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every right to be, though. Even if Arthur had tried, he could not have delivered a more cutting insult.
You re a damn arse, Barrington.
Arthur dragged a hand through his hair and tried again to apologize. Thorn, I didn t mean to push you out of bed. I m
Bugger off, Barrington!
Arthur jerked back at the pure venom in the curse. Thorn snatched his clothes from the floor and stalked to the door.
A sharp slam cracked through the room.
He dropped his head into his hands. Bloody hell. How had the evening gone so wrong so fast?
The night had been so perfect& up until the moment when they had walked into his bedchamber. Then the more recent version
of his lover had reared its head. Persistent. Demanding. Pushing and pushing and pushing. The bed looming behind him as Thorn
insisted on removing Arthur s clothes himself. Those long, elegant fingers taking every opportunity to brush Arthur s prick as they
stripped him bare with startling efficiency. The promise of another near-sleepless night had turned him into a downright irritable
bastard, and a selfish one at that. The type of man who would actually shove his lover out of bed.
His heavy sigh echoed in the near-dark room. He lifted his head and looked toward the closed door. Should he go after Thorn?
No. Call him a coward, but he honestly did not want to be the recipient of any more of Thorn s curses. Not now. Not tonight. Best
to let the man s anger subside.
He should have just told Thorn flat out that he was not at all up for anything more than slipping into bed and letting sleep overtake
him. But he had told Thorn he could stay and& Arthur shook his head. Instead he had let frustration and& yes, disappointment get the
better of him.
No, significantly more than disappointment, for each wicked word, each decadent touch, had chipped away at that rock-solid
certainty, snatching the hope from his grasp and allowing the worries, those doubts, to form anew. Worries he had firmly believed
barely more than an hour ago had finally been put to rest. And it had hurt far more than he could have imagined possible to have
those doubts slam back down on him.
The muted snap of a door closing reverberated in his bedchamber.
Thorn had left his apartments.
A sense of loss, sharp and acute, stole the breath from his lungs. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly, tried to push back the
threat of tears that suddenly stung his nose.
It s not the end. He repeated the words over and over in his head. It had just been an argument, nothing more, and definitely not
irreparable. The last time he touched Thorn would not have been to push him away.
Pain lanced into his chest.
You re a goddamn fucking bastard, he bit out through clenched teeth.
Yes, indeed.
His shoulders slumped. Ah hell, he muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face.
Couldn t very well deny the truth.
Feeling wrung out and utterly drained, he snagged the blanket clinging to the edge of the bed and lay back down. But as he
tried to quiet his mind enough so sleep could overtake him, he could not ignore the sinking feeling he had made the absolute wrong
choice in not going after Thorn.
Chapter Six
Leopold stopped at the street corner and glanced about. Thick clouds hung in the night sky, masking the moon, leaving only the
occasional streetlamp to illuminate the empty intersection.
Where the hell were all the bloody hackneys? By God, he needed one right now.
Clenching his hands at his sides, he fought to hold tight to the anger and wounded pride still churning through his veins. Fought
to keep the dark, heavy blanket of despair from completely overwhelming him. If he could just make it home&
Giving up on a hackney as a lost cause, he crossed the street and continued on. Definitely should not have sent his carriage
home earlier. He should have known Arthur would not hold true to his word. Should have known the man had simply been pushing him
off, yet again, last night during the ride from his uncle s. Arthur had not really wanted him to stay tonight. The offer had been simply a
means to pacify him, a polite version of no. Now he would have to walk all the way to Mayfair. With each step he took, a twinge of
pain flared from his left hip. He would surely find a spectacular bruise come morning. A physical mark declaring Arthur s true feelings.
He doesn t want me anymore.
His legs gave out from under him, his knees impacting with the stone walkway. His gut lurched violently, his back bowing under
the force of it. The acrid taste of bile stung his throat, filled his mouth. He tried to fight it, tried to take a shallow breath and push it
down. But the effort proved in vain.
His stomach heaved. The remnants of his supper splattered the walkway. His stomach clenched again and again, the spasms
seizing his body and rendering him completely helpless, until absolutely nothing remained.
Hanging his head, he gasped for breath in long yet shallow pulls. Cold sweat pricked his skin. His gut ached as though he had
been the recipient of a prizefighter s blow, but at least the spasms had subsided.
Far beyond caring enough to reach for a handkerchief, he dragged his forearm across his mouth. As he gave himself a moment
to verify that his stomach had finished torturing him, he stared down at the mess he had created on the cold, stone walkway.
You re goddamn pathetic.
And weak and worthless and beyond fucking pitiful.
No wonder Arthur did not want him anymore. He did not even want himself.
The sound of an approaching carriage reached his ears. Unwilling to remain on his knees for all to see, he urged his limbs to
cooperate and pushed to his feet. The carriage rumbled past him, moving along at a nice clip.
To think he had once been so certain Arthur would come to love him.
Bloody fool. Why would a man like Arthur ever love someone like him? He had nothing to offer except his body and his skill at
sucking cock. He flexed his hand at his side, trying to throw off the painful memory of Arthur, soft and flaccid, beneath his palm. He
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