Page 75

Sam

London, England.

Chesterfield Ball.

“The Right Honorable, The Earl of Dalreoch.”

The Chesterfield butler’s voice boomed through the ballroom.

The contents of Sam’s stomach also threatened to make an appearance.

He let out a slow breath and stiffly approached his hosts.

Which was a difficult feat considering his muscles had turned to stone and his knees and elbows decided they no longer knew how to bend.

After that announcement, it was like the panic in his mind drowned out all sound; the lively chatter in the ballroom fading way.

Or maybe that was because the announcement of his presence had actually silenced the room.

Shite . Breathe. But he couldn’t rid himself of the notion someone was going to yell sodomite! at any moment.

He politely greeted the Chesterfields, hoping he succeeded at a warm smile.

His lips were so numb he wasn’t certain they moved at all.

He knew he wasn’t the most approachable of men; the last thing he needed to do was make himself more intimidating.

Though perhaps his overly masculine persona might serve as another level of protection, feed into the public’s preconceived notions and ward off rumors.

“Dear Lord,” Lord Chesterfield said, his gaze sweeping over Sam. “What have you been eating these past years, Dalreoch? You always towered over me at Eton, but good Lord, you’re like a Norseman.”

The man’s voice echoed harshly in the silent ballroom, and the guests’ stares sliced into Sam like a thousand tiny pinpricks.

Sam and Chesterfield had been the same year at Eton, moved in the same circles, and on occasion, Sam had lent him a hand with his mathematics.

But Sam hadn’t expected the man to remember him after over two decades, nor be so delighted to see him.

“You were always a favorite of the wenches back at Eton,” Chesterfield was saying with a chuckle. “But I can only imagine the attention you’ll draw from the fairer sex now. The gentlemen of society will stand no chance.”

Well, that comment worked very well in Sam’s favor, and there was no doubt the entire ballroom just heard it, even as the murmur of conversation had returned.

“ Fairer sex?” Lady Chesterfield turned on her husband, the red and orange feathers adorning her brown hair fluttering like flames, which matched the fire her eyes were currently shooting at her husband.

“Do I need to remind you who had everything well in hand when you decided to show up in Scotland and get us into the biggest bungle known to man? I—the fairer sex—was the one who silenced the highwaymen.”

Sam’s jaw went slack, and he looked around helplessly. Perhaps he should just…quietly step away? His attention caught on a familiar, commanding stride heading his way, and his gaze clashed with a set of piercing blue eyes. Thank the bloody gods.

Ash stepped up to him, a warm smile on his face.

“Dalreoch,” he greeted; that one word infused with a lifetime of friendship.

He clasped Sam’s hand, squeezing his reassurance.

“It’s damned good to see you.” Ash turned to the still-bickering Chesterfields.

“I need to steal Dalreoch from you. My sincerest apologies, Chesterfield.”

The man waved Ash off with a smile, and Ash directed Sam toward where a dark-haired man with overlong black hair stood. He had sharp features and even sharper green eyes.

“I’m about to introduce you to the Marquess of Dunmore. However, you two will act as though you are bosom chums, understood?”

Sam nodded discreetly. As they neared, the man’s lips curled up in an arrogant smile. One that somehow managed to make it clear he thought everyone here was scum except for Ash and Sam approaching him.

Dunmore stepped forward as they reached him and extended a hand, shaking Sam’s with overt familiarity. “Dalreoch, old man. It’s bloody good to see you.”

Sam winged a brow. “I take offense to old man, Dunmore.” He canted his head toward Ash. “Have you seen the grey hair on that man? I’m a youth in comparison.”

A laugh burst from Dunmore, and fans fluttered, guests whispering frantically. Sam was certainly making an impression. How much it would serve his cause was still in question.

“I didn’t realize you knew how to laugh, Dunmore,” Ash said. Then turned a pointed glare at Sam. “I did know Dalreoch was an arse, though.”

Sam’s lips broke into the first real smile of the evening.

“I may be a surly bastard, but that’s because I know what kind of filth exists in society.

” Dunmore’s gaze slowly scanned over the ballroom of revelers, many of whom were still staring at their trio, though they quickly glanced away at being caught.

But the man didn’t care to hide his contempt for them.

“Those of us with exceptional caliber need to stick together.”

“You think quite highly of yourself,” Ash murmured, amusement lighting up his blue eyes.

