A King Awakened

by Cooper Davis

  Sam circled closer. “It is love, and you know it, man.”

  Thomas began to tremble, his gaze lowered. Still, he said nothing.

  Sam’s heart was slamming in his chest. “It is love,” he growled, “what we share. You never—ever—loved until me. Your words. Yours.” Sam groaned, then grit out, “It is love.”

  “Yes, it is love,” Thomas cried, clutching his chest. “I am in love, Sam. With two people—neither of whom is my own spouse. Because it wasn’t complicated enough when I fell in love with you—you had to introduce me to Lucy.” Thomas laughed darkly. “When you knew what would happen. How could you not have done, when this was Lucy.”

  “She is simply wonderful, isn’t she?” Sam asked, feeling a rush of tenderness for both his lovers.

  “That’s not the point!” Thomas whispered. “But yes, by the devil, she’s perfectly wonderful. I . . . no woman ever warmed my blood until her, not the way she does.”

  Thomas pressed his eyes shut as if he’d just admitted something damning. “And no gentleman ever fevered my blood quite like you, Samuel.” Thomas gave him a shy look. “Ever.”

  Sam did his level best not to laugh, especially when Thomas had such a dear look on his face. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to end things, not really. He didn’t have it in him. They’d traversed this territory before—numerous times—and it always ended the same. With Thomas back on their doorstep, appearing disheveled, half-drunk, and red-eyed. Yes, he always returned, issuing a softly muttered, “I love you both too much to keep away. There’s nothing to be done for it. I had to come back to you both.”

  And Sam, for his part, always dragged Thomas right back into his arms, murmuring, “Nothing else we ever wanted, sweet love. You belong with us.”

  But in between the leaving and the coming back? Was far too much suffering for all of them, by half. Perhaps for Thomas, most of all, with his bond-deep goodness and faithfulness. He was a truly sensitive soul, though he masked it well from most people; when he loved, he loved deeply. To almost fathomless depths. In fact, Sam often wondered if Thomas didn’t love Lucy even more than he himself did.

  “What’s the real problem, then, sweet love?” Sam asked. “Your wife isn’t exactly weeping into an empty bed, Thomas. Has it occurred to you that Lydia prefers you gone? That it gives her more private time with Lady Emilie?” He took two steps closer to Thomas. “And that she cheers you on for finding true love of your own, much as she did with her countess?”

  “She may have given her blessing upon our affair, Sam,” Thomas said, “but I’ve pressed the limits of even her patience, drawing Lucy into the mix.”

  Sam rubbed his chin. “Has Lydia remarked that it bothers her? Lucy being part of what you and I share?”

  “Well, no, of course not. She leaves me to my own privacy. Still, it’s not been kind, making her a consenting party to such a blue affair.”

  “And yet you take no exception to your wife’s lengthy affair with Lady Emilie? They’re hardly subtle, fellow. Much of society considers you a cuckold, even as they gaze at Lydia and Lady Emilie with desire and envy.” Sam paused, gauging Thomas’s reaction. He just shrugged. “I don’t begrudge her that happiness. I never did. We always struggled so, in the bedroom.”

  “Because she does not desire men, Thomas. That’s the part you keep leaving out when you castigate yourself.”

  “She’s not the only reason I’m ending this affair,” Thomas tried, but the words sounded weak. “It’s my children, my family. And, yes, out of respect for my wife, too.”

  Sam slid a palm to Thomas’s chest, feeling the heat of his body through the silk dressing gown. The hammering of the man’s wildly beating heart. “You arrived today, hungry for me. I glimpsed it in your eyes.”

  Thomas cringed, averting his face from the illumination of the candlelight. But not before Sam glimpsed the pained expression on his lover’s face. “This needed . . . this should have . . . ” Thomas finally met Sam’s eyes. “This should have ended two years ago. I thought it was finished—and then Lucy was pregnant.”

  “And then she wasn’t.” Sam blinked, throat tightening. The pregnancy, always a combustive topic, caught him off-guard. “You came back to us, then,” Sam said, swallowing past the pain. “And you stayed with us . . . after. You won’t leave us now. Not when—”

  Thomas lifted a finger to Sam’s mouth, shushing him. The feel of that flesh against Sam’s parted lips unleashed an avalanche of need inside him. Sam longed to draw that finger between his lips—then fall to his knees and unfasten Thomas’s dressing gown and take something much hotter and larger within his own mouth.

