Page 6

Felix

Felix pulled at his cravat. Tugged. Yanked hard. “Shite, shite, shite. ”

His heart drummed against his chest as he strode to the bellpull. He couldn’t get the bloody knot undone. He’d been trying for the last half hour, even contemplated cutting it off. But he’d pulled the thing so blasted tight, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t end up slitting his own throat in the process.

Felix jerked the gilt handle of the bellpull and then collapsed into one of the leather armchairs in front of the hearth.

He dropped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut.

He had hoped he could mostly attend to himself.

Leave the duties for the Duke’s valet to complete when he wasn’t around.

His eyes flew open, and he glared at the ceiling.

But no. Only thirty minutes into their arrival and already the man’s hands would be on Felix.

That slit throat was starting to look mighty appealing.

Urgh. Control. You are in control .

It would be fine. He could keep his desire hidden. It wasn’t as though this was the first time he’d had to suppress his attraction. It was the first time the man in question would be responsible for dressing and undressing him, though. He groaned.

Why had Giles’s gout chosen this week of all weeks to flare up?

Felix really needed to start searching for a new manservant, settle a small provision on Giles, and let the poor fellow rest. But Felix kept hesitating…

because Giles was comfortable, safe. Giles had been his father’s valet.

He was akin to family. Loyal and trustworthy.

And most importantly, he was a rickety old man and not smolder and sin on legs.

A knock sounded on the door. Felix fisted the arms of his chair.

Fuck. Breathe. Panic tangled around his lungs, squeezing him of breath.

Because it wasn’t just that he feared his desire for the man would get out.

It was the memories that sometimes came rushing back when he set eyes on the man. Unwanted. Unbidden. Unbearable.

“Enter,” he called out, eyes locked on the glowing hearth.

The soft swoosh of the door sounded behind him, followed by heavy footfalls.

“My lord.”

A shiver skittered down Felix’s spine at the man’s low, rumbling tone. And the thing was, Felix wasn’t sure if it was from desire or disquiet.

He rubbed his sweaty palms on his breeches.

He would just pretend the man was Giles.

All knobby knees, balding pate, and kind blue eyes that were permanently crinkled from years of laughter.

Most likely from the endless number of jests Father had forced him to endure.

Feeling lighter, Felix stood and turned, a small smile tugging at his lips at thoughts of Father.

A smile that died instantly.

And with no way to stop them, the memories swallowed him whole. His lungs forgot how to pull in oxygen. His muscles locked tight. His vision clouded over, and all he could see was that courtroom. All he could hear was his voice. That betraying bastard.

He forced in a slow breath and tried to ground himself, tried to do as his folk healer had taught.

You’re in your chamber at Devonford Castle. Your feet are on a plush carpet. Your fingers are rubbing soft buckskin.

He was safe.

They are just memories. They are not real, Felix.

His vision slowly cleared, greeted with searing grey eyes, irises that were charcoal-dark, swirling like smoke, and just as elusive.

Something flickered in the man’s gaze, his features hardening as the corner of his mouth curled. “You rang, my lord .”

Felix’s brows slammed together. Hell, he’d forgotten that bloody tone.

It screamed contempt—so loud it drowned out the last of Felix’s unsettling memories.

There was something condescending in the way the man spoke, somehow managing to turn a term of respect into one that sounded more like an insult.

A prickly annoyance scraped over his skin.

And just like two years ago, when Thorne valeted for him, the man’s scorn—tangible and ugly—hung between them.

Felix wouldn’t tolerate anyone disrespecting the Earldom of Bentley.

Little did the man know, his piss-poor attitude played into Felix’s plan perfectly. It would make enduring his tempting presence much easier, would make it even easier to settle into the persona of imperious arse. Especially since the man clearly needed a healthy dose of being put in his place.

“Bramble, was it?” Felix asked dismissively, then strode to his dressing table.

“I need assistance with my cravat.” He most definitely was not going to admit he couldn’t get it untied himself.

Or that he was the one who had tied it. The last thing he needed was to give the insolent man more ammunition.

The man’s jaw worked, and he muttered a stiff “Thorne” under his breath.

Felix slowly perused the man, who was taking his sweet-arse time ambling over to Felix.

He didn’t miss the way Thorne’s tight black trousers stretched over thick thighs that spoke of an active lifestyle.

A wide chest and shoulders so broad the man could only have attained that breadth from swinging a hammer.

A very large hammer. Felix’s eyes dropped to the front of the man’s trousers. He swallowed heavily.

All the distress from before was completely gone now.

Felix couldn’t wrap his head around why it happened, because Thorne didn’t look much like him .

He was tall, broad, and dark-haired. That was where the similarities ended.

Yet, there were moments when being in the man’s presence dragged him back to that day, twelve years ago.

Felix could mostly fight through it. Use the techniques taught to him by the healer his father had found for him—a secret that would scandalize society if it were to ever get out.

Felix nearly snorted. He was just full of secrets that would make society implode.

But as much as folk healers were looked down upon by the aristocracy, that healer had been the only one to cut through the crushing weight of those memories, allowing Felix to finally breathe again.

And now he was standing here dumbly while Thorne stared at him. Shite. They had said words. What had the words been? Oh, right. Being a boorish cad.

“Come now, Thistle. We don’t have all day. Get to work on my cravat. I’ll also need attire pressed for dinner.”

Felix could hear the man’s teeth grinding. He almost felt bad for being so unaccountably rude. But the man was a bounder. And the alternative was much, much worse. It was better for the man to see disdain than for him to recognize the desire lurking underneath.

It was quite simple: no man would suspect Felix held any attraction to them if he gave the impression of disliking them entirely.

And Felix didn’t even need to pretend he disliked the man standing in front of him.

The servant was rude, impudent, and purposefully snide.

