Convincing Arthur (11 page)

mistake to accept your invitation, and I fully accept the blame for the situation we now

find ourselves in.”

“You damn well should. You're the one who crawled into my bed last night.”

“That was a mistake.” He should not have done it. Shouldn't have given himself a

glimpse of what he couldn't have again.

Thornton flinched, his eyes clamping shut for a brief moment, unmistakable pain

pulling his features. The unexpected reaction startled Arthur, jolting him from the ever-

tightening grip of anger. Could Thornton actually have feelings for him, ones that went

beyond mere lust?

Oh no
. His stomach dropped to somewhere around his knees. That couldn't be

true. Notorious for his exploits, Thornton flitted from lover to lover without a backward

glance. He had been certain Thornton hadn't seen him as any different from the rest.

But Arthur was getting a nagging and very uncomfortable premonition that Thornton

held expectations that went beyond their short holiday.

Damnation. The one time Arthur indulged in sex for no other reason than

pleasure, he chose a partner who wanted more. If he had more experience with such

matters, perhaps he could have seen the signs and stopped their liaison before they

reached this point. He had not intended to hurt Thornton; he well knew what it felt like

on the receiving end. But it appeared he had done so, regardless of his intentions. “I

apologize if my acceptance of your invitation gave you the wrong impression. But you

and I, we do not suit.”

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“I suited you just fine last night, and yesterday morning, and the night you

arrived.”

“Yes, but I am referring to more than just physical compatibility.”

“I'm good enough to fuck, but that's all. Is that what you're telling me?”

When put so bluntly, it made Arthur feel like the worst sort of cad. But as his

friend, Thornton deserved to know the truth. “Yes,” Arthur said with a grim nod.

“Thornton, we are two completely different men. You don't understand the concept of

discretion. Hell, you didn't even stop to don a cravat, much less a coat, before you

chased after me.”

“I didn't want you to leave.”

Obviously. “But it illustrates my point. You give little if any thought to

comporting yourself in the manner of a gentleman, much less one who has something

to hide. I cannot risk word getting out about my preference for those of my own gender.

It would destroy my reputation, thus killing my livelihood. No decent man will employ

a solicitor who buggers other men. And beyond that, I don't have the weight of a

wealthy, titled father to keep gossip in check and to keep me from swinging from the

hangman's noose. I will be honest with you, Thornton. I do not wish to spend the rest of

my life alone. But I cannot accept a…partner,” he said, for lack of a better word, “who

does not recognize the value of commitment.”

“Oh, but Amherst was acceptable, and he's just the model of fidelity. He wanted

me to suck him off, but I refused him because of you.”

Suck him off? He should have known there had been more to Thornton's claim to

Randolph's infidelity. Obviously Thornton had done more than merely notice Randolph

at Delacroix's brothel. When in Town, Thornton practically lived at such establishments.

And one time Thornton had said no. That was the proof he presented of his ability to

remain faithful to another? Arthur kept the exasperated sigh from making its way past

his lips. Enough. Time to cut directly to the heart of the matter. “You drink to excess.”

“So I can forget you,” Thornton shot back.

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“You'll swive anyone.”

“They were all poor substitutes for you.”

Arthur opened his mouth but promptly shut it as the significance of Thornton's

words sank in. Every one of his answers had to do with Arthur. And not just this

morning, but even the night Arthur had arrived. When he'd asked Thornton if he

needed another glass of whisky… “
No. You're here
.” Thornton had been willing to drag

himself out of bed before dawn to go shooting “
…for you
.”

Dumbstruck, he stared hard at Thornton. The man quickly averted his gaze to

look out one of the windows in the study, but he couldn't hide the way every muscle

had drawn tight. The way his arms were crossed defensively over his chest, the white

tips of fingers biting into his biceps.

His responses, his posture, it all screamed of sincerity, but… Arthur glanced to the

clock on the fireplace mantel. No reason to stay. Perhaps if months instead of weeks

had passed since he'd parted with Randolph, he would be more open to giving

Thornton a chance. As it stood, he simply was not ready to gamble his heart on the

possibility of Thornton changing his ways. The memory of the wounds Randolph had

left in his wake was still too fresh, too raw. And if this man broke his heart…a pinprick

of the pain he had sustained two weeks ago.

“Unlock the door, Thornton,” he said, unable to keep the regret from his voice.

“Your five minutes are up.”

“I've waited ten years for you. I think I deserve more than five bloody minutes.”

Arthur dragged a hand through his hair. “Don't exaggerate. It's in poor form.”

Still staring out the window, Thornton let out a mirthless chuckle. “Everything

about me is in poor form. I have no cause to give you yet another reason to find fault

with me.” He dropped his attention to his mud-flecked boots, his shoulders rounding,

his brow furrowing. “It was April twenty-fourth, eighteen eleven. We ran into each

other at Cheswick's Tavern, and I went looking for you later that night. Decided to

finally make my intentions known. Thought perhaps, well…” He harrumphed and

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71

gave his head a weary shake. “I went to your apartments. Was just about to knock when

I heard his voice.”

Arthur's pulse skipped a beat. He knew exactly which day Thornton referred to:

the start of the last ten long years with Randolph. “How long did you wait outside the

door?”

“Long enough to know you hadn't invited him for tea.”

“I didn't invite him. He invited himself.”

“Oh.” If not for the rigidity of his posture, Arthur would think he didn't care.

“Had you been seeing him long?” Thornton asked.

