Convincing Leopold (6 page)

Arthur tipped his head and fought the urge to shift his weight. He struggled to find some bland topic to discuss, or better yet, a means to send Randolph on his way. To think he had once loved this man.

A sharp echo of pain bit into his chest.

Fool.

Yes indeed, and a pathetic one at that.

“I did not expect to see you here,” Randolph said. “I wasn’t aware you had a fondness for society. Not that it isn’t a pleasant surprise.”

There were a lot of things about him that Randolph had never cared to learn. “I would not go so far as to deem it a fondness. I arrived with an acquaintance.” Should he have used the term friend? He did not want to discount his friendship with Thorn as if it meant nothing to him, nor did he have any desire to expose the full extent of their relationship. And why hadn’t the possibility of coming face-to-face with Randolph occurred to him? Of course Randolph would use Thorn’s uncle’s “supper party” as a means to flaunt his recent engagement to a daughter of a baron. “Did you arrive with your future bride?”

“Yes, she’s chatting with a few friends.” He spoke with such casual disregard that Arthur suspected Randolph felt no more for his future bride than he had felt for Arthur. Poor woman. “I was planning to head to the card room for a game of whist. I could use a partner,” Randolph added.

The tone of Randolph’s voice, the intent in his blue eyes… Arthur recognized it from a decade ago, when the man had first shown up at his apartments. By the end of the evening, Arthur had lost his virginity.

Did Randolph wish to resume their relationship?
No, no
. Arthur had been quite clear in his refusal to continue…whatever it was they’d actually had when the man had informed him of his intent to marry. His discomfort at having to converse with Randolph for the first time since they had parted was simply making him read more into his words than Randolph intended.

As if somehow sensing his thoughts, Randolph took a half step closer, coming dangerously close to breaching the line of polite distance. A hint of a smile curved his usually cold mouth. A mouth that had touched Arthur’s prick only on the most infrequent of occasions. “I have missed our evenings,” he said, pitched for Arthur’s ears only.

Arthur stiffened, his grip tightening on his glass. His heart slammed against his ribs.

How was he to convey to Randolph—at a ton ball no less—that he had absolutely no interest in him anymore? And much to his shock, he was now certain of Randolph’s intentions. Hell, he shouldn’t be shocked. Randolph held no stock in the concept of fidelity. The man had visited brothels, for Christ’s sake, when they had been together.

That echo of pain bit into his chest again.

Arthur opened his mouth, but before he could get the word no out, a familiar hand settled on his shoulder.

“Ah, there you are, Barrington.”

Thorn’s drawled words washed over him. The tension briefly eased from Arthur’s spine only to seize it once again as the full extent of the situation hit him. His former lover before him and his current lover at his side. And Thorn did not have a reputation for being a model of discretion.

Please, Thorn, please don’t take issue with him.

“My apologies, Amherst, for the interruption.” Thorn tipped his head to Randolph, all politeness, as if he had never once referred to the man as a damn heartless, cuckolding prig. Without a trace of anything more than friendship in his eyes, he looked to Arthur. “The Duke of
Menteith
is in need of another solicitor and wishes to make your acquaintance. If you would, I will see to the introduction.”

Arthur gathered his wits and nodded, jumping on a plausible reason to escape Randolph. “If you will excuse us, Amherst,” he said, careful to avoid his former lover’s gaze.

He fell into step beside Thorn as the man wound his way around the perimeter of the ballroom. “You are acquainted with His Grace?” he asked once his pulse had returned to something that approached normal levels.
Menteith
was a powerful duke with many and varied business interests. To secure him as a client would be a huge boon for his office.

“He is my godfather. An old family friend. My father wishes to speak to you about something or other as well.” Thorn slowed his step as they came upon a footman bearing a silver tray. “Would you care for another glass of champagne?”

“No, thank you.” He glanced down, relieved to see Thorn’s hands empty of any sort of glassware. Then he set his own glass on the tray as they passed the footman.

Thorn led him into the supper room and to one of the tables situated near the tall windows, the velvet drapes drawn back, revealing the night sky. Only two men sat at the table that would hold four. Thorn’s father, Viscount Granville, and across from him a distinguished-looking older gentleman with short, white hair.

“I’ve brought you a solicitor, Duke,” Thorn said as they came to a stop beside the table. “Mr. Arthur Barrington. The best in London.”

Thorn thought him the best in London? Far from the truth. He prided himself on being competent and trustworthy, and worked hard to maintain that reputation, but he well knew he wasn’t the best the city had to offer. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a flush of pride at Thorn’s sentiment.

“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” Arthur said with a half bow. He clasped his hands behind his back as the duke assessed him for a moment. With the way that keen gaze seemed to take in every facet of his appearance, he had the distinct impression that before him sat a man who expected nothing less than the highest standards.

He must have passed inspection, for the duke indicated the empty chair to his left. “Have a seat, Barrington.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Then Arthur tipped his head toward Thorn’s father. “Good evening, Lord Granville.” Before moving to sit down, he glanced beside him, the thanks for the introduction on his tongue, but found the space empty.

* * *

Arms crossed over his chest, Leopold leaned against a corner of a wall just inside the ballroom, his attention half on the narrow corridor behind him. Midnight had come and gone, the evening in full swing, the guests merry and lively, a few well into their cups, their happy voices nearly overpowering the musicians. Yet all traces of his excitement had drained away a few moments after stepping into the room.

