Page 13

Sam

Sam

“I caught Lord Bentley trying to take advantage of one of our footmen,” Sam burst out after he slammed the door to Ash’s chamber shut.

Ash blinked at him from where he was nursing a drink before the fire. Damn these abnormally cold September nights. And this big bloody castle that Sam had just stormed all over until he finally found out his best mate had retired to his chamber.

“Bentley was…taking advantage of one of our footmen?” Ash arched a skeptical brow.

“Yes.” Sam glared at his always composed friend. “Earlier today. They were standing close to each other. Speaking hushed words.”

Ash gasped, eyes going comically wide. “No! They were standing and speaking. How utterly wicked of them!”

Sam’s expression went flat, and he closed his eyes, praying for strength.

“I realize,” he said through his teeth, “that they were not in a compromising position, but it was quite suspicious. If you had been there, you would have definitely felt it, too. Something was going on between them.” Sam wouldn’t tolerate anyone taking advantage of his fellow servants.

And what was Sam supposed to think? They’d been much too cozy, huddled together.

What on earth would a lord need a footman in his bedchamber for? Besides something nefarious.

Ash’s blue eyes turned thoughtful. “Which footman?”

“Robbie.”

“Interesting,” Ash muttered.

Sam failed to see what was so interesting about one of their staff being preyed on.

“We’ll need to replace him soon, then.”

“ What?” Sam’s eyes popped out of his head. Rolled right along the floor and settled on the plush Aubusson. Because what in the bloody fuck? “You’re just going to let that man abuse poor Robbie?”

“Sam, calm the theatrics—”

“ Theatrics ? I know exactly what lords do in situations like this. When they’re caught,” Sam gritted out.

Panic was sliding through him, coating over his insides and twisting, tightening.

“And Bentley was caught. ” It wasn’t Bentley who would pay the price.

It was Robbie. Shite. What if him confronting Bentley made all of this worse?

Ash’s eyes softened. “Sam…”

Oh God. Was he going to be the reason Robbie—

“Sam.” Ash’s firm tone brought Sam back from his spiraling.

“Your staunch support is admirable, but you’re jumping to conclusions,” Ash said gently.

“I find it interesting because Lord Bentley heads an organization that specializes in assisting men and their partners relocate to the continent in order to pursue…a freer, safer lifestyle.”

Sam blinked. Some crickets chirped in his brain. What now?

Ash’s low chuckle snapped Sam out of his state of shock. But then Ash’s gaze turned inward, a small furrow appearing between his brows. “I hadn’t realized Robbie wanted to leave. I tried to create as safe a space as possible—for everyone—here at Devonford…”

“You have ,” Sam assured.

Ash had made Devonford a haven of sorts. All misfits, people, and horses who didn’t belong, who were mistreated, found safety here at Devonford. But that only extended so far. To the castle and stable staff…but one couldn’t force their tenants, the local village, to adopt those values.

He nodded slowly. “Yes, well. I wish him and his partner the best. I wonder if Lord Bentley will approach me or not. I am a silent benefactor of the organization, so he knows I support the cause. Sometimes these things have to move quickly, to avoid”—his gaze flicked to Sam’s—“consequences. Capital comes in handy.”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Lord Bentley ran some sort of underground organization that helped men like Sam?

And Ash—Sam’s bloody best mate—was a benefactor, and Sam didn’t know anything about it?

And that last statement…made it sound like the organization might even save people from dire circumstances.

People like Sam’s eighteen-year-old self.

“Are you well, Sam?”

Sam backed toward the door. Was he well?

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

He was extremely confused. A tad dizzy. His heart was thumping oddly against his breastbone. The sheer emotional range he’d endured today hardly seemed safe. Could someone cock up their toes from such extremes? Perhaps he should go lie down.

“Sam…” Ash’s call cut off as the door swung shut. Sam hurried down the dim hallway, back toward the servant’s quarters.

And that’s when he realized something. If Ash hadn’t already known about Lord Bentley and Robbie…it meant Lord Bentley hadn’t said anything.

The man hadn’t breathed a word of Sam’s egregious behavior.

If Bentley hadn’t complained to the Duke about Sam’s behavior…then Sam might possibly be wrong about the lord being a complete bastard. Still a bastard, just not a complete one .

And that powder keg Ash had just dropped: an organization that assisted men like Sam.

What the fuck was Sam supposed to do with that knowledge?

He refused to soften toward the man. He also refused to acknowledge the relief that flooded him, knowing Bentley didn’t hold any sort of interest in Robbie.

Because that was precarious territory to be in. It was so much easier to keep his physical attraction toward the man under control when the man had the personality of a baited badger.

But the other issue with learning about Lord Bentley’s involvement?

It had some very, very dangerous assumptions whispering through his mind.

Like maybe the subtle signs Sam thought his eyes had been making up…

weren’t so made up after all. That those heated glares weren’t just fueled by fury, but also by a desire that matched Sam’s own.