“No. We went to university together, were friends of a sort, but I wasn't aware he

preferred men until he showed up at my door. It was our first time together. My first

time, actually.”

“With a man?”

“Women never appealed to me. It was my first time with anyone.”

Thornton winced, as if those words caused physical pain.

“My apologies.”

Thornton shook his head. “You don't owe me an apology. I wanted you from the

first moment I laid eyes on you, but I waited too long to make my interest known. I

didn't want to rush you.”

“You had no problem doing that this week,” Arthur pointed out.

Thornton's lips pulled in a humorless smirk. “Didn't want to make the same

mistake twice.”

Where would they be now if Thornton had not been patient? If their friendship

had turned to something more before Thornton became a notorious rakehell. Would

they still be together, or would London have still sunk its teeth into Thornton, tearing

them apart? One thing for certain. He would not have refused the man then, just as he

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had not refused him two nights ago. “I wish it had been you. He was a bit of brute, and

it damn well hurt.”

Thornton shrugged. “Usually does the first time.”

“But I would have at least enjoyed myself with you.” Arthur paused and passed a

hand over the front of his greatcoat, fiddling with a button. “I fell in with Randolph

because…he was there. He wanted me. And at nineteen years of age, I was more than a

bit primed. Yet I was too young to know how to go about finding a man who shared my

interests. I didn't want to approach anyone, not even an acquaintance, for fear of

choosing unwisely and having the tale spread all over Town. I was afraid to go to a

molly house—didn't want to get the pox, and paying a stranger to take my virginity

didn't have much appeal. My options were severely limited, and Randolph was a

decent fellow. Attractive, if a bit of a condescending bore. It was easy to say yes to him

and even easier to stay with him. If he hadn't decided to find a wife, I probably would

have never left. Yet I'm…I'm relieved that relationship ended.”

Don't ask; don't ask…
“Why?” Leopold scowled as he heard the word leave his

lips. Hearing about Randolph, knowing Arthur had willingly spent ten years with a

man who did not love him when he could have had Leopold all along was like having

daggers driven into his heart. Granted, he had kept his desires well hidden from Arthur

until two weeks ago, but still, it hurt.

“Looking back, it wasn't as easy, as…comfortable as I had believed. We were more

acquaintances who occasionally shared a bed than anything else. And I was reluctant to

ask anything of him, to disrupt the waters, so to speak, for fear he would leave me, and

then I'd be alone.”

That lonely, hollow note had crept into Arthur's voice, making his heart ache to

hold the man tight and never let him go. “You don't have to be alone. Ever. If you don't

wish it.”
You can be with me
. He could feel the force of Arthur's stare, measuring him,

judging him.
Please, let him find something, anything, worthy in me
. He shifted his weight

Convincing Arthur

73

and continued to pretend as though his boots were the most interesting things he had

ever beheld.

“I understand.” Arthur's heavy sigh filled the room. “May I still call you friend,

Thorn?”

Biting the edge of his bottom lip, he nodded.

“Thank you.” Arthur paused. “Will you please unlock the door?”

How he stopped himself from screaming no, he frankly did not know. He gave a

short, tight nod and forced his fingers to unclench from his upper arms. Surely the key

had left a permanent impression on his skin, but he was numb to it. It took a couple of

tries to get the key into the lock, but it finally slid home, and he turned the knob and

opened the door to let Arthur walk away from him.

Holding the door open, he kept his gaze downcast, unable to watch Arthur leave.

As Arthur walked passed, desperation yanked hold of him.

“Wait.” The
click
of footsteps on the floorboards ceased. The words stuck in his

throat, but he forced them out, unwilling to risk losing Arthur for not being completely

honest. “You're the only man I've ever loved,” he whispered hoarsely.

He waited for what felt like an eternity, staring at Arthur's feet, the black leather of

his shoes marred by the rain. His heart pounded in his ears, his soul pleading for a

response from Arthur. But…nothing. He had laid his heart bare only to receive silence.

The threat of tears stung his nose, his eyes. He gripped the doorknob tightly,

willing the tremble from his arm, trying to keep his emotions in check. To keep from the

utter humiliation of being reduced to tears in front of the man he loved.

But the effort was in vain. Before the proof showed itself on his cheeks, he

snapped, much harsher and stronger than he intended, “Just leave.”

He swore he could hear Arthur's nod. Then those footsteps receded down the

corridor and into the entrance hall. His stomach twisted in an unbearable knot, the

noxious taste of bile rose in his throat. At the faint sound of carriage wheels on gravel,

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he slammed the door shut and darted across the study. He dropped to his knees, flung

open the doors on the squat cabinet, and started pushing aside the bottles, disturbing

the neat rows. His stomach clenched violently, lurching in his gut. By God, he was

going to be sick.

The gin. Where the hell was it? He needed it.
Now.

Wine and whisky toppled from the shelf. The bottles rolled passed his knees to

somewhere behind him as he furiously searched the shadowed depths of the cabinet.

Jones better have two bottles in there. One would not make the morning go away.

Oh fuck.

Nothing could make it go away forever.

He swiped his forearm across his eyes, the cold, sodden cloth smearing the warm

drops across his cheeks. “Goddamn you, Jones. Where the hell did you put it?”

He took a deep breath, about to bellow for his footman, when he spotted the

slender bottle in the back corner. He yanked it from the cabinet, pried off the top, and

brought the bottle to his lips. Harsh and abrasive, the gin burned his throat, but he kept

swallowing great, greedy mouthfuls, needing more, desperate for the blissfully numb