  Thomas traced that fingertip down to Sam’s lower lip, his gaze turning heated, despite the protestations. He gasped when Sam drew the digit between his lips and suckled and licked it.

  Thomas’s hand came up to the collar of Sam’s dressing gown, clutching. “Stop it.” But Thomas only twisted the dressing gown tight in his fist, tugging Samuel near. “You know I can’t fight you.”

  “You needn’t bother.” Sam slid his hands to Thomas’s waist, caressing his lover’s hips. “You have wanted me for more than half our lives. And been in love with me for nearly as long. If there were any hope for you, my love, it would’ve happened upon you sooner.” Sam nuzzled a kiss along Thomas’s jaw, then pressed his mouth over Thomas’s. Heat bloomed between them, and Thomas dragged Sam flush against his body, hands still clutching the robe’s lapels.

  Oh, my Thomas, yes. His body jolted with arousal, his cock filling out beneath the chill silk of the robe.

  A dim part of Sam’s mind recalled Lord Vincent, and suggested that, perhaps kissing that fool’s brother in a hidden passageway, might not be the most circumspect choice. But Sam ignored all sense of caution, splaying hands behind Thomas’s head. He tipped it back, so he could savage Thomas more deeply—with this kiss—and claim him full hilt. Mark him, beg him, keep him.

  Sam moved his other hand to Thomas’s lean back, his fingers spreading wide as he drew their two bodies even closer together. Moaning into his lover’s mouth, Sam drew the provocative silk upward along Thomas’s thighs. Higher and higher, he lifted the gown, nearly up to Thomas’s hips. Just a tad more, and Sam could take his beloved’s bouncing, hard cock in hand.

  Sam growled the moment his open palm met the tender flesh of Thomas’s buttocks. The muscles tensed beneath Sam’s touch, as if recalling the occasions when Sam had slapped this same arse, then nibbled it and parted it hungrily. He squeezed that muscular arse again, recalling the feel of his tongue on the reddened skin—Sam’s handprint still vibrant against the pale, translucent skin. Evidence that Sam had given his viscount one of the things he craved most of all.

  Sam swept his palm in teasing strokes across his lover’s arse, reminding the man of all the ways Sam could tantalize him, using that same hand, against that same bare buttock. “You can’t leave me,” Sam purred into Thomas’s ear. “Whoever else would wallop this prime arse of yours, hmm? Whoever else knows just how hard you like a good slap? And owns a heavy signet to match?”

  The latter, well, it was unsporting of Sam to mention it. There was only one thing Thomas had ever asked to be kept from Lucy. And it was Thomas’s urgent arousal whenever Sam paddled him in bed. Often, wearing his ducal signet to add just a bit more sting to the smacks.

  It had hurt to keep the secret from Lucy: there had never been lies or denials or hidden things between them. But, under protest, he kept that promise, never saying a word to Lucy about Thomas’s fondness for open palms, or signet rings, or even the riding crop.

  “I wonder,” Sam asked, “had I revealed your secret partialities to Lucy, would it have changed things? You’d have been run aground the first time Lucille took a leather strap to your arse.” Sam made a motion with his hand, striking at the air with his dressing gown’s sash. “I could do that for you tonight, you know. Luce would grant us the privacy.” Sam began to slide that sash loose, running it over his open palm
significantly.

  Thomas hissed at him, whipping out of Sam’s hold. “Stop it, Samuel!” He cut a glance wildly about them. “Can you not just be serious for bloody once?”

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned the signet,” he conceded, with an apologetic shrug. “But the leather strap was fair game.”

  Thomas’s eyes flared at that, but he didn’t reply. He smoothed out his rumpled gown, staring at Sam hotly. “My brother means to destroy you,” he snapped. “And I don’t just mean destroy our king. He intends to destroy all of you, Samuel.” When Thomas leveled a significant, frightened look on Sam, everything became clear.

  Sam forced a laugh. “I’m not worried about your insipid, obsequious little brother.” Sam flicked his wrist dismissively.

  “You should be. He has my father’s ear, and you understand what that means.”

