Convincing Leopold (5 page)

Frustration churned Arthur’s gut. Frustration not only at Thorn but at himself. He knew better than to give in. Had known exactly what Thorn intended, or at least had a fairly good notion, when the man had initially rounded his desk, strides slow and predatory, chin tipped down and intent gaze locked on him. Yet he’d allowed Thorn to overwhelm him with sensation. Allowed himself to give in to the lust.

The top button of his trousers finally cooperated and slipped into place. As he tugged on his waistcoat to right it, his gaze dropped to the floorboards beneath his desk. His eyes flared.

“Thorn. You…you…” On his office floor, no less?

“It’s all right, Arthur.” Thorn didn’t look or sound flustered in the slightest. He simply pulled that ever-ready handkerchief from his pocket, leaned down, and swiped up his own pearly white seed.

“It is
not
all right.” He gestured toward the door. “I have two employees barely twenty feet away.”

“They won’t suspect a thing. We were quiet, and the door is locked. I saw to it myself.” Thorn reached out to lay a hand on his arm.

With a harsh flick, Arthur shook him off. “The locked door matters not.”

“But, Arthur…” Thorn reached for him again.

“Go sit down.” He pointed to one of the leather armchairs on the other side of his desk. Thorn’s proximity alone added to the noxious mixture of frustration and panic. The musky scent of arousal, of sex, clung to him, a constant reminder of what they had just done.

A nod, and Thorn turned on his heel. He sat in the closest chair, limbs sprawled in casual disregard. Above the frustration and distinct note of panic lingering in Arthur’s veins resided disappointment. He had thought Thorn’s reckless days behind him, but apparently not. How could the man ignore such a risk? Might not be much of a risk to Thorn, who had the weight of his wealthy father’s title behind him, but the mere suspicion of sodomy would lose Arthur every single client. He had explained that once before. Did he have to bar Thorn from his office? Hell, he didn’t want to. He looked forward to the man’s afternoon visits, those little breaks in the seemingly endless days. Well, he used to look forward to them. Now he wasn’t at all certain he could trust him.

“You gave me your word.” “
I will be the very image of a proper gentleman
.” Thorn’s vow from three months ago echoed in his head.

His glare was lost on Thorn. Chin tipped down, Thorn tugged on one of his pristine white shirt cuffs, straightening it beneath his black coat. His upper lip curled slightly, defiance etched in the line of his shoulders. “And I have kept it. The door is locked. It’s only the two of us.”

He gaped at Thorn. And that made it acceptable? “Have you no common sense?”

Thorn’s fingers stilled. His features blanked, without a hint of expression. Any trace of defiance long gone.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” The low words were almost lost in the muffled
snap
of a drawer closing from the other room. He flicked his gaze up at Arthur through his dark lashes, then went back to toying with his shirt cuff. It had barely been a glance, a mere instant, yet the vulnerability, the true hurt in those gray eyes, gave Arthur pause.

He dragged a hand across the back of his neck and let out a heavy sigh. The frustration drained out of him.
Ah hell
. Thorn wasn’t an adolescent. He shouldn’t speak to him as if he was one. The man had simply been himself. Wicked and sinful and tempting as all hell when they were behind closed doors. And Arthur couldn’t help but admit that, technically, Thorn had kept his word.

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m the
arse
.”

Thorn shook his head. “No, you’re correct. I should have been more discreet.” He gave his cuff a final tug, then dropped his hand to his lap. He opened his mouth, shut it for a moment, and then asked, “Did you enjoy it?”

What was almost the start of a chuckle shook his chest. “Of that you should have no doubt.”

One edge of Thorn’s mouth lifted, finally breaking that melancholy line.

Arthur tapped the edge of the document on his desk, straightening it. A contract to lease a property. Mundane and boring, just like himself. Was Thorn getting bored with him? They didn’t do much of anything besides meet at Thorn’s town house or Arthur’s bachelor apartments. Not three months ago, Thorn had led a very different life. From what he knew, or rather what he’d overheard, Thorn used to rarely spend an evening at home. Could that be the source of his…restlessness of late?

He studied the man across from him. Wavy midnight black hair fell over his brow. His aristocratic heritage marked every feature. Even with Thorn sprawled in the chair, his perfectly tailored black coat still managed to highlight the sleek lines of his body. He was a creature of London, elegant and beautiful. And Arthur had been practically keeping him locked in the house.

He would admit to some initial hesitation as to Thorn’s ability to comport himself in the manner of a gentleman and not like the debauched rakehell he had once been, but except for the afternoon’s
incident
, the man had given Arthur no cause to doubt him.

That little concern placated, he asked, “Would you like to perhaps go out tonight?”

Thorn’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “Out?”

“Yes, like to the theatre or…” Not a gambling hell. Definitely not that. He wanted to spend an evening out with Thorn, not tempt him with an old vice. “Perhaps supper at White’s?”

“My uncle is hosting a supper party.”

That might do, and he could easily explain his friendship with Thorn—they were of the same age, had known each other since Arthur worked for his uncle, who had been Thorn’s father’s solicitor, and he even considered himself Thorn’s own solicitor, since he had looked over a document pertaining to one of the man’s investments a couple of months ago. “When?”

“Tonight. Nothing extravagant. He sent an invitation a while back. Don’t believe I ever sent my regrets. We could attend, if you would like.”

