of the setting sun gently receded, cloaking the study in twilight shadows. Sprawled in a comfortable leather armchair, Leopold Thornton glanced over his shoulder. The lit candle on the fireplace mantel illuminated the white porcelain clock. Damn. He yanked his pocket watch from his waistcoat and scowled at the small black hands. Apparently the clock on the mantel wasn't broken. In any case, clocks in need of repair tended to slow down, not speed up. He slipped his watch back into his pocket and scrubbed both hands over his face. “Where the hell are you?” Arthur Barrington should have arrived hours ago. And not just a couple of hours, but many hours ago. The autumn weather had been remarkably cooperative of late, with barely a sprinkle of a rain shower. Leopold had even taken out Vice, his iron gray

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stallion, yesterday afternoon to verify the excellent condition of the roads surrounding his Yorkshire country home. Ignoring the untouched glass of whisky and the nearly full bottle on the small table beside his chair, he stood and crossed to the window. He pressed his cheek to the glass, trying to get a glimpse of the gravel drive leading to the front door, but the large oak trees blocked his view. Why did the architect have to put the study on the side of the house? Bloody idiot. Maybe he should move to the drawing room. The two windows afforded an unobstructed view of the front lawn. But…no. Cold seeped through the glass, chilling his cheek, reminding him in no uncertain terms that it was November. The fire a maid had lit hours ago in the study's hearth warmed the room. But as he rarely used the drawing room, its hearth would be dark, leaving the room damn cold. Scowling at the oak trees, he let out a frustrated sigh, his breath fogging the glass. Then he turned from the window and began pacing. Past the marble fireplace flanked by tall bookshelves to his rarely used desk, which dominated the end of the room, and then back, passing the unread books, the armchairs, and the leather couch, and to the door and back again. The silvery violet shadows grew darker as night descended, until only the candle on the mantel lit the room. Possible excuses for Arthur's tardiness tumbled about in his head. Perhaps a client had needed his assistance, delaying his departure from London. A busy, successful solicitor like Arthur must surely have demanding clients. Leopold's own father, Viscount Granville, being one of them. But Arthur defined punctual. Leopold couldn't recall the man ever being late for anything. Perhaps Arthur had mistaken the date? No, no. He had checked his schedule. Even pulled the little leather-bound book from his coat pocket and written a note to block out the days. There was no family to keep Arthur in Town with unexpected demands on his time. He was an only child, and his parents had passed away long before Leopold had

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first laid eyes on him. The uncle who raised him had gone to his grave years ago. And there were no other obligations beside his office that Leopold knew of. But perhaps— The click of a knob turning interrupted his pacing. He whirled around as the door opened, revealing Jones, his middle-aged footman. The man had an unattractive receding hairline and a well-fed belly, but his competence in his duties and his ability to hold his tongue more than made up for his appearance. “Mr. Thornton, shall I instruct the kitchen to continue to hold supper?” “No.” Leopold shook his head. “Give it to the staff. They'll appreciate it more than I.” His knotted stomach could not tolerate a piece of bread right now, much less roasted chicken with carrots and potatoes, Arthur's favorite. “Thank you, sir.” With a tip of his head, the footman left the room. The door clicked shut. Fucking hell. Leopold stalked to the armchair, snatched the glass from the side table, and downed the contents in one swallow. The whisky burned a searing path to his stomach, leaving his throat numb, but did nothing to dull the pain in his chest. He could fool himself no longer. Arthur had given him a rather sharp cut. Not that Leopold hadn't borne his fair share of them over the years with nary a flinch, but this one had come from Arthur Barrington. It hurt more than he could have believed that the man had given him hope only to snatch it away, without even speaking one word. To think he had actually believed Arthur when he accepted Leopold's invitation for a short holiday at his country estate. Knowing Arthur rarely had the opportunity to indulge his fondness for hunting and shooting, Leopold had tempted him with the prospect of early mornings trudging about the countryside with firearms searching for pheasants.

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“But even that wasn't enough of an incentive to put up with my presence,” he muttered, as he stared into his empty glass. His chance was gone. Yanked from his grasp by Arthur himself. His hand shook, the clink of glass on glass harsh on his ears as he poured a healthy splash of whisky into the cut-crystal tumbler. The second glass went down easier, the first tendrils of blissful numbness spreading across his chest. Another large swallow, and then another, until the pain was finally reduced to a tolerable ache. An ache he knew well. Well, at least Leopold had his answer now, and he didn't have to bear the humiliation of looking into those gorgeous hazel eyes and hearing it from Arthur's lips. What decent man wanted what was freely available to most of London anyway? Leopold let out a defeated sigh and dropped into the armchair. He set the empty tumbler on the table beside the half-full bottle and tipped his head back. “It's your own doing,” he said to the coffered ceiling, its pattern of rich mahogany beams nearly indistinguishable in the darkness from the white plasterwork. “Damn well will give yourself over to anyone who will have you.” Yet each and every one of them had been a very poor substitute for the man he loved. A man whom Leopold now stood no chance in hell of convincing that he was worthy of his heart. Ten years of waiting, all for naught. How many times had he cursed his patience over those long, lonely years? How many times had he vowed never to make the same mistake again? If only he had acted quicker, if only he had decided to visit Arthur's apartments one day sooner to make his interest known, then perhaps Arthur could have been his all along. But how the hell was he supposed to have known the man would take up with that prig, Randolph Amherst? A damn pompous, lying, cuckolding prig like Amherst. What had Arthur seen in him anyway?

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Leopold certainly would have never propositioned someone like himself if Arthur had been his. Hell, perhaps he should have sucked Amherst off when he had the opportunity and then informed Arthur about the incident, revealing Amherst for the man he was. Maybe Arthur would have left his lover sooner, cutting the ten years down to a more manageable five. Still…it really would have only proved Leopold a whore. “But that I am.” The low words held a mere hint of the regret that filled his heart. He had known his reputation, and a well deserved one at that, would pose a formidable obstacle. Not so easy to ignore a decade of vice and debauchery. He had hoped if he got Arthur alone, away from London and away from the vicious and entirely true rumors, he could convince the man his affections were genuine. Or at the very least, use pleasure to bind Arthur to him. Ironic, yes, to regret his sordid past while at the same time be willing to exploit his experience, but he was desperate for something, anything, to make the man want him. He knew a declaration of love from Arthur at the end of their holiday wasn't within the realm of possibilities, but he had dared to hope perhaps their time together could put Arthur on that path. Yet apparently Arthur wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship, even if only physical, with someone like himself. He turned his head to the side and stared at the empty glass. The golden light from the fire behind him reflected off the crystal facets. Clearly he hadn't had enough to drink if his thoughts had turned in such a maudlin direction. He might have to switch to gin. Enough of it, and tonight would be nothing but a blank void. But that involved getting out of the chair and crossing the room to the squat cabinet along the far wall. Not a task he particularly relished at the moment, especially with whisky within arm's reach. His hand was wrapped around the glass bottle when the faint sound of carriage wheels on gravel reached his ears. He froze, every sense focused on the crunch of gravel and the rhythmic pattern of horses' hooves, the sounds coming ever nearer.

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This wasn't London where visitors came calling to his town house at all hours of the night. He was in Yorkshire and only expecting one person. Heart thumping in his chest, he bolted up from the chair and rushed to the door. Hand on the knob, he paused to gather his bearings, his head spinning from the abrupt movement. Well, more likely the liquor he'd poured down his throat. A deep breath righted his head but did nothing to slow his pulse. The prospect of having Arthur all to himself for four days…and nights… Six feet of solid muscle to wrap his arms around. Finally being able to touch what lay behind those bland, neatly tailored clothes. Discovering if Arthur tasted as good as he looked… A giddy thrill zipped along his nerves, chased with a heavy dose of lust. A tremor shook his body, his cock stirring to life behind the placket of his trousers. A grin that had to appear foolish curved his lips. Arthur hadn't given him a cut after all. He gave his coat a sharp tug, smoothed a hand over his hair, and checked the knot on his cravat. Then he gave his coat another sharp tug to straighten it. “Oh, do stop,” he chastised himself, forcing his arms to his sides and the grin off his mouth. It wouldn't do to appear overeager. But…Arthur had come. The man knew why he was here; subtlety was not one of Leopold's strengths, after all. Both of them knew the purpose behind his invitation, and it involved indulging in something far more pleasurable than a shooting expedition. And that knowledge would prove difficult to temper. Still, he did not want to risk scaring the conservative man away before he even spent one night under his roof. With that thought, Leopold opened the door and went to the entrance hall to greet his guest.

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Arthur leaned toward the window to get a view of the house as the carriage approached it. Neat and understated, the two-story country home didn't look like a den of iniquity. Even the front door was plain and utilitarian, without even a portico over the small stone landing. But the many chimneys jutting from the roofline marked it as far more than a mere cottage. The lanterns stationed on either side of the door illuminated the rich, honey gold stone on the exterior of the house. The size and elegant, clean lines brought to mind a typical residence of a country gentleman, and it was not at all what he expected from someone like Leopold Thornton. Then again, appearances could be deceiving. He shrugged. Soon enough he'd discover if the inside of the house resembled a cross between a gambling hell and decadent brothel. He tucked the papers he had been reading back into his leather bag and doused the small brass lantern, cloaking the interior in darkness. A part of him still could not believe he had accepted Thornton's invitation. Nor did he believe Thornton only intended for them to go shooting together. Yet here Arthur was. Casual liaisons went against his nature, but perhaps four days with Thornton could be just the thing to take his mind off Randolph Amherst. He could not deny it still hurt that Randolph had not put up even a show of resistance when Arthur refused to continue their relationship. Apparently he meant far less to Randolph than Randolph had meant to him. Granted, he had never fancied Randolph in love with him, but he'd believed the man cared for him, and he had loved Randolph. How could he not? They had been together for a decade, and Randolph had been his first and only lover. Such intimacies were not treated lightly, at least not by Arthur. Other men, however, did treat them lightly. Leopold Thornton, for example. Handsome as sin and wicked as all hell. A temptation evidently even Arthur could not resist. Shaking his head at himself, he let out an exasperated sigh. Thornton's reputation spoke for itself, and if one listened carefully, one discovered Thornton did not limit his dalliances to those of the female gender. Something Arthur suspected years ago when

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the two men had been better acquainted. Even though Arthur did his best to keep his private life behind closed doors, judging by how Thornton asked after Randolph whenever Arthur happened upon him, Thornton had been aware of Arthur's own preferences for some time. But Thornton had not once made an overt or even not-sosubtle advance until two weeks ago. Mere coincidence? Unlikely. Though he did wonder how the hardened rake had learned exactly when he said good-bye to Randolph, never mind that the relationship existed in the first place. The carriage slowed to a stop before the house. The front door opened, and a footman emerged to see to the door of the carriage. Arthur grabbed his bag and, stooping to fit through the narrow opening, got out. He stood tall, squaring his shoulders and relishing the opportunity to stretch his legs. Three days in that rented coach had taken their toll on his joints. While he spent a fair portion of time seated behind his desk at his office, at least there he had the freedom to move about whenever he pleased. His gaze swept over the house again, lingering on the front door. Trepidation began to settle low in his stomach. Pushing it aside, he lifted his chin and marched up the few stone steps. No point turning back now. Four days with Thornton and all memory of Randolph would be wiped from his senses. Then Arthur could return to London and quietly search for an amiable man who understood the meaning of the word “discreet” and who recognized the value of commitment. Without any family to call his own, he truly wanted to find someone he could share his life with, for the prospect of growing old alone held absolutely no appeal. He had hoped that someone was Randolph, but…no. The door opened as he approached, jarring him from his melancholy thoughts. “May I take your coat, Mr. Barrington?” the butler asked the moment he stepped over the threshold.

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Arthur handed his leather bag to the elderly man. After unbuttoning his greatcoat, he slipped it from his shoulders and exchanged it for his bag. The coat he could survive without if the servant misplaced it, his clients' documents he could not. “Evening, Barrington. Welcome to Ramsey House.” The drawled words wrapped around Arthur like hot velvet, prickling the hairs on his forearms. A shiver raced up his spine. How could Thornton make a simple welcome sound sinful? Clutching the handle of his bag tightly, he turned to find Thornton, who slouched against the corner of a wall next to a corridor that led to the back of the house. A wavy chunk of his black hair hung over his brow, skimming his lashes. Arms crossed over his chest, his stance was all casual nonchalance, but the wicked glint in his gray eyes said otherwise. The man was, quite simply, beautiful. Indulgent vice personified. Arthur swallowed hard and found his voice. His mind vaguely registered the echo of the butler's footsteps as the man left the marble-floored entrance hall. “Good evening, Thornton. My apologies for the lateness of the hour. One of the carriage wheels cracked, stranding us on the road this morning, and”—he gestured to fill in the mundane details—“took an unheard of amount of time to fetch a replacement.” “No apologies are necessary. I'm relieved you made the journey to Yorkshire safely, if not without a bit of inconvenience.” Thornton paused, holding his gaze for what felt like an endless moment. Those gray eyes swept down Arthur's body and then back up to his face. Arthur clenched his fist, fighting the urge to pass a hand over the front of his coat to verify he was still fully dressed. After Thornton's thorough perusal, he certainly felt like he stood naked in the small entrance hall. A hint of a satisfied smile tipped the edges of Thornton's full lips. Then he pushed from the wall. “Come. I'll show you to your room.” Arthur mentally shook off the discomposure and nodded, then followed him up the stairs to the second floor. They were of the same age, both nine and twenty, and of

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the same height, but their similarities ended there. Thornton was all lean, graceful lines where Arthur had more bulk to his frame. The cut of his black coat and trousers announced he frequented the best tailors in London, whereas Arthur did not see the need to waste his money in such a fashion. His clients cared not about the cut of his coat, only that he appeared competent and trustworthy. Something any decent tailor could accomplish. Nor did their differences end with their appearances. Where Arthur had applied himself in his studies, helping at his uncle's office and eventually assuming all responsibility when the man passed away, Thornton defined the term “wastrel”. An indolent fourth son of a very wealthy viscount, a man Arthur held in the utmost respect. His three older brothers were staunch, industrious men, replicas of their father. Given how the viscount doted on Thornton, granting him limitless largesse in addition to funding his extravagant lifestyle—including a town house in London, a country estate, nights spent at the gambling tables, and frequent visits to the best brothels in London—Arthur rather thought his lordship lived vicariously through his youngest son. A shame, really. Perhaps a bit of discipline would have reined in Thornton. There had been a time about a decade ago when Thornton had been an amiable young man, full of promise. Arthur had met the nineteen-year-old Thornton back when Arthur worked as his uncle's secretary. He frequently accompanied his uncle on calls to a client's home, and during one such call, Viscount Granville had summoned his youngest son into the meeting. Thornton had listened with rapt attention as his lordship and his uncle discussed the purchase of a new property. The two had even become friends. But then London sank its teeth into Thornton, quickly corrupting him. Arthur followed Thornton as he turned right at the top of the stairs. So far, the interior of the home matched the exterior. Nothing extravagant or garish. No gaming tables or scantily clad females, or males, in sight. Even the few paintings lining the walls were tame landscapes.

