Excerpt Day: Convincing Arthur by Ava March

[reviews_and_ramblings]

Convincing Arthur by Ava March
Release Date: July 20, 2009
Publisher: Loose Id
ISBN: 978-1-59632-979-9
Publisher Link: http://www.loose-id.com/prod-Convincing_Arthur-979.aspx

Blurb: Mr. Leopold Thornton missed his chance ten years ago. He isn't about to let this one pass him by. Given Leopold's reputation for vice and debauchery, Mr. Arthur Barrington has a fair idea why the sinfully beautiful man invites him to his country estate. A shooting excursion? Unlikely. Especially considering Arthur is the only guest invited to the estate. He shouldn't consider the invitation, but a few days of mind-blowing sex could be just the thing to help him get over the heartbreaking end of a ten-year relationship. Then he can return to London to his thriving law practice, and quietly search for an amiable man who understands the meaning of the word discreet and who recognizes the value of commitment. There was a time when Leopold wasn't such a rakehell. When every night didn't end with an empty bottle of whisky. When he believed in the rewards of patience. When he didn't give himself over to just anyone who'd have him. Old habits die hard, especially when tempted by six feet of solid muscle, but Leopold will only have a few days to convince Arthur he can be the man he's looking for -- that his love is genuine and he's worthy of Arthur's heart.

Excerpt:

“Evening, Barrington. Welcome to Ramsey House.”

The drawled words wrapped around Arthur like hot velvet, prickling the hairs on his forearms. A shiver raced up his spine. How could Thornton make a simple welcome sound sinful?

Clutching the handle of his bag tightly, he turned to find Thornton, who slouched against the corner of a wall next to a corridor that led to the back of the house. A wavy chunk of his black hair hung over his brow, skimming his lashes. Arms crossed over his chest, his stance was all casual nonchalance, but the wicked glint in his gray eyes said otherwise. The man was, quite simply, beautiful. Indulgent vice personified.

Arthur swallowed hard and found his voice. His mind vaguely registered the echo of the butler’s footsteps as the man left the marble-floored entrance hall. “Good evening, Thornton. My apologies for the lateness of the hour. One of the carriage wheels cracked, stranding us on the road this morning, and” -- he gestured to fill in the mundane details -- “took an unheard of amount of time to fetch a replacement.”

“No apologies are necessary. I’m relieved you made the journey to Yorkshire safely, if not without a bit of inconvenience.” Thornton paused, holding his gaze for what felt like an endless moment. Those gray eyes swept down Arthur’s body and then back up to his face.

Arthur clenched his fist, fighting the urge to pass a hand over the front of his coat to verify he was still fully dressed. After Thornton’s thorough perusal, he certainly felt like he stood naked in the small entrance hall.
A hint of a satisfied smile tipped the edges of Thornton’s full lips. Then he pushed from the wall. “Come. I’ll show you to your room.”

Arthur mentally shook off the discomposure and nodded, then followed him up the stairs to the second floor. They were of the same age, both nine and twenty, and of the same height, but their similarities ended there. Thornton was all lean, graceful lines where Arthur had more bulk to his frame. The cut of his black coat and trousers announced he frequented the best tailors in London, whereas Arthur did not see the need to waste his money in such a fashion. His clients cared not about the cut of his coat, only that he appeared competent and trustworthy. Something any decent tailor could accomplish.

Nor did their differences end with their appearances. Where Arthur had applied himself in his studies, helping at his uncle’s office and eventually assuming all responsibility when the man passed away, Thornton defined the term “wastrel”. An indolent fourth son of a very wealthy viscount, a man Arthur held in the utmost respect. His three older brothers were staunch, industrious men, replicas of their father. Given how the viscount doted on Thornton, granting him limitless largesse in addition to funding his extravagant lifestyle -- including a town house in London, a country estate, nights spent at the gambling tables, and frequent visits to the best brothels in London -- Arthur rather thought his lordship lived vicariously through his youngest son.

A shame, really. Perhaps a bit of discipline would have reined in Thornton. There had been a time about a decade ago when Thornton had been an amiable young man, full of promise. Arthur had met the nineteen-year-old Thornton back when Arthur worked as his uncle’s secretary. He frequently accompanied his uncle on calls to a client’s home, and during one such call, Viscount Granville had summoned his youngest son into the meeting. Thornton had listened with rapt attention as his lordship and his uncle discussed the purchase of a new property. The two had even become friends. But then London sank its teeth into Thornton, quickly corrupting him.

Arthur followed Thornton as he turned right at the top of the stairs. So far, the interior of the home matched the exterior. Nothing extravagant or garish. No gaming tables or scantily clad females, or males, in sight. Even the few paintings lining the walls were tame landscapes.

