Convincing Arthur (2 page)

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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Ava March

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.

* * * * *

Convincing Arthur

7

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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Ava March

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-so-

subtle 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.

Convincing Arthur

9

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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Ava March

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.

Convincing Arthur

11

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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Ava March

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.”