Arthur nodded and added a smile. A supper party with some family and acquaintances could be just the thing for Thorn, and it would not hurt Arthur to get out every once in a while. He began to wonder why Thorn had not mentioned the invitation before now, but a knock sounded on his door.

Thorn stood and flicked his fingers toward the door. “I’ll unlock it. Fenton likely needs something or other. And I should be on my way. Will you be home by seven?”

He nodded and made a mental note to inform Wilson he needed to depart by half past six tonight.

“I’ll be by then to pick you up.” With that, Thorn turned from the desk.

Arthur picked up his pen, forced his attention to the contract before him, and did his best to ignore the lingering scent of sex that seemed to hang in the air.

“Nothing extravagant?” he asked Thorn under his breath as they stepped through the double doors.

“It will be months before the Season starts.”

Arthur wasn’t quite certain how that explained the crowd before them. He had expected a nice meal consisting of a few courses with perhaps two dozen guests. There had to be over a hundred people in the ballroom, and it wasn’t even eight in the evening. He might not regularly attend such social affairs, but he knew a fair number usually did not arrive until later.

“My uncle’s not one for the country,” Thorn added. “He likes to occasionally host parties for those who remain in London over the winter.” He stopped in his tracks and turned to face Arthur. Clad in strict black evening attire with an elaborate cravat framing his jaw, Thorn was so gorgeous it almost hurt to look at him. “I thought you wanted to attend.”

“I do. Most assuredly.” Arthur smiled, hoping to alleviate the concern in Thorn’s gaze. If Thorn sensed Arthur’s unease, he would not put it past his lover to demand to leave. A rather counterproductive outcome to the whole purpose of the evening. “Just not what I expected. Your descriptive powers could use some assistance.”

Thorn arched a dark eyebrow.

“I take that back. They are more than adequate.”

“I should hope so,” Thorn replied drily, though his gray eyes held a distinctly wicked spark. “Would you care to eat now or later? The supper room’s off to the left.”

“We needn’t have supper now. We just arrived.” He looked over Thorn’s shoulder. “There’s a gentleman who appears to be coming to speak with you.”

Thorn glanced to the man. “Ah, my uncle. Our evening’s host. I’ll introduce you. Not to worry, he’s quite pleasant.” He turned, extending a hand to a man who appeared to be well into his fifties. With a rounded belly and a stout build, the man bore no physical resemblance to Thorn save the same gray eyes. “Evening, Uncle.”

“Good to see you, Leopold,” he replied with a hearty handshake. “I was pleased to receive your note today. Haven’t seen you about Town, though your father had assured me you were still among us.”

“My father always speaks the truth. May I introduce my good friend, Mr. Arthur Barrington? Barrington, my uncle, Mr. John Dunmore.”

They exchanged the usual acknowledgments. A tip of the head, a shake of the hand.

“Your brothers graced me with their presence as well,” Mr. Dunmore said to Thorn. “David even asked after you.”

“How kind of him.”

Why did Thorn sound bored by the news? He should consider himself fortunate to have a family, never mind one who cared enough to inquire after him.

“Come, I’ll take you to him. He’ll be pleased to see you.”

Seeing his opportunity to relinquish Thorn to socialize with his family for a bit, Arthur gave both men a half bow. “If you will excuse me, I am going to seek out a footman for a drink.”

Thorn’s gaze caught his. Arthur gave him another reassuring smile. Before Thorn could question him, he turned and began to make his way across the ballroom.

It did not take long to locate a footman bearing a silver tray. Glass in hand, Arthur took up a spot along the wall. Thank heaven he had thought to change into his best coat and don a pair of appropriate gloves before Thorn had arrived at his bachelor apartments, else he’d have felt distinctly out of place. Not that he wasn’t acquainted with some of the guests. He recognized a few clients and some other men he’d met in the course of his business dealings. Over the years, he had received invitations to a handful of what
he
would define as supper parties. But an affair of this caliber, surrounded by members of the
ton
? Somewhere Thorn would feel much more at home than Arthur would.

His own discomfort mattered not, though. What mattered was that Thorn enjoyed himself.

With that thought foremost in his mind, he kept the polite smile on his lips and contented himself with watching the guests. The musicians in the corner were playing a waltz. Elegant gentlemen paired with graceful ladies moved about the dance floor. He could easily pick out the unmarried ladies, dressed in white or pale pastel gowns, their gazes young and demure. He didn’t much mind if Thorn did his duty and stood up with any of them. For a man of Thorn’s social standing, it was expected at such a function. Though hopefully Thorn would not expect him to follow his lead. Dancing did not rank high at all on his list of accomplishments or favored ways to pass an evening.

“Barrington, my good man.”

An ice-cold fist grabbed his stomach. He knew that voice. Deep and cultured and backed with a good measure of arrogance. The man thought much too highly of himself. A fact Arthur recognized now and one he wished he’d have taken better note of years sooner.

Keeping the polite smile firmly in place, Arthur took a step from the wall to greet Randolph Amherst.

“Evening, Amherst.” He hesitated an instant before accepting Randolph’s handshake. Brief and perfunctory, just as the man had been in bed. With neatly combed blond hair and a thick, muscular build, Randolph differed from Thorn in more ways than his appearance.

“How have you been, Barrington? I have not seen you in an age.”

Three months to be exact, and deliberately done on Arthur’s part. “I am doing quite well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Very well. The Bank of England continues to command my days, though I am giving thought to pursuing a seat in the House.”