  Sam frowned. It was easy to forget that the upheaval in Council was real. It didn’t feel real, not with all of them tucked away here at Ferndale. The house party on; lovers at hand. “We can still have tonight,” Sam coaxed, in a voice velvet with desire. “Come into my bed and indulge me,” Sam purred, nuzzling his lover. “I’ll indulge you in turn, my love.”

  Clasping Sam’s face, Thomas turned it in his grasp, forcing Sam to meet his gaze. “Samuel, my brother seeks to ruin you. You in particular.”

  “Then why the devil did you have him come along for this party? When I originally issued the invitation, I planned on it being a very private sort of fete.”

  “I had no choice but bring him, once he asked,” Thomas said, releasing his hold on Sam. “I feared doing anything to make him even more jealous of you than he already is.”

  “Like learning I’m in love with you?” Sam asked softly, reaching for Thomas, but the man ducked out of his grasp.

  “We can speak like that no longer,” Thomas whispered sharply. “We’ve been given longer than most in such an . . . unusual affair.”

  “Not long enough. Damn it, Thomas. We waited decades. Decades. The whole of our love affair has been nothing but separation until these past two years.” And then Sam saw it, a single flinch on Thomas’s dear face. “You mean it this time,” he said, feeling a strange numbness. “You mean to break it off in earnest.” Sam’s throat closed up on him, so tight that it ached.

  “With the threat to your family, and the issues with lineage. If any doubt should come upon any of your heirs, because of me—because I’d openly shared a bed with your wife. It’s imperative that your heirs be unimpeachably your own.”

  “I have no heirs,” Sam cried. “I’m incapable of siring any. She’s only ever been pregnant by you, and you know that.”

  Thomas stroked his hair, searching his face. “You must keep trying, without the confusion of me in your marital bed.”

  “You are the only hope I have of continuing my name, Thomas. It shan’t happen by my own sparse seed.”

  “If anyone learned I was the child’s father, in this climate? I can’t be a party to your ruin, my love,” Thomas said.

  “All these years, I ached for you.” Sam’s vision blurred. He turned away from Thomas and went to lean against the passageway wall.

  Thomas watched him silently, but Sam had plenty to say. He lolled his head back against the stones, breathless. “I need you.” The words were ripped from his throat. “I’m begging. Please . . . . please don’t deny us. Either of us. Lucy is happy for the first time since she lost the babe. Did you see her playing pianoforte and singing?” Sam gave the man a tremulous smile. “Our darling has her joy back, Thomas.”

  “And I wish her to keep it.” Thomas’s own eyes grew bright, and he took a step back.

  Sam felt fire go out of him, as he watched the man he loved—saw it on Thomas Blaine’s averted face.

  This was truly it. After two years, this moment was the end. “How . . . how can you let us go so easily? And Lucy? I know she’s precious to you.” Sam’s breath was coming in pants, his heart hammering so hard, he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. “How . . . how can you leave me?”

  Thomas’s gaze lifted, fixing on Samuel with melancholy attention. “I love you, Samuel. I have from the first. It’s why I’m making this break now, to protect you. And don’t think it’s easy or that I shall ever forget even a moment I’ve had with you.”

  Thomas brushed his mouth over Sam’s in the lightest feathering of a kiss. “I shall always ache for you, want you. Mourn this loss of you.” The lips brushed more firmly, the barest hint of a true kiss, and Sam tasted salt. Thomas’s tears. This wasn’t easy for Thomas, either.

  Another kiss, sweet and melancholy. Slow and savoring; Thomas slid palms about Sam’s neck, breathless, trembling. “And I shall always treasure the—” Thomas’s voice grew choked, and for a singular moment, he pressed his forehead against Sam’s own. “I will always remember precisely what I’ve known in your arms.”

  Sam lifted his palms, cupping Thomas’s face and dragging him into a torrid kiss. A warring of tongues and manhood and pain. Longing so deep, it was terrifying to even plumb the surface of it. Hands became twined in hair, disheveling, and where each of them ended and the other began, became impossible to tell. Until Thomas broke the kiss, gasping. “You shan’t dissuade me.”

  Sam nipped at the man’s earlobe. “I meant only to raven you.”

  “In that you’ve succeeded.” Thomas neatened a hand over Sam’s hair, a tender and familiar gesture. “A lovely parting as we now walk into the inevitable.” Thomas turned, walking out of the candlelight, retreating into shadow.