A part of him still could not quite decide if tonight was some sort of test, especially after his afternoon call to Arthur’s office. He couldn’t forget the sharp jab of Arthur’s finger toward the chair opposite his desk, that air of severe disapproval radiating from him. He was well aware his lover valued discretion above all else. What had he been thinking, to suck off Arthur at the man’s office?

Exactly the problem. He had not been thinking clearly. He had allowed jealousy to get the better of him. His only excuse was that jealousy was a rather new concept for him. He had never before had a lover for longer than a night. Never felt that harsh, defensive need to protect his right to call someone his own. And not just any someone, but Arthur Barrington.

Fortunately Arthur had forgiven him for his lapse. Well, he hoped Arthur had forgiven him. Hoped and prayed the afternoon had not turned into yet another mark against him. He had enough of those to overcome.

Letting out a sigh, he adjusted his cravat that had taken him three tries to tie correctly. At least Arthur could not take issue with his appearance. And he could not help feeling a bit pleased Arthur had attended a social function with him. After they had returned from Yorkshire, they had confined their evenings exclusively to his town house or Arthur’s apartments. Not that he minded. He much preferred to spend time with Arthur alone than to share his company with others. Still, the thought that Arthur had been reluctant to be seen out and about with him, as if Leopold’s reputation alone would taint him, had hurt.

But if the evening
was
a test, then he rather thought he had passed admirably. With Arthur occupied with the duke and a few others discussing business, Leopold had played his part of the perfect gentleman to the hilt. Had sought only his father’s staid acquaintances for conversation, avoided the card room, had partaken only of the weak lemonade from the refreshment table, danced with a few ladies who were firmly on the shelf, and steered clear of any silly chits with marriage on the brain. Hell, they refused to even glance in his direction, though they didn’t know they would be as safe with him now as with their grandfathers.

That was the trouble with reputations. They tended to stick with the tenacity of a leech even after one no longer deserved them. Not for the first time, he wished he had not turned to vice and drink. If only he had been strong enough to resist the urge to find something, anything, to dull the pain. He could feel that dark, hollow pain creeping up on him again, feel it using his ever-mounting worries for leverage. Making him question why Arthur would even want to be with him, let alone stay with him.

The sound of a door clicking shut echoed along the corridor behind him, reaching his ears.

Finally
. Took the bastard bloody long enough to use the necessary. Turning, Leopold pushed from the wall, then strode down the corridor toward the one man he knew with absolute certainty Arthur did not want to be with.

His long strides ate up the distance, putting the ballroom and the eager eyes and ears of others sufficiently behind him. The fierce, protective surge he had managed to keep at bay for the past few hours as he’d waited for an opportunity to get the bastard alone rose within. Drawing his muscles tight, pulling his spine ramrod straight.

Amherst looked up from tugging on the end of his waistcoat and made to step to the side so they could pass in the narrow corridor. Leopold moved to block him, stopping directly in front of the goddamn prig and forcing the man to stop short.

“I will give you the courtesy of conveying this to you once,” Leopold said, low, determined, and backed by an iron will. “Stay away from him.”

A furrow of confusion flickered across Amherst’s brow; then realization dawned. “Barrington? You’ve set your cap for him, have you?” A sneer of distaste curled his lips as he looked Leopold up and down. “He’ll have nothing to do with the likes of you.”

Leopold called on the anger pounding through his veins and kept his chin up. He even managed a smug, confident smirk. “You certainly wanted to at one time. Or do you forget your disappointment when I refused to suck your cock? And he has plenty to do with me, and I him.”

That took Amherst aback, his eyes flaring, but he quickly recovered. “I should hope you have not given him the pox.”

He clenched his hands at his sides, fighting the unbearable urge to sink his fist into the man’s jaw, and pretended he had not heard that particular comment. “You have ballocks even going near him, let alone assuming he would want anything more to do with you.” He would have never brought Arthur to his uncle’s if he had known Amherst had accepted an invitation. He swore he had been able to feel Arthur’s discomfort from across the ballroom. A physical force that had drawn Leopold to his lover. Quite frankly, he had no idea how he’d kept the rage under wraps when he had overheard Amherst’s blatant proposition.

“You know nothing about us,” Amherst said, all lofty condescension.

He narrowed his eyes. “I know everything. I know how you treated him with callous disregard. How you threw your money at whores, then returned to his bed time and again without a second thought. How you did not give a fig when he refused to continue on with you after you told him of your decision to marry. You broke his heart, you goddamn bastard,” he growled through clenched teeth, no longer able to keep the rage contained. To think Arthur had once loved this man. Had willingly given Amherst his heart. Something he had yet to give Leopold. But that agonizing fact mattered not at the moment. “I will not allow you to hurt him again. Come anywhere near him and I will personally see to your ruin.”

Amherst looked down his nose at Leopold as if he were a particularly foul smudge of dirt on the floor. “You will do no such thing.”

“Won’t I?” He let the question hang in the air for a brief moment. “You would do well not to doubt me. Do you forget I am the son of Lord Granville? You may sneer at me, but I have family and wealth behind me and the will and means to ruin you. To see you cast from Society and removed from your position at the bank. No one will associate with you. No one will hire you. You will be left penniless, with only the beggars for company.”

He paused, allowing the full magnitude of his threats to sink in—allowing Amherst a glimpse of his life if he dared to defy him. He knew in his bones Amherst would not speak a word against Arthur or Arthur’s relationship with himself. Doing so could risk revealing his preference for men. The man might be a heartless bastard without morals, but he had always shown himself to be a discreet bastard highly concerned with maintaining appearances.