Oh, God.Donovan licked his lips.He would think of nothing else for the rest of his life.
Chapter8
When at last they returned to the inn, the single bed in the middle of their shared chamber no longer felt like a torture device.Donovan reached for Geoffrey as soon as the bed was in sight.
Geoffrey hesitated before returning the kiss, then gently eased out of Donovan’s embrace.“I’ll change in the other room if you’d like to use this one.”
Oh.
They were not going to toss their clothes upon the floor and tumble onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and wet kisses.Geoffrey’s rejection was much worse than simply continuing the status quo.They had stepped over that line.Broken that barrier.GeoffreyknewDonovan desired him and did not feel the same.
The duke had only himself to blame.Two decades of fantasies had made him believe that sharing a kiss meant Geoffrey would wish to share everything else.But of course stolen kisses did not imply consent to lovemaking.
“I’m sorry,” he said in haste.“I didn’t mean to presume…”
That’s what peers did, wasn’t it?Presume their every whim would be granted.Money and power could acquire just about anything.In ordinary circumstances.Donovan—or rather, his title—might be irresistible to social-climbing debutantes, but what could he offer Geoffrey?Nothing.Not even a promise of employment.
“I’m your friend, remember?”Geoffrey said wryly.
For another week.After which, he would be demoted to valet until the end of the fortnight.After which… Geoffrey would be gone.
“I remember.”Donovan clenched his teeth.
“And you’re here to find a bride,” his valet added.
“I remember,” snarled the duke with considerably more ire than he intended.
It was not Geoffrey’s fault.These were Donovan’s own words.Donovan’s own plan.Donovan’s future.Who in their right mind would get involved with a man who, by his own admission, was on the hunt for and intended to marry someone else?
“When we return to London,” he began.
“I shan’t be your ‘friend’ anymore,” Geoffrey answered.“Six days of valet service, and then out into the streets I go.”
It sounded horrid.Conscienceless.“What if… What if we extended—”
“No.”Geoffrey removed his nightshirt from the armoire.“You’ve given me the sack twice in the past week.A fortnight’s notice is enough.I do not wish to keep extending for a few more days here and there, never knowing when the next dismissal will come.You wish me gone.I will go.That will be the end of it.”
Donovan rubbed his face with his hand.Geoffrey was right, of course.Offering him another extension before his inevitable dismissal wasn’t a magnanimous favor.It was selfish.Donovan grasping for a little more time of whathewanted, without consideration of what Geoffrey might want.
Of course his valet wouldn’t wish to tiptoe around, peppering the duke with sweet kisses whilst fully aware the duke intended to send him packing the moment a well-born bride appeared in the picture.
Donovan had never wanted a bride less in his life.But he would not pressure Geoffrey to do anything that made him uncomfortable.If that meant sticking to the current plan, then so be it.
Friends.Openly.And perhaps kissing-friends, in private.
That would have to be enough.
Donovan awoke before Geoffrey every day that week.
Not because the bed was uncomfortable, but because he enjoyed watching Geoffrey sleep.And because the first thing Geoffrey did every morning was give Donovan a kiss before rising from bed to put himself in order.
Donovan was not remotely in order.Not on the outside: Tying a cravat had resulted a task far outside the capabilities of the duke’s untrained fingers.And not on the inside.The stolen kisses with Geoffrey ranged from tender to torrid, but never escalated beyond kissing, leaving Donovan in a permanent state of arousal and frustration.
To his surprise, however, the festival indeed proved a sound distraction.Donovan had long believed he despised social interaction, but it appeared what he actually disliked were public appearances without Geoffrey by his side.
As long as they were together, the knot that Donovan hadn’t realized he’d been carrying around all these years unraveled.He was able to relax.To smile.To pay attention to his surroundings.To enjoy them, content to finally be in the right company.
Andeveryonethought Geoffrey was the right company.His tall, muscled form and handsome face and impeccable style earned him the admiration of every woman at the festival.Most presumed Geoffrey a lord, or at least the sort of toff who rubbed shoulders with the aristocracy.His slight French accent—which grew suspiciously more pronounced when flirting with strangers—spawned rumors that perhaps he was foreign royalty.
