A Gentleman Never Keeps Score by Cat Sebastian

Author:Cat Sebastian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-07-09T16:00:00+00:00

“I’m getting you out of this house,” Sam growled, pulling Hartley to his feet. “And then we’re talking.” He made it sound like a threat, but Hartley was too worn out to complain; besides, he liked the feel of Sam’s arm around his shoulders as they left the bedroom.

The sun was high in the sky when they stepped outside. Somehow it was only noon. Hartley winced at the light; he felt as though he had spent hours in the dusty shadows of Friars’ Gate, but it couldn’t have been more than ninety minutes.

“That was your brother?” Sam asked when they reached the edge of the woods where they had left the hamper from the inn.

“One of them. I have a lot of brothers.”

“He must be one you’re not particularly close with, I suppose, seeing as how you’ve never mentioned him and he’s mates with your godfather’s son?”

“We’re close.” Hartley sat on the ground, not caring about the state of his trousers. “Or, we were.” When had things gone so drastically wrong? It had been two weeks since he had seen Will, and they lived in the same city.

Sam sat beside him, leaning his back against a tree. He didn’t angle himself toward Hartley or place his hand palm up beside him. He didn’t do any of the things that silently let Hartley know that touching was an option, should Hartley be so inclined. Hartley hadn’t realized how much he depended on this silent conversation of unspoken questions until it was absent. Sam’s body was oddly rigid against Hartley’s, and he didn’t know why. He supposed he had bungled something, stepped on Sam’s toes, said something unfeeling. Somewhere along the way, Hartley had lost the knack for friendship, if he had ever had it to begin with. He thought of the pile of letters on his desk, thought of how he had just treated Will with deliberate callousness.

He took a long drink from the jug of brown ale that the innkeeper’s wife had tucked into the picnic basket. “I’ll visit my godfather’s solicitor,” Hartley said. “He must know something.”

“About what?”

“The paintings,” Hartley answered, holding out the jug to Sam. “Isn’t that what we were talking about?”

Sam shook his head and waved away the offer of ale. “Forget about the paintings. You don’t know where they are and you’re not going to get them back.”

So, it was you now instead of we. Hartley put the stopper back in the bottle. “I thought you wanted Kate’s painting.” Hartley’s voice sounded small and peevish.

“I did, but not anymore. Kate would have my hide if she knew what we just did.”

“That’s fine,” Hartley said. “I can manage it on my own.”

Sam made a sound of frustration. “Are you going to spend the rest of your life alone in your grand house, scheming to get those paintings back? You’re what, two and twenty?”

“Three and twenty.”

“Do you have any reason to think you won’t live for another half century? Are you going to spend all that time

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