Free Convincing Leopold by Ava March Page A

debauchery.
     
    Arthur swallowed a bite of chicken, and as he washed it down with a sip of wine, he glanced to Thorn’s place, his gaze landing on the half-full teacup. Thorn had brought the Bordeaux solely for Arthur. He could not help being cautious where it concerned Thorn and the man’s old habits, yet he needed to guard against straying into overbearing- arse territory. A glass of wine certainly could not hurt anyone. “Thank you for bringing the wine, but you needn’t forgo a glass with supper because of me.”
     
    “It’s quite all right. I’ve developed a fondness for tea.”
     
    Arthur arched a brow in disbelief.
     
    “Truly. And I found it easier to stop completely.” Thorn shrugged and speared a potato with his fork. “I know myself too well.”
     
    It had not occurred to Arthur before, but had turning his back so completely on any form of alcohol been another force behind Thorn’s restlessness of late? “Does it bother you to be around others who imbibe?”
     
    “Not at all. I have you. Care for more chicken?” Thorn asked.
     
    “No.” He set down his fork and rubbed a hand across his comfortably full belly. “Could not eat another bite. Supper was wonderful. Please extend my thanks to your cook.”
     
    Thorn tipped his head. “If you’re finished, you can retire to the parlor. There’s brandy on the mantel. I’ll see to the table.” Dropping his linen napkin beside his plate, he stood.
     
    Arthur pushed from the dining table. “Thank you, Thorn.” He laid a hand on his lover’s forearm, stilling him as he reached for one of the silver dishes. Stepping closer, he leaned in to brush his lips across Thorn’s in a whisper of a kiss, skin gliding softly across skin. “Truly. Thank you.”
     
    Thorn lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s no bother to play the footman for you.”
     
    It was on the tip of Arthur’s tongue to tell his lover the thanks were for more than clearing the table, but he had the distinct impression Thorn fully understood and did not want Arthur to press the point. How exactly Arthur knew that, he could not say. Perhaps it was in the way Thorn had remained so…deliberately nonchalant, as if they had merely spoken of the weather. So he paid Thorn the same courtesy Thorn had paid him in the past and simply left him to his duties. If Thorn wanted to discuss it further, Arthur would be there to listen.
     
    From his spot on the couch, he could catch glimpses of Thorn moving about the dining room. Apparently his idea of cleaning up involved stacking the silver serving dishes in the wicker basket he had obviously used to bring the meal to Arthur’s, though he did take the plates into the kitchen. Arthur guessed he would find them piled on the counter in the morning, the remnants of supper dried onto their surfaces.
     
    Well, he could not complain. Thorn had said he would play the footman, not the kitchen maid.
     
    Arthur brought the brandy to his lips and took a long swallow. Resting the glass on the arm of the couch, he let out a content sigh. Arriving home closer to dawn than dusk had made for an extremely long day at the office, a full-body weariness pervading every fiber of his being and keeping his nerves strung taut, never mind the added pressure of taking on a new client of the Duke of Menteith’s standing. It all had rather turned him into an irritable bastard, yet coming home to Thorn…
     
    He could definitely grow accustomed to this. Not that he held any expectations that Thorn intended to wait on him every night, nor did he want that.
     
    In fact, the feeling of complete and utter contentment clinging to his senses had nothing at all to do with Thorn’s domestic skills yet everything to do with him. Or rather, them.
     
    The evening had served as proof that his worries had been unfounded. Foolish of him to even fret. He and Thorn had just needed time—that was all—to settle in together as a couple and find a balance that worked for