Page 63

Sam

Sam stormed out of the Thornfield Hall servants’ entrance. A door he’d always have to use, regardless of if he was truly a servant or Felix’s kept man . The words were like acid on his tongue. All he could hear over and over in his mind were the men’s words. Stallion. Toy. Mistress. Kept man.

He swore. He didn’t even know where he was going. He didn’t have anywhere to go. His chest tightened. He kicked furiously at a rock, the pebble skittering across the dirt in front of him. His month here with Felix had started out amazing, but wasn’t this a bloody wake up a call?

Thornfield Hall wasn’t his home.

It wasn’t anything like Devonford. And right now, Sam really missed Devonford Castle.

He rubbed his chest, the occasional leaf crunching underfoot.

This feeling, this trapped feeling, was exactly what had been breeding like a nest of spiders in his gut.

He was a guest at Felix’s home. He was temporary .

However long Felix wanted him was how long Sam was allowed to stay.

If Felix tired of him—just as men tired of their mistresses… Where would that leave Sam?

Disposed of.

Could Sam run back to Ash? Of course. But how awkward would that be?

Running back to one’s best mate, who was married to the sister of the man who’d just grown tired of you.

And Ash would have a new valet. It would be a pity offering.

Wasn’t that what it always had been? Poor, lost Sampson Trenton, sent to the gallows by his own kin, forever someone else’s burden, or else he’d end up dead. A stray taken in.

He dropped his head back and let out a roar. Fucking hell. He was spiraling, but he couldn’t rein it in.

Sam had brought up this concern with Felix—partially.

Kind of. Not really. Fuck . He’d focused on the need for purpose.

Which had led to him joining into the meeting back in Felix’s study.

Sam hadn’t voiced the deeper truth beneath it all, the fear that would forever flow in his veins.

Dependency. Sam couldn’t be dependent. He couldn’t . Not again.

The one thing Sam should have been able to count on, without question, was family. But he had learned the hard truth: that was a lie. The only person he could rely on was himself. Because even those meant to love you could be the same ones tightening the noose around your neck.

Sam needed to have something outside of Felix. Needed security of income, of position. His breath ripped from him. Too rapid. Too rough. Not enough. He couldn’t do this without independence.

A nicker drifted over to him as he strode around the back of the stables, still no destination in mind. He’d just keep going. Until he couldn’t anymore.

“Och, is there a siege I didnae ken about?”

Sam stumbled to a stop at the booming voice, head whipping around until it landed on a towering man with greying black hair.

“Where you storming off to, lad? Didnae realize there was a fortress to be taken. Though, looks like ye lost yer army.”

Sam frowned. What? And lad? At two-and-forty, Sam hadn’t been called a lad in a long while. Well, besides Cook at Devonford. Sam’s heart did a pathetic squeeze. Bloody hell, he could use one of her tarts right about now.

The man chuckled and approached Sam. “I s’pose you don’t need an army with the fury ye’re carrying.”

The older man was leaner than Sam, but solid—solid as a Scotsman. They stood eye to eye, but even though they were clearly around the same height, something about the man’s presence made him…taller. Commanding, but not domineering. A quiet, sure presence that made a person want to follow.

Kind blue eyes stared back at Sam. “Mr. Campbell, the Bentley stable master,” he said in greeting.

Sam knew that, of course, though they hadn’t officially met. This was Lydia’s partner.

The man’s lips curled into a soft smile, one that instantly put Sam at ease. “And you’d be Felix’s man, aye? And a Scotsman?” He winged a brow.

“Urm.” Sam cleared his throat and shook off his discomposure. “Yes. To both.” His stomach roiled slightly at yet another reminder he belonged to Felix. “Mr. Samuel Thorne.”

Mr. Campbell’s eyes sharpened. “Do ye appreciate a fine Scottish whisky? I just finished up what I wanted to get done at the stables and could go for a dram.”

There was no way Sam could refuse without sounding unpardonably rude. This was Lady Bentley’s lover, Felix’s brother’s father. As close to family without being family as one could get.

Even if sitting still and sipping whisky was the last thing that sounded appealing.

