Convincing Arthur (7 page)

“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.”

Convincing Arthur

41

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 self-

control 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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Ava March

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,

Convincing Arthur

43

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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Ava March

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

Convincing Arthur

45

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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Ava March

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.