Page 12

Felix

Felix tugged the bell pull and then strode back to his dressing table. He divested himself of his ruined waistcoat. He’d accidentally spat wine all over himself when conversing with Lord Kozington at the archery competition. A fond snort escaped him. Damn the Kozingtons and their humor.

Felix tossed the soiled garment over the back of the chair. He glanced at the clock—quarter past three. So, he should expect Thorne somewhere around four. A small smile ghosted over his lips.

He quickly shook his head, forcing his lips flat.

That fact should not be making him smile.

What in the bloody hell was wrong with him?

It was like he was enjoying the man’s deliberate insolence.

But there was something about their constant retaliations that had a thrill gently buzzing under Felix’s skin.

The wine had barely saturated his waistcoat when Thorne’s flashing grey eyes had filled his mind, along with the smug delight of making the man clean it. It must be the competitive Jennings family trait. Felix wouldn’t lose…whatever this was. And Thorne was a formidable opponent.

He hadn’t missed the smirk Thorne had thrown Felix’s way earlier when Felix had been overly hesitant while bringing his coffee to his mouth.

It had been made acceptably that time. But Felix had been wary, exactly as the maddening manservant had wanted.

Felix wasn’t a fool to believe the coffee and long delays were where it ended.

He knew the man would have something else planned.

The buzzing intensified. There was that thrill again.

A light rapping sounded on the door. Felix’s brows shot together, and his attention flew to the clock. It’d been five minutes. Was the man finally putting an end to his blatantly insubordinate behavior? And why did that cause a sinking feeling in Felix’s gut?

“Enter,” he called out. He couldn’t possibly be disappointed the man was going to stop being a disobedient lout.

The door swung open ever-so-slowly before a head that was not Thorne’s peered around the edge. The wide-eyed man inched into the room and hesitated.

Felix blinked at the footman. The one who had given him the signal, who’d been watching him since he’d arrived at the castle.

“Please come in,” he said gently.

The man spent an inordinate amount of time closing the door and then turned around and stood unspeaking. He twisted his fingers in the bottom of his gold waistcoat, his gaze glued to the floor. Felix waited patiently. This wasn’t unusual for those who sought the assistance of The Harborage .

Finally, the man blew out a breath and his pale visage met Felix’s. “Th-the tea was especially hot at breakfast this morning.”

Felix’s mouth hitched in a half-smile, one he hoped was reassuring. “It is good, then, that I prefer coffee.”

The young man shifted back and forth on his feet. A bit of tension left him, but his gaze was back to the carpet, his left hand shaking with a light tremor.

“Come here,” Felix murmured, and the man approached, stopping a few feet from Felix. “What’s your name?”

“Robbie, my lord.”

“Why are you here, Robbie? What assistance do you seek? ”

The young man’s wide brown gaze met his, a torrent of fear and hope swirling there. Felix understood. Because even with the coded messages and signs, certain facts in the wrong hands…meant death.

“I am friend, not foe, son,” Felix said.

“I—I need assistance. I mean, my partner and I.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “We want to relocate to the continent. To live freely. But we don’t have the means. And we heard…there is an organization that provides assistance to those like us. That you pass messages along.”

“I do. Why don’t we sit down and discuss particulars of what you need. Trust me when I say, the organization will ensure this happens for you.”

The man’s shoulders visibly sagged, and he nodded.

Large brown eyes filled with so much uncertain hope that it nearly broke Felix’s heart clean in two.

Because Felix understood everything the man was feeling.

It was something that felt too good to be true.

That was the way of it. There couldn’t possibly be people out there supporting them, looking out for them.

And there hadn’t been before. Not all men had a father with the power—or desire—to save their son if certain details came to light.

This was Felix’s small way of trying to give some of that privilege back.

They sat in the armchairs in front of the hearth while Felix laid out the typical process for leaving the country and how The Harborage coordinated the journey for individuals.

Robbie had remained tense during the entire explanation until Felix had inquired about his partner—a Devonford tenant farmer who had moved to London to try to earn enough money for a proper education.

Now that the man was finishing up his schooling, he longed to build a future somewhere where he and Robbie could live together without fear.

This was the exact kind of case Felix loved assisting with. Robbie and Neville were good, genuine people, yet for reasons he would never understand, their country had decided these two should be put to death, simply because they loved each other.

“What do we… How do we pay you—the organization? In installments, or…” Robbie trailed off, his fidgeting starting up again.

“You owe us nothing,” Felix said firmly.

“But all of this… The expense, the time to organize the journey…”

Felix shook his head. “No. We demand nothing of you. England has done you two a disservice. We are doing our small part to make up for that. To show that not everyone in this country holds those values. We are fighting for change. But until the day love is accepted for all, this is how we make a difference.”

Robbie exhaled shakily and dropped his elbows on his knees, eyes squeezed shut tight. “Thank you,” he managed in a choked voice.

Felix leaned forward and squeezed the lad’s shoulder. “I’m glad you came to us.”