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Thornton opened the third door on the left and gestured for Arthur to enter. “I hope it meets with your satisfaction,” he said in a silken tone as Arthur passed him. Was that whisky on his breath? Somehow Arthur kept from rolling his eyes. When wasn't the man foxed, or at the least, slightly inebriated? Thornton likely forwent tea in favor of a stiff drink with breakfast. Arthur stepped into the bedchamber decorated in muted autumn greens and browns. A small seating area was angled in front of the fireplace, and a large bed stood off to one side. The tan drapes covering the two windows were closed, blocking the view of the grounds behind the house. A footman arrived, carrying Arthur's trunk in front of his well-rounded belly. He deposited the trunk on the short table beside the dresser. “Shall I unpack for you, sir?” “No. I can manage it myself.” With a nod, the footman left the room, closing the door and leaving Arthur alone with Thornton. The man leaned a shoulder against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Care for a bite to eat? The kitchen can prepare whatever you'd like.” “No, thank you. I stopped at an inn along the way. Dreadful stuff but edible.” Needing to give himself something to do, Arthur set his bag down, flipped the latches on his trunk, and began to unpack, putting his folded clothes into the dresser. His fingers hovered over his underclothes, and then he snatched them up and put them with his shirts. What did it matter if Thornton saw his drawers? He'd see them soon enough, if the man's hungry stare was any indication of his intentions. “Leave out whatever you need pressed. A servant will see to it.” Arthur nodded his thanks. He shook out the wrinkled bottle green coat and draped it over the straight-backed chair at the nearby desk. “Care for a nightcap?” “Why? Do you need one?” More?

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Oh hell, why had he said that? He was Thornton's guest, not his keeper. Thankfully Thornton didn't appear put out by the rude comment. “No. You're here. I thought you might prefer a drink after the trials of your day.” He let out a harrumph as he set his shaving kit on the washstand. “I feared the carriage would be stuck on the side of the road forever, and I'd have to walk the rest of the way. Traveling is severely overrated.” Thornton quirked one dark eyebrow. “That it is,” he replied, with a familiarity that held a hint of their old friendship. A pang of regret gripped Arthur's heart. Thornton had been a good friend there for a while. They now moved in vastly different social circles, frequented different haunts, though sometimes they happened upon each other on the street or at a club. Occasionally he saw Thornton at his father's house, lurking about, when Arthur paid a business call. But the days of meeting him at a tavern for a drink were long gone. Perhaps this holiday together could be a way to rekindle their friendship? No, no. What was he thinking? They had nothing in common except a shared attraction to those of their own gender. “So, that nightcap… Yes or no?” “Thank you, but no.” Arthur closed his empty trunk. “Do you think the weather will hold tomorrow?” “It should. The sky was clear last I looked. I take it you want to be out with a firearm in hand before dawn.” A grimace flicked across Thornton's face. “Yes. Is that a problem?” “No. I can drag myself out of bed at such an ungodly hour…for you.” The click of a lock sliding home reverberated in the room. Thornton pushed from the door and crossed to Arthur. Thornton didn't walk; he prowled with a distinctly leonine grace. Head tipped down, the edges of his lips curved in a knowing smirk that left no doubt as to his intentions.

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Arthur stiffened. While he wouldn't deny a strong physical attraction to Thornton, he also could not deny the trepidation leaching back into his stomach. He hadn't expected to be buggered within minutes of arrival. Thornton slowed as he came nearer, as if giving Arthur the opportunity to voice his refusal or bolt for the door. He didn't take it. He held his ground, the attraction crackling in the air between them, lighting up his senses in a way he had never experienced before. His breaths came short and shallow, his chest suddenly working under the force of them. Thornton took one more step, closing the last remaining distance, his gaze locked with Arthur's. He placed a hand on the dresser beside Arthur, blocking the path to escape, and slowly, ever so slowly, leaned even closer. So close Arthur could make out the midnight blue flecks in his heavily lidded gray eyes. The faint scents of whisky, the enticing spice of cologne, and clean male skin wafted around him. Warm breath fanned Arthur's parted lips: teasing, tempting. A tremble of anticipation rocked him. “You refused supper. You refused a nightcap.” The words were low, a mere rumble of sound. Thornton's mouth barely moved. Then he dipped his head at the last moment before their lips touched. Disappointment began to crash through Arthur when a hand palmed the placket of his trousers, long fingers wrapping around his hardening prick. Thornton looked up at him through his black forelock, his eyes blazing with lust. “Is there anything I can tempt you with tonight?”

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Chapter Two Arthur opened his mouth, but no words came out. Anything? And Thornton meant it. But…what to choose? The possibilities… Arthur knew of a few, but he was certain there were more. Many more. Thornton's experience radiated from him. An intimidating force. The confidence of that hand wrapped around his cock, the easy selfassurance behind every move he made. The man had knowledge of carnal pleasures that went beyond anything Arthur could imagine. Though what he really wanted was a kiss. To taste those full, red-tinged lips. To feel the soft skin. To sweep his tongue inside the hot depths of Thornton's sinfully gorgeous mouth. But surely a man like Thornton would find such a request much too tame. “Perhaps not?” Thornton murmured. Those long fingers loosened their grip as the man began to ease back. At the hurt finding its way across Thornton's beautiful face, he blurted, “Yes. I-I mean, no.” He let out a short, frustrated grunt, struggling to find the words. Hell, it was hard to concentrate with another man's hand on his prick. Thornton squeezed lightly,

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then feathered his fingertips along Arthur's length, robbing him of his wits anew. “II…I want…” Don't say it; he'll think you a bore. Thornton arched a brow. He rubbed his jaw against Arthur's; their day's beards a rough yet tender scrape. “Shall I guess?” he whispered, hot breath tickling Arthur's ear. Arthur nodded once. A wink was all the warning he received before Thornton dropped to his knees. He felt the tugs as Thornton made short work of the buttons on the placket of his trousers. In the next blink of an eye, his suspenders were unhooked from his waistband, and his trousers and drawers were at his knees. One swipe of Thornton's hand tucked his shirttail under his waistcoat. He barely detected the brush of cool air on his erection before a hand wrapped securely around the base and moist heat surrounded the head. “Ah…damnation.” Arthur gasped, his eyes closing against the most intense pleasure. By God, the man knew what he was about. Bobbing along the length, sucking hard enough to almost pull the orgasm out of him. It had been over a month—hell, almost two—since he'd been the recipient of such a favor. And never had the favor been bestowed with such blatant, unabashed skill. Thornton pulled back until only the crown was held between his lips and then pressed the tip of his tongue against the highly sensitive slit. A jolt of pure sensation shot down Arthur's length to his ballocks, his knees threatening to buckle, his eyes flying open. Arthur grabbed the edge of the dresser and held on tightly as Thornton picked up a luxurious rhythm that brought him closer and closer to the edge. Before he was aware of it, his other hand was threaded in Thornton's soft, thick hair, palm cupping his skull. Thornton let out a moan that sounded distinctly like approval. Aggression, raw and stripped bare and completely unexpected, rushed to the surface. Growling low in his throat, Arthur thrust his hips in counterpoint, fucking Thornton's mouth. Thornton's

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hand, gripping tightly at the base, fell away as he took the entire length of Arthur's cock. As he let Arthur use him for his own pleasure. A distinctive sound drew his attention down beyond the decadent sight of Thornton's hollowed cheeks and full lips wrapped around his length. The other man had his own trousers unbuttoned, cock in hand. The flushed head poked through the top of his clenched fist with each rapid stroke. The climax barreled upon Arthur. His senses narrowed, focused only on the heat and suction and wonderful, blissful slippery wetness surrounding his prick. And then his world exploded. Arthur gritted his teeth to keep the roar inside as he came down Thornton's throat. Thornton didn't pull back or snap at him for getting a mouthful of seed. The man swallowed it all, sucking hard as the last tremor shook him, until it became suddenly too much, the sensations overwhelming his senses. “Enough,” Arthur gasped, tugging on Thornton's hair, desperate to get him to stop. There was a wet popping noise. Then Thornton shot to his feet, his lips slanting harshly across Arthur's mouth. The hunger and pure need in that kiss… Arthur thrust his tongue boldly inside, sweeping the hot recesses of Thornton's sinfully gorgeous mouth. Beneath the salty flavor of his own release and the spicy hint of whisky was the unique taste of Thornton. Lust flared, igniting his senses once again. With a tug on Thornton's hair, Arthur jerked the man closer, unable to get enough. He was vaguely aware of Thornton's arm moving between them: quick, determined, and furious. Thornton's labored breaths puffed against his cheek, scorching his skin. Tension gripped Thornton's sleek body. Then he groaned into his mouth. Heat splashed onto Arthur's prick. The kiss softened, slowed, lulling Arthur's senses with the heady mix of smooth lips and the scrape of stubble. His flingers unclenched, slipping out of Thornton's hair,

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his hands shifting to gently cup the man's jaw. He felt the rigidity ease from Thornton's body, heard the soft murmur of contentment as the man sank into kiss. And for Arthur didn't know how long, he simply kissed Thornton, soaking up the feel of the man's body against his, the taste of him, and the sounds of his sighs. With a nip, Thornton pulled back enough to break the contact of their lips. Could he be any more beautiful? Full lips, stained rose red from their kisses, tousled black hair, and flushed cheeks. His features were so patently aristocratic, so fine and sharp while at the same time approaching femininity. Long, thick lashes swept down. Then the corner of his mouth quirked. A little jolt shot up Arthur's spine as Thornton dragged a lazy finger through the remnants of his climax coating Arthur's cock. “I do believe I shall have to take care of that.” Thornton dropped to his haunches, took hold of Arthur's bare hips, and lapped up the seed, licking him clean. The caress of his tongue on the highly sensitive skin was…oh, God…decadent. It was the only way to describe it. Lush and luxurious, the height of depravity, and the most erotic thing he had ever beheld. Blood rushed to his groin, his drained ballocks drawing up tight as his prick swelled anew under Thornton's careful attention. “More?” Thornton's voice barely penetrated the fog of lust. Arthur gave his head a shake to clear it. More what? Those plump lips briefly engulfed his crown, answering Arthur's unspoken question. So tempting to answer in the affirmative, to give into the need drumming through his veins and burning in Thornton's eyes, but…

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Christ, he had just arrived. Less than thirty minutes, and already Thornton had brought him to climax once. The knowledge hit him like a splash of ice-cold water, harder and harsher than the sharp bite of lust that had gotten him to this point. Serious and searching, Thornton's gaze swept his face. Arthur resisted the impulse to shift his weight, to avoid those far-too-perceptive gray eyes. “Perhaps not. It has been a long day,” Thornton said, as casually as if they were sharing a drink at a tavern, and Arthur didn't have his trousers and drawers shoved down around his knees. As if reading his thoughts, Thornton made to pull up his trousers, but Arthur leaned down, his hands fumbling over Thornton's. “I can manage it,” he mumbled. Thornton tipped his head, relinquishing the waistband. Arthur tugged up his trousers and after a couple of attempts managed to button the top clasp. His drawers were bunched around his hips and his shirttail still tucked under his waistcoat, but he didn't much care. Buttoning the placket of his own trousers, Thornton stood. The few quick snaps of his wrist to right his shirt, waistcoat, and coat indicated a familiarity with the routine that did not sit well. “Good evening, Barrington. I will see you again before the sun rises.” With that, Thornton turned on his heel and left the room. Arthur stood there, staring at the closed door for a long moment. “Well, you wanted to forget Randolph,” he reminded himself. At the first sound of Thornton's voice, all thoughts of his last lover had vanished. Gone, as if the man had never existed. Even the taste of Randolph's kisses had been erased from his memory, wiped away by the hot brush of Thornton's tongue against his own. He let out a heavy sigh and set to work removing the nut brown coat and cream waistcoat that Thornton hadn't bothered with. The two men could not be more

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different. Randolph was very much like himself, hence why they had rubbed along so well together. Well, he liked to believe Randolph was like himself, but lately he hadn't been so certain. Ever since they had parted ways, he had been more aware of the rumors. Or more accurately, he had grown adept at listening between the lines. At least with Thornton he knew exactly the type of man he was dealing with. One who subsisted on carnal pleasures and not much else. One who was damn good at sucking him off. A tired chuckle rumbled his chest as he sat on the bed to remove his trousers. Thornton certainly knew how to keep a man on his toes. Arthur would never use the word “staid” to describe him. The thrill of excitement, the intense attraction that came part and parcel with Thornton was a unique sensation all its own. Perhaps this was just what Arthur needed—a complete break from his usual routine. An opportunity to indulge, to broaden his experiences. And as long as he kept their short holiday in perspective, he wouldn't run the risk of being disappointed again. All right. More than disappointed. After folding his trousers and leaving them on the chair for a servant to clean and press, he doused the candles, pulled back the forest green coverlet, and climbed into bed. As he settled in to get a few hours of sleep, he couldn't help but look forward to tomorrow—and not simply because he'd have the opportunity to go shooting. His stay at Ramsey House should prove…interesting.

***** Leopold shut the door behind him and walked to the next door at the end of the corridor. Hand on the knob, he glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see Arthur emerge from his room, bag in hand. But after traveling for days, the last thing the man likely wanted to do was get back into a carriage. Thank God Yorkshire was not an easy distance from London.

