Page 43

Sam

“No, Fitzy. You must grip under his arms. I’ll take his feet.”

Lady Felicity’s voice drifted from the library, and Sam halted at the hall. Then quickly jogged backward to the library doorway. Lady Felicity and her brother, Mr. Jennings, were attempting—and failing—to pick up their…sleeping? Drunk? Brother.

A hiccup shook Bentley’s body and echoed through the library. Drunk, then.

Lady Felicity turned and spotted Thorne. “Oh, Mr. Thorne!” She ran an arm across her brow. “Thank goodness you’re here. Would you be able to assist us with getting this lummox to his room?”

Sam stepped into the library. “Of course. How far gone is he?”

Mr. Jennings toed Bentley with his boot. Bentley reached out and grabbed it.

“Howdoo y’doo?” he mumbled, shaking the boot like it was a hand. And Mr. Jennings promptly fell on his arse.

Sam blinked. “All right, then. Drunk as an emperor.” He stopped before the man and dropped to one knee.

It wouldn’t be an easy feat. Bentley was a big man, a solid one.

He leaned over the man and went to slide his arms under him when Bentley’s eyes popped open.

Unfocused amber eyes swept over him, then shot wide.

He flinched and scrambled away, his breathing going from soft to ragged and sharp in a blink.

Sam sat back on his heels, mind spinning.

Bentley’s entire body trembled violently, and his eyes were nearly black, fear glimmering back at Sam.

Sam’s pulse took off, thrumming in his neck.

He’d seen that reaction a few times with Bentley.

But those had been during their initial meetings.

Christ, so long ago that Sam had forgotten the man used to fear him.

And seeing that disquiet reflecting back at him after the things they’d shared…

Sam rubbed his chest, his lungs refusing to cooperate.

He might be covered in thick muscles, but it didn’t mean his heart was any better protected than anyone else.

He was trying really hard not to be hurt.

He knew it was his fault, but after nearly two full days of being avoided, rejected , he was ripped open and raw.

Felicity was whispering to Bentley, his brother crouched before him, hand clamped on Bentley’s shoulder. Sam couldn’t quite make out everything they were saying.

“ He’s not here…” “…safe.” “Breathe…” “…Mr. Thorne.”

Bentley’s shaking subsided at the last reassurance. Sam wasn’t entirely certain why it was reassuring, but he could tell by the tone of voice of the Jennings siblings that was their aim.

“Mr. Thorne,” Felicity said softly. “Would you mind coming closer? Slowly, please.” He went to stand, and she shook her head. “It would be best if you stayed on the ground.”

All right… He didn’t understand what was happening, but he had a feeling this might have something to do with the conversation between Bentley and Lady Bentley he’d accidentally overheard earlier.

She’d been trying to discern what was wrong with her son.

The weight in Sam’s stomach sank lower. He knew he was behind whatever was going on with Bentley.

Seeing the perfectly put-together, the steadfast and stalwart Earl of Bentley reduced to this. Vulnerable. Scared . It was gutting.

“…the look in your eyes…I recognize it. It’s one you wore for one too many years,” she’d said. What could that possibly mean?

He approached, crawling on hands and knees, feeling quite a bit foolish.

Lady Felicity’s hand lifted, and Sam froze. “If you could just…let him know who you are. I think that would be helpful.”

“Then hopefully you’ll be able to pick him up, and we can get him to his chamber,” Mr. Jennings added quietly. “We can take it from there.”

Sam nodded and shifted the rest of the way toward Bentley, both Lady Felicity and her brother backing away slightly.

Bentley eyed him warily from where he lay on the floor, body tense, like even in his inebriated state he was ready to flee.

Granted, Sam highly doubted the man would get far, if he got off the ground at all.

“Bentley,” Sam whispered. “It’s me. Mr. Thorne. Do you recognize me?”

Cloudy amber irises searched his. Wary.

“The Duke of Devonford’s valet. You know…incredibly charming. Quick witted. God among men.”

The corner of Bentley’s mouth yanked up, and his body seemed to melt into the rug beneath him. “Sam,” he mouthed.

A shock went straight through Sam’s heart.

That was the first time those lips had ever curled around Sam’s name.

His pulse pitter-pattered against his ribcage, and he swallowed roughly.

“That’s right, my lord. I’m going to pick you up now, you understand?

I’m going to get you to your chamber and tucked into bed. ”

Bentley—Felix? Christ, Sam was all mixed up—nodded awkwardly on the ground. Sam slid an arm beneath Felix’s knees. “Lift for me slightly. There you go.” He slid his other arm behind Felix’s back, then hauled the very soused lord to his chest. Then—somehow—hamstrings straining, he pushed to stand.

Felix cursed and buried his head in Sam’s chest, hands clutching in a death grip. His slow, methodical breathing was overloud in the quiet of the library.

“Fifi? Are you well? Are you going to be sick?”

Felix’s body slumped. “No. Fine now,” came his muffled response.

“Let’s get him to his chambers. And quickly,” Mr. Jennings said, eying his brother like the man was going to cast up his accounts at any moment.

After a torturous three flights of stairs—because fuck, of course they were in a big bloody castle—Sam pushed into Felix’s chamber, sweat dripping down his neck, chest uncomfortably sticky from having the warmth of the man in his arms pressing against him.

Lady Felicity and Mr. Jennings hurried to pull back the covers and then the three of them lowered Felix into his bed, resting up against his headboard.

It probably wasn’t a good idea for the man to be lying flat with how far in the drink he was.

Felix’s eyes were closed, his breath even.

“Is he…asleep?” Mr. Jennings whispered as Sam stepped away to leave the siblings together.

“Wherzhe?” Felix’s baritone echoed loudly in the room.

