by Cooper Davis
Harcourt reached and caught Ethan by the arm. “But I have something I want for myself,” he said, “and it involves a tithe from you, Lord Dunshire.”
“You’re a degenerate flirt and an extortionist?”
The man smiled at him, his freckled nose wrinkling. “I merely wish to begin a correspondence with you,” he explained. “I’m in the city, you’re in the royal province. And I would like to hear from you on occasion. Fair trade, no?” Mirth danced in the gorgeous man’s eyes and he turned on the bench, hiking both legs across so that he now faced Ethan.
Ethan scratched his eyebrow. “Why should you care a whit about exchanging letters with me?”
“Ah, that one is simple. You’re the most beautiful fellow to ever enter this parlor and barely save yourself from kissing me. When you so blushingly wanted to do so.”
Ethan winced and stared at the floor. “I . . . am not cut from that cloth. I . . . can’t afford to be. You understand?” Very slowly, he lifted a circumspect gaze. The look that met his own was filled with kindness and interest. The compassion in Harcourt’s eyes dislodged something in Ethan. Suddenly, he could breathe. “Marcus does not know—about me. None of my family does.”
“I shan’t tell Marcus, nor anyone else,” Harcourt assured him gently. “Just write me, my lord. Consider it a spot of fun without any threat whatsoever. I like you. And even the city grows tiresome on occasion.”
Then the Earl of Harcourt rose and swooped up Ethan’s hand in his own. Before he could stop the man, he kissed Ethan’s knuckles in a chaste, courtly manner. And yet it was far from innocent, that kiss, as it involved the lingering of lips on skin—of heat and tenderness and respect encased in naught but a grazing touch.
And just as fast, Ethan’s big hand was set free once more. “Enjoy the season,” Harcourt told him with a wink. “Find yourself a wife. But indulge me once a month with a missive.”
Ethan swallowed hard, tried to breathe once more. “You will respond?”
Harcourt smiled up at him, nodding. “The following month without fail.”
Ethan stared down into those summer-golden eyes, his heart tripping about like a madman inside his chest. “Every month,” he replied. “Without fail . . . until?”
“Until one of us tires of the arrangement.”
Cooper Davis is the author of The Forces of Nature and the Lords of Avenleigh series.
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