Page 21 of The Wrong Rake
“You must know that it is, for I am Miss Standish’s—”
“You’re Miss Standish’s nothing, as far as I can tell,” Harry said ruthlessly, “for I’ve never heard her mention your name and had no idea of your existence before today. You have nothing to do with this affair, and if you say one more word, I’ll remind you of that fact by kicking you down the stairs.”
Watkins’s mouth snapped shut, and he subsided into what appeared to be painful mortification, red to the tips of his ears. Good. That dealt with him.
Harry turned to Adam. “And you. You’re lucky Watkins found you before I did—” And Harry would skip past that point as swiftly as possible, because it was rather embarrassing that Watkins, the idiot, had in fact done so. “—because if I had, both sides of your face would match. You weren’t assaulted. You clearly got in a hit or two of your own. Let it pass, or I’ll kick you both down the stairs together. The only reason I’m not is that your brother has something to say to you, I believe.”
“I do indeed,” Simon put in so smoothly that it seemed as if he’d been merely waiting for his cue. Harry glanced down at him again, trying to hide how very much he wanted to kiss him. Hopefully everyone else in the room would be too absorbed to notice. “We will be departing for Bath at first light tomorrow, and once there we’ll set matters straight regarding your identity and your treatment of Miss Stand—”
“I bloody well won’t!” Adam leapt out of his chair, taking a stride as if to escape, and then stopping when he realized he was well and truly surrounded. “I won’t,” he said again, a trifle less forcefully, but he raised his chin and crossed his arms like a small child refusing to have his supper. “And you can’t force me.”
“I can,” Harry growled, finally pushed past his patience, but Simon threw up a hand, clearly and wordlessly commanding him to wait.
If it had been anyone else, Harry might have broken his arm.
But he trusted Simon, he realized.
And he’d be able to get his own back later, when Simon lay gasping and helpless and begging beneath him.
“Of course he could force you to do so, I have no doubt,” Simon said. “But so can I, as a matter of fact. Point one: I can go to Bath and give your direction to every one of the merchants and tradesmen you no doubt defrauded, not to mention to the several angry parents I imagine you left in your wake. Point two: I will never give you another farthing so long as I live. Point three: I will pass the word that you cannot be trusted to pay your debts of honor to every gentleman who frequents Perdition. Point four: I will inform our mother that you compromised—”
As Simon spoke, Adam grew more and more flushed until he turned a frightening shade of aubergine and at last burst out with, “Enough! You despicable bastard. I’ll go.”
“Good, that’s settled,” Simon said mildly, and this time, Harry couldn’t have kept in his laughter even if he’d tried a great deal harder than he did.
Adam and Watkins both glared at him, and Harry only laughed the harder. “Watkins, out,” he managed. “Or I suspect these gentlemen, who own this place, will have you removed.”
With a very poor grace, Watkins sniffed and moved for the door, Harry and Simon stepping aside to allow him to pass. When he opened the door, it revealed Mulgrew waiting on the other side. He gestured in a courtly fashion, drawing a grin and a wink from Potts, and murmured something that sounded courteous enough, moving Watkins along.
“You,” Simon said to his brother, “will be here at six o’clock in the morning, sharpish. And bring yourself a bite to eat in the chaise. I don’t want any delays, and I intend to be in Bath for dinner.”
“But I—”
Harry took one menacing step forward, and Adam wilted like a lettuce leaf.
“Six,” Simon repeated.
Adam gave a jerky nod and shouldered his way out of the room, disappearing down the stairs with a clatter.
“Well, that was quite the show you gentlemen put on,” Potts said brightly, grinning at them, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “I’ll see that he gets out the front door, shall I? And then I’ll send someone to hire a chaise for you, Simon, and leave you to recover yourself. You look as if you need a fresh cravat.”
He burst out laughing at the look on Simon’s face, patted him comfortingly on the shoulder as he passed, and followed the rest of them down the stairs.
Simon shut the door behind him, locked it, and slumped back against it, letting out a gusty sigh. “I really detest scenes,” he remarked. “Truly. What a bother.”
“I’m sorry.” Harry crossed the few feet between them, marveling as he did that he had the right, he was fairly sure, to do so. And to slide his hands around Simon’s waist, letting them come to rest over the swell of his arse. Simon tipped his head back and smiled up at him, an irresistible invitation to a kiss.
Harry didn’t need to be hinted at twice. Simon’s lips were wide and mobile, not quite as full, perhaps, as those of many of the women Harry had kissed. But they were just as soft, and a thousand times sweeter. He lifted his head reluctantly, because he knew if he kept at it he’d end by having Simon against the door. And this might be a perverse den of infamy, but it was the bloody drawing room. Some standards were universal.
“I am sorry,” he repeated, whispering the words against Simon’s lovely lips. “I caused far more of a scene the other night. It was unconscionable.”
Simon rolled his hips against Harry’s, a gleam in his eyes, and Harry’s cock stiffened, his whole body lighting up. “You did indeed, but I find that the aftermath made it worthwhile.”
“Very worthwhile,” Harry agreed. Simon tried for another kiss, but Harry pulled back. “We’ll move to your bedchamber in a moment, if you’re willing, but I have to tell you. You kept your head remarkably. I am lost in admiration.”
“You kept yours just as well.”
Harry smiled down at him, his hands tensing where they rested on Simon’s hips. He felt unaccountably shy. Harry had never been one for revealing himself, and he thought it likely Simon would understand far more from what he needed to say in reply than Harry would wish—made worse by the fact that what he understood would be entirely accurate.
