“I know you’re squandering the biggest opportunity—a position most men would kill for. A position your cousin and her mother almost ended up on the street for. And you’re going to piss it away. Coast by on the title you were handed and make nothing of yourself.”
Demeroven stares at him, his eyes now wide, face curiously blank. It makes Bobby even angrier. “Don’t act like you don’t understand,” he hisses. “You’re smarter than that.”
“Youdon’t understand,” Demeroven says, glaring at Bobby before something over Bobby’s shoulder catches his eye.
Bobby turns his head, but can’t see anything or anyone, and by the time he’s turned back, Demeroven’s face has settled into that impenetrable mask again.
“You’ll never have the kind of responsibility that’s been foisted on me, so I suggest you stop telling me how to live my life as if you have any idea what you’re talking about before you further embarrass yourself, or your family. Excuse me.”
Bobby sits there gaping as Demeroven mechanically stands and walks straight out of the party, like a man possessed by a detached ghost. Bobby stares after him, rage simmering in his chest. The man keeps getting the last word by fleeing. And still, somehow, he’s coming out on top every time.
Bobby tosses his cards into the center of the table. He needs a way to forget these wretched weeks. Needs to drown his discontent until he can barely feel it. Until the image of Demeroven’s wide eyes fades from his mind.
Forget whatever Uncle Dashiell and Beth want from him. Hewon’t spend more time on a newly titled viscount who’s willing to throw away his power because it’s slightly inconvenient.
Bobby marches determinedly toward the kitchen, where Prince has his valet tending bar. In his haste, he nearly collides with Lord Raverson in the hallway.
“In a hurry?” Raverson asks.
Bobby tilts on his feet. Perhaps he doesn’t need that third drink after all. “My apologies, Lord Raverson,” Bobby says, hoping he sounds more composed than he feels. “And no, just headed for the bar, actually. How are you?” he adds, trying to muster up the polite disinterest a man of Raverson’s station deserves. Though in truth, since his arrival last season, from the little Bobby’s heard, Raverson’s making rather a name for himself within the community. If the rumors are true, he’s already slept with a number of Parker’s clientele.
Bobby can’t blame them. Raverson’s striking dark eyes and chiseled jaw would be temptation enough even without the title and all the money that comes with it. The Raverson estate doesn’t bring in an immense income, but Raverson’s always flush with cash, talking up investments and dividends each time Bobby’s been within earshot at the club. And now he’s here, and looking at Bobby with distinct interest.
Bafflingly, Bobby thinks for a moment of Demeroven’s eyes, softer and deeper and more mysterious than the blatant want in Raverson’s. But he shakes himself. He’s not going to give Demeroven another second’s thought tonight.
“I’m well, I’m well. Saw you were talking to Demeroven earlier. Piece of work, isn’t he?”
Bobby blinks. So much for his mental fortitude. “I... suppose.”
“Hardly worth the effort if you were looking to bark up that particular tree,” Raverson continues.
“I, ah, well...” Bobby stammers, unsure how to react to Raverson so blatantly discussing not just his proclivities, but in reference to Demeroven, of all people.
“I found him... trifling, at best,” Raverson says.
“You did?” Bobby asks, his throat dry, whether from the smoldering look Raverson’s giving him or the shock of Raverson mentioning his... whatever Demeroven is to him.
Raverson inches closer. “Though it was a few years ago. He could have progressed, gained some more experience.”
His hand lands next to Bobby’s head against the wall Bobby’s suddenly backed into. Raverson smiles at him, dark hair swooshed across his forehead, eyes glinting, teeth white and bright.
Something dangerous and wild simmers in Bobby’s gut. He knows he should walk away. Raverson’s already exhibited more than one danger sign, discussing things so openly here in the hallway, and worse, sharing the intimate details of another man. But at the same time, that edge, and his smile, and his free-spirited openness are appealing.
If Bobby were looking for something to distract him, something to topple headfirst into, well, Raverson just might be it.
“And are you more... experienced?” Bobby hears himself ask, his voice deep and husky.
Raverson smiles slyly, his cheeks dimpling in a devastatingly handsome way. He leans forward, putting his lips close enough to Bobby’s ear that he can feel his breath. “Experienced enough to notice the bulge in your trousers.”
Bobby slips a little against the wall. “Fuck,” he mutters.
“That is the idea. There’s a closet back this way, if you’re looking for something to do.”
“Or someone?” Bobby asks as Raverson pulls back.
Raverson’s smile stretches. “I like you, Mason.”
Bobby lets out a slightly strangled laugh and finds himselffollowing Raverson down the hall and further into the servants’ quarters. And though he knows it’s reckless, he lets Raverson pull him into the closet—loses himself in the tug and gasp and heat of a clandestine encounter.