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The worry pacified, he entered his own bedchamber. A newly stoked fire burned in the hearth, and the black coverlet on the large four-poster bed had been turned down. The silver candelabra on the dresser and the candlestick on the bedside table lit the room. Jones had already come and gone. Discreet as always. He should give the man a raise in pay. Jones certainly deserved it, and especially for vacating Arthur's bedchamber so quickly. No longer able to hold it back a moment longer, Leopold let the grin split his face as he unbuttoned his coat. Pure, giddy happiness sang through his veins. Ah hell. He'd just sucked off Arthur Barrington, and Arthur had let him. Could the evening end any better? Well, yes. They could have made good use of Arthur's bed, rumpling the tidy blankets and thoroughly exploring each other's body. Discovering what else would prompt that low, primal growl from Arthur. The sound that was so very much at odds with the man's buttoned-up and restrained appearance. Hell, he'd never even seen Arthur's short chestnut hair anything but neatly combed. But the shock written all over Arthur's face when Leopold had asked him if he wanted more had been answer enough. When it came to sexual encounters, clearly Arthur moved at a different pace than himself. He tossed his coat on the bed and removed his waistcoat. So much for his plan to keep his hands to himself tonight. Maybe two weeks of abstinence had not been the best idea. Long accustomed to gluttony, his body wasn't used to going without. But the possibility of Arthur had filled his head to the point where he had been unable to indulge with anyone else, not even for a quick, anonymous fuck. While he wasn't above seeing to his own pleasure, he craved the touch of another as much as the release: the giving, the heady feeling of being wanted even if only for empty pleasure, as much as the getting. And taking himself in hand did little to quell those desires. The end result of his self-imposed celibacy? Aroused to the point where he'd been unable to keep himself in check. To resist the temptation of being alone with Arthur

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behind a closed door. Hopefully he hadn't scared the man off. In any case, the encounter served to cement Leopold's intentions for the coming days. If Arthur remained at Ramsey House come dawn, then he'd stay until the end of their holiday. Four days. Leopold planned to use them to his full advantage, because judging by Arthur's stiffer-than-usual posture and wary glances, Leopold would need all that time, and possibly more, to convince Arthur to continue their relationship when they returned to London. Once he finished undressing, he gathered the garments on the bed and went into the dressing room, dumping the clothes in a pile on the floor. At some point tomorrow, the pile would disappear, and Jones would have the clothing returned to the hooks and shelves lining the small room. Most men of his standing employed valets, but Leopold found them inconvenient. What with their need to slink into a bedchamber before dawn to light the fire and make preparations for the coming day. His last valet had seen quite more than he'd bargained for one morning, and the man's silence over the incident had not come cheap. No valet meant he had to dress and shave himself, but it was a small price to pay to keep unwanted servants out of his bedchamber. Jones traveled with him when he came to Ramsey House to escape London and clear his head of the excesses of that city. The man saw to all the trivial matters like lighting the fire, tidying up, and keeping his wardrobe at its best. With him for years, Jones knew all Leopold's preferences, down to the full bottle of whisky and cut-crystal tumbler on the bedside table. But he wouldn't need to fill that empty glass tonight. The glimmer of hope filling his heart chased away the loneliness and pain far better than liquor. Arthur was here, in Leopold's home, at last. Ten years of waiting had not been in vain. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

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Chapter Three Crisp and bright, the early-morning sun bathed the field dotted with low bushes and a few clusters of pine trees. The twigs and dried leaves scattered over the grass crunched beneath Arthur's footsteps. If he closed his eyes, he would think himself alone; Thornton's strides were so perfectly timed with his own that Arthur didn't even hear them. Chill air filled his every breath, clearing away the pent-up stress from his office as nothing else could. His uncle had taken Arthur on his first shooting expedition when he had been but ten years of age, and the moment he had seen the dawn break across the field, he had gained a fondness for shooting. Whether he came home with a pheasant or two didn't matter as much as the long, quiet walks. He had relished the chance to relax and simply take in the scenery and spend time with his uncle that didn't include questions about his schoolwork, or later, discussions about the office. He tipped his face toward the sun, savoring its feeble warmth. Much too long since he'd been out like this in the morning. London had parks aplenty, but they didn't compare. It wasn't ever truly quiet in the city, and no matter where he went, the sounds of carriages and people going about their day lingered in the air. Imposing on his few acquaintances who resided in the country was out of the question, and he had never

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indulged in such a home himself. His work kept him confined to Town, with few opportunities to leave for any length of time, so he couldn't justify the expense of a country home when he could only use it a few times a year. Therefore, he had jumped at Thornton's invitation, quickly clearing his schedule and making arrangements for his secretary to send any pressing correspondences via express post to Ramsey House. A diligent worker and good-tempered, the young man kept Arthur on schedule, but he tended to consider most everything pressing. No doubt a stack of correspondences would await him on the desk in his bedchamber when he returned to Thornton's home. For now, though, he wiped thoughts of clients and all their various concerns from his mind and soaked up the morning and the opportunity to spend time with Thornton that didn't include anything more than walking across fields. The footman trailing a good dozen paces behind them, with the bag containing Arthur's sole successful shot of the day slung over his shoulder, kept away the possibility for more. Without the constant crackle of anticipation stringing his nerves taut, he could relax and simply enjoy Thornton's company. And he was turning out to be a nice shooting companion. Arthur glanced at Thornton, who walked beside him. The man's gaze was fixed somewhere off to the left, toward a great expanse of open field with gently rolling hills. The slight flush on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose from the chill air made him appear so much younger than his twenty-nine years, but the stubble from the morning beard darkening his jaw firmly reminded one he was a man. The greatcoat he hadn't bothered to button hung open, exposing the brown riding coat and tan breeches that hugged the lean muscles of his thighs. Surprisingly enough, he had kept rather silent, with only a question thrown out here and there, none of them loaded with double meanings, no talk of last night, and no heated stares. But that could have something to do with the fact that eight o'clock could not have come and gone yet. Arthur doubted Thornton had seen this side of the morning in years. And he had to admit to a bit of shock when he'd come

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downstairs before dawn to find Thornton in the entrance hall, greatcoat and gloves on, waiting for him. Apparently Thornton was capable of getting out of bed at such an “ungodly hour,” as he had put it. “The office keeping you busy?” Thornton asked, breaking his stretch of silence. “More than busy.” So busy, he frequently took supper at his desk and walked home well after dark. “But I much prefer it to the alternative. Wouldn't want to have to beg clients to take me on.” The end of Thornton's rifle grazed his thigh as the man shifted the firearm from his right hand to his left. Judging by the way Thornton casually held the rifle in one hand at his side, he was not an avid hunter. At least he kept the barrel pointed to the ground and away from their feet. “I heard Amherst pulled his business from your office and took it elsewhere.” Arthur furrowed his brow at the unexpected remark; then comprehension dawned. So that explained how Thornton had surmised he had split with Randolph. “Yes, he did.” A rustle in a group of nearby low bushes caught his attention. He tightened his grip on his rifle, poised to swing it down from his shoulder, when a squirrel scurried into sight. The dales of Yorkshire were renowned as prime shooting grounds, but pheasants must not be fond of Thornton's property. He'd only spotted a handful this morning. No bother, though. The sun was shining, and it wasn't so cold that his fingers and toes had gone numb. All in all, a pleasant outing. They were well past those bushes when Thornton spoke again. “You are aware he wasn't faithful to you.” Alarm tightened his gut. Shocked both by the nature of Thornton's casual statement and the possible truth behind it, Arthur stopped in his tracks and shot a glance to the footman.

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“Don't worry about Jones. He won't hear a thing.” His ambling pace uninterrupted, Thornton flicked his gloved fingers, motioning for Arthur to keep moving. Indecision locked him to the spot. He didn't want to have Randolph's exploits thrown in his face, declaring him a fool for staying with the man for so long. But… A few long strides had him at Thornton's shoulder once again. “How can you be certain?” He pitched his voice low. Regardless of Thornton's claim regarding his footman's poor hearing, he much preferred the servant did not overhear this particular conversation. Thornton's full lips thinned to a straight line; a furrow marred his brow. His gaze on his boots, he didn't immediately respond. “I saw him at Delacroix's on more than one occasion.” He recognized the name—Madame Delacroix's, a decadent West End brothel with a near-endless supply of beautiful women, and according to rumor, a handful of handsome, accommodating men as well. At least Randolph had the good sense not to go to some nunnery in the stews. Those places were rife with diseases. To his surprise, having Randolph's infidelity confirmed didn't hurt as much as expected. Could be due to the fact that he had already accepted it as fact and resigned himself to it. Still, not a comfortable thing to have told to him. Letting out a sigh, he looked beyond the field to the line of trees up ahead that marked a forest. “I surmised as much recently. Would you happen to know if he hired a…?” “Both, but not on the same visit.” Thornton's succinct reply saved Arthur the embarrassment of fully voicing his question. He winced. A woman he could understand, not forgive, but understand to some degree. He'd known Randolph had been with a few women before they had started their relationship. But to hire a man? Randolph had had him. Well, when he wasn't at the office or poring over documents at home. He did have had a tendency to immerse

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himself in his work to the exclusion of all else. Could the blame for Randolph's indiscretions be laid at his own feet? Not that it mattered now. Still, it did not sit well. “Did you leave him because of it?” “No, that wasn't the cause.” He couldn't stop himself from glancing over his shoulder again, to confirm the servant was still a good distance back. “I should have known long ago, though, but I guess I didn't want to know.” From the corner of his eye, he caught Thornton's single nod. “Understandable.” Thornton stopped. “Are we done looking for pheasants to kill, or do you want to continue the search?” A reluctant chuckle shook his chest. “No need to continue the search. Bagged one. That's enough for today.” “Thank God. I was getting tired of lugging around this gun. Here, hand me yours.” When Arthur complied, Thornton told him to wait there. He walked back to the footman and handed over the two rifles. With a nod, the servant turned and headed right, in the general direction of the house. “Don't care much for shooting?” Arthur asked, when Thornton rejoined him. “It's not something I excel at, not that I've ever expended any effort toward it. Don't much mind a good walk, though. Come along. We'll cut through the forest. It will let out near the stables. Breakfast will be waiting when we get back to the house.” They picked up their ambling pace. After a few minutes of silence, Thornton spoke again. “So what was the cause, if you don't mind my asking?” Arthur passed a hand over the back of his neck and kept his attention on the break in the trees ahead, marking a path leading into the forest. “One evening he informed me, quite casually, mind you, and over dinner at my apartments, that he would need me to draw up papers for the purchase of a new town house. He believed the woman he planned to ask to marry him would prefer a house over his bachelor apartments.”

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“Did he expect you to stay with him after he wed?” Thornton's incredulous tone offered a small measure of comfort. “Yes, but he didn't bat an eye when I told him I wouldn't. He just proceeded to finish his meal as if nothing was amiss.” The longest ten minutes of Arthur's life. The realization that he had meant so little to the man he loved smacking into him as Randolph continued to take bites of his steak and discuss that damn town house on Hill Street. “Needless to say, I refused to assist him with the purchase.” “Justifiably so.” “And all he said as he walked out the door was, 'Thank you for dinner.' That was it.” Not even one passing reference to the years Arthur had given him. “Bastard,” Thornton spat, disdain soaking the curse. “He never loved you.” “He never led me to believe otherwise.” He sighed and kicked a small branch out of the way. “But I thought he at least cared…” He sighed again, frustrated more at himself than with Randolph. “Damnation. Apparently he and I held completely different views of our relationship. And after my uncle passed away, Randolph became even more important. He was all I had left. Maybe I should have spent less time at the office, and then perhaps he wouldn't have hired a man at that brothel.” He winced. Hell, that hurt, even more than Randolph's indifference. “Don't, Barrington. Don't blame yourself because Amherst was a damn heartless, cuckolding prig.” “I know I shouldn't, but…” He swore he could feel Thornton bristling, preparing to press his point. He held up a hand to stay him. “No, you're correct,” he said, resigning himself to Thornton's blunt and rather accurate description of his former lover. “It's just… I was with him for a decade, yet I actually knew so little about him.” He knew Randolph's body as well as his own, but little else of what defined him as a man. Arthur hadn't realized he'd held no stock in the concept of fidelity, hadn't had the faintest notion Randolph wished to marry until he'd mentioned that town house. It dawned on Arthur that they had not been much more than acquaintances who shared a

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bed. And even then, it had been perfunctory at best. More often than not, Randolph had fucked him. They sucked each other off on occasion, but that was the limit of their play. And he had been content with that? More grateful to have someone in his life than anything. “We never talked about anything except work and Town. Mundane things. I know more about the Bank of England than I do about him. So I shouldn't be surprised it ended the way it did.” Thornton shrugged, and Arthur found it the ideal response. He was a much better listener than Arthur would have imagined. The patient stretches of silence, the perfectly timed indignation, the open acceptance. Perhaps it was the morning hours, the illusion of camaraderie that strolling through a field with another man brought, but something about Thornton had prompted him to talk about Randolph. And it felt good, as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. He'd never discussed his preference for men with anyone, not even Randolph; he'd treated it as a given. Considering last night, obviously Thornton liked men, at least as much as he liked women, so no worry he would brand Arthur a depraved sodomite. He didn't need to hide that side of himself from Thornton. And he treated Arthur as if being in a relationship with another man was completely natural and not something to avert his eyes from. It reminded him why he and Thornton had been friends so many years ago. The younger version of Thornton had a knack for making Arthur feel at ease. Though Thornton came from a wealthy, aristocratic family, he had never once made Arthur feel the lesser for his meager, common roots. London may have turned him into a hardened rake, but it thankfully hadn't stripped that quality from him. “You're nearing thirty,” Arthur said. While nearly of the same age, Arthur was the elder by three months. Thornton wouldn't turn thirty until March 17. The date was stamped forever in Arthur's mind, as ten years ago Thornton had dragged him to a tavern for a celebratory pint of ale. The event marked the first time Arthur had indulged to the point of drunkenness. Not something he had repeated much since then, but he

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had to admit it had been rather fun to let loose and throw back pint after pint with Thornton. “Yes, why?” “Do you plan to look for a wife soon? That seems to be the required age.” “Who told you that?” Distaste flickered across Thornton's face. Arching a brow, he shot Thornton a knowing glance. “Oh. Him.” Thornton rolled his eyes. “Was that the excuse he used?” He didn't wait for confirmation. “No. No wife for me. I have three older brothers, two of whom are already married, and the other holds the desire to do so, whereas I do not. How about yourself? Will you marry at thirty?” Arthur shook his head. “How about after thirty?” Thornton asked as if he truly cared about the answer. “No, I don't plan to ever marry,” he admitted. He had known for some time that a family would not be in his future. No wife, no children to call his own, and he had reconciled himself to that. But when his uncle passed away four years ago, he had actually contemplated marriage. The old man had never married, making Arthur his only family. But as an only child, Arthur had no nephew to keep him company or to stand beside his grave and watch as his casket was lowered in the ground. And being so utterly alone in the world frightened him more than he cared to acknowledge. He'd found the prospect of building a family for himself a tempting option…for the span of about a few days, and then he'd come to his senses. Women had never appealed to him, and he couldn't stomach the thought of deceiving one for his own selfish purposes. Instead, he'd clung to Randolph. Quite the mistake, and he saw that now. Tall trees blocked the sun as they entered the forest. The dirt path provided only enough room for two, and Thornton moved a bit closer, the hem of his greatcoat brushing against Arthur's with each step. Hopefully he would not end up alone. When

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he returned to Town, and if he applied himself, certainly he could find an amiable man with similar interests and goals in life. After all, men inhabited half of London. There had to be someone out there he could look forward to spending the evening with after a long day at the office. Someone who would think of him when they were not together. Someone who could come to care for him. There had to, right? Surely at least one other man in London besides himself sought a lasting commitment. A light touch grazed his gloved hand, hanging limp at his side. Sensation shot up his arm. He was suddenly acutely aware of the man walking beside him. Of Thornton. Images from last night flashed before his mind's eye. A chunk of black hair hanging over heavily lidded gray eyes. Those full lips wrapped around his cock. That skilled tongue flicking over the crown. His breath hitched; his pulse quickened as his prick began to harden, pushing against his drawers. That light touch shifted, long fingers wrapping around his hand. Thornton squeezed, briefly tightening his grip. Arthur swore it felt as though the man had grabbed his cock. His strides faltered against the sudden jolt of lust spiking his senses. He glanced to Thornton and met gray eyes darkened with passion. It stopped Arthur in his tracks. They stared at each other for a long moment, the air crackling between them. Then Thornton winked. Before he knew it, hands pushed against his shoulders, his back connected with a tree trunk, and soft lips slanted over his. It took less than a second for Arthur to respond. His hands shot out, fingers gripping Thornton's skull as he thrust his tongue inside the other man's mouth, diving into the kiss. Thornton moaned, deep and low, the sound drenched with need, and pressed full against Arthur. Clinging to Arthur's shoulders, he writhed shamelessly. Even with the layers of clothing between them, Arthur could feel Thornton's erection rubbing against his own, hard and insistent.

