Page 14

Sam

Sam muttered a litany of curse words under his breath.

This was the fourth time tonight Lord Bentley had rung for him.

Fucking fourth . The only blessing was that Sam hadn’t fallen asleep yet this time.

There was nothing worse than being abruptly woken up in those first thirty or so minutes after one had fallen asleep.

But that was exactly what had happened to Sam twice already.

He swore to all that was holy, Lord Bentley was the spawn of the devil.

Sam knew this was punishment for lashing out at Lord Bentley earlier.

And while Sam had gotten extremely lucky that Bentley hadn’t said a word to the Duke—even if Ash would always stand by Sam—Sam had to admit he should have never cornered the man like that.

A risky move that could have ended with Sam once again in the hands of the authorities.

But Sam had been blind with fury over someone harming his family.

That was all it had been. Sam feeling protective. Sam hadn’t been jealous. Not one bit.

He had not felt that hot, ugly sting deep in his gut at seeing Lord Bentley inches from Robbie. Sam had most definitely not been bitter because he’d been right there Bentley’s entire stay, alone with the man. And Bentley hadn’t once cozied up to him .

He wasn’t jealous. He swore it. Only a daft man would be jealous over someone he despised.

Oh, Sammie boy, you are a daft, daft man.

He hurried down the hall to the servants’ stairs leading to the floor of the castle housing the guest chambers.

He raked his hands through his hair and then shook his head, trying to gain some composure—some semblance of consciousness .

Sodding hell, he was tired. The man was infuriating.

Summons after summons for ridiculous requests.

A flash of movement and a scream abruptly cutting off stopped Sam in his tracks.

He quickly backed up to the library double-doors.

He squinted— Was that? His mouth popped open.

It was. Lady Felicity in nothing but a night dress on a library ladder with Ash’s hands on her waist .

With the way she was leaning back, she clearly had almost tumbled backward.

Sam’s brows pinched. But what on earth were the two of them doing alone together at three in the morn…

Lady Felicity slowly turned, her hands falling to the ladder for support.

Sam’s brows lifted to his hairline. Because his best mate’s hands didn’t move from their place on the woman’s hips.

The two stared at each other, unmoving except for the rapid rise and fall of Lady Felicity’s chest. And then Sam saw it, so subtle he nearly missed it: Ash’s fingers visibly flexed, tightening on her.

Well, this just got very interesting.

Ash assisted Lady Felicity slowly to the ground, their gazes locked on each other.

And then the man jumped back like he’d caught fire.

Sam grinned. There was his honorable-to-a-fault best mate.

Who just had his bloody hands on his son’s fiancé!

Oh, this was a delicious little tidbit. He could not wait to bring this up with Ash tomorrow.

Or today, he supposed. Urghhh. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, desperately trying to force himself awake at three in the bloody fucking morn.

He resumed his march because, unfortunately, Sam still had an insufferable lord to deal with, who was probably going to be even more insufferable for having been kept waiting. Sam should probably just give up on sleep and stay up for the day at this point.

He knocked, none too gently, on Lord Bentley’s door.

The predictably pompous “Enter” echoed back at him right on cue.

Sam paused, hand on the handle. You will not murder him.

It was just so hard to fight the urge when he was this exhausted.

Think of the men he saves, Sam. Don’t kill him for their sake.

Sam entered the chamber. “You rang, my lord.”

The crimson curtains shifted, and Lord Bentley’s head popped out near the head of the monstrous bed. “It is sweltering in here. Dampen the fire.”

Sam didn’t even try to hide his murderous glare. “You called”—he glanced at the clock on the mantle—“not yet an hour ago, requesting I stoke the fire because it was much too cold.”

Lord Bentley winged an amber brow. “I cannot be blamed that you do not know how to adjust a fire properly.

You want to know what? Perhaps I will kill him.

“After you finish that, run down and fetch me some water. I’m parched after being subjected to such stifling heat. And ensure it is ice cold.” With that, Lord Bentley’s head disappeared from view.

Sam bit back a growl and made his way to the fire.

He may have purposely built up the fire excessively high after Lord Bentley had complained the room was too cold.

Sam had thought he was being so clever, making the lord sweat out some of his pomposity.

Well, that plan had rather spectacularly blown up in his face, hadn’t it?

Now, here he was, covered in soot and grime while he spread the coals and blanketed them in ash, working to subdue the blaze.

He eased the damper closed, trying to choke the fire slightly and not fill the room with smoke.

He grunted out his annoyance. Multiple times.

Overloud. Was he being petulant? Better bloody believe he was.

Sam slipped from the room, brushing his soot covered hands on his trousers, and headed for the kitchens to secure the ice-cold water.

Perhaps he should submerge himself in the cold liquid.

Douse his ire, douse the lust that had increased tenfold now that he was having all these assumptions about the man.

If Lord Bentley did share Sam’s interest, what was a little fucking between enemies?

So, they disliked each other? That would only make the shagging that much more explosive.

There was nothing like letting out your rage and frustration with sex.

He groaned and pushed down on his thickening cock.

Do not think those thoughts, Sam .

Sam paused outside of Lord Bentley’s chamber and rested his head on the door. Get yourself together, mate. Just because the cove does one altruistic thing in his life, doesn’t make up for his blatant discourtesy and superiority.

He carefully elbowed his way into the chamber and walked over to the bedside table. “My lord,” he murmured, pouring a glass full of water from the pitcher. “I have your water.” No response.

“My lord,” he said louder. Still no response.

Sam set down the water, crossed his arms, and glared at the curtain shrouded bed. He swore to God, if this man had fallen asleep, Sam was going to throw the bloody freezing water all over the swell.

A soft snore drifted through the curtains.

Oh my bleeding God.

Sam ripped back the curtains. And sucked in a sharp breath.

Sweet Christ. He whimpered softly. His eyes devoured the very asleep, and very nude , Lord Bentley.

The man was sprawled on his stomach, his freckled cheek resting on crossed arms. A slight sheen adorned the man’s skin.

So, perhaps not an actual falsehood when he’d said he’d been sweltering in the room.

Sam cocked his head and unapologetically drank the man in.

So. Much. Naked. Skin. What a specimen of a man.

Even soft in sleep, the definition of his muscles was evident.

Sam’s attention trailed down the man’s back to where he had two dimples just above his arse.

Sam bit his knuckle and barely held back his groan. An arse that was fucking delectable.

Sam forced himself to tear away his gaze and left the room before he did something foolish. Like bite the man’s arse.

Bloody hell. Sam swore he would never shag a nobleman again. Their lot couldn’t be trusted. They were scum. He would never be able to be tempted again.

But now that he knew the man ran an entire organization dedicated to the protection of men like Sam? Sam could practically hear his walls crashing down. He needed to get a better gauge of where the man’s preferences lay. Because if Lord Bentley preferred men…

Sam was most definitely throwing his cap in the ring.