The first time he’d met the man, he’d been completely taken aback.

He’d never met a servant so brazenly defiant—and a Duke’s manservant to boot.

He had no idea how the man held a position with that behavior.

Thorne started working on Felix’s cravat, his knuckles brushing against the skin of Felix’s throat. Felix clenched his fists at his sides.

“Thorne,” the valet repeated tightly, louder this time, his eyes catching Felix’s. Daring Felix to say another mistaken name. The man was so bold. Felix hated the small thrill that shot through him every time those grey eyes met his own.

Felix let out a bored hmm . “Yes, that’s what I said, is it not?”

And now Felix might be in danger of being strangled by the man in front of him. But what other choice did he have? Servants were notorious for gossiping, and a sodomite lord was exactly the kind of scandal that would set tongues wagging.

Felix was fortunate that his parents had secured a loyal group of servants in their employ.

When he had been just a lad, he had hinted to his mother that he might be…

different. That had been a terrifying day, the first time he’d tested the waters, if the love his family held for him could withstand…

anything. And it could. Thank the bloody gods, it could.

Ever the lioness, his mother had begun laying the groundwork to ensure he would always be safe in his own home.

Everyone who went in and out of his country and London estates was unwavering in their loyalty.

But anyone outside of that? No one could be trusted with that information, not even those who appeared to share the same preferences.

Felix had learned that lesson a long, long time ago.

Not even his partners in The Harborage knew of Felix’s preferences and that was saying something, considering the organization’s sole purpose was the protection of men like Felix.

Felix held perfectly still, doing his best not to react to each brush of the soft kid leather of the man’s gloves.

But he couldn’t ignore the man’s scent. Clean and crisp, a mixture of soap and leather, with something sweet wafting over him with every breath the man took.

He couldn’t ignore the rough-hewn features, a jawline that could have been chiseled from granite.

In another time, this man would have led warriors into battle, sword in hand.

And Felix would have gladly capitulated, been the man’s willing captive.

He’d be the first to volunteer to be plundered by that man.

Before.

His body still yelled yes please, sir to the idea. But his mind stomped that out with an absolutely not .

He needed space. He needed the man to hurry the bloody hell up. “Is there a problem? Are you not able to untie a simple knot?” he snapped. His entire body vibrated with the effort to suppress the barrage of emotions rising inside him. Desire, fear, shame, fury.

“The last thing I would call this is a knot. Whoever tied this had no idea what they were doing. Perhaps you should consider looking for a new manservant.” Thorne’s tongue darted out to the corner of his mouth as he plucked at the fabric, deep in concentration.

Felix forgot to breathe, the turmoil inside him stalling as his eyes locked on that small slip of pink. Felix responded with something but wasn’t entirely certain what it was. This week was going to be bloody torture. He’d been too long without a shag.

God, he hoped Benedict would be back soon.

He was the only man Felix felt comfortable being intimate with.

The only one Felix could trust. Which meant Felix was…

in a constant state of frustration. It’d been an overly stressful year—with no way to release that stress.

Which was probably why this man was having the effect he was on Felix.

Torture. Did he say this week was going to be bloody torture?

The slip of pink disappeared, and he blinked dazedly.

Thorne’s gaze flew to his, eyes widening. Shite. Felix, you said something. What had he said?

“ You tied this?”

Fuck. Had he just admitted that aloud? To say he was out of sorts was a drastic understatement. Felix cleared his throat. “My valet has fallen ill. I may have tied it more securely than necessary,” he said gruffly.

The man’s lips twitched. “More securely than necessary? This thing is done up tight enough you could use it for the rigging of a ship.” His dark eyes glimmered with amusement, and he hacked away at the neckcloth.

Felix’s embarrassment evaporated. Because those eyes .

It was like staring at a midnight sky, impossible not to get lost in.

And those lips? Softly curved in mirth—not a snarl, not disgust. Felix’s heart did an odd flipping thing.

“There it is,” Thorne said, looking exceptionally pleased with himself.

Felix hated how attractive that looked on him.

Felix needed the contempt back. This teasing and amusement were doing horrible things for the whole bury the attraction plan.

The fabric loosened around Felix’s neck and so did the band around his lungs.

After two more quick tugs, the cravat fell limp over Felix’s shoulders.

He took a much-needed step backward and released a heavy breath. Thank Christ. “Prepare a few attire options for me for dinner. While I’m dining, I will need the rest of my things unpacked. And I’ve left my boots by the door. I need them ready first thing tomorrow for my morning ride.”

Thorne nodded and made his way to Felix’s trunk.

Felix’s gaze tracked him, down his broad shoulders, the seams of his coat stretching as he reached for the trunk.

Thorne bent over. And it wasn’t Felix’s fault.

Truly. There was nowhere else for his gaze to go.

It locked on the man’s arse. His eyes fell shut, and he barely contained his whimper. Because he could bloody cry.

This man was everything Felix had ever craved.

Well, besides his personality. Thank Christ for the man’s odious disposition.

It made it easier to ignore the view. Gleaming dark eyes and harsh features.

Thick muscles and a towering height that made Felix feel small—and Felix was over six feet.

There was a wildness to him, in the way he carried himself, in the way he prowled when he walked.

Something raw and untamed and utterly virile.

You are doing a superb job of ignoring the view.

But it was a fantasy Felix never allowed himself to have. Felix had only ever been with one man who’d fulfilled those desires.

Never again.

Not after the first time so many years ago.

He couldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable like that again.

So, since that night, it had only ever been Benedict when his theatre troupe was performing nearby.

But watching Thorne’s thighs and arse flex while he gathered items out of Felix’s trunk?

Lord, Felix just wanted to know what it’d be like.

To have his fantasy come true. One more time.

And that was a very dangerous thought.

It had almost killed him once.