Bound by Deception (Bound Series Book 1) by Ava March

Author:Ava March
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: bdsm, submission, historical romance, deception, mm romance, wealthy, aristocrat, friends to lovers, nobility, romance 1800s
Publisher: Ava March

Chapter Five

Oliver yanked off the cravat and grabbed yet another. Lifting his freshly shaven chin, he placed the cravat on the back of his neck, positioning the linen so it lay flat against his shirt collar. Mouth pursed and brows lowered in concentration, he stared into the mirror above the washstand and willed his shaking fingers to cooperate.

The sun had set hours ago. Candles in pewter holders lit the bedchamber. The clean scent of shaving soap lingered in the air. And he had lingered in this room long enough. If he didn’t arrive at the ball soon, he would be sure to incur Vincent’s ire before the man even laid eyes on him.

After one last tug to center the knot, he studied his reflection. Not perfect, nothing close to what Vincent, or rather the man’s valet, would have accomplished, but at least it somewhat resembled a Gordian knot.

He picked up the black evening coat folded over the back of a nearby chair and slipped his arms into the sleeves. After buttoning it, he ran his hands over the wool, trying to flatten the creases. Should have had it pressed properly, but there was nothing to be done for it now.

Stepping over the ruined lengths of white linen on the floor, he crossed to the bedside table. He paused, his fingertips hovering a hair’s breadth above the jade stone.

He had grown quite fond of the pin. It was rarely not with him, even tucked securely in his waistcoat pocket whenever he left his apartments. Not that he’d left much this past week for fear of coming across Vincent; his only outings had been to visit his grandmother. He would miss the pin, this bit of Vincent, but he wasn’t a thief. He hadn’t given any thought to the ramifications when he snatched it from the brothel floor, but he couldn’t keep the pin forever. Its value to Vincent went far above monetary. Oliver clearly recalled the first time he had seen Vincent wear it, and the pride in his friend’s adolescent voice as he’d informed Oliver that his grandfather had chosen to leave the jade pin to him, and not his older brother.

There were other ways to return it to Vincent, but sending it anonymously via the post was a coward’s way out.

And he needed Vincent to know it had been him. That Vincent had gifted that slow, languid kiss to Oliver. It went beyond his own selfish desire to be with the man he loved. Oliver could deceive his friend no longer. Even if Vincent turned his back on him, refused to acknowledge him again, Oliver had to tell him the truth.

Well, he didn’t plan to actually tell him. Oliver was certainly no coward, but he couldn’t fathom looking into Vincent’s gorgeous, sky blue eyes and telling him, “By the way, Prescot, you buggered me last week.”

Wincing, he sucked in a breath. No, no. That he could not do. But there was another way to reveal himself to Vincent. A way that did not require words.

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