Dunmore eyed the Duke. “Of course, I do. Few can compare to me. It’s why they’re all so jealous.”

Sam lifted a hand to cover his choked laugh. “I have to give you my thanks, Dunmore. You have provided some much-needed levity during a night I have been dreading.”

“I may be able to assist in improving your night even more.”

Sam’s attention followed where Dunmore was looking at a curvaceous woman with ebony curls piled atop her head. Even from this distance, Sam could make out the vivid blue of her eyes. Which might be because she was staring straight at Sam. Intently. Like she’d just sighted her prey.

Sam’s wide-eyed gaze whipped back to Dunmore, whose lips had hooked up in a roguish half-smile.

“That’s Lady Camoys,” he murmured. “I can promise you she will completely turn your night around. She used to be an…ardent admirer of my best mate until he married,” he said in explanation.

Dunmore’s gaze turned shrewd. “You know…you share many similarities with Ironcrest’s likeness.

No wonder she’s already sizing you up. Don’t let her petite size fool you.

That woman eats men like you with her morning chocolate. ”

She did what now? Sam’s attention went back to the woman, who fluttered her fan coyly. Oh dear.

Ash cleared his throat quietly, but there was a wealth of meaning in that small sound. His blue stare bore into Sam’s. “Perhaps Dunmore will give you an introduction,” Ash said. She will go a long way toward protecting you from rumors.

Sam swallowed down the distaste. “I would be especially grateful if you could, Dunmore.”

Dunmore’s grin turned feral. “Oh, I can assure you, you’ll be grateful. Send the pineapple to my townhouse. I only accept the finest of thank yous.”

After Dunmore made introductions, he made himself scarce.

Sam bowed over Lady Camoys’s hand, grazing a soft kiss over her knuckles and catching her eye.

He knew his role in this play, and it wasn’t as though he didn’t know how to seduce a woman; well, anyone, really.

All that charm he’d worn as a shield for so many years was about to become exceedingly advantageous.

“Well, aren’t you just a gift bestowed upon us ladies?” she said with a saucy smile. “It has been dreadful as of late.” Her nose wrinkled. “So many bachelors have been getting married. I don’t know what is in the air, but it’s a shame.”

Sam fought back a grin. This was the first time he’d heard a woman upset over folks marrying. Though Lady Camoys was married…and slept with everyone but her husband, apparently. So perhaps she didn’t have the finest opinion of the institution.

She was stunningly pretty. She had a round face with apple-cheeks, and a petite frame with curves Sam knew most men lost their wits over. And a mouth—the woman had a mouth. Wide, plush lips, lips that curved knowingly.

But those lips only served to remind Sam of another pair of too-lush lips.

Ones he was intimately acquainted with, knew their softness, knew what it was like to have them press against his skin.

And just like that, the weight of this evening grew tenfold, made the corners of his lips nearly too heavy to keep tugged upward.

He knew this was where he was supposed to mention his own pursuit of a suitable wife for all to hear—follow the plan —but he couldn’t find it in himself to form the words. So, instead, he gave the woman a roguish wink and said, “This bachelor isn’t quite ready to relinquish his roving ways.”

Her throaty chuckle danced between them. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, slow and deliberate, her blue eyes holding a world of promise.

A deep throat clearing had her eyes popping wide. Sam knew exactly who that sound belonged to. His eyes fluttered shut for the barest of moments, his heart both threatening to beat out of his chest and stop altogether.

“Lord Bentley,” Lady Camoys said breathily, dropping into a curtsy.

Sam’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. A curtsy so low that it might as well have been an invitation with how it put her breasts on full display. A display Felix was completely oblivious to.

“Lady Camoys,” he nodded politely. He turned to Sam. “Dalreoch. A pleasure to see you about town.”

Sam didn’t miss how Felix didn’t offer a handshake. It wasn’t the done thing, but it was a mark of close friendship, a tactic Ash and Dunmore had employed with purpose. But Felix stood stiffly next to Sam, barely looking in his direction.

“Isn’t it?” Lady Camoys was saying. “I was just saying how few dashing gentlemen there are around as of late. And some”—she glared at Felix—“are quite hard to…penetrate.”

Sam coughed, his alarmed gaze flying to Felix, who seemed not at all fazed by the woman’s forward comment. He just let out an exasperated sigh. “Dalreoch, Lady Camoys here is my sister’s dearest friend.”

A soft oooh of understanding whooshed from Sam. That made quite a bit of sense. She would have been a part of the seduce the duke plan, then.

Lady Camoys’s smile turned warm at the mention of her friend. “Oh, how silly of me! I forgot you are close to the Duke. I suppose you are familiar with Her Grace, then.”

“Yes, Her Grace is a charming woman. She is how I made an acquaintance with Bentley.”

“Speaking of, I actually had a matter I wished to discuss with you, Dalreoch.” Something flashed at Sam in those amber eyes, something that definitely looked like displeasure. “If you’d be so kind to join me on the terrace for a moment?”

It wasn’t a question, though. Sam forced his polite smile wider and murmured his assent.

Felix turned toward Lady Camoys. “I beg your pardon, Lady Camoys, for stealing your companion.”

They shared a polite farewell, though the flicker of disappointment in the woman’s blue eyes didn’t escape Sam.

Felix maneuvered them to the terrace and strode swiftly past the revelers taking air, forcing Sam to quicken his pace to catch up. As soon as they were beyond hearing distance, Felix spun around and thrust a finger at Sam.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?”

Sam’s mouth moved, but no words surfaced. What was he doing? What in God’s name did Felix mean, what was he doing? He was playing his bloody part in this charade!

“You are supposed to be looking for a wife . You haven’t danced with one woman on the list I provided. You haven’t spoken to one. You have spent nearly your entire time with Lady Camoys. A. Married. Woman. ”

Sharp, hot anger flew through Sam. “Or maybe, Bentley, ” he snapped. “It’s actually beneficial for me to be speaking with her. Because of her reputation . But you’re so bloody set on marrying me off, you seem to be blind to that obvious fact.”

Felix’s nostrils flared in the moonlight. They stared each other down, huffing small thunderclouds of vapor into the cool April night.

Finally, Felix broke the charged silence.

“Consorting with married women will do your reputation no favors,” he said tightly.

“Perhaps it will squash…certain rumors, but it will make the mothers of the ton wary to push their daughters toward you, and enrage the men you are cuckolding. Give them reason to bring certain things to light. Right now, you are a dual titled man. If you carry yourself accordingly, you will have your choice of bride.”

“I don’t want a fucking bride,” Sam exploded with a whispered hiss. “I want—” He cut off on a growl and turned to the balustrade, slamming his hands down on the cold stone.

“You are being foolish,” Felix said.

The words were so empty. So void of anything . It destroyed Sam. He was backed into a corner, being caged. And he lashed out.

Sam scoffed and turned a disgusted glare at Felix. “Your imperiousness is showing, my lord . Perhaps my first impression of you wasn’t too far off.”

Felix’s lips pressed tight. But the man was being just as arrogant, just as much of an arse as when Sam had first met him. Sam had to say, he really didn’t bloody like the facade of the Earl of Bentley.

“You’re not thinking,” Felix growled nearly inaudibly. “You’re thinking with your prick and not your brain.”

Sam’s jaw went slack, the words a metaphorical slap across his face. His prick? His gaze shuttered, all emotion draining from his face. He wasn’t thinking with his fucking prick. He was thinking with his bloody heart.

“You have everything at your fingertips, Sam. You can have it all. Don’t you see that?

You’re a free man now. A man who enjoys the company of women ,” Felix gritted out.

“That family you always wanted? That life of acceptance and love you want to give to a child or children? That is possible for you now.” Disbelief shined back at Sam and what he thought might be pain, too.

“Do not be a bloody imbecile and throw something like that away. You have the chance to have everything. Everything .”

Felix stepped back, his face eerily composed again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a dance with Lady Yardley shortly.”

“Do what you must,” Sam spat.

A muscle ticked in Felix’s jaw. “I will. As should you.” He turned on his heel and strode back toward the ballroom.

Sam watched Felix’s retreating figure slowly shrink into the distance. God fucking damn it! How did everything get so fucked? How had life gone from a dream…to a waking nightmare?

His delirious laugh echoed into the silent night. A few people turned his way. Great. Just what he needed. People thinking he was a madman. Better that than a sodomite, he thought bitterly.

Felix thought Sam had the chance to have everything? No, he wouldn’t have everything, because he was watching everything stride back into the ballroom. Away from him.

Felix didn’t understand. Children, a family—yes, Sam would love that, but that wasn’t his dream. That was Felix’s dream.

Sam’s only dream was Felix.