The footman lifted his chin, a small smile on his face as his watery gaze met Felix’s

“This is not a small thing,” Felix murmured. “Uprooting yourself and starting over in a new country. I will work through the details. We’ll coordinate with you and your partner to plan the timing and logistics, ensuring everything aligns with you both. But know you are in good hands.”

Felix stood and when it didn’t appear Robbie was able to follow, he helped the poor dazed man to his feet. “Are you going to be well, son?”

Robbie shook his head, clearly trying to shake himself from his stupor. “Yes, my lord. I apologize. I think I am just slightly overwhelmed by all that you’re offering. It’s almost hard to believe it’s real.”

Felix smiled. “You’re not the first to feel unmoored by it all. If you think of any other questions while I’m here, I’m happy to address them. Of course, discretion is paramount. Your anonymity is assured, and we expect the same in return—unless, of course, you know of someone else—”

A quiet throat-clearing cut Felix off, freezing him in place.

Thorne stood just inside the door, gaze unreadable as it flicked between Felix and Robbie. Where Felix and Robbie stood quite close together. Too close together.

Felix took a large step backward. “Ah, you’ve finally managed to answer my summons,” Felix said brusquely, slipping back into the role of all powerful Earl—the one who moved through the world unchallenged. He turned to Robbie. “Thank you for assisting with my fire. You may go.”

The lad darted past Thorne, squeezing through the narrow gap between Thorne and the door, and out of the room.

“My waistcoat has been stained.” Felix flicked his hand toward the dressing table. “I’ll need you to address—”

Thorne was on Felix before he could form another word, crowding him as he stumbled backward. Felix’s back hit the wall, his eyes stretching wide. Then his spine snapped straight, and his brain finally caught up with what was happening. He opened his mouth—

“You dare take advantage of the servants here at Devonford Castle?” Thorne’s low, hard words cut through Felix, fisting Felix’s lungs. Or perhaps that was the jolt of terror surging forward at the accusation the man was inferring.

“I caught him partaking in the most unnatural and heinous of crimes with another man.”

Felix’s body shook with the force of trying to drown out the voice. One breath in. One breath out.

“If you are to inspect him, you will have sufficient proof of his crimes.”

Panic rose inside him, piercing and painful, clawing up his throat, grasping desperate fingers of fear.

No! He was the lord here. He wasn’t in a courtroom. He wasn’t before a magistrate. The man before him was nothing but a servant.

A sneer curled Thorne’s lips, almost like he could hear Felix’s thoughts. “Don’t underestimate me because I’m a manservant, my lord . Trust me when I say being the valet for the Duke of Devonford gives me a power you would be foolish to ignore.”

A volatile rage, one fed by fear and that much more dangerous for it, had Felix pushing off the wall, forcing Thorne back with a hard press of his chest.

“Are you threatening me?” he spat.

“That depends,” Thorne replied, his voice unnervingly soft. “I thought you merely intolerable. But you’re one of them, aren’t you? One of those lords who uses their power to prey on the vulnerable. And then you dispose of us like we’re vermin.”

Felix’s jaw ached as he clamped it even tighter. The gall of the man. He framed it as a question, but the disgust dripping from his words left no doubt that he believed it.

“I. Prey. On. No one,” Felix bit out. The words came out like venom. Every ounce of hurt, of betrayal from all those years ago—when Felix was the one preyed on—came through in his tone. Sharp. Scathing.

They stared each other down, barely an inch separating them, the only sound in the room their harsh breathing.

Neither willing to back down. Thorne’s nostrils flared with each tense breath.

The man’s dark gaze ate away at Felix, ate away at his barriers, and he was terrified that Thorne could see the truth.

Could see the sodomite Felix hid within.

Felix struggled to swallow, his throat tight with too many emotions to name. The instinct to always be the bigger man, the stronger man, melded with the fury and fear festering inside like an ever-worsening infection. It all coiled inside him, and he wanted desperately to scream.

He tried to swallow past a chalky throat as emotions churned, as he tried to hold on to control and not break composure in front of this man.

To win whatever this standoff was. He licked his dry lips.

Thorne’s gaze dipped to Felix’s mouth, pupils flaring.

Those dark grey eyes grew darker, a different storm rising in their depths.

Felix’s chaotic emotions came to a screeching halt and his mind went silent. The world seemed to tilt even as his feet remained planted firmly on the ground as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

“I… I assure you,” Felix said, stumbling over his words.

Thorne’s gaze snapped back to his, heavy-lidded and filled with a searing heat.

“N-no matter what you believe you saw, there was nothing untoward taking place.” Felix searched those enigmatic grey irises, trying to find answers to the flurry of questions that had just taken root in his mind.

Was his mind playing tricks on him? Did it even matter? “But that’s all I can say.”

Thorne abruptly stepped back. Watched Felix silently. “Glad to hear it,” he said tightly, slowly walking backward.

The air crackled and sparked between them. But now Felix wasn’t so sure it was from animosity. But something far more…animal.

Thorne snatched the waistcoat from the back of the dressing table chair and made his way out of the room, not once dropping Felix’s gaze.

The door snicked shut, and Felix slumped back into the wall, out of breath, and he had no idea why. Fuck . He dropped his head in his hands. What in the bloody hell just happened?