Convincing Leopold (11 page)

The coming discussion might prove uncomfortable, but if he had to beg for Thorn’s forgiveness, so be it. After the manner in which Arthur had treated him, Thorn certainly deserved more than a bit of contrition from him.

And he deserved to not have Arthur stall on his front step all damn night.

Arthur gave his greatcoat a little tug to straighten it and knocked on the door.

At the
click
of the knob turning, he lifted his chin. “I am here to call on Mr. Thornton,” he informed the butler. A statement of the obvious, as he had yet to knock on this door for any other reason, yet he gave it nonetheless.

“Mr. Thornton is not at home.”

Arthur blinked, taken aback. Not at home? It took a moment to process the butler’s response, and then a wave of disappointment slammed into him.

Had he honestly
expected
Thorn to sit idly at home and wait for him?

Well…yes. If that wasn’t the height of arrogance, he did not know what was.

Somehow he kept from rolling his eyes at himself.

“Would you happen to know his whereabouts?”

“Mr. Thornton is not at home,” the butler repeated, his features cast in the stoic mask commonly worn by those of his kind.

If Thorn was not at home, then where? Suspicion began to form, but he pushed it from his mind. Thorn had given him no cause at all to believe he would slip back into his old habits. Given the hour, Thorn could have gone to White’s for supper, or he could have left to visit his father or…hell, he could be anywhere in London. Just because he wasn’t home did not mean he was deep in his cups at some brothel or gambling hell.

Doing his best to hide his disappointment, he gave the butler his card, his fingers lingering on the crisp corner before relinquishing it. He was tempted to write something on the back, but what could he write?
I’m an
arse
. Please forgive me
? Then Thorn’s servants would wonder why their master’s frequent guest had cause to apologize.

Best to simply leave the card. When he returned home, Thorn would at least know Arthur had called.

He turned on his heel and went back down the stone steps, yet he paused when he reached the corner of Oxford Street. Might as well return to his office. In any case, he had left his bag next to his desk. Had not wanted to give Thorn another reason to frown at him.

He crossed Oxford Street, making his way toward Bond Street and his office. Tomorrow he would present himself at Thorn’s door once again…though perhaps he should do so a bit earlier than today. He pulled the little leather-bound book from his waistcoat pocket, flipped to the necessary page, and skimmed his schedule for tomorrow. It should not be too much trouble to have Wilson move the appointment at half past four back an hour. Even if Mr. Brown proved more talkative than usual, Arthur could still leave his office no later than five. Surely he would find Thorn at home then.

* * *

A door clicked shut. Leopold heard the soft jangle of porcelain against porcelain, the distinct
clink
of a silver tray being set down. The scents of coddled eggs and sausages reached his nose. His stomach turned. He did not want food. He didn’t want anything except to be left alone.

He kept his eyes closed as Jones moved about the room, prodding the fire, freshening the water in the washbasin, and replacing the teacup on his bedside table with another one. The little noises washed over him with no effect. He merely lay there in his bed and waited for the man to leave.

Another
clink
of porcelain. Judging from the direction of the sound, Jones was gathering the tray he had left on the dresser during his last visit. Leopold had not bothered to lift even one of the silver lids covering the dishes, though based on the scent that had wafted from the tray when Jones had delivered it—however many hours ago—it had likely contained some variety of broiled fish.

Jones let out a long sigh. He felt the footman’s presence beside him an instant before Jones spoke.

“Mr. Thornton,” Jones said, using that careful, quiet tone often used around invalids. He hated that tone. Hated the pity lurking behind it. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

He couldn’t even summon the effort to shake his head. Arthur did not love him. Would never love him.

Another long sigh, backed with that damn pity. “Do you want me to summon Mr. Walker?”

Doctors and their tonics had not been of any help when he was an adolescent. Wouldn’t do a bit of good now. The only thing he had found that helped was liquor, and only when he got to the bottom of the bottle before he reached his bed. Other than that, well…time. But the knowledge the thick blanket of despair would eventually lift held no comfort at all.

He swallowed to moisten his dry mouth. If he did not respond, he would not put it past Jones to summon Mr. Walker. It wasn’t that he did not appreciate the servant’s loyalty, but he would rather not have a doctor poke and prod him. “No.”

He swore he could hear Jones’s nod, confirming he understood his wishes.

“Mr. Barrington called yesterday evening. He left his card.”

Arthur? Before his heart could even begin to reach for the faint flicker of hope, he promptly squashed it. Arthur had likely merely returned the basket Leopold had left at his apartments. Either that or Arthur wanted to officially end their relationship. As if being tossed from the bed had not conveyed that clearly enough to him.

“If you have need of anything, sir. Anything at all. Simply ring for me.”

He needed Arthur’s love, but that wasn’t something Jones could deliver on a silver tray.

The door clicked shut again. This time softer, quieter. A deliberately slowed
click
of the knob.

Leopold rolled onto his back and opened his eyes to stare into the darkness above. The drapes were closed tight, blocking out any hint as to the hour of the day. Given the eggs Jones had delivered, Leopold surmised it must be morning. Which morning, he had not a clue. Perhaps the second or the third since Jones had been bringing him trays. Maybe the fourth. But what did it matter anyway?

