Page 74

Sam

Trenton Abbey

Hampshire, England.

Sam stood in the doorway of his family’s drawing room, the one used for entertaining. And there it was, the pianoforte. He could play it now. There was no father to berate him.

Pianoforte is a genteel pursuit, Sampson, Father would say, voice laced with distaste. For women and effeminate men. You’d do better to remember what is expected of a man.

In other words, Sam should ride, hunt, ready himself for a commission when he came of age.

Sometimes Sam wondered if his father had always suspected Sam’s inclinations, or if the man truly was that much of an arse.

Father had been especially relentless in pushing Sam toward his ideal of a proper gentleman.

He could only imagine what his father would think if he saw Sam now. There wasn’t a trace of effeminacy in Sam.

Jest is on you, Father. I’m as manly as they come. But I still like to fuck men.

A throat cleared behind him, and he turned to see his butler, Moore. The man was another of Sam’s brother’s replacements. Sam wasn’t sure how he felt about Moore, but butlers seemed to be a breed of their own, always impossible to read.

“You have a visitor. I have settled him in the front drawing room for now. Would you like to receive him there or in your study?”

Sam’s stomach tightened. Ash was already here with Sam at Trenton Abbey.

Any other visitor… All Sam could think was that someone had discovered his past. That they were here to take him away.

Even as he knew with the pardon, he was safe.

Nearly five-and-twenty years hiding as a fugitive was a hard mindset to break.

“Send him to my study.”

With one last glance at the pianoforte, he made his way toward his study.

He was just lowering himself into his chair when Moore appeared in the doorway. “The Earl of Bentley to see you, my lord.”

Sam’s mind went blank, sound whirring around him like the roar of a storm. He must have misheard.

But no. His heart rate spiked. There he was. Fee . Amber curls swept back, freckle-dusted high cheekbones, imperious stride eating up the ground of Sam’s study. Sam couldn’t do anything more than stare dumbly.

Felix halted before Sam’s desk, a folio tucked under his arm.

Sam struggled to swallow. “Fe—”

“Dalreoch,” Felix cut him off, the word formal, hard. He winged a brow meaningfully.

Sam’s heart rate plummeted. He glanced at his doorway, where his butler was no longer standing. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be overheard. Eyes and ears were everywhere in a lord’s manor. And Sam didn’t have the loyal staff that Felix had. Not yet.

“Bentley,” he murmured, then indicated toward the chair. “Please, sit. What brings you to Trenton Abbey?”

Felix ignored his invitation and placed the folio on Sam’s desk, turning it around so it faced Sam. “This won’t be a long visit. I have come up with a plan for your re-entry into society. This should ensure your reception will be one of intrigue, but one with favorable connotations.”

All right… Sam should be ecstatic, but Felix’s coldness, his distance, it had unease cinching around Sam’s chest, the grip tightening with each passing second.

“Bentley…?” The soft word lilted up in question, a question that asked nothing and everything all at once. Is this just a protective act? How are you void of all emotion when I’m at risk of drowning in it? Do you ache for me the way I ache for you?

But all Felix did was flip open the folio and tap the top sheet.

“I have laid out the plan here for you. Whispers are already starting. You must come out on the attack; a strong offense is the best defense. Your first appearance will be at the Chesterfield’s ball in two weeks’ time.

I’ve already secured you an invitation. The Duke and Duchess of Devonford will be attending, which will distract some attention from you, as it will be their first venture into society, a small scandal in itself. ”

Sam blinked repeatedly as he stared at Felix’s gloved-finger. Ash hadn’t mentioned any of this to Sam.

“My sister has assisted with the plans.”

Felix answered Sam’s unvoiced question, and Sam’s attention shot to those amber eyes he’d missed so desperately. That small understanding, Felix knowing what Sam was thinking without him asking, loosened the band at risk of suffocating him.

“She has not spoken with the Duke yet, but we both know he’ll do whatever she asks of him. And do whatever is needed to support you.”

Sam nodded slowly. It was the truth. Ash may be a recluse, but he was still a duke—one whose grandfather had married a niece of the prior king, a distant familial connection that furthered his influence.

“My family will put their support behind you, but Devonford’s championship will need to be made clear first. It will be fitting that my family, Her Grace’s family, will stand behind the long-time friend of the Duke.”

In other words, it didn’t allow for any suspicion, any questions as to why the unmarried Lord Bentley was standing in support of a man once convicted of sodomy.

“I have also inquired upon some of The Harborage members. The Marquess of Dunmore has agreed to align himself with you, making it public at the Chesterfield Ball. His association will serve to enhance the mystery surrounding your absence, casting you in a more notorious light, but the type of notoriety we want. He had a reputation as somewhat of a king of debauchery before he married. It will help cultivate the rakehell, ne’er-do-well air you need. ”

“Certainly,” Sam said dazedly, and paged through the folio’s documents—of which there were many.

Felix had been hard at work. All for Sam.

To protect Sam. He bit down hard on his cheek as a wave of emotion rolled over him with gut-punching force.

That had to mean behind the detached exterior before him, the Felix he knew— Sam’s Felix —was there.

This was just a necessary pretense until it was safe for Felix to be seen with Sam.

The Bentleys were masters at facade. Sam was seeing the truth of that now.

Sam’s gaze swept over Felix’s flat amber eyes, his impassive expression, no smile, no frown. Nothing at all. He hadn’t realized how real the facade would feel.

“The last part of the plan is most important for a quick reparation of your reputation. If none of them suit your preferences, I can prepare a new list. My mother is especially talented in this area.”

Sam frowned and glanced down at the folio. His eyes finally made out the words, his brain finally comprehending what the top sheet was. His jaw went slack, and his attention snapped to Felix’s.

“What the bloody fuck is this?”

“Dalreoch,” Felix warned tightly.

“These are marriage prospects .” Sam said, his glare drilling into Felix. A heated anger fueled by hurt flew through Sam’s veins. Fuck, he hoped Felix could feel the burn of his fury.

But Felix didn’t meet Sam’s gaze; he stared over Sam’s shoulder, amber eyes empty.

Dead. “You are the last of your family. Any earl’s first order of business in that situation would be securing a wife and then an heir.

And it will go a long way to snuff out any…

undesirable rumors for those who have a longer memory than others. ”

Sam shook his head, his lips curling at the acrid taste in his mouth.

Absolutely fucking not. He was grateful in that moment for the anger, for the fiery indignation surging through his bloodstream.

Because it covered up how his heart just disintegrated in his chest, nothing but dust blown away by a gale of anguish.

“I must take my leave. If you have any questions, send them to me through Devonford. Good day.” Felix spun on his heel and left.

Left Sam sitting there, throat closing in on itself, his body drowning from the internal bleeding that blow had just caused. He had known Felix would come up with a masterful plan. That he would figure out how to fix it.

But he was fixing it all wrong.

Sam slammed the portfolio shut on the names Felix had picked out for him.

He wanted nothing more than to throw the entire thing into the fire roaring in the hearth.

Right next to where Felix had so indifferently tossed Sam’s heart.

He dropped his head into his hands and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Tried to push back the emotion burning there.

“Sam…?” Ash’s hesitant voice drifted into his study. “Is everything well?” Concern glimmered back at Sam from his friend’s blue eyes. “I saw an unmarked carriage in the drive…”

All Sam could do was shake his head, not daring to open his mouth for fear of what would surface. No, everything was not well. Not even bloody close.

The bitter truth in all of this:

Felix was right.

It was the perfect battle plan.

The sacrifice?

Sam’s heart.