The Traitor Lords Saga by Adella J. Harris

Author:Adella J. Harris [Harris, Adella J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: m/m romance, gay romance, regency romance
Publisher: Adella J. Harris
Published: 2018-01-07T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

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WHEN ROBERT RAN FROM THE OFFICE, he passed the cabstand and kept walking. He didn’t trust himself to say anything, not even to give his address to the driver, not with the lump of unshed tears in his throat and the tightness in his belly as if all the pain from Laurence’s mistrust were gathering there. Besides, walking would make it take longer to get wherever he was going. Home—where else could he go? Laurence didn’t trust him. He thought he was a spy. Robert had thought, after their night together, maybe Laurence cared a little. Certainly not love. Robert wasn’t naive enough to think that someone like Laurence would fall in love with him, but he had thought they would spend time together, that maybe they could be friends. He pinched his thigh as he waited for a carriage to pass before crossing the street. Hadn’t the painting meant that? He’d understood at once why Laurence would be attracted to the soldiers who had obviously been holding hands in the garden, and why that particular painting would matter to him. He had thought that had been a matter of trust between them, and Laurence had thought he would use it for blackmail.

Not that he could blame Laurence. He’d been blackmailed before for his inclinations, but his father’s title and power had shielded him. He would lose that soon, and while he had money of his own, the pillory or prison were still real possibilities. And what reason did he have to trust Robert? A few contracts negotiated? That was his job. Sneaking a painting away from the Crown? Laurence didn’t know he’d understood, and without that fact, it made him seem less trustworthy, not more so. A night of passion? What better way to get blackmail material than to fashion it himself? And Laurence didn’t know the most important bit, because Robert hadn’t told him. He could never hurt Laurence because he loved Laurence too much. Without that fact, none of the others really mattered. He couldn’t blame Laurence for not understanding that.

The tightness in his belly became painful, and he squeezed the skin of his hip again, hard, then reminded himself he was going to try to stop doing that, not that it mattered anymore. Laurence wasn’t going to see him again, naked or otherwise, so he wouldn’t see the bruises. Ironic, he pinched himself so there was a way to see how hurt he was since he could never manage to say anything about it, then hid the bruises so no one would see them either. And he ought to stop. The bruises he’d brought up when Laurence had been yelling were still hurting, and he was sure that was a sign he’d done some sort of damage.

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