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The kiss continued on, the need building within Arthur with each hot brush of Thornton's tongue, with each sharp nip of his teeth. He ground his hips, crushing his prick against the other man's, seeking more friction. But it wasn't enough. Heat blazed inside him, making his skin feel too tight and too thin, a blunt reminder they were both still fully dressed. A frustrated grumble shook his throat. Just when he was about to push Thornton from him, to tear at his clothes, to strip the man bare, Thornton's hands slid from his shoulders to move between them. He attacked the buttons on Arthur's greatcoat, and then the buttons on Arthur's breeches were undone, and Thornton reached inside, hand wrapping securely around his cock. His other hand fumbled between them, knuckles grazing the head of Arthur's prick, and the next moment, Thornton's grasp shifted, and hot, silken skin melded against his own. He gasped into Thornton's mouth, his ballocks lurching up tight against his body at the unfamiliar, yet at the same time familiar, sensation. He knew what it felt like to have another man's cock in his hand, in his mouth, in his arse, and now he knew what it felt like to have one pressed against his own. Heavenly soft skin backed by unyielding iron. The frantic pumps as Thornton fisted both of their pricks had Arthur teetering on the brink of orgasm in no time. Thornton dragged his mouth across Arthur's cheek to nip at his ear. “Do you want to fuck me?” he asked between panting breaths. Hell, yes! Past the point of coherent speech, Arthur nodded and forced his fingers to unclench from Thornton's hair, releasing him. A shrug of his shoulders, and Thornton's greatcoat fell to the ground. He pulled a small glass vial from his waistcoat pocket, poured a generous amount of oil onto his palm, and grabbed Arthur's prick, quickly slicking the length. He unceremoniously tossed aside the vial, then pulled a dazed Arthur from against the tree and took his place. Turning his back to him, Thornton hiked up the tails of his shirt and coat to expose his arse and braced one hand against the trunk.

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Arthur's jaw dropped as he watched Thornton reach around to slip a finger into his own arse, preparing himself. Legs slightly spread, breeches around his knees, hips tilted back invitingly, that finger disappearing into his oil-slicked entrance… He clutched the base of his prick and squeezed hard, pushing back the orgasm, determined not to spill his seed until he'd buried his prick in Thornton's arse. Thornton thrust once, twice, and then pulled back one cheek and glanced over his shoulder, spearing Arthur with a hot stare. “Have at it.” As if he needed any encouragement. He took up a place behind Thornton and grasped his slim hips. His cock bobbed, pointing straight at that pink hole. But first, he couldn't resist the urge to drag his prick along Thornton's slick crease. His flushed crown an alluring contrast against the pale skin. Thornton quivered and pushed back. “Please. Fuck me,” he begged. He pushed inside. Thornton grunted, his body tensing. With only the head engulfed, Arthur paused to drag air into his lungs against the near-blinding rush of pleasure. Hell, Thornton was tight. Too tight, his mind vaguely registered, as he glanced down to Thornton's skin stretched taut around his thick length. Even though his body demanded he pound into the other man, he gritted his teeth and eased back, pulling free. He well knew what it felt like in Thornton's position when matters were rushed. Thornton's whimper of protest turned into a low moan of gratitude when Arthur pushed the crown slowly back inside. He tried to give Thornton a moment to adjust to the invasion, but the man bucked, working himself on Arthur's length. Hot, clinging friction caressed his cock, shoving all thoughts that didn't have to do with possessing the other man from his mind. With a low growl, he jerked Thornton closer, settling hilt deep, then picked up a determined rhythm. Thornton's dark head was bowed, one bare hand clutching the tree's trunk, his knuckles white. He met Arthur stroke for stroke, driving against him, his hoarse moans urging Arthur onward. Sweat pricked Arthur's brow, dripped down his neck beneath

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his collar, made the backs of his hands itch under his gloves. The hem of his greatcoat slapped against boots. He felt alive in a way he had never felt before. And he reveled in it, basked in it, gave himself over to it. Let the raw urge to dominate consume him. Thornton reached back with his free hand, grasping Arthur's upper thigh, tugging hard, demanding more. “Harder, Arthur,” he gasped. He tightened his grip on the man's hips, fingers digging into his flesh, and slammed into him. Hard and relentless. Skin smacked against skin. Harsh, primal grunts filled his ears. Hell, he wasn't going to last. “Stroke your cock. Make yourself come.” Thornton's dark head bobbed once. That hand left Arthur's thigh and disappeared between his legs. He tried to hold off, to wait until Thornton found his release, but the orgasm coiled down his spine, tingling his ballocks, teasing the base of his cock. “Harder,” Thornton gasped. “Fuck me harder. Oh…hell.” Thornton's body clamped around his cock like a damned vise. Arthur let out a shout, ramming hilt deep, the climax racking every muscle in his body. Resting his forehead on Thornton's shoulder, he closed his eyes and struggled to catch his breath. Beneath him, Thornton's back heaved just as rapidly as his own. He felt the man shift subtly. Then a warm hand palmed the side of his neck, fingertips drifting into his hairline to massage his sweaty scalp. “Feel better?” The soft words drifted around him. “Yes,” he replied on a content sigh. “Good.” That lulling hand slipped away. Thornton eased forward enough for Arthur's drained cock to slip from his body. When the man moved to the side to tug up his breeches, Arthur turned and rested his back against the tree trunk. He watched as

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Thornton made quick work of righting his clothes: tucking in his shirttail, buttoning the placket, grabbing the gloves that he had discarded at some point from the ground, and pocketing the glass vial. Still in a daze from that explosive orgasm, his mind felt clunky and slow as he struggled to make sense of the situation. One minute they had been walking through the forest and the next he'd been pounding into Thornton. He glanced around. The surrounding trees blocked the view of the field, but still, anyone could have come upon them. Too focused on Thornton, he would have never noticed a set of prying eyes until too late. He'd never done anything so reckless in all his life. But it was exactly what he had needed to yank him from the melancholy cloud forming over his head. Given Thornton's comment, he had to assume the other man knew it as well. He scrubbed a hand over his face. The smooth leather rubbing against his cheek reminded him he hadn't even taken the time to remove his gloves. He shrugged. Thornton hadn't seemed to mind, though. Thornton gave his greatcoat a snap. Dried leaves fluttered to the dirt path. Then he slipped the coat back on. “Do you plan to walk back to Ramsey House like that?” he asked, tipping his head in the direction of Arthur's groin. He glanced down, then rolled his eyes, the beginnings of a chuckle rumbling his chest. “No. Of course not.” Still leaning against the tree, he tucked his limp prick inside his drawers, did up his breeches, and buttoned his greatcoat to hide the stains on the placket. Ruined, no doubt. Oil stains would be impossible to remove from buckskin. Oh well. Fortunately he had thought to pack another pair. “Breakfast awaits.” Thornton made to walk down the path, then stopped to flick his fingers, beckoning him. When Arthur didn't immediately heed his command, he said, “I can't very well carry you. You're going to have to walk, but it's not far. Not even a half mile. Surely those muscles of yours can get you there.”

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He shook his head, his lips quirking. The teasing glint in Thornton's eyes completely ruined his attempt at indignation. With a poorly concealed grunt, he pushed from the tree. As he followed Thornton back to the house, their morning together tumbled through his head. He would have never predicted a morning like today's. And not just the reckless fuck against the tree. Everything, from the moment he had walked through the front door of Ramsey House, had been exactly what he needed. Everything… His gaze settled on the man in front of him. Everything…including Thornton. And therein lay a worry.

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Chapter Four Leopold pulled out his pocket watch. Five minutes until supper. Slipping the watch back into the pocket of his waistcoat, he glanced to the coffered ceiling. Likely Arthur was still exactly where he had left him. Should he go fetch him or wait to see if Arthur exhibited his usual punctuality? A rapid tapping sound cut through his indecision. He slapped a hand on his thigh, stilling his leg. Enough. Arthur could not have forgotten about him. The man was in his home, after all. Still, a little nudge never hurt anyone. He stood from the leather armchair, crossed the study, went out into the corridor, and made his way upstairs. Upon their return to Ramsey House that morning, Jones had mentioned a delivery for Arthur. Leopold hadn't seen him since he'd disappeared inside his bedchamber with a comment about having to tend to some business. Surely nine hours was more than enough time to deal with whatever his office needed. If not, then Leopold would drag him away from his work. He couldn't very well spend time with the man when he was closeted alone in his bedchamber. Rather interfered with his plans for their short holiday together.

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This morning had given him a treasured glimpse inside Arthur's head. He had listened to every word from Arthur's lips, heard the lonely, hollow tone in his voice, melded it with those flashes of desolation and confusion and pain across his handsome face, and pieced together what the man valued above all. Fidelity and love. Two things Leopold had waited ten years to give. Now to get Arthur out of his bedchamber so he could start convincing him of that. How exactly he would go about it, he wasn't quite certain. Straight out telling Arthur I love you and only want to be with you seemed…well…forward? No, not the right word. Too soon, perhaps? He let out a sarcastic huff. Obviously. Arthur had only spent one night under his roof. No, the more honest answer was fear. He could still vividly remember the acrid taste of rejection as he'd waited for Arthur to arrive last night. A decidedly unpleasant experience, and one he had no wish to repeat. And he didn't yet know how Arthur thought of him, besides as a willing bed partner, of course. Nor would he know until he spent some more time with him. He rapped once on the door. The answering silence made unease nip at his belly. He pushed it aside. He needed to stop worrying Arthur would bolt back to London. Arthur hadn't seemed at all out of sorts on the walk back to Ramsey House. Quiet, yes, but the startled expression from last night had been completely absent. Perhaps he had decided to rest before supper. He himself had collapsed on his bed once he'd realized Arthur would be unavailable for the afternoon. It had done wonders to revive him from a morning spent with Arthur. A morning that had involved rising before dawn, a long walk, and a quick fuck. Hand still fisted, poised to knock again, he brushed his fingertips over the abrasions on his palm. Lest he think he had dreamed the last part, he had the scrapes from the tree's rough bark to prove it. His buttock muscles clenched at the memory of Arthur's thick cock slamming into him. The hint of a lingering ache only served to heighten his appetite for more than a few moments with Arthur. Quick, hasty, and decidedly rushed moments. The

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encounter had served its purpose: wiping that worried furrow from Arthur's brow and focusing his attention on Leopold and not that damn prig. But unfortunately neither the time nor the place to indulge in anything more. Tonight, though, held distinct possibilities. But first, supper. A second, louder knock earned him an “enter.” Leopold opened the door to find Arthur seated at the desk situated on the other side of the bed, a pencil in hand and head bowed over a stack of paper. The fawn silk waistcoat stretched across his broad back. He had discarded his coat and rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms. The glimpse of bare skin made Leopold want to see more, but when he stepped inside the room, he left the door open, lest he give in to temptation again. “Good afternoon,” Arthur said, his attention clearly not on Leopold. He made a notation with quick, deliberate motions. “Evening,” he corrected. He glanced about the room. The bottle green coat Arthur had worn earlier today graced the foot of the bed. Unless he excelled at tidying a bed and smoothing every crease from the coverlet, it appeared he hadn't rested. “Barrington, have you been working all day?” Arthur turned the paper over, set it on the neat stack at his elbow, and moved to the next page. “Yes.” Another quick scratch of his pencil. “But you're on holiday.” “That matters not to my clients.” “It matters to me. Supper is to be served. Aren't you hungry?” “Supper?” “Yes. We're having pheasant. The one you killed.” Arthur lifted his head and looked to the window beside the bed. Leopold followed his gaze. The drapes were drawn back, exposing the twilight dark sky. “My apologies, Thornton. I hadn't realized it was so late.” With a tired shake of his head, he tidied the stack of paper he'd been reading and put it and the one at his elbow into the desk

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drawer, along with the pencil. He stood and pushed the chair back in its place. “If you'll give me a moment, I just need to wash up and change.” “It's not a formal affair, I assure you.” Arthur flicked his fingers in the direction of his groin. Not exactly the wisest thing for him to do, as it focused Leopold's thoughts on the reason why the placket was darkened by what could only be an oil stain. “I can't very well go down to supper like this. I had intended to change when I got back to the house, but…” He shrugged. “It will only take a moment.” So tempting to offer his assistance, to strip every article of clothing from the man's body, to expose every inch of muscle and drag his lips over the smooth skin, to use pleasure to tell Arthur what was in his heart, but Leopold decided against it. All the talk about supper had made him rather hungry. “If you insist. I'll await you in the corridor.” Arthur took more than a moment. More like ten minutes before he emerged from the bedchamber wearing a navy coat and tan trousers. But the delay did not hamper the quality of their meal one bit. He knew Arthur preferred simpler fare and had instructed the kitchen accordingly. A hearty lentil soup and then the pheasant. He followed Arthur's lead and kept the conversation to a minimum. But the silence didn't hold a trace of unease or strain. He looked to the handsome man seated at his right. White cravat tied in a neat knot, his shoulders back and spine straight, but the lack of formality to his movements indicated he felt comfortable at Leopold's table. As Arthur reached for his glass of wine, he couldn't help but hope their future held many such pleasant meals. He could well grow accustomed to quiet suppers with Arthur versus hosting boisterous, elaborate affairs with a table full of mere acquaintances. When they completed supper, he suggested they retire to the billiard room for a glass of port and a game. The fire in the hearth had already been lit, the drapes closed tight against the night sky. Leopold pulled a bottle and two small glasses from the cabinet beside the fireplace. As Arthur selected a cue stick from the rack on the wall, Leopold poured them each a glass.

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Arthur took the proffered glass and took a sip. “My apologies for my complete absence this afternoon. Poor form for a guest.” He waved off the need for an apology. “I spent most of the afternoon asleep, so no worries there.” Long cue stick in hand, Arthur stood near a lit sconce on the paneled wall. The golden glow highlighted a few strands of gray mixed in with the chestnut brown hair at his temples. A slight notch marred the space between his brows, even though there wasn't a hint of a scowl on his face. As a young man, Arthur had been a rather serious sort. Reserved and pragmatic, the perfect foil to temper Leopold's more volatile tendencies. Smiles didn't readily grace his firm mouth. The years, it seemed, had only made them more infrequent. He set his glass on the fireplace mantle and positioned the three balls on the billiard table to start their game. “You work much too hard, Barrington.” “Perhaps. But if I didn't, I wouldn't have a roof over my head.” Leopold frowned. He had never worked a day in his life, subsisting on the generosity of his father and the income from a few investments. Did Arthur think him an idle wastrel? He wouldn't blame him if he did, for Leopold certainly felt like one right now. Still, surely a balance could be found between work and more pleasurable activities. “But if you keep up your current pace, I fear you'll drive yourself to an early grave.” Arthur sighed. “I admit I am giving thought to hiring another secretary.” His shot just missed. The ball bounced off the corner of the pocket and rolled a good distance toward the center of the table. “One with more experience under his belt. My current secretary has enthusiasm in abundance, but he doesn't do much besides run errands, keep me on schedule, and take notes. I need a man who's been to university and who wants to become a solicitor. Someone who could draft a simple contract and review documents and not deem every one urgent.”

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So the enthusiastic secretary had been responsible for this morning's delivery. Leopold rounded the table, stopping a pace from Arthur. “And were they all urgent?” “No. But I had to go through them all to make that determination.” His shot failed as miserably as Arthur's, but the outcome of the game didn't matter. Only if it eventually led Arthur to his bed. He moved back a pace, yielding the table to Arthur. Brow furrowed, Arthur studied the three balls on the table. Then he bent at the waist and, sliding the stick between his fingers, lined up his next shot. Leopold's gaze raked the length of Arthur's body, settling on his arse. He tightened his grip on his cue stick, resisting the impulse to flick aside the tails of Arthur's navy evening coat and drag his hand along the crease. To delve his fingers between those firm cheeks, to press against his hole. Would Arthur allow him to fuck him? The thought of grabbing those hips, watching his cock disappear into Arthur's entrance— Leopold briefly closed his eyes against the sudden tide of lust. It took all his selfcontrol to keep the grunt inside. His prick swelled, pushing against his drawers, demanding to be set free. Arousal washing his senses, he shifted his weight and glanced about the room. The hell with it. They were alone. Why resist? He propped his cue stick against the wall and moved a step closer to Arthur to stand behind him. As soon as the felt-covered tip of Arthur's stick smacked into the white ball, he reached beneath the coattails and trailed his fingers along that tantalizing crease. Straightening quickly, Arthur glanced over his shoulder, his hazel eyes wide with a mixture of shock and raw lust. There was something so very appealing in flustering such a conservative man. Leopold arched a brow and wiggled his fingers. The firm

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muscles tightened, then relaxed, granting him access to press deeper, pushing the fabric of his trousers between his cheeks. He knew exactly when he located the spot. Arthur's eyelids fluttered, a soft grunt issued from his chest. Continuing to apply pressure, Leopold leaned closer, nudging Arthur's hip with the arch of his arousal as he dragged his lips over his jaw. The ten-minute wait must have included a shave, for there was nothing but smooth skin and the faint scent of sandalwood beneath his lips. Arthur abruptly twisted away from him. His gaze skittered to the door on the other side of the billiard table. A tiny crack kept it from being fully closed. “No one will disturb us,” he murmured. Arthur didn't look convinced. “Shall I shut it?” He made to whisper his fingertips over the beginnings of the erection tenting the placket of Arthur's trousers, but the man leaned back. Not out of reach, but enough to press his point. He should have known Arthur would resist a rendezvous in the billiard room. The need for discretion, of course. Rather than push harder, bombarding the man with sensation as he had done earlier that morning, he held back and held on to his patience. His large bed did hold a certain amount of appeal. “How about my bedchamber? The servants will retire at nine. No one will see you enter my room. It's next to yours, at the end of the corridor. I'll leave the door unlocked.” Breaking Arthur's intent stare, he quickly glanced over the man's broad shoulder to the clock on the mantle. He didn't much care if his servants saw him walking upstairs sporting an erection, but he figured Arthur would have different thoughts on the matter. Best to let him have a few moments. “Fifteen minutes. I'll be waiting for you. Yes?” Arthur's now-hard cock jumped beneath the placket. As good as a yes. Still, he forced himself to wait for a more concrete response. He needed Arthur fully with him,

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without a hint of resistance. Tonight would be different than before. He felt it in his bones. Nothing hasty or rushed about it. An entire night with Arthur in his arms. At last. At Arthur's single nod, a smile split his face. The hell with the door. He grabbed Arthur's neck and slanted his mouth over his. Hot and quick. A promise of more. Then he turned on his heel and did his best not to sprint upstairs.

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Chapter Five Arthur nudged the bottle with his toe. It spun lazily on its side, catching the light from the dying fire behind him as it wobbled on the floorboards of Thornton's bedchamber. Why was he so disappointed? He should have expected this. His heavy sigh filled the near-dark room. He turned on his heel but stopped at a faint squick sound. Dropping to his haunches, he leaned left so as not to block the firelight. The soft sheen of an almost fully dried puddle covered the floorboards next to the bed. Whisky, based on the scent. Brilliant. So foxed Thornton had spilled liquor all over the floor. Now he'd have to wash the soles of his shoes so he wouldn't carry the scent of whisky with him wherever he went. With a shake of his head, he got to his feet and went to the hearth. He stoked the fire, using the iron poker to prod the flames to life, then picked up an armchair and moved it closer to the bed. He sat, stretching out his legs, careful to avoid the whisky on the floor. With an elbow on the chair's arm, he rested his chin in his palm and studied the man clearly passed out on the large four-poster bed. His face was turned toward Arthur, his full lips

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slightly parted in sleep. His tousled black hair hid his eyes, the ends brushing his high cheekbones. Even sprawled on his stomach, one arm hanging off the side of the mattress and one leg tangled in the white sheet, there was an innate beauty in every line of his body. The fire threw splashes of golden light and shadow over his pale skin, highlighting the lean muscles of his shoulders and caressing the sleek curve of his lower back. His skin looked so soft and smooth that Arthur had the almost unstoppable urge to press his lips to that firmly rounded arse. Damnation. This was what he got for stalling significantly past those fifteen minutes. The moment Thornton had left the billiard room, he'd taken that intense pull with him, leaving Arthur caught between acute arousal and painful indecision. His short time at Ramsey House had shown him a side to Thornton he hadn't expected. Definitely not all sharp, handsome edges. The amiable young man he once knew was still there beneath the hard veneer of dissipation. And the crackle of attraction held the promise of so much more, like a gauzy film covering a rich landscape. With Thornton, he'd have searing passion, the thrilling rush of excitement, an honest friend, and a broken heart. And the man wouldn't do it maliciously; it was just in his nature. Some thrived on commitment, some on the chase, and others, like Thornton, on vice itself. Hell, he carried a vial of oil with him on a shooting excursion. Likely he'd had a flask of whisky tucked in a pocket as well. Even though Arthur had resolved to scale back his hours at the office, he'd still need to work late every now and then. No way around it. And when he did, he'd worry Thornton was with another. Hell, anytime he wasn't by the man's side, he'd worry. Foolish of him to even assume Thornton would want to continue…whatever they had together…when they returned to Town. According to the gossip, the man had never spent more than a night with any given bed partner. Still, all afternoon those worries had plagued him, flitting through his mind as he reviewed document after document, and they had intensified over the past few hours, since Thornton had left him alone in

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the billiard room. If only he and Thornton could remain here, at Ramsey House. If only he could keep him from the temptations of London… He couldn't very well abandon his office and throw caution to the wind. He knew that. But he could not stop himself from wondering what it would be like to have this man as his own. He felt the pull on his heart, light yet determined. It would be so very easy to fall in love with Thornton. True love, and not that shallow imitation he'd had with Randolph. But it would never work between them. The ease with which Thornton indulged in sexual liaisons—last night and this morning served as prime examples—screamed loud and clear he wasn't at all familiar with the concept of fidelity. A fact Arthur knew before he'd even left Town. Perhaps he really shouldn't have come to Ramsey House, but at least he could leave tomorrow knowing Randolph was now firmly in his past. And he had Thornton to thank for that. The relationship reconciled, and every last bit of lingering ache pushed from his heart. But not the memory of it. That more than anything had delayed his appearance in Thornton's bedchamber. Hopefully his early departure tomorrow wouldn't ruin their newfound friendship. They had been friends once, without the added complexity of sex muddying the waters. Their short holiday simply illustrated they suited better as friends and not lovers. As his friend, the indiscretions he could accept, a mere given that came along with Thornton. The gossip and rumor surrounding Thornton could wash over him with no ill effect, as long as he wasn't one of the many inhabiting Thornton's bed. For if so, Thornton would break his heart, harder and quicker than he feared he could recover. And he'd never find that sense of steadiness he craved. Forever waiting for the day when Thornton tired of him and flitted out of his life, just as he had done ten years ago. But the attraction, the intense pull he felt only with Thornton, coupled with the knowledge the man waited for him tonight… Clearly reason and logic held little power over it, for here he sat.

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He shifted in the chair. Reaching out, he snatched the almost full glass of whisky from the bedside table and took a long swallow, but it did little to soften the coarse rub of irritation riding over the heavy disappointment. And after all the debating whether to come to Thornton's bedchamber, after all that pacing and arguing with himself, he found this. But something he needed to see for himself, a blunt reminder of Thornton's true nature. He set the glass down and scrubbed a hand over his face. Leave. Yes, indeed, he should go back to his bedchamber and get a few hours of sleep before returning to London to start his search for someone to share his life with. Staying the full length of their short holiday was now out of the question. More days spent with Thornton would only make it harder to leave. But… His gaze traveled once more over the sinfully beautiful man sprawled on the large four-poster bed. Their previous encounters had been hasty affairs, clothing only unbuttoned enough to bare the essentials. He was already here… What harm could come from indulging one last time? He nudged the whisky bottle with his toe, pushing it against a leg of the bedside table. Thornton likely wouldn't remember it anyway. But he would. One night of complete and utter abandon. The chance to give free rein to every sexual impulse he had ever tamped down. And to do it with Thornton, a man accustomed to walking away in the morning without a backward glance. Such an opportunity would likely never present itself again. Such stark, blinding, raw lust did not go hand in hand with a steady, amiable man capable of a long-term, discreet commitment. The only type of man he would share his bed with once he returned to London. But as long as he kept the knowledge of exactly whom he indulged with in the forefront of his mind, he was fairly certain he could survive one night with Thornton and walk away with his heart intact.

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He toed off his shoes and whisked his shirt over his head, flicking it to the floor before he could give it another thought. The navy coat, waistcoat, and cravat had been discarded a good hour ago, well before he'd even left his own bedchamber. Anticipation now coursing through his veins, he stood and removed his trousers, leaving them in a pile at his feet. His erection sprang free, hard and heavy and eager to feel those skilled hands and lush lips one last time. Gaze pinned on the most beautiful man he'd ever laid eyes on, he went to the foot of the bed. Careful not disturb the mattress, he slowly crawled up Thornton's body and dropped a light kiss on that firmly rounded arse.

***** A light, soft tickle roused Leopold from a deep sleep. He reached back to swat lazily at his bum and encountered… He levered up on his forearms to look over his shoulder. A dream? He blinked and passed a hand over his eyes. His head certainly felt fogged. But he never dreamed of Arthur when he overimbibed before bed. He looked again. Arthur. Naked. Crouched behind him, his head bowed over Leopold's arse, his lips less than an inch from his skin. Holy hell. He had come after all. Grinning, Leopold shook his head in amazement, happiness flooding his senses, chasing away the despair that had nearly broken his heart. “Evening, Barrington,” he said, voice raspy from sleep. “Find anything that interests you back there?” The sharp nip zinged along his nerves and made him ache for more. “Most assuredly.” At Arthur's low, rumbling growl, blood pooled to Leopold's groin so quickly his head went light. Even in his wildest fantasies, Arthur Barrington hadn't bitten him on the arse.

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Dragging his lips along his spine, Arthur crawled up his body. Pressed kisses across his shoulder to his neck and up to his ear. Soft, light kisses that made Leopold feel cherished. Wanted. Treasured. With a moan, he hung his head, resting his forehead on his pillow, and lifted his hips, brushing against Arthur's erection. Arthur let out a barely perceptible grunt and then worked a knee between Leopold's thighs. He quickly swung his leg up, opening for Arthur. Hot, silken skin nestled in the crease of his arse. Slow and with deliberate purpose, Arthur humped him, the base of his cock teasing his entrance with each stroke, reminding him vividly of how that cock felt buried deep. Stretching him wide. Pounding into him. A heavy wave of lust washed over him. He clutched the sheet, a whimper tumbling passed his lips. Shameless and needy, he pushed back, wanting more. The mattress shifted and heat scorched his back as Arthur lowered fully on top of him, the weight of his body pinning him down. Solid, strong, just like the man himself. Soft chest hair brushed between his shoulders. Panting breaths fanned his nape. He could feel the hair on Arthur's groin rub against his cheeks as the man ground into him. The power and promise behind each tantalizing thrust brought him closer to the point of begging. His cock was smashed between his belly and the mattress. The friction of the soft sheet was not even close to what he needed. And his lips… He needed Arthur's against his own. Needed to wrap his arms around his lover, hold him tight. Verify this was not, in fact, a dream. He twisted, bare skin sliding against bare skin, limbs tangling and untangling, until they were on their sides. Leg hooked over Arthur's hip, arms wrapped around him, he kissed him fiercely. The taste of Arthur was so perfect, so right. An exact match to his memory from the forest. Except this time, leaves didn't crunch beneath his feet. This time he wasn't intent on pushing a memory of an old lover from Arthur's mind. This time Arthur had come to him. He slanted his mouth over Arthur's again and again. Unable to get enough. A growl shook Arthur's chest. He gripped Leopold's arse, fingers digging into the crease,

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and yanked him closer, delivering a tug on his hole. His ballocks lurched up tighter against his body. With every move he made, his prick bumped against Arthur's. A luxurious caress. Seeking more, he thrust his hips. The tip of Arthur's prick rubbed against his, leaving a wet trail of precum along his length. He tore his lips from Arthur's, breaking the kiss. “I want to taste your cock.” Panting hard, he pushed on the man's rock-hard shoulder. Arthur moved onto his back, and Leopold went with him, sitting up to straddle his waist. Palms flattened on his chest, he rolled his hips, rubbing his ballocks over the arch of Arthur's erection. That earned him another low growl from Arthur, his firm lips pulling in a feral grin that vanquished all traces of the restrained, conservative facade from his expression, leaving only the man. To finally have this man with him, in his bed, as he'd hoped for so long… It was almost too much to comprehend. He wanted to do everything with him. Right now. All at once. Taste every inch of his skin. Know him in every carnal way possible. Give Arthur every inch of his soul. He trailed his fingers through the smattering of hair on his broad chest, pausing briefly to pluck at one of the copper nipples. Then he bent his head and sucked on the hard tip. Arthur stiffened and hissed, his prick jerking against Leopold's ballocks. The reaction immediately imprinted itself on his brain. As did the way Arthur's stomach muscles twitched as he dragged his lips down to the thick cock he just had to taste again. The next instant, he had his hand wrapped around the heavy weight of Arthur's prick. With a swipe of his tongue, he lapped up the fluid beaded at the tip. The hint of salt, musk, and Arthur had him opening his mouth, taking him inside, needing more. Arthur gasped. “Damnation, Thornton.” He practically purred in response. As he bobbed along the length, he looked up. Arthur had levered onto his forearms, but with Leopold's forelock hanging over his eyes, coupled with only the fire

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to light the room, he couldn't make out Arthur's expression from the shadows of his face. Arthur must have heard his thoughts, for with a light touch, he smoothed the hair from his eyes, holding it back as he palmed his skull. The lust and need in Arthur's intent gaze flooded Leopold's senses. Damn, it felt beyond good to give Arthur pleasure. Unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He sucked harder, relaxed his throat, and took him down to the base, reveling in the tremor racking Arthur's body. In the guttural groan filling his ears. On the next upward glide, he paused to lavish attention on the crown, drinking up the fresh bead of precum, teasing the highly sensitive slit. Then he pulled free, planted his hands on Arthur's inner thighs, and pushed. The man spread for him, fully exposing the ballocks drawn up tight to his body. Leopold bowed his head to trail his tongue over the soft skin, the fine hairs a tickle on his lips. Gently sucked on first one and then the other testicle. All the while, his senses acutely attuned to Arthur, instinctively sorting out what he liked best and doing it again. For by dawn tomorrow, he'd have Arthur bound so tightly to him with pleasure, he'd never so much as look at another man again. He shifted up. Grabbed Arthur's neck and slanted his mouth harshly over his in a quick, hot kiss. “Turn over. I want to lick your arse.” Arthur's breath caught, his eyes wide with surprise yet glazed with desire. “Oh, fuck, Thorn. You're going to be the death of me.” “I should hope not. Though it wouldn't be a bad way to go.” He nipped Arthur's jaw. “Now turn.” Arthur twisted, and Leopold wasted no time scooting down to palm the firmly muscled backside he'd only seen in his fantasies. A tug on his hips got Arthur canted at the necessary angle. Spreading the firm cheeks, he let his breath fan the exposed crack of his arse. The tight ring of muscle contracted. Arthur sucked in a breath as Leopold's tongue danced over his skin, liberally wetting it. Then he swirled his thumb over that tight hole, trying to coax it to relax.

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Letting out a moan, Arthur pushed back, seeking more. Leopold ignored the lust clawing at his own throat and eagerly gave Arthur what he wanted. He rimmed the perimeter. Nipped and teased. Focused all his attention on giving Arthur the most decadent of pleasures. Scattered between Arthur's indecipherable grunts and moans, he could make out a few words. “Didn't know… Damnation, Thorn… Feels so good.” It almost sounded like… He paused, recalling the surprise in Arthur's eyes when he'd told him what he wanted to do to him. “Haven't you had a man kiss your arse before?” Arthur glanced over his shoulder. Even with the dim lighting, he could make out the flush staining his cheeks, the sweat beading his brow. He shook his head. “And do you like it?” The guttural groan spoke for itself. “And I haven't even gotten to the best part yet.” A quick wink and then the tip of his tongue slipped into that tempting hole. He felt the instant when Arthur opened for him, the ring of muscle relaxing. He alternated between tongue fucking and teasing the perimeter, occasionally slipping a finger inside, stroking him deep, until the need building within himself became more than he could keep at bay. He levered up to cover the man and nuzzled his ear, his pulse skittering through his veins with a sudden pinch of uncertainty. “Will you let me fuck you?” “Yes.” Arthur gasped. “God, please.” He blinked. He couldn't say why he hadn't expected that answer, but he hadn't. “Really?” Arthur turned his head, caught his gaze. “You thought all I wanted was to bugger you? I happen to like the feel of a hard cock in my arse.”

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Leopold bit down on his shoulder as lust slammed into him. Damnation. If Arthur continued to talk like that, he'd come all over his bum. He quickly leaned left, reaching into the bedside table drawer to grab the bottle of oil. With his shoulders pressed to the bed, Arthur lifted his hips higher, presenting Leopold with his arse. The head of his thick, hard prick brushed the sheets. His ballocks were so tight they kissed the smooth expanse of skin beneath that well-prepared hole. A quick swipe of his hand slicked his own cock. Tossing the bottle aside, he grabbed hold of Arthur's hips and eased inside. Tight, searing heat gripped his length, then relaxed just enough to pull him in. Damn, Arthur knew how to take a cock. He had to grit his teeth as he eased back to start thrusting. Two strokes, and he knew he wouldn't last long. He never did when he fucked another man. It was used more for a quick climax, so he could switch and get fucked until he came again. A mere warm-up for yet more pleasure. Still, he typically managed a handful of minutes. But this wasn't just any man. This was Arthur. His hoarse groans of pleasure. His sweat-slicked skin under his hands. Him beneath Leopold. He let the orgasm race through him. He didn't even attempt to hold it back but savored the blinding rush of sensation as he spilled deep within Arthur. Gasping for breath, he dropped down and plied Arthur once again with his tongue, swirling it over the sensitive flesh, keeping him poised at the height of pleasure. Arthur bucked and cursed, his body tightening beneath his hands as if to twist away, but Leopold held him steady as he lapped up the remnants of his own climax, reveling in the crude act. The way it made him feel so goddamn wicked. So stripped free of every inhibition. “Damn.” A quick, harsh hiss. “Fuck!” Arthur wrenched free of his hold.

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He quickly leaned back to avoid a knee in the jaw as Arthur turned over to stare at him, his chest heaving, his cock so hard it brushed his sculpted abdomen. Leopold licked his lips, wanting to swipe that bead of fluid from the needy head. “Hell, is there anything you won't do?” “No. Nothing. Now fuck me. Please.” A feral growl filled the room. The next instant Arthur was on top of him. Crouched between Leopold's thighs, Arthur grabbed his semierect prick. “Gladly, but let me get you hard first.” He shook his head and reached left, hand coasting over the sheet. “Your cock will get me hard again.” Where the hell had he tossed that bottle? He tried the right side, his fingers finally closing over smooth glass. Arthur leaned back on his knees and took the bottle. “I can manage it. I think you've done enough work for one night.” “It's not work, I assure you.” A smile tipped Arthur's lips, his hazel eyes crinkling at the edges. “No, it isn't. Is it?” God, no. Never with Arthur. Leopold shimmied, tilting his hips and grabbing under his knees to pull his legs up. He watched with bated breath as Arthur poured a generous amount of oil onto his palm. Then Arthur thoroughly coated his hole. So slick and luscious. His eyelids fluttered, his muscles beginning to relax even before Arthur pushed a finger inside. Bracing his weight on one arm, he bent his head to Leopold's chest. Sucked and licked one nipple as his fingers slowly slid in and out. Much too slowly. He wrapped his legs around Arthur's hard waist, tugged on his shoulders. He wanted Arthur's cock in him. Now. Wanted to feel those powerful thrusts. “I'm ready. Fuck me.”

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“Not yet,” Arthur said; his breath fanned Leopold's wet nipple, teasing the tip. He pushed a third finger inside: twisting, scissoring, carefully working his entrance. But it was a poor substitute for the real thing. A sigh of gratitude expanded his chest as a blunt pressure pushed against his hole. Arthur had barely breached the perimeter when he abruptly stopped, his onceheavily lidded eyes flaring wide. “Christ, I can still feel you.” Leopold couldn't help but smile, even as his body screamed for more than just the head of the man's cock. He knew exactly what it felt like in Arthur's position, the hot flare as the lingering ache in his bum turned into a delicious throb, the echo of fullness without the stretch. Split between the sudden desire to fuck and get fucked anew. “Feel good?” “Hell, yes. Damned incredible.” “Good. Now quit teasing and fuck me.” He tugged on Arthur's shoulders again and shifted beneath him, trying to work himself on the man's prick, to scratch that allencompassing itch for more. Arthur cursed under his breath. Leopold felt the shudder rack the man's body. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, dropped onto Leopold's chest. He couldn't tear his gaze from Arthur's as the man pushed deeper. One long, agonizingly slow thrust. “All right?” Arthur asked, his chest heaving. “More than all right.” Arthur's ballocks were pressed against Leopold, his prick so blissfully deep inside him he could barely form the words. To be fucked after an orgasm… Nerves already shimmering with sensation, impatient lust sated, he could lie back and simply enjoy the sweet burning stretch. The glorious friction. That feeling of being possessed. Claimed. Taken by another. By Arthur. His entire body went lax even as his cock hardened anew. Lips parting, his head tipped back, hands kneading Arthur's bulging biceps as the man fucked him with slow, powerful strokes.

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“God, you're beautiful, Thorn.” At those hoarse words, soaked with awe, he dragged Arthur down, needing his kiss. He was surrounded completely by Arthur. The man's weight on top of him, his cock inside him, his tongue twining with Leopold's. He opened his heart, poured every bit of love he held in his soul into that kiss. And as those thrusts turned determined, slamming relentlessly into him as Arthur's body tightened above him, their kiss still unbroken, the orgasm ripped through him. Arthur's shout of completion drowned out his high, keening cry. And the last thing he remembered before unconsciousness claimed him was a breathless thankyou whispered in his ear.

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Chapter Six Sprawled on his stomach, Leopold blinked his eyes open. Thin shafts of weak, gray daylight seeped into the darkened room from the breaks in the closed drapes. A steady drum of rain beat against the windows. The fire had burned itself out at some point during the predawn hours, leaving the hearth dark. He pushed up onto his forearms and looked beside him. Rumpled sheets and blankets, as if someone had thrown them aside while getting out of the bed. The fluffy white pillow still held the impression from Arthur's head. Leopold grinned and flopped back down onto the bed. He tugged the blanket draped over his hips higher, seeking its warmth. Waking up with hope in his heart was a singularly wonderful experience. The fact that Arthur had left did not dim his spirits one bit. He had not expected Arthur to remain until dawn. The man seemed accustomed to rising early, and likely unaware Leopold did not employ a valet or allow any servants to enter his bedchamber during the night or the morning. Since he hadn't given his staff the same orders regarding Arthur's bedchamber, it was probably best Arthur had returned to his own room during the night, before a servant sneaked in to light the morning fire. Arthur did worry about keeping up appearances, after all.

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Something to keep in the forefront of his mind when they returned to London. Not a cause for concern, though. He'd willingly leave his old life behind for Arthur. More than willingly. Long ago, he had grown quite tired of it. Hours upon hours spent at the gambling tables, the near-constant haze of drunkenness, the steady stream of visits to brothels and molly houses, and house parties that were little more than excuses for orgies, surrounded by acquaintances but no one he called friend. He had never relished it anyway; he'd only used it to distract him from a pain no longer there. Last night… He shifted his hips to accommodate his growing erection, the sheets a soft caress against his skin. Just thinking about last night made him hard, but knowing it was the start of a relationship with Arthur made his heart swell near to bursting. No way could Arthur not have felt the connection between them. Never before in his life had sex been anything more than just sex, two people using each other for their own selfish pleasure. But last night had been more, so much more. The way Arthur had touched him, the care he had shown him, the way he looked at him with more than lust in his eyes… He meant more to Arthur than empty pleasure. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he actually looked forward to returning to London. Would they split their evenings between Arthur's bachelor apartments and Leopold's town house? Or would Arthur prefer to meet at Leopold's? He held no illusion they would spend every night together—the need for discretion, of course—but a few nights a week should be manageable. Hell, he'd take once a week. The promise of Arthur could well sustain him for six days. But no need to wait today. He flung aside the blankets and swung his feet over the side of the mattress. Damp, cold air hit his bare skin, making his erection wilt. Usually he was too preoccupied with the sledgehammers pounding his skull to notice the lack of a fire in the morning. Overindulging before bed guaranteed a night without Arthur haunting

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his dreams, but it did have an unpleasant side effect. Knowing he would never again wake with an aching head…just one other thing to look forward to. He made to stand, then stopped, frowning at the whisky bottle on the floor by the bedside table. If he had held on to his patience a bit longer, not given into despair so quickly, that bottle would not be empty. Yet… He gave his head an experimental shake. Nothing. No pounding whatsoever. Umm… Perhaps a bout of vigorous exercise served as a preemptive cure for sledgehammers. Who knew? He shrugged. Right or wrong, he wouldn't have need to test that theory. He went to the washstand to splash water over his face. Eyes closed, he blindly reached for the towel beside the basin and swiped it over his wet face, dragging it along his bristly jaw. The shave could wait. He wanted to see Arthur now. After donning a pair of comfortable, well-worn breeches, he snagged the navy blue silk dressing gown from the armchair by the fireplace and slipped it on. He frequently trudged downstairs in search of a steaming cup of tea to clear his head, so his lack of proper attire wouldn't raise any eyebrows by his staff. He passed a quick hand over his hair to tame the mess created by Arthur's greedy fingers, and then left his bedchamber and made his way to the dining room. What to do today? Nothing out of doors, at least not while it rained. Billiards again? Maybe. Arthur might want to put his nose back into the pile of papers Leopold had dragged him away from yesterday. He could indulge him for a couple of hours, as long as Arthur promised to indulge Leopold after…perhaps with a quiet afternoon secluded in the study. The drapes drawn closed and the door locked. They could put the leather couch to good use. As Leopold went down the main stairs, the front door opened and Jones entered, flicking the rain off the sleeves of his black coat. The footman quickly closed the door, shutting out the wind. Damn dreadful weather. The rain beat against the house in what sounded like an ever-increasing tempo. Wonderful. A deluge. At least he didn't have to go out in it.

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The sharp crack of a whip stopped him in his tracks. Beneath the sounds of the storm was the distinct crunch of gravel under carriage wheels and horses' hooves. He felt the color drain from his face. Heart in his throat, he took the last three steps in a leap and darted for the door, one hand reaching for the knob and the other shoving Jones aside. “Sir?” Ignoring Jones, he flung the door open. The breath whooshed out of his chest at the sight of a carriage on the gravel path, driving away from the house. Through sheer will, he forced air into his lungs. “Who's in it?” he demanded without bothering to look at his footman. “Pardon, Mr. Thornton?” “The bloody carriage. Is it Mr. Barrington?” A pause. “Yes, sir.” He gripped the knob tightly, his arm shaking. Perhaps Arthur wasn't leaving for good. Perhaps he was just going… “Where is he headed?” At Jones's silence, he whipped his head around to look over his shoulder, needing the answer. Now. He'd rip the word from the man's throat if need be. Jones dropped his gaze to the marble floor. “London.” He swore he felt his heart rip in two. In a daze, Leopold stared back out at the departing carriage, that one word repeating in his head, as he watched Arthur move farther and farther away from him. The moment the dark shape disappeared into the fog and rain, he whirled from the door. “Saddle a horse. Now!”

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Jones's head snapped up. If there had been pity in his eyes, Leopold would have discharged the man on the spot. “Yes, sir.” Leopold bolted upstairs, taking the steps two at a time and pulling off the dressing gown. He slammed the bedchamber door against the wall as he opened it, and then he flung open the narrow dressing room door, hand closing around soft white linen on one of the shelves lining the walls. After tugging the shirt over his head and shoving his arms through the sleeves, he grabbed his boots. He had them on in a trice, and he ran back out of his bedchamber, down the corridor, down the stairs, out of the house, and toward the stables. He skidded to a halt inside the stables and swiped a hand over his face to wipe away the rain. Breathing heavily, he blinked, willing his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. Jones and one of the grooms were in the aisle scurrying around Vice, his burly iron gray hunter. Nothing usually bothered the tall stallion, but the groom flinging a saddle onto his back as Jones tried to attend to the bridle had the horse flicking his long black tail and stomping his feet. “Done yet, Jones?” the groom asked as he buckled the girth. Jones had half the headstall behind Vice's ear and was struggling to get the other half in place. Vice tossed his head, resisting Jones's efforts. “No, he won't stand—” “I'll do it.” For God's sake, if he left it to the two men, noon would come and go before he tracked down Arthur. Both men jumped back at the sound of Leopold's voice. Ignoring the shocked stares, he took Jones's place at the horse's head. “Easy, boy,” he crooned, gently righting the bridle. A few flicks of his fingers, and the small buckles under the horse's throatlatch and jaw were done. Vice made to rub his head affectionately against Leopold's arm, but he was already swinging up into the saddle and grabbing the reins. With a firm nudge of his heels, Vice leaped forward, eager to be off. As soon as they cleared the stable door,

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Leopold nudged the horse again. Vice slipped obediently into a ground-covering gallop. The cold November rain smacked Leopold's face, stinging his cheeks. He squinted, trying to see more than a few paces in front on him, and asked Vice for more speed. The massive stallion gave it and more, his long strides devouring the gravel path under his hooves. Urgency pressed heavily on Leopold. Still not fast enough. The road forked two miles ahead. One way led to the village, the other around it. If he chose unwisely, he'd end up either past Arthur or farther behind him. Why the hell had Arthur left? Had Leopold done something or said something horribly wrong? Or was it what was not said or not done? He could think of nothing to explain the man's abrupt departure. Last night defined perfect. You didn't do anything but be yourself. Of course he left you. Those same doubts from two evenings ago came rushing upon him. Goddamn whore. Why would he want you? But he refused to pull Vice to a stop, to announce defeat, to give up on his chance with Arthur. He could not allow the man to sneak away at dawn, like he himself had done with so many lovers in the past. And certainly not without a word to him. Gripping the reins tightly, he leaned low over the stallion's neck and dug his heels into his sides. Vice's mane whipped his face, but he was numb to it. The sweet taste of relief hit his tongue when he caught sight of the carriage. “Halt!” The footman perched on the back glanced over his shoulder, then pounded on the roof. To Leopold's utter gratitude, the carriage began to slow. Vice tossed his head in protest as Leopold yanked hard on the reins, pulling the horse to an abrupt stop to keep from colliding with the back of the carriage. He flung himself out of the saddle and tossed the reins at the startled footman. Not bothering to make sure the servant had a hold on Vice, he grabbed the small brass lever, yanked the door open, and sat on the bench opposite Arthur. “Thorn?”

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“Where the hell do you think you're going?” Instead of worry and fear, the demand came out drenched with indignant anger. He wanted to both pummel Arthur with his fists for daring to leave, for daring to make him believe they could be together, and launch himself at the man, beg him to stay. Arthur leaned left, closing the door with a smart snap. A small brass lantern attached to the wall illuminated the interior. The brown leather bag lay at Arthur's hip, within easy reach but not yet opened. “Back to Town,” he said, measured and resolute. “If you would be so kind as to remove yourself from my carriage, I can be on my way.” “No!” Savage and vicious, the denial popped out of his mouth, jolting even Leopold. He scrubbed his hands over his wet face, trying to calm himself. Screaming would do nothing to convince Arthur to stay. Rain beat against the roof, filling his ears to the point where he couldn't even hear the pulse pounding hard and frantic through his veins. “Don't leave yet. Come back to the house.” “No.” “But you agreed to stay until Monday.” “Schedules change, Thornton.” His schedule? Leopold desperately grasped hold of a possible cause for Arthur's departure. “Did you receive an urgent note from London? From your secretary?” “No.” Leopold winced. Then that meant he was leaving of his own accord. “But, Arthur, last night—” Arthur stiffened, his gaze darting to the door. “Keep your voice down,” he admonished. “I do not wish my driver or footman to overhear anything you may say. In any case, there is nothing to discuss.” Arthur's resolute stance caused a near-paralyzing fear to grip hold of him. He could feel Arthur slipping through his fingers. He leaned forward, his hand hovering

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over Arthur's knee for a moment before he snatched it back. He didn't dare touch him. Not with the way Arthur pierced him with that hard stare. “Don't leave.” A sneer that held a distinct layer of disdain curled Arthur's lips, making Leopold acutely aware of how he must look. Soaked through from the rain, water dripping down his face. He shifted on the leather bench and fought the urge to grimace as the cold, wet fabric of his breeches rubbed against his ballocks. “All right, then,” Arthur said, clearly against his better judgment. “I will give you five minutes.” His shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.” “I'll meet you at the house.” “I'll go with you.” “Get out and get back on your horse,” Arthur said through clenched teeth. “I will meet you at Ramsey House.” Leopold nodded. At least Arthur was giving him a chance. Not much of one, but at least something. A bitter-cold gust of wind hit him as he got out of the carriage. He trudged to the back and mounted his horse once again. With a tug on the reins, Vice moved off the road. He waited under the branches of a tall oak tree as the driver turned the carriage, leaving ruts in the grass on either side of the road. As the carriage passed him, he stared hard through the window, willing Arthur to look at him, but the man's gaze remained straight ahead. Not a comforting omen of things to come. He guided Vice back to the muddy road and set the horse to an easy trot, matching the team of four, unwilling to let Arthur out of his sight until the man heard him out. What he'd say to Arthur, how exactly he would convince him to stay for two more days, never mind that he was worthy of the man's affections… He hadn't the faintest

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notion. The distinct threat of rejection settled heavily on his chest, the weight pressing harder and harder, fraying his nerves near to breaking as he slowly followed Arthur back to Ramsey House.

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Chapter Seven “I'll be but a few minutes,” Arthur instructed the driver as he got out of the carriage. Ducking his head to shield his face from the driving rain, he hurried up the few stone steps and into the house. He ignored the butler's outstretched hand, the silent request to relinquish his greatcoat. No use giving it up when he would need it back in just a few minutes. He paused and glanced up the stairs. No, he would not have this conversation with Thornton in a bedchamber. Not when he could still feel every place on his body that the man had kissed him last night. The entrance hall would not do either. “My study,” Thornton grumbled, walking past him. Arthur did not consider himself a transparent man, but Thornton did possess an uncanny knack at reading his thoughts. He hadn't had to ask anything of Thornton last night; before the request could form in his head, he had given him what he wanted. So in tune with each other. So perfect. He knew in his bones no future bed partner would ever come close to comparing with Thornton.

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Therein lay the source of the regret that had gripped hold of him the moment Thornton had fallen asleep in his arms. And a source of his anger. How dare the man be so perfect yet also so wrong for him? Damn cruel. Like a taunt to his heart. Following the track of wet footprints, Arthur went down the corridor and entered the room on the right. The door shut behind him. He turned at the sound of a lock sliding home. Palming the key, Thornton leaned a shoulder against the door and crossed his arms over his chest, all pouting insolence. The ride back had taken him beyond merely wet to completely drenched, as though he'd had a swim in a pond without removing his clothes. Not that he would have had many clothes to remove. The black breeches clung to the lean muscles of his legs. The white shirt plastered to his sculpted chest revealed a hint of the copper nipples beneath the sodden fabric. His hair was tousled as if he'd just run a hasty hand through it, his jaw darkened with a morning beard, pale cheeks glistening from the rain… Absolutely gorgeous. Pure sin brought to life. But a temptation Arthur could and would refuse. The silence stretched taut, broken only by the intermittent drops of water falling from Thornton and forming little puddles on the wooden floorboards. The conversation was not going to be pleasant, but it was a necessity. He couldn't risk Thornton continuing his pursuit all the way to London. And he wouldn't put it past him, given the reckless way he had come after Arthur. Definitely had not foreseen that turn of events. Apparently Thornton took exception to any change in plan not dictated by himself. “You have five minutes. Then I expect you to unlock that door.” “And what if I refuse?” Thornton asked, his chin tipped down and his gaze pinned on Arthur. They were men, for God's sake. Almost thirty years of age. Why did Thornton have to behave like a surly adolescent? “You won't refuse. But if you do, I will simply pry the key from your hand.”

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Thornton's full lips curled in defiance. “You are welcome to try all you like, but—” “And I will succeed,” he said curtly, cutting off the retort. Thornton's elegant build would not stand a chance against him. “I am stronger than you.” His hand itched to give Thornton a swift smack on the arse, to knock some sense into him. Clearly his father had indulged him to the point where he couldn't tolerate someone going against his wishes. If Arthur needed another example of why he and Thornton did not suit, it stood right before him, slouched against the door and glaring daggers at him. “It was a mistake to accept your invitation, and I fully accept the blame for the situation we now find ourselves in.” “You damn well should. You're the one who crawled into my bed last night.” “That was a mistake.” He should not have done it. Shouldn't have given himself a glimpse of what he couldn't have again. Thornton flinched, his eyes clamping shut for a brief moment, unmistakable pain pulling his features. The unexpected reaction startled Arthur, jolting him from the evertightening grip of anger. Could Thornton actually have feelings for him, ones that went beyond mere lust? Oh no. His stomach dropped to somewhere around his knees. That couldn't be true. Notorious for his exploits, Thornton flitted from lover to lover without a backward glance. He had been certain Thornton hadn't seen him as any different from the rest. But Arthur was getting a nagging and very uncomfortable premonition that Thornton held expectations that went beyond their short holiday. Damnation. The one time Arthur indulged in sex for no other reason than pleasure, he chose a partner who wanted more. If he had more experience with such matters, perhaps he could have seen the signs and stopped their liaison before they reached this point. He had not intended to hurt Thornton; he well knew what it felt like on the receiving end. But it appeared he had done so, regardless of his intentions. “I apologize if my acceptance of your invitation gave you the wrong impression. But you and I, we do not suit.”

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“I suited you just fine last night, and yesterday morning, and the night you arrived.” “Yes, but I am referring to more than just physical compatibility.” “I'm good enough to fuck, but that's all. Is that what you're telling me?” When put so bluntly, it made Arthur feel like the worst sort of cad. But as his friend, Thornton deserved to know the truth. “Yes,” Arthur said with a grim nod. “Thornton, we are two completely different men. You don't understand the concept of discretion. Hell, you didn't even stop to don a cravat, much less a coat, before you chased after me.” “I didn't want you to leave.” Obviously. “But it illustrates my point. You give little if any thought to comporting yourself in the manner of a gentleman, much less one who has something to hide. I cannot risk word getting out about my preference for those of my own gender. It would destroy my reputation, thus killing my livelihood. No decent man will employ a solicitor who buggers other men. And beyond that, I don't have the weight of a wealthy, titled father to keep gossip in check and to keep me from swinging from the hangman's noose. I will be honest with you, Thornton. I do not wish to spend the rest of my life alone. But I cannot accept a…partner,” he said, for lack of a better word, “who does not recognize the value of commitment.” “Oh, but Amherst was acceptable, and he's just the model of fidelity. He wanted me to suck him off, but I refused him because of you.” Suck him off? He should have known there had been more to Thornton's claim to Randolph's infidelity. Obviously Thornton had done more than merely notice Randolph at Delacroix's brothel. When in Town, Thornton practically lived at such establishments. And one time Thornton had said no. That was the proof he presented of his ability to remain faithful to another? Arthur kept the exasperated sigh from making its way past his lips. Enough. Time to cut directly to the heart of the matter. “You drink to excess.” “So I can forget you,” Thornton shot back.

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“You'll swive anyone.” “They were all poor substitutes for you.” Arthur opened his mouth but promptly shut it as the significance of Thornton's words sank in. Every one of his answers had to do with Arthur. And not just this morning, but even the night Arthur had arrived. When he'd asked Thornton if he needed another glass of whisky… “No. You're here.” Thornton had been willing to drag himself out of bed before dawn to go shooting “…for you.” Dumbstruck, he stared hard at Thornton. The man quickly averted his gaze to look out one of the windows in the study, but he couldn't hide the way every muscle had drawn tight. The way his arms were crossed defensively over his chest, the white tips of fingers biting into his biceps. His responses, his posture, it all screamed of sincerity, but… Arthur glanced to the clock on the fireplace mantel. No reason to stay. Perhaps if months instead of weeks had passed since he'd parted with Randolph, he would be more open to giving Thornton a chance. As it stood, he simply was not ready to gamble his heart on the possibility of Thornton changing his ways. The memory of the wounds Randolph had left in his wake was still too fresh, too raw. And if this man broke his heart…a pinprick of the pain he had sustained two weeks ago. “Unlock the door, Thornton,” he said, unable to keep the regret from his voice. “Your five minutes are up.” “I've waited ten years for you. I think I deserve more than five bloody minutes.” Arthur dragged a hand through his hair. “Don't exaggerate. It's in poor form.” Still staring out the window, Thornton let out a mirthless chuckle. “Everything about me is in poor form. I have no cause to give you yet another reason to find fault with me.” He dropped his attention to his mud-flecked boots, his shoulders rounding, his brow furrowing. “It was April twenty-fourth, eighteen eleven. We ran into each other at Cheswick's Tavern, and I went looking for you later that night. Decided to finally make my intentions known. Thought perhaps, well…” He harrumphed and

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gave his head a weary shake. “I went to your apartments. Was just about to knock when I heard his voice.” Arthur's pulse skipped a beat. He knew exactly which day Thornton referred to: the start of the last ten long years with Randolph. “How long did you wait outside the door?” “Long enough to know you hadn't invited him for tea.” “I didn't invite him. He invited himself.” “Oh.” If not for the rigidity of his posture, Arthur would think he didn't care. “Had you been seeing him long?” Thornton asked. “No. We went to university together, were friends of a sort, but I wasn't aware he preferred men until he showed up at my door. It was our first time together. My first time, actually.” “With a man?” “Women never appealed to me. It was my first time with anyone.” Thornton winced, as if those words caused physical pain. “My apologies.” Thornton shook his head. “You don't owe me an apology. I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I waited too long to make my interest known. I didn't want to rush you.” “You had no problem doing that this week,” Arthur pointed out. Thornton's lips pulled in a humorless smirk. “Didn't want to make the same mistake twice.” Where would they be now if Thornton had not been patient? If their friendship had turned to something more before Thornton became a notorious rakehell. Would they still be together, or would London have still sunk its teeth into Thornton, tearing them apart? One thing for certain. He would not have refused the man then, just as he

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had not refused him two nights ago. “I wish it had been you. He was a bit of brute, and it damn well hurt.” Thornton shrugged. “Usually does the first time.” “But I would have at least enjoyed myself with you.” Arthur paused and passed a hand over the front of his greatcoat, fiddling with a button. “I fell in with Randolph because…he was there. He wanted me. And at nineteen years of age, I was more than a bit primed. Yet I was too young to know how to go about finding a man who shared my interests. I didn't want to approach anyone, not even an acquaintance, for fear of choosing unwisely and having the tale spread all over Town. I was afraid to go to a molly house—didn't want to get the pox, and paying a stranger to take my virginity didn't have much appeal. My options were severely limited, and Randolph was a decent fellow. Attractive, if a bit of a condescending bore. It was easy to say yes to him and even easier to stay with him. If he hadn't decided to find a wife, I probably would have never left. Yet I'm…I'm relieved that relationship ended.”

Don't ask; don't ask… “Why?” Leopold scowled as he heard the word leave his lips. Hearing about Randolph, knowing Arthur had willingly spent ten years with a man who did not love him when he could have had Leopold all along was like having daggers driven into his heart. Granted, he had kept his desires well hidden from Arthur until two weeks ago, but still, it hurt. “Looking back, it wasn't as easy, as…comfortable as I had believed. We were more acquaintances who occasionally shared a bed than anything else. And I was reluctant to ask anything of him, to disrupt the waters, so to speak, for fear he would leave me, and then I'd be alone.” That lonely, hollow note had crept into Arthur's voice, making his heart ache to hold the man tight and never let him go. “You don't have to be alone. Ever. If you don't wish it.” You can be with me. He could feel the force of Arthur's stare, measuring him, judging him. Please, let him find something, anything, worthy in me. He shifted his weight

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and continued to pretend as though his boots were the most interesting things he had ever beheld. “I understand.” Arthur's heavy sigh filled the room. “May I still call you friend, Thorn?” Biting the edge of his bottom lip, he nodded. “Thank you.” Arthur paused. “Will you please unlock the door?” How he stopped himself from screaming no, he frankly did not know. He gave a short, tight nod and forced his fingers to unclench from his upper arms. Surely the key had left a permanent impression on his skin, but he was numb to it. It took a couple of tries to get the key into the lock, but it finally slid home, and he turned the knob and opened the door to let Arthur walk away from him. Holding the door open, he kept his gaze downcast, unable to watch Arthur leave. As Arthur walked passed, desperation yanked hold of him. “Wait.” The click of footsteps on the floorboards ceased. The words stuck in his throat, but he forced them out, unwilling to risk losing Arthur for not being completely honest. “You're the only man I've ever loved,” he whispered hoarsely. He waited for what felt like an eternity, staring at Arthur's feet, the black leather of his shoes marred by the rain. His heart pounded in his ears, his soul pleading for a response from Arthur. But…nothing. He had laid his heart bare only to receive silence. The threat of tears stung his nose, his eyes. He gripped the doorknob tightly, willing the tremble from his arm, trying to keep his emotions in check. To keep from the utter humiliation of being reduced to tears in front of the man he loved. But the effort was in vain. Before the proof showed itself on his cheeks, he snapped, much harsher and stronger than he intended, “Just leave.” He swore he could hear Arthur's nod. Then those footsteps receded down the corridor and into the entrance hall. His stomach twisted in an unbearable knot, the noxious taste of bile rose in his throat. At the faint sound of carriage wheels on gravel,

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he slammed the door shut and darted across the study. He dropped to his knees, flung open the doors on the squat cabinet, and started pushing aside the bottles, disturbing the neat rows. His stomach clenched violently, lurching in his gut. By God, he was going to be sick. The gin. Where the hell was it? He needed it. Now. Wine and whisky toppled from the shelf. The bottles rolled passed his knees to somewhere behind him as he furiously searched the shadowed depths of the cabinet. Jones better have two bottles in there. One would not make the morning go away. Oh fuck. Nothing could make it go away forever. He swiped his forearm across his eyes, the cold, sodden cloth smearing the warm drops across his cheeks. “Goddamn you, Jones. Where the hell did you put it?” He took a deep breath, about to bellow for his footman, when he spotted the slender bottle in the back corner. He yanked it from the cabinet, pried off the top, and brought the bottle to his lips. Harsh and abrasive, the gin burned his throat, but he kept swallowing great, greedy mouthfuls, needing more, desperate for the blissfully numb void that could only be found at the bottom of the bottle, even if only temporarily. The sound of a door closing smacked against his ears, pulling his arm to his side. He held his breath and strained to hear. Someone had entered the study. The unmistakable sensation of a pair of eyes on him made the hairs on his nape prick with unease. Bloody hell. He must be a sight to behold: soaked through from the rain, kneeling before the liquor cabinet, discarded bottles scattered about him with one clutched tightly in his right hand. Goddamn bloody drunkard. Absolutely pathetic. “I told the driver he wasn't needed. Should I call him back?”

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Arthur. And he did not sound pleased. Leopold wanted to bolt to his feet, to move away from the mess he'd created, to distance himself from it, but all he could do was shake his head. Arthur stepped farther into the room, the click of his shoes against the floorboards coming ever nearer. Fabric shifted as Arthur dropped to his haunches beside him, so close his greatcoat brushed Leopold's hip. Leopold instinctively ducked his chin, averting his face, and clenched his left fist to resist the urge to wipe at his eyes. The scents of cool rain and fresh outdoor air, of Arthur, filled his senses. His heart pounded against his ribs. A large, warm hand covered his, still wrapped tight around the gin. “Let go, Thorn.” At Arthur's soft, gentle murmur, his hand went lax, slipping out from under Arthur's. “Gin?” Arthur tsked. “No, that won't do at all.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur lean forward to set the open bottle on top of the cabinet. “What…what do you suggest?” “Me.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “For how long?” One night, two nights to finish their holiday, or more? He had to know. Was he only good enough to fuck, or had Arthur seen more in him? “For as long as you'll have me.” So casually spoken, yet it had the power to clamp Leopold's eyes shut. He pressed the heels of his palms to his closed eyes, struggling to keep his emotions from completely overwhelming him. “Thornton?” Arthur touched him, lightly and tentatively, on the shoulder.

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And it was too much. All the worry, pain, and heartache that had rubbed his nerves beyond raw exploded into frustrated rage. Leopold twisted around and punched Arthur square in the jaw. “Damn you!” As Arthur's head snapped to the left, Leopold flung himself at him, teeth bared and fist poised to deliver another blow. Next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, a heavy weight pressing him to the floor, his arms held above head. “What was that for?” Arthur demanded, looming over him. With a grunt, he tried to buck Arthur off. An absolutely useless effort. “I thought you left! How dare you do that do me?” Arthur's gaze swept over his face. Suddenly so grave, so somber, and not at all comforting. It killed every trace of frustration and rage, leaving him weak and gasping to draw breath. “I had planned to. I thought it the safest course of action, but I couldn't get in the carriage. I couldn't leave you. I couldn't punish you—us—because of what he did to me. He broke my heart, and it damn well hurt. But it's not broken anymore, because of you.” Arthur released his wrists. Propping his weight on one forearm, he coasted his other hand down Leopold's arm. With a light, reverent touch, he brushed the pad of his thumb over Leopold's wet lashes. “I'm sorry I hurt you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Can you forgive me?” How could he not? He loved this man. Leopold nodded. But lest Arthur believe his forgiveness came easily, he added, “Just don't do it again.” “Never. I promise.” Then Arthur cupped his jaw and took his lips in a soul-searing kiss. Passion instantly ignited. A white-hot flare, consuming his senses. He worked a hand between their bodies and tugged desperately on the buttons of Arthur's coat,

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needing to press bare skin to bare skin. To feel the heat from Arthur's body. To have the man inside him again. He twisted his head, breaking the kiss. “The door.” He panted. “Did you lock it?” “Concerned about discretion, Thornton?” “Thorn. Or Leopold, whichever you prefer. And don't be an arse. Just lock the damn thing if you didn't already see to it.” “All right.” A quick kiss. “But you have to get out of those wet clothes.” Untangling himself from Leopold, Arthur moved off him and onto his knees. “I'll be surprised if you don't catch a chill.” Leopold sat up. “You just want me naked.” “Yes, I do.” Arthur arched a brow, his gaze sweeping over Leopold, as if waiting for him to get started. He matched Arthur's raised brow and flicked his head toward the door. “All right,” Arthur said with a chuckle. He stood. “Are you going to get up, or would you prefer the floor?” Leopold stared at Arthur's proffered hand. He didn't need the help, but… He slapped his hand over Arthur's, and the man pulled him to his feet. He couldn't suppress the grunt as his knees protested the movement. “Floor's damn hard,” he grumbled. “I concur with your assessment.” Arthur turned and crossed to the door. Leopold whipped the shirt over his head, flinging it in the general direction of his desk. It landed with a wet slap. He had his trousers unbuttoned and pushed down to his hips when he remembered his boots. He glanced about the room. Hell. He looked to Arthur, who strode toward him, dropping his greatcoat onto an armchair as he passed it. Leopold leaned back against the paneled wall, placed a hand on the top of the liquor cabinet to steady his balance, and lifted a leg out before him. “Pull.”

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“Shall I fill in for your valet?” “I don't have one. There isn't a bootjack in the study, so if you want me naked, pull.” Arthur got into position. Back to him, he straddled Leopold's leg and took hold of the heel of his boot. One tug, and his foot slid free. The boot dropped with a thud. Leopold switched legs, and the other boot came off just as easily. Then he shoved his breeches down, kicking them free. Grabbing Arthur's upper arm, he spun the man around to face him and slanted his mouth over his. Leopold tugged at the placket of Arthur's trousers, releasing the buttons, and then reached inside to pull out his hard cock. Arthur hissed through his teeth. Strong hands covered his arse, jerked him closer. He took a step back, taking Arthur with him, until his bare shoulder blades hit the cool paneled wall behind him. He hiked a leg around Arthur's waist and hopped up, wrapping his other leg around him. “Fuck me. Please.” He tilted his hips so the head of Arthur's cock brushed his entrance. “I don't have any…um…with me.” “Oil,” Leopold filled in for him. “Neither do I, but we don't need it.” He shimmied, the fabric of Arthur's clothing rubbing against his damp skin as he shifted his arms around Arthur's neck to get a better hold. Once he felt secure, he unwound one arm. “Give me your hand.” Arthur gave him a puzzled look, but he complied. The biceps of his left arm bulged as he held Leopold with only one large hand gripping his arse. As soon as Leopold brought the man's fingers into his mouth, the bewilderment was replaced with lust. He sucked on Arthur's fingers, liberally wetting them. “You know where to put them?” “In your tight arse.”

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Leopold groaned at the crude words from Arthur's lips. The groan turned into a hiss as those wet fingers pressed against his entrance. One slipped inside, followed by another. Panting hard though his nose, he sucked on his own fingers and then spit on his palm for good measure. He quickly worked his hand between their bodies and grabbed Arthur's erection. His fingers slipped over the silken skin in rhythm to the digits thrusting into his arse. His insides fluttered, eager to feel Arthur's thick cock pound into him. “Fuck me. Now.” Arthur pulled his fingers free. Leopold positioned the crown at his entrance, and Arthur pushed inside. His head tipped back, his mouth falling open on a sigh of utter pleasure. He relished the burn as his muscles stretched to accommodate Arthur's erection. “All right?” Arthur asked. “More than all right.” The last word turned into a moan as Arthur started stroking. His mouth found Leopold's neck, sucking on the skin hard enough to leave a bruise. A cravat would easily cover it, but he would know it was there. A mark, a physical sign that Arthur wanted him. Needed him. Trusted him. Could maybe someday love him. And he would. Leopold felt it in his heart. In his soul. Felt it behind each powerful thrust as Arthur drove them quickly to completion. Arthur's lips found his, silencing his shout as the orgasm gripped hold. He came, every muscle in his body tightening as Arthur poured deep within him. Several moments later, they caught their breaths. With a grimace, he unwound his legs from Arthur's waist. His knees threatened to buckle, but Arthur's hands on his hips kept him on his feet.

80

Ava March

Arthur ducked his head to nuzzle his neck, soft lips gliding across his sweaty skin. “We will be all right, won't we?” At the uncertainty in those whispered words, he cupped Arthur's jaw, brought his face up to his. “I will be the very image of a proper gentleman,” he vowed. If Leopold hadn't loved the man already, the smile curving his lips would have stolen his heart. “But only an image.” Arthur tightened his grip on his arse, tugging him closer. Leopold moaned as the silken skin of Arthur's semierect prick slid against his. “When it's just the two of us, I want this man. I want you. And I want you often.” “Does that mean you'll tear yourself away from your work for me?” “For you, Thorn…to have you in my life, to have you to come home to, to have you to grow old with…gladly. Willingly. Without a second thought.” He brushed his lips against Leopold's in a quick, fleeting kiss. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For what?” “For giving me you.”

THE END

Ava March Ava March writes Regency-set erotic romances. She has a daughter and is married to a wonderful man who doesn’t mind in the slightest that she spends her evenings writing naughty books. Ava loves to hear from her readers. See what she’s been up to by visiting her on the Web at http://www.AvaMarch.com