“What is wherzhe ?” Mr. Jennings asked his sister.

“Thorne,” Felix demanded.

It was a single word, but it was clearly a command. Sam crept back up to the side of the bed. “I’m here, my lord. What is it you need?”

The man’s gaze slid slowly from Sam to his brother, and then his whole head flopped over to meet his sister’s gaze on the other side of the bed. “You all are dishmished.”

Lady Felicity snorted. “All right, then.” She turned to Sam and Mr. Jennings.

“You heard the man. Let us make ourselves scarce. Apparently, he just needed Thorne to come over so he could tell him to go away again.” She leaned forward and pecked her brother on the cheek.

“Get some rest, Fifi. You’re going to hate yourself in the morning. ”

“No, not Thorne. Jush you two bumbles. He shtays.”

Lady Felicity’s gaze flicked up to Sam’s, a knowing glint reflecting at him.

Mr. Jennings, however, was clearly very confused if his cocked head and furrowed brow were any indication.

But Lady Felicity strode around the bed, wrapped her hand around the man’s wrist, and started dragging him from the room.

“It’s fine, Fitzy. Thorne has had to handle our brother’s pompous arse all week. He’s an expert by now,” came Lady Felicity’s fading voice. The man shrugged just as the door clicked shut behind them.

“I’m sorry fer before.”

Sam’s attention fell back on the inebriated man resting in bed. He opened his mouth to say it was nothing, but Felix kept going.

“You reminded me of him.”

Sam stilled. Of him?

“Yer not reaaaally like him. Just big an’ all tall with big mushles and a big—”

Sam cleared his throat, eyes very wide now.

The man let out a hiccupping laugh. “Don’t worry. You’re a thousand times prettier than him. Cock included.”

“Urm. Thank you?” Clearly whatever was going on with Felix involved a man, some past lover.

Which only made the other night and Felix’s behavior since all the more confusing.

Perhaps he wasn’t over this man? It had been too soon.

Sam bit down hard on his cheek to distract himself from the physical emptiness that thought created.

“Over ten yearsh ago. And I still cannot get past what that man did to me.”

Sam’s brows slammed together. He planted his hands on the mattress, leaning closer to Felix. “What happened, Bentley?”

A dopey smile curled the man’s lips, and he popped a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just a trifling matter. I’m entirely over it.”

Yes, and Sam entirely believed that.

“I like trifles, I think,” Felix said.

Sam cocked his head, mouth opening dumbly. He was really having trouble following this conversation.

“Sam…?” Felix slurred.

“Yes, Bentley?” Sam really wasn’t sure what was going to come out of the man’s mouth next.

“Feeeelix,” he corrected.

“Yes, Feeeelix ?”

Felix broke out into a fit of chuckles. “Feeee-lix. Fee lix. Fee licks! Fee would like to licks Sam.”

Oh dear. A light flicker of amusement bubbled in Sam’s chest. “You are foxed, Felix. You need to get some rest. I’ll fetch you a pitcher of water and then douse the candles. Do you think you’ll need a chamber pot by the bed?”

“Foxed Felix.” The man sniggered, abruptly cut short by a hiccup. “Don’t need water. Don’t need chumber pots.”

Sam’s lips twitched. “All right. I’ll leave you be then.” He wasn’t actually going to leave. He was going to plant his arse in a chair and keep an eye on the tap-hackled lord. At least until Felix had fallen asleep.

“No.” Felix shook his head violently, then his eyes stretched wide, and his face paled, his pallor taking on a greenish hue.

He gripped the bed linens for dear life, like if he didn’t hold on, he’d be tossed out to sea.

Then he blew out a slow breath, and his body slumped back against the headboard.

“Don’t need those things.” His unfocused amber eyes tried to find Sam and then latched onto him once they did. Wide, beseeching. “Need you.”

Sam swallowed thickly. But it did absolutely nothing because when he spoke, his voice still came out like crushed gravel. “What do you need from me, Fee?”

Felix’s gaze sharpened for a heartbeat at the affectionate moniker that had fled unbidden from Sam’s lips. And then he swayed and nearly toppled over. Which was a feat, considering he was sitting. Leaning against a headboard.

Felix caught himself on one arm. “Remember Willerrr Grove?”

“Yes…” Sam said slowly.

“Can you do the thing with the arms,” he slurred.

Despite the odd ache in his chest, Sam’s lips tugged up. “The thing with the arms…?” He had a feeling he knew what the bosky man was getting at.

“Yes,” Felix said. “We did the holding thing.” He tucked in his chin, and his voice turned small. “Might you be meanable…to trynit again?”

Damn the adorable, impossible to resist tosspot.

“All right, Felix.” Sam said with an exasperated huff that wasn’t in the least bit exasperated. “But just for a moment.”

Felix’s gaze flicked up to his, something flashing in those amber depths that Sam couldn’t quite interpret. “Just for a moment,” he whispered, an echo of their exchange beneath the willow.

Sam slid atop the bed and maneuvered so he was against the headboard, and Felix rested in front of him.

Felix’s head dropped back against Sam’s chest, and he wriggled until he was nestled firmly in Sam’s arms. A soft thrumming hum built inside Sam, growing warmer, stronger, spreading all the way through him, filling each limb, tingling through his fingers and toes.

Every one of his senses heightened. His ears picked up each one of Felix’s soft breaths, every rustle of the bedlinens.

He tightened his hold, Felix’s heat sinking into him, the silkiness of Felix’s amber curls feathering against his chin.

Felix’s hands wandered until they found Sam’s, the soft glide sending prickles dancing over Sam’s skin.

And as though they’d done this a thousand times, Felix wove their fingers together.

It was a perfect fit.

And that more than anything scared the shite out of Sam.