He wanted to ride. Or swim. But riding only reminded him he was a servant ordering a horse, which was not done.

And swimming, which was an outlet he’d shared with his best mate, now only reminded him of his time with Felix in the Thornfield Hall bathing pool.

He had nothing of his own anymore. Fuck.

He rubbed the panic battling against his ribcage.

“That’s it. We’re having whisky. I’m making the decision for ye. Come.” Mr. Campbell strode off toward a path that led away from the stables and Thornfield Hall. Clearly expecting Sam to follow.

Sam followed.

He caught up in a few strides. “How did you know? That I was Scottish,” he clarified.

Mr. Campbell glanced at him quickly before his attention drew forward again. “Englishmen arenae built like ye. The closest I’ve ever seen is Felix. And he’s worked extremely hard to make that so.”

Mr. Campbell’s words had softened at that statement.

And now that Sam knew of Felix’s past, that small statement held a much deeper meaning.

Sam had always been impressed by Felix’s size.

It wasn’t just his height; he was well-muscled, strong.

Height was inherited, but for most, strength was earned through relentless effort.

An effort Sam was sure was spurred by Felix’s desire to build his own armor of muscle. Protection. A way to feel safe.

“That and ye bear a striking resemblance to a Scotsman I remember from when I was a young lad in Scotland.”

“Oh?”

They approached a generously sized cottage, and Mr. Campbell broke off the path toward the front door.

“Aye,” he called over his shoulder. “I grew up on a laird’s estate. My da trained horses there before he passed.”

He opened the door and led them inside until they entered a large parlor with ample seating and a roaring hearth. “Make yerself comfortable, lad.”

Mr. Campbell went straight to the sideboard and made quick work of pouring them each a whisky while Sam settled in one of the armchairs angled around a side-table.

He returned and proffered a glass of amber liquid to Sam, stare sweeping over Sam’s features. “Yer likeness to the laird is uncanny.”

Sam blinked and took the whisky. “Oh?”

Was that all he was capable of saying with this man? But Sam didn’t know what to say to that. He had no idea what to say to this man in general. He didn’t think he’d actually processed the fact that he’d been absconded by the Scotsman and was now sitting in the man’s home drinking his whisky.

Mr. Campbell chuckled and settled in the armchair next to Sam. “My memory isnae what it used to be. It’s been, och, forty years or so since I’ve been in Scotland, been on that estate. But ye look very much like what I remember of the laird there, the Earl of Dalreoch.”

Sam froze, lungs, heart, blood, blinking.

Everything ceased for a horrifying moment.

Then everything began working again, and he quickly took a gulp of his whisky.

“What a coincidence,” he managed hoarsely over the fire burning down his throat.

His pulse pounded in his ears, his throat closing.

Lord, it was like he could feel the noose.

“Breathe, lad. You need air to live, ye ken?”

Sam sucked in a breath and winced at how strained it sounded.

Mr. Campbell tilted his head and rubbed his chin as he studied Sam.

“Now. We can share this wee dram. A whisky between two Scotsmen. And then ye can leave, nothing more to it. But, if you’d like to let some of that storm inside ye out, I’m happy to listen.

I imagine you don’t have many people here besides Felix.

If ye need a confidant, some age-old Scottish wisdom, my door is always open. ”

Sam stared at the amber liquid in his glass. It looked too damn much like Felix’s eyes. He swallowed hard. He did. Need someone to talk to. Someone else besides Felix. But was this man the right person? “I’m not sure having my confidant be Felix’s…”

Mr. Campbell’s face split into a grin. “Stable master? Mother’s partner? Brother’s father? Take yer pick, lad. Not one isnae going to sound ridiculous.”

Sam’s lips twitched. He supposed that was true.

Mr. Campbell’s tone softened. “Listen, Thorne. I don’t know what’s clouding yer mind. But we aren’t so different, you and me. And I’m no’ talking about the Scottish heritage. A servant with the lord or lady of the manor? I ken a thing or two about that.”

Sam paused in lifting his glass to his lips.

That was true, wasn’t it? This man had been, was still, in the same exact position Sam was in.