Thornton opened the third door on the left and gestured for Arthur to enter. “I hope it meets with your satisfaction,” he said in a silken tone as Arthur passed him.

Was that whisky on his breath? Somehow Arthur kept from rolling his eyes. When wasn’t the man foxed, or at the least, slightly inebriated? Thornton likely forwent tea in favor of a stiff drink with breakfast.

Arthur stepped into the bedchamber decorated in muted autumn greens and browns. A small seating area was angled in front of the fireplace, and a large bed stood off to one side. The tan drapes covering the two windows were closed, blocking the view of the grounds behind the house.

A footman arrived, carrying Arthur’s trunk in front of his well-rounded belly. He deposited the trunk on the short table beside the dresser. “Shall I unpack for you, sir?”

“No. I can manage it myself.”

With a nod, the footman left the room, closing the door and leaving Arthur alone with Thornton.

The man leaned a shoulder against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Care for a bite to eat? The kitchen can prepare whatever you’d like.”

“No, thank you. I stopped at an inn along the way. Dreadful stuff but edible.” Needing to give himself something to do, Arthur set his bag down, flipped the latches on his trunk, and began to unpack, putting his folded clothes into the dresser. His fingers hovered over his underclothes, and then he snatched them up and put them with his shirts. What did it matter if Thornton saw his drawers? He’d see them soon enough, if the man’s hungry stare was any indication of his intentions.

“Leave out whatever you need pressed. A servant will see to it.”

Arthur nodded his thanks. He shook out the wrinkled bottle green coat and draped it over the straight-backed chair at the nearby desk.

“Care for a nightcap?”

“Why? Do you need one?” More?

Oh hell, why had he said that? He was Thornton’s guest, not his keeper.

Thankfully Thornton didn’t appear put out by the rude comment. “No. You’re here. I thought you might prefer a drink after the trials of your day.”

He let out a harrumph as he set his shaving kit on the washstand. “I feared the carriage would be stuck on the side of the road forever, and I’d have to walk the rest of the way. Traveling is severely overrated.”

Thornton quirked one dark eyebrow. “That it is,” he replied, with a familiarity that held a hint of their old friendship.

A pang of regret gripped Arthur’s heart. Thornton had been a good friend there for a while. They now moved in vastly different social circles, frequented different haunts, though sometimes they happened upon each other on the street or at a club. Occasionally he saw Thornton at his father’s house, lurking about, when Arthur paid a business call. But the days of meeting him at a tavern for a drink were long gone. Perhaps this holiday together could be a way to rekindle their friendship? No, no. What was he thinking? They had nothing in common except a shared attraction to those of their own gender.

“So, that nightcap… Yes or no?”

“Thank you, but no.” Arthur closed his empty trunk. “Do you think the weather will hold tomorrow?”

“It should. The sky was clear last I looked. I take it you want to be out with a firearm in hand before dawn.” A grimace flicked across Thornton’s face.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No. I can drag myself out of bed at such an ungodly hour…for you.”

The click of a lock sliding home reverberated in the room. Thornton pushed from the door and crossed to Arthur. Thornton didn’t walk; he prowled with a distinctly leonine grace. Head tipped down, the edges of his lips curved in a knowing smirk that left no doubt as to his intentions.

Arthur stiffened. While he wouldn’t deny a strong physical attraction to Thornton, he also could not deny the trepidation leaching back into his stomach. He hadn’t expected to be buggered within minutes of arrival.

Thornton slowed as he came nearer, as if giving Arthur the opportunity to voice his refusal or bolt for the door. He didn’t take it. He held his ground, the attraction crackling in the air between them, lighting up his senses in a way he had never experienced before. His breaths came short and shallow, his chest suddenly working under the force of them.

Thornton took one more step, closing the last remaining distance, his gaze locked with Arthur’s. He placed a hand on the dresser beside Arthur, blocking the path to escape, and slowly, ever so slowly, leaned even closer. So close Arthur could make out the midnight blue flecks in his heavily lidded gray eyes. The faint scents of whisky, the enticing spice of cologne, and clean male skin wafted around him. Warm breath fanned Arthur’s parted lips: teasing, tempting. A tremble of anticipation rocked him.

“You refused supper. You refused a nightcap.” The words were low, a mere rumble of sound. Thornton’s mouth barely moved. Then he dipped his head at the last moment before their lips touched.

Disappointment began to crash through Arthur when a hand palmed the placket of his trousers, long fingers wrapping around his hardening prick.

Thornton looked up at him through his black forelock, his eyes blazing with lust. “Is there anything I can tempt you with tonight?”