  Sam called after him, not caring that his voice was too loud. “What of Lucy? You don’t mean to offer her the same farewell?”

  Thomas looked over his shoulder. “You will offer her my goodbyes—in every way that I would have done.”

  Sam swiped at his damp eyes. “And on the morrow? We return to playacting about this fucking house party?”

  “I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job of feigning the role of boor, even though I of all people know you possess the heart of a lamb.”

  And with that, Thomas disappeared into the inky dark.

  Sam was shaking so hard, he could barely bring his hands and body under his own command. With trembling fingers, he reached for the candelabra, and it went crashing to the ground.

  Paralyzed, he squatted there, wax dripping onto the stones, burning his unsteady fingers. Finally, with all candles dowsed, emblematic of his extinguished hopes, he rose. Hurriedly, he left the mess, scuttling back through darkness toward his own apartments. How would he ever be able to break Lucy’s heart like this? How would she bear it, after all the pain she’d already suffered?

  He hadn’t the foggiest how she’d bear up. But Sam swore to himself that he’d satisfy all her marital needs, even though he’d been a shabby husband hitherto—at least in the conjugal ways that counted. But he could be better; he could be monogamous and give her all the love she deserved. Even if it wasn’t all the love, nor the only man, she wanted.

  Sam would devote himself to her and be enough; he could be enough for her, if he tried hard enough.

  He would simply have to conceal his broken heart in the process.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Who do you suppose he shall marry?” Lord Vincent asked Alistair, dabbing at his lips daintily. It was only the two of them at breakfast thus far.

  It was likely the secret nip of whiskey Alistair had stolen before coming downstairs, but he misunderstood briefly. It was his only excuse for blinking back at Blaine, asking, “Lord Julian?”

  Meanness filled Blaine’s twinkling eyes. “I should think you’d want no question about Lord Julian. He is your beau, after all.”

  “Oh . . . you meant our king,” Alistair said, realization dawning far too late.

  Blaine chortled low in his throat. “Aye, I did indeed mean our king,” he repeated, as if speaking to a dolt. “The one whom, only yesterday, proclaimed his intent to marry, whereas Lord Julian is otherwise attached?” J
ust enough doubt colored the question, just enough insinuation. “Or perhaps King Arend and Lord Julian are both equally attached.”

  The words “equally attached” clanged like a dinner gong. Sharp, stunning.

  Equally attached.

  Alistair stared down into his generous plate of food, suddenly lacking all appetite. “I merely . . . misunderstood,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even.

  “You misunderstood,” Blaine repeated. “About Lord Julian being attached to you? Or about Lord Julian in general?” The man laughed again, a simmering, dangerous threat. “I’d never be confused about something so glorious as that.”

  That. Alistair’s skin sizzled, hearing Julian spoken of in such a belittling fashion. As if his friend were naught but a thing, a trifle . . .

  A whore.

  Alistair scowled at the other man, wanting to deliver an appropriate set down. But he could not find words, not given the way Blaine was smirking at him. And kept on bloody well smirking as if he knew—knew—that Alistair’s courtship with Julian was a sham. A charade crafted to protect Arend and Julian from rumors as to their true connection.

  Blaine likely did know, Alistair realized in that moment. The hard truth of it slapped him across his heated cheek: The man had done nothing but snipe and insinuate about Julian since his arrival at Ferndale. Nipping along at Arend’s heels, dangerous and threatening, with even the mildest remarks.

  Alistair made a strangled sound, but then clamped his mouth shut, determined to master his overheated emotions. He’d never be able to save Arend if he ceded control to this man, especially not so early in the impending siege.

  “Something you wish to say, sir?” Lord Vincent prompted, his eyes dancing with sly merriment. “Seemed almost as if.”

  “No.” Alistair stabbed into a sausage, slicing it into a too-large bite. Then he jabbed it into his mouth, chewing despite his clenched jaw.

  “Certain? Because it did seem there was something burdening you.” Blaine assessed him with a frosty smile that never reached his eyes. “Then again, I do know you’re all the taciturn fellow. So retiring and austere. But surely, you’ve something to add in your darling’s defense? I just brushed against Lord Julian’s honor, did I not?”