“Yes,” James grinds out. “But I’ve actually—”
“Sitting in the Lords is a chore, isn’t it?” Raverson asks, bracing an arm against the wall and leaning against it, so he’s entirely blocking the hall. “Makes me think of that professor—who was it, Archer?”
James pushes down his old discomfort. Raverson may have held sway over him in school, but his tricks won’t work here. At least, James hopes not.
“The chancellor does sound a bit like Archer, that’s true,” James says, going for calm.
“I thought I might find it interesting, but so far the actual work has been the least compelling part of this season. Did you see that Wristead and Mason are here?”
James forces himself to keep his face blank. “Oh?”
“Didn’t think either of them would be here so openly, given their situations.”
He doesn’t want to contribute to Raverson’s penchant for salacious gossip, especially not if that gossip might someday be turned on him. At least Raverson will no longer be trading favors and secrets for social status and wealth. He doesn’t need to expand his purse any longer, now that he holds all the strings.
“I was sorry to hear about your father,” James says, hoping to divert the conversation.
“Were you?” Raverson asks, his voice morphing from that sweet, honeyed tone to something sharper. “I wasn’t.”
James fights a wince. Damn. “I remember you weren’t fond of him, but still, I extend my condolences. I know how hard taking on the mantle of a title is.”
“Yes, that’s right. You would remember, wouldn’t you? You were in my bed when I received the letter about my brother.”
A sick feeling settles in James’ stomach. He remembers that morning. Waking in Raverson’s bed to find Raverson sitting in his desk chair in an open dressing gown, a letter dangling in one hand, a letter opener in the other. His older brother had died in a carriage accident, and Raverson was now the heir apparent to the Raverson title.
James hadn’t known what to do, how to comfort him. How to respond when Raverson showed him the letter, which said only, “Your brother is dead. You are now my heir. I expect you home for Yule.”
James had tried to comfort him then—had let Raverson take him back to bed, let him lose himself in James and his body. He thought maybe he had helped, but instead that was the beginning of Raverson’s slow dismissal. He had the title and no need for James any longer.
No need for James’ secrets after that.
Now Raverson stares past him, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder. James can’t seem to find his words. Part of him is still stuck in Raverson’s bed, staring at the ceiling as Raverson moved on top of him, unsure of whether Raverson was mentally there in the room with him at all.
“So, have you found anyone you might fancy for the season?”
James flinches as Raverson steps suddenly to his side andwraps an arm around his shoulders, pushing him into the doorway from the washroom hallway so they’re left looking out at the parlor together.
“Um, no, not yet,” James stammers, his shoulders held tight, stomach in knots.
Between the feeling of Raverson’s arm on his shoulders, too heavy and too stiff, and the sight of more than twenty men in the parlor, he feels like his heart might burst out of his chest. There are members of parliament playing chess by the window, heirs hobnobbing by the bar, Prince and Cunningham and Wristead still talking with a larger group, rowdy and boisterous.
If Raverson is here, Parker’s world isn’t nearly as secure as he thinks it is. There is no mutually assured secrecy with Raverson. His authoritative lies could fool even the most suspicious father at school—get him to pay good money for Raverson to keep quiet without ever questioninghowRaverson had garnered his information.
James’ secrets weren’t worth enough to trifle with telling his stepfather. Not in school, when he was just a gentleman’s stepson. But now, with the Demeroven title...
James feels himself beginning to get lightheaded again, the whisky starting to swirl in his stomach. He needs to leave. He needs to leave right now.
“Ah, would you look at the time,” James says, glancing down at his hand as if he has a pocket watch to check. There must be a Demeroven pocket watch somewhere he could start wearing.
“Half past nine, you mean?” Raverson asks, his arm tightening on James’ shoulders. “You’re not starting to get overwhelmed, are you? I’d have thought you’d have grown out of that.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” James says brusquely. “I simply have matters to attend to.”
“I could always fix that for you. I remember exactly whatused to limber you up at school. Wouldn’t take a moment, we’re right by the—”
“Excuse me,” James says, pulling away from Raverson without a backward glance.
He strides across the room, trying to look like he has somewhere to be. He should find Parker, but doesn’t think he can keep his stomach down long enough. Instead, he marches around the bar and pulls open the door to the entryway stairs, only to bump straight into Bobby Mason, who’s lounging in the stairwell having a smoke.
