Page 9 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
Hesitating, Thorne glanced up at the intense pale eyes.
His valet swallowed, then shrugged. “I’ve been playing the music I know from memory. If you’d like…” He took a deep breath, dropping his gaze to the folio, then back to Thorne. “If you’d like, I could play some of your favorites.”
Oh.
Thorne blinked up at the lad. “I think that’s the kindest gift anyone has ever offered me.”
Sometimes he suspected he said things just to make his valet blush, because the lad’s cheeks turned the same color as his hair and he began to stammer.
Taking pity, Thorne pushed the folio across the desk. “I would like vera much to hear these played, Kit. Thank ye.”
Still flushed in embarrassment, this American of his lifted those pale, uncertain eyes. Thorne offered him an encouraging smile and Kit exhaled, reaching for the folio.
And thenhesmiled, softly, shyly, and the sight reached into Thorne’s chest and squeezed. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll try to do them justice.”
“Ye will, lad,” Thorne managed to rasp, still stunned at his reaction to this lithe valet of his.
God Almighty. After nearly a fortnight of teasing, a reasonable person would think Thorne would’ve had enough. Enough of the lad’s blushes, embarrassment, awkwardness…but the absolute bitch of it was that there was alsointerestthere! Thorne would wager his eyeteeth on it.
Actually, nay, scratch that. He didn’t need to wager anything; he was an expert when it came to attraction and arousal, and heknewKit was at the very least curious about him.
It was why Thorne had done his best to parade around in a towel as often as possible, or ask the lad to scrub his back in the tub, a task he’d been able to manage for himself since graduating to long pants.
He’d done it because each time Kit touched him, a spark ofawarenessshot across Thorne’s skin, an addicting sensation. He hadn’t felt this way since the early days with his last mistress—and now that he thought of it, that excitement had only lasted a few weeks.
It was always like that, wasn’t it?
The thrill, the anticipation of a new partner…which waned after the initial itch was scratched.
Perhaps that’s why he continued tormenting himself with Kit.
This was an itch hecouldn’tscratch. Not because Kit was a male—Thorne wasn’t so priggish he’d ignored his own sex in the past. Nay, it was because Kit was alad; though he had to be at least Bull’s age, there was no hair on his chin, his voice was still the soft pitch of youth, although at least it was low enough Thorne could guess his ballocks had dropped.
So nay, Thorne couldn’t fook the lad, couldn’t introduce him to the pleasures to be found between two—or more!—willing partners. Which meant that this thrill, this anticipation,this breathless shiver of excitement…it was safe. Safely forbidden.
It wouldn’t wane, because there was no way to scratch the itch.
And that, he was afraid, was becoming addicting.
Perhaps ye ought to set the lad free.
Perhaps.
But Thorne was beginning to suspect Kit’s music was keeping him sane, juxtaposed to the intoxicating attraction which was slowly driving him mad.
A knock at the door, and Thorne’s attention jerked sideways as he realized he’d been staring at Kit. The lad was pulling out different sheets of music, and now lifted his own gaze to send a smile across the room.
God damn him, but Thorne’s stomach twisted in joy at the sight.
He cleared his throat. “Come in,” he called, knowing his voice was harsher than usual.
His butler, Titsworth, stepped into the study. “A thousand pardons, Your Grace, for disturbing your endeavors.”
Oh God, he was doing theTry to out-pompous someone pompousroutine. Thorne, playing along, nodded regally. “I shall forgive the interruption this time, Titsworth, without ordering a flogging. What is the cause of such a sin?”
Titsworth was a middle-aged man whose black hair had refused to go gray. Since he had strong opinions about what a butler should look like—apparently he went to monthly butlering meetings of the butlering society or something—he used powder to give himself a distinguished salt-and-pepper appearance.
On more than one occasion, his deep bowing had sent Thorne into a fit of sneezing.
