Chapter 11
Maurice’s skin chilled at Sebastian’s response.
It wasn’t a goddamned competition for who had it worst in life.
Sebastian, obviously. Literally everyone in England had a harder life than he did and he wasn’t about to claim that anything in his life was truly difficult, and yet when Sebastian dismissed his frustrations around finding genuine friends, it annoyed him.
It didn’t make his problems any less real just because they weren’t as big as other people’s, did it?
“I might not know what that was like, but—”
“But nothing, Maurice. You sit here in your big house with all your servants and you go to parliament and make decisions about what is best for us, the ordinary people, without knowing what it is like to be us.”
He couldn’t argue with that logic and so he paused before responding because he didn’t want to make it about his reaction—or about him—and he wanted to discuss the problems associated with him having power and privilege, or at a bare minimum acknowledge that he knew he had them.
“Cat got your tongue?” Sebastian crossed his arms across his chest. The fabric of his jacket hid his strong pectoral muscles, which did nothing to stop Maurice remembering how they’d looked as Sebastian had thrust into him.
The memory of the strength across his chest and shoulders as he cradled Maurice’s head with those practical hands made Maurice want to tug at his cravat. It was suddenly hot in here.
“No. I have learned that it is best not to respond immediately without thought.”
“And you need to think about whether people like me are worthy?”
Maurice gulped. “All people are worthy. Please don’t twist my words or thoughts before I’ve articulated them.”
“I refuse to be manipulated, your Grace.”
Maurice’s chest clenched tight. “Are you so determined to see the worst in me?” Everything hurt, even his toes, which was disconcerting.
He’d assumed they were friends, or at least that Sebastian respected him as much as he respected Sebastian.
And now they’d fucked, Maurice had hoped they would become closer, but Sebastian seemed determined to push him away.
“I might be an orphan who lives on a farm, but I’ve seen enough of the world to know the toffs always take what they want and screw over the rest of us. It’s not about you, specifically, but when you say things that imply you want to gather your thoughts, it feels like manipulation.”
“Oh. I didn’t want to lash out accidentally.”
“Why would you lash out?”
“You criticised my whole life, right after dismissing my comment about how hard it is to find genuine friends. I am allowed to have feelings about that.” He hadn’t meant to be so open. What was it about Sebastian that took away all his careful filters?
Sebastian made a short humph of a noise and uncrossed his arms. “Is dinner going to arrive soon?”
Maurice was glad for the change in subject—for the respite from the intense crackle between them, as if the air was heavy with a waiting storm—so he stood up and rang the bell pull and a footman immediately entered the room. “How far away is dinner?”
“I will investigate, your Grace.”
“And bring some bread and cheese back with you immediately. My guest is hungry.” He might not understand anything of what was happening between him and Sebastian, but at least he could be a good host. The footman scurried off and Maurice sat down again.
“I didn’t invite you to dinner to argue with you, Sebastian.”
“Is that an apology?”
Maurice didn’t know how to respond to Sebastian when he was like this, mostly because he’d never been like this before.
They often argued about the horses, with Sebastian’s knowledge and quick wit turning even the biggest arguments into feisty banter.
It was usually fun to pit himself against Sebastian, but this was the opposite.
It hurt and it confused him, leaving him rattled and uncertain.
“No. It’s not. I refuse to apologise for my life. I didn’t choose this.”
“Exactly. None of us choose where we are born. It’s just luck that you ended up with everything and the rest of us get to fight for the scraps. I will never own any of the horses on this farm, Maurice, no matter how lauded I am with my skills.”
“What do you want from me?” He stopped playing the politician and let his frustration out.
“I want you to...” Sebastian put his hands on his head and leaned back. “Just stay in your big house and leave me alone.”
Maurice didn’t think anything could hurt more than it already did. Heat pricked the back of his eyes, adding embarrassment to hurt. He wasn’t going to cry in front of his lover. Former lover? Damnation. He swallowed.
“Was it so terrible to be with me?” he whispered. He’d thoroughly enjoyed their time in bed—would beg to have Sebastian again and again—but maