by Ava March
Arthur waved the apology aside, sending the secretary back to the files. Wilson kept those files in pristine order. If Fenton asked Arthur to identify the most recent contract of the bunch, he swore his patience would snap.
He’d had such high hopes for Fenton when he had hired him. The young man had interviewed very well. Though just recently out of Cambridge and with no practical experience in the law, he had appeared quite eager to work under Arthur and put in the necessary effort that could one day lead him to open his own office. He also presented a couple of strong letters of recommendation that spoke to his intelligence and diligence in his studies. Arthur had been damn certain Fenton had a brain in his head and knew how to use it. Something now very much in doubt.
The addition of a second secretary was supposed to take some of the burden off Arthur’s desk, but he had yet to see a sign that would happen anytime in the foreseeable future. Should he let Fenton go and replace him with someone more capable?
Damnation. Not an option. The man’s father was close friends with a few of Arthur’s clients. He could not risk those clients pulling their business over some bit of gossip that Arthur had unjustly terminated their friend’s son’s employment.
“Arthur?”
He snapped his gaze back to Thorn. “Yes?”
For an instant, so quick he almost missed it, a frown thinned his lover’s mouth. “Whatever you would like for supper, I will see to it. Simply name it.”
He would just have to keep Fenton on and hope someday soon all of Arthur’s advice and instruction would actually stick in his head.
“Arthur. How about roasted chicken?”
“Yes, that will do,” he replied, eager to get Thorn off the subject and out of his office.
“Chicken it is, then.” Thorn gave a crisp little nod. “What time will you leave the office tonight? I’ll send my carriage for you so you needn’t walk home.”
Arthur glanced at the papers piled on his desk. Midnight, if luck was with him. But he could not very well stay so late, not when he had promised Thorn he could spend the night with him.
He held back his usual refusal of Thorn’s offer to lend his carriage. If he accepted, he could stay a bit later and still arrive home at a somewhat reasonable hour. “Thank you for the offer. Probably not until half past seven.”
“I will see you before eight, then.” The little smile returned to Thorn’s lips. Then he turned on his heel and left Arthur to his work.
Leopold shifted the basket to his left hand and reached into his greatcoat pocket with his right. His fingers closed around the brass key Arthur had given him shortly after their arrival back in Town. Arthur had cited practicality as his reason. He left his apartments around dawn to go to his office. No reason for Leopold to awaken so early. He had given Leopold the key with permission to laze the morning away when he stayed over and lock up behind him when he left.
Practicality aside, it had warmed Leopold’s heart that Arthur had given him a key—a physical sign that Arthur trusted him. That piece of brass had kept his worries away for a good month…and then they had started to build again.
At first he had tried to tell himself his concerns were for naught. Arthur had seemed genuinely happy to see him in the evenings, and his hunger for Leopold had matched Leopold’s for him. Yet lately…
He shut the door behind him, slipped the key back into his pocket and set the basket down. The moonlight seeping in through the windows provided enough light for him to locate the tinderbox. He swore he could feel Arthur pulling away from him, slipping faster through his fingers day by day. Amherst presented no threat. Arthur would never return to someone who had been and would continue to be unfaithful to him. But Arthur had once loved that man, whereas he still had not uttered those three words to Leopold, let alone given any indication they were forthcoming.
But why would they be?
He gave his head a sharp shake, trying to keep the doubts from filling his mind yet again. Hopefully tonight would go a long way toward placating those ever-mounting worries.
Most assuredly. He needed to focus on tonight and definitely not on his own faults, which he was already intimately familiar with, or Fenton or the way Arthur, more often than not lately, seemed to want to be anywhere but with him. Hell, Arthur had certainly pawned him off on another fast enough at his uncle’s last night. Though judging by how quickly he had brought Arthur to orgasm on the ride back, at least Arthur still enjoyed it when he sucked him off. And above all, Arthur had given Leopold his word he could stay with him tonight. He would not need to ask, to push or cajole, and he would not receive another thinly veiled, No, I don’t want you.
At least not tonight.
Candles lit and fire started in the hearth, he draped his greatcoat over the back of an armchair in the parlor and set the basket in front of the fireplace, figuring it would do to keep the food warm. After grabbing the bottles of fine Bordeaux and aged brandy tucked under the towel in the basket, he went into the dining room. By his calculation, it would take at least a half hour for his carriage to pick up Arthur and deliver him home. Plenty of time to get everything ready.
The only sounds that broke the silence were the light clinks of porcelain and silver as he focused on setting two places at the mahogany table. Lips pursed, he surveyed the results, then moved one of the place settings. He would much prefer to sit beside Arthur, but given it was Arthur’s home, Leopold should put the man at the head of the table.
He opened the wine and brandy and gathered the necessary glassware from the cabinet. Wine for before and during supper, brandy for after.
What was he forgetting?
Tea. Yes. He should put on some water. He went into the ridiculously tiny kitchen—really, how did Arthur cook in there?—and surveyed the small stove. He had watched Arthur light it on a few occasions, for this exact purpose, in fact. Couldn’t prove too difficult.
A few minutes later, he had water on the stove. Satisfied it would eventually boil, he gathered the basket from before the hearth, pulled out the closed silver dishes and put them on the table. The scents of roasted chicken, freshly baked bread, carrots and potatoes seeped from under the covers, filling the room.
As he unbuttoned his coat and draped it over his greatcoat already on the chair, he checked the dining room and parlor. Everything was at the ready, down to the empty wineglass on the side table waiting for him to fill it the moment Arthur arrived home.
If he could give Arthur a perfect night…
If he could show Arthur how easy it was to be with him…
If he could just prove to Arthur that he was worthy of the man’s heart…
The sound of a carriage coming to a stop jolted him from his thoughts. He quickly crossed to one of the parlor windows and looked down to the street. A smile curved his lips. Arthur had arrived.
Chapter Five
“I can take your coat for you.”
“Thank you,” Arthur said, setting his leather bag on the floor by his feet so he could shrug out of his greatcoat. He did not miss the frown Thorn directed at the bag. “I made the most of the drive. Had Jones light the lantern inside the carriage. But you have my word I won’t touch the bag for the rest of the evening.”
That erased the frown. Thorn picked up the bag and took his greatcoat. Ignoring the wooden coatrack in the corner by the door, he tossed the coat onto the back of the armchair that already held his greatcoat and black coat.
“Supper is ready if you’d like to eat now.” Thorn dropped the bag onto the chair’s cushion. “Or we can relax for a bit.”
“Now is fine. For supper,” Arthur clarified. Engrossed in reviewing documents on the ride home, he had not realized he was so hungry. But the moment he had walked through his front door, the aroma of roasted chicken had gone straight to his empty stomach, reminding him in no uncertain terms he not eaten since noon, when he had sent Wilson t
o pick up something for luncheon from a nearby tavern. “It smells delicious, by the way.”
“I’m glad you approve.” Thorn grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass from the side table beside the couch. “Come along, then.”
Arthur followed him into the dining room. A single candle cast a soft, intimate glow over the table set for two. Though Thorn had stayed the night often enough, they had never before shared a proper meal at Arthur’s home. As he took his place, Thorn poured him a glass of wine. Arthur took a sip, savoring the rich Bordeaux as it flowed down his throat. Thorn must have brought the bottle from his cellar, for Arthur knew nothing in his own cabinet approached the caliber of this vintage.
“I’ll be but a moment,” Thorn murmured. He disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a minute later bearing Arthur’s copper teakettle and a plain white porcelain cup. “Would you care for tea?”
Arthur shook his head. Thorn saw to his own cup, then sat in the chair at Arthur’s right. The food proved more delicious than he had anticipated, which said a lot. Thorn had an excellent cook, and Arthur had sampled his creations many times over the past few months. His lover kept the conversation to a minimum, something Arthur very much appreciated. It always took some time for the tension of the day to lift from his shoulders, for him to be able to take a deep breath and feel his muscles finally fully relax on the exhale. And much to Arthur’s relief, not once did Thorn make a not so subtle hint that he wanted more than Arthur’s companionship.
The meal was a precious glimpse of how it had once been between them…for a short length of time, at least. Not much more than a month, really. Thorn’s presence comfortable and easy, no heavy, demanding undercurrent pushing for more to disturb the soothing sense of complete harmony. And it had felt so damn good to walk through his front door and find Thorn waiting for him. A reminder there was someone out there who truly cared about him and looked forward to seeing him. At times, Arthur still felt the ache of the loss of his parents and his uncle—perfectly understandable, he assured himself. How could he not miss his family?—but Thorn more than filled that empty, lonely place in his heart.
Last night must have been exactly what Thorn had needed after all. A bit of excitement to break up the monotony of spending most every evening with Arthur’s boring self. As he looked to Thorn and met the man’s content smile with one of his own, he made a mental note to plan another outing in the near future. Not one individual last night had commented on his friendship with Thorn, merely taking it as a given worthy of no particular interest and laying to rest that little concern. And Thorn had proved true to his word from months ago. One would have never guessed he had once spent his nights steeped in vice and debauchery.
Arthur swallowed a bite of chicken, and as he washed it down with a sip of wine, he glanced to Thorn’s place, his gaze landing on the half-full teacup. Thorn had brought the Bordeaux solely for Arthur. He could not help being cautious where it concerned Thorn and the man’s old habits, yet he needed to guard against straying into overbearing-arse territory. A glass of wine certainly could not hurt anyone. “Thank you for bringing the wine, but you needn’t forgo a glass with supper because of me.”
“It’s quite all right. I’ve developed a fondness for tea.”
Arthur arched a brow in disbelief.
“Truly. And I found it easier to stop altogether.” Thorn shrugged and speared a potato with his fork. “I know myself too well.”
It had not occurred to Arthur before, but had turning his back so completely on any form of alcohol been another force behind Thorn’s restlessness of late? “Does it bother you to be around others who imbibe?”
“Not at all. I have you. Care for more chicken?” Thorn asked.
“No.” He set down his fork and rubbed a hand across his comfortably full belly. “Could not eat another bite. Supper was wonderful. Please extend my thanks to your cook.”
Thorn tipped his head. “If you’re finished, you can retire to the parlor. There’s brandy on the mantel. I’ll see to the table.” Dropping his linen napkin beside his plate, he stood.
Arthur pushed from the dining table. “Thank you, Thorn.” He laid a hand on his lover’s forearm, stilling him as he reached for one of the silver dishes. Stepping closer, he leaned in to brush his lips across Thorn’s in a whisper of a kiss, skin gliding softly across skin. “Truly. Thank you.”
Thorn lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s no bother to play the footman for you.”
It was on the tip of Arthur’s tongue to tell his lover the thanks were for more than clearing the table, but he had the distinct impression Thorn fully understood and did not want Arthur to press the point. How exactly Arthur knew that, he could not say. Perhaps it was in the way Thorn had remained so…deliberately nonchalant, as if they had merely spoken of the weather. So he paid Thorn the same courtesy Thorn had paid him in the past and simply left him to his duties. If Thorn wanted to discuss it further, Arthur would be there to listen.
From his spot on the couch, he could catch glimpses of Thorn moving about the dining room. Apparently his idea of cleaning up involved stacking the silver serving dishes in the wicker basket he had obviously used to bring the meal to Arthur’s, though he did take the plates into the kitchen. Arthur guessed he would find them piled on the counter in the morning, the remnants of supper dried onto their surfaces.
Well, he could not complain. Thorn had said he would play the footman, not the kitchen maid.
Arthur brought the brandy to his lips and took a long swallow. Resting the glass on the arm of the couch, he let out a content sigh. Arriving home closer to dawn than dusk had made for an extremely long day at the office, a full-body weariness pervading every fiber of his being and keeping his nerves strung taut, never mind the added pressure of taking on a new client of the Duke of Menteith’s standing. It all had rather turned him into an irritable bastard, yet coming home to Thorn…
He could definitely grow accustomed to this. Not that he held any expectations that Thorn intended to wait on him every night, nor did he want that.
In fact, the feeling of complete and utter contentment clinging to his senses had nothing at all to do with Thorn’s domestic skills yet everything to do with him. Or rather, them.
The evening had served as proof that his worries had been unfounded. Foolish of him to even fret. He and Thorn had just needed time—that was all—to settle in together as a couple and find a balance that worked for them.
His chest suddenly felt lighter, as if a weight had lifted. That reluctance, the sense of…hesitation gone. In its place, rock-solid certainty.
Yes, indeed. Thorn had been correct those months ago. They would be all right.
“Thorn, truly.” Arthur tried, yet again, to get through the man’s thick skull. He shifted on the bed, but Thorn followed, the long line of bare skin against skin unbroken, squashing his effort to put even an inch of space between them. “I’ve had a long day and—”
“I know.” Thorn coasted his hand down Arthur’s abdomen. His erection pressed into Arthur’s hip, shouting his expectations louder than the scandalous words he’d been whispering in Arthur’s ear since they had walked into his bedchamber. “I told you I’d see to everything tonight.”
Persistent fingers wrapped around Arthur’s prick, which barely approached semi-erect. He closed his eyes and focused on those talented fingers, on the hot breaths skimming his ear, the willing body plastered to his side. Tried to prod that spark of desire. Tried to let it flare beneath the noxious mass of ever-mounting frustration and the exhaustion pulling hard and heavy on his mind, but…
Damnation. Why did every night need to end with a climax? Why the hell couldn’t Thorn be content with nothing more than a kiss?
Of course, Thorn had the energy to fuck. The man did nothing all day and had the luxury of sleeping until noon, or whenever the hell he decided to roll himself out of bed, whereas Arthur w
orked. Had responsibilities and employees, including a not so intelligent one, and a desk piled with papers courtesy of clients who constantly changed their damned minds and a demanding new one who expected nothing short of perfection.
Thorn nipped at his ear. “Everything. Anything you want, Arthur, it’s yours.”
He wanted some goddamn sleep.
“Do you want to fuck my mouth? Or do you want me to suck on your ballocks?” He finally relinquished Arthur’s now-limp prick and drifted his fingers below to cup Arthur’s ballocks. “Perhaps lick your arse? I love how you feel under my tongue when your body opens for me. I wonder if I can coax your hole to open enough to take a couple fingers alongside my tongue. Shall I try?”
No. Arthur gritted his teeth to keep the word inside.
Soft lips brushed his shoulder, pressed a kiss there, and then began to drift lower. He grabbed Thorn by the upper arm, intent on keeping him from ducking beneath the blankets. In one seamless motion, Thorn moved to straddle his waist.
“Thorn, please, I—”
Lips slanted over his own, cutting off a fresh attempt to tell Thorn no without actually using the word. Maybe if he did not kiss Thorn back, the man would get the hint.
Undeterred, Thorn dragged his mouth across Arthur’s cheek. “I know what I want.” Pure sin soaked the words purred in his ear, yet rather than arouse, it served only to test the limits of his fraying patience. “I want your cock in my arse. Want to feel you stretch me wide, stuff me full. Want you to make me so sore I’ll wince whenever I sit down tomorrow.”
Crouched over Arthur, Thorn rotated his hips, rubbing his ballocks across Arthur’s prick that wasn’t at all capable of stretching anything wide at the moment.
“Enough, Thorn.” Planting his hands on his lover’s chest, he pushed. Hard.
Cool air whisked across his chest as the heat of Thorn’s body disappeared.
A heavy thump rent the air.