Hell, how did the man stand it? He supposed after this many years, there was no denying that Mr. Campbell and Lady Bentley were forever.

But that was quite the gamble for Sam to take.

And he didn’t exactly have a stable master position to fall back on.

Not many men would want to hire a valet who looked like Sam.

Mr. Campbell’s blue eyes narrowed. “That’s the issue. Aye?”

Sam dipped his chin in a quick nod. “It’s…the dependency I’m wrestling with. I have absolutely no control.”

“Mmm.” The stable master sank back in his chair, stare going to the ceiling.

“I remember those days. A vulnerable position to be in. Especially before the Earl knew—and was in favor of the arrangement.” Mr. Campbell chuckled.

“Unconventional is the way of things around here. Something must be in the water.” His gaze found Sam’s again.

“Everyone has different needs in what makes them feel comfortable. Safe. The security of a position was extremely important to me. I refused Lydia. Did ye ken that?”

Sam shook his head.

A dimple flashed in Mr. Campbell’s cheek.

“Aye. She came after me. Hunted me down. Me, a big ol’ Scotsman.

But that slip of a woman has always owned all of me.

Since the minute I set eyes on her. Imagine my surprise when the woman I’d been calf-eyed over for more than a decade pursued me.

It was a dream and my worst nightmare. The master’s wife .

“And ye have to understand, the Jennings are a very close family. I had nae way of knowing Lydia and Freddy were a marriage in name only. All I knew was I would be without a job, no references, ruined in a way that would have put me in dire circumstances if it were found out. So, aye, I refused her.”

Sam’s brows drew together, and he rubbed at the tightness in his chest. His stomach burned, and it wasn’t from the whisky. Was the man saying Sam shouldn’t risk being with Felix? That Sam should leave?

“It wasnae until I learned of the Earl’s approval of an arrangement between me and Lydia that I felt more comfortable.

Because then, if something were to happen, I could set out and start anew.

It’s no’ so hard to find work with horses.

So, having that was enough to ease my fears.

I don’t want ye to think I doubted Lydia’s love, because I didn’t.

In the beginning, I was just a wee bit in shock at my good favor.

The woman of my dreams wanted me back. I thought I’d gone pure daft. ”

Sam grimaced. What the man pointed out was exactly the issue. But it also highlighted a large difference between Mr. Campbell and Sam. Sam wasn’t so sure he trusted Felix’s love. His gut sank. Love didn’t equate permanence. It faded for some. It was taken away for others.

“That silence is telling,” Mr. Campbell said quietly.

“I don’t know your and Felix’s circumstances.

All I know is what Lydia’s told me, and she’s fair certain her son is as daft for you as I was for her.

But I can understand yer turmoil if that’s not an area where you know where you stand with each other. ”

Sam set his whisky down on the side table and dropped his head in his hands.

He let out a frustrated groan. He did know where he stood with Felix.

He loved Fee. Fee loved him. And guilt tore at his insides to doubt those feelings.

He could only imagine the hurt on Felix’s face if he were to find out Sam struggled with this.

But Sam had put so much of himself in Felix’s hands already.

Handing over his heart had been the hardest thing Sam had ever done.

And now he needed to hand the rest over.

His security. His autonomy. The thing was, a person could survive with a broken heart.

Sam knew. He’d survived with a broken one since the age of eighteen.

But handing this over—it had the power to ruin him with something as simple as a change of sentiment.

Sam lifted his head and met Mr. Campbell’s patient gaze.

“I don’t think it will ever matter how strongly Felix or I feel about each other,” he said, his shoulders sinking, body sagging under the weight of his insecurities.

“I can’t be vulnerable like that. I can’t . Not even for Felix,” he whispered.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Thorne,” Mr. Campbell said gently. “Something to remember when it comes to love… Love isn’t one-sided. There are two people involved, and both their needs are equally important. You need security? You need a livelihood outside of Felix and the Bentley estate?”

Sam nodded.

“Well, lad. Let’s get to thinking about what work ye could do. I don’t imagine ye’re completely useless, aye?”

A breath of laughter fled Sam. Christ, he hoped not.