Ten years he had waited for a chance with Arthur, and the long wait had been in vain. When the man had finally given him that chance, Leopold had proved a spectacular failure to the point where he wasn’t even good enough to fuck anymore.

Hurt flared anew, radiating across his chest. He let out a groan, low and weak and even more pathetic than himself.

He had tried so hard to be everything Arthur needed. Given the man his heart, his love, his very self. Vowed his loyalty and fidelity and held true to every promise, not that it had done a bit of good.

He rolled back onto his stomach and stared into the flames flickering in the hearth.

Arthur had made a promise to him in return, hadn’t he?

Well, yes. More than one, in fact. Had Arthur kept them?

No.

No, he had not.

That morning in his study back at Ramsey House crystallized in his mind.

“
I’m sorry I hurt you. Can you forgive me
?” Arthur had asked.

“
Just don’t do it again
.”

“
Never. I promise
.”

And Arthur had given him his word that he would tear himself away from his work for Leopold “
without a second thought
.”

Yet every excuse Arthur had used to push him off had involved, or been a direct by-product of, his office. His hours there growing longer and longer, the damn place occupying his mind when they were together and making Leopold feel like an unwanted chore in the process.

Leopold scowled as those excuses tumbled about in his head. “
I had a long day at the office… There are other matters that require my attention in the morning… I have an early appointment… I can’t afford to be gone from the office… I’ve had a long day
…”

Arthur had not truly given him that chance, had he? No wonder Arthur did not love him. How could he have ever reached that point when he had, in essence, relegated Leopold to merely a distant second behind a pile of papers? The man had broken his promises, and what had Leopold done? Not much besides suck off Arthur at every available opportunity and feel sorry for himself.

Well, not anymore.

His eyes narrowed as determination and anger began to pound through his veins. If Arthur thought Leopold would let him so easily get away with breaking his promises—not just one, but plural—then the man was fit for Bedlam. True, Leopold had let him off easy that morning in the study, essentially handing the man his forgiveness with nary a fight. But not this time.

He had once fought for Arthur, and he would fight to keep him. Force the man to keep his word and give Leopold the chance he deserved. The chance
they
deserved.

Flinging the coverlet aside, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head swam from the abrupt movement, the shadowed outline of the armchair and the glow from the fireplace doubling for a moment.

Food first and then… He took a deep breath and cringed, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Good Lord, he stank. How could he smell so bad when he had done absolutely nothing for days? Definitely needed to wash up.

He went to the window beside his bed and tugged one of the drapes halfway but not all the way open—he needed to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the crisp, bright daylight. As he dug into the eggs and sausages, he picked up the
Times
nestled next to the plate on the tray and checked the date. Tuesday, February 12. He’d call it two days in bed, given Sunday had likely come by the time he had flopped onto the mattress. All in all, it could have been much worse.

He skimmed down the front page of the
Times
, pausing on the advertisement at the bottom. A smile curved his lips as a plan formed to get Arthur to keep at least one of his promises.

But as he shaved the dark stubble from his jaw a few minutes later, the possibility Arthur would refuse to cooperate, that his appetite had indeed been quenched of him and not merely doused under an ever-growing stack of papers, threatened to pull Leopold back under the thick blanket of despair.

What if Arthur believed him unworthy? What if—

No.

With a forcible mental shove, he pushed back the darkness. Leaning down, he splashed water over his face to rinse off the remnants of the shaving soap—focused on the sting of the cold water, the way it snapped his senses to attention. He would not allow the doubts to chew away at him again. Not yet. Jones had said Arthur had called yesterday. For all Leopold knew, Arthur had not intended to ask if he could still call him friend.

After he finished washing up, he went into his dressing room, got dressed, and then grabbed the leather saddlebag off the floor next to the neat row of shoes and boots. The last thing he needed at the moment was to sit in a carriage with nothing but his thoughts. He shoved a couple of shirts, drawers, cravats, and a spare pair of breeches into the saddlebag. Then he was out the door of his bedchamber and striding down the corridor toward the back servants’ stairs, taking the quickest route to the stables.

Arthur took a sip of tea and turned to the next page of the contract on his desk. “
Mr. Thornton is not at home
.” The butler’s words echoed in his head yet again. Where had Thorn been yesterday? What had been so important that he had been gone at five in the evening?

The butler had given the same response yesterday as he had two days ago when Arthur had inquired into Thorn’s whereabouts. Damn servants. Absolutely no help whatsoever.

Arthur let out a short grunt of frustration. Nothing to be done for it, though, but to try again today. He pulled out his pocket watch. Not yet ten. The files and papers covering his desk screamed that he needed to remain exactly where he sat for many hours to come. But damn if he would allow another day to pass without speaking to Thorn. Brow furrowed, he assessed the state of his desk. At the very least, he couldn’t leave the office before luncheon. He needed to finish the contract.

He pulled his mind back to the paper before him but could not remember what he had just read. With a shake of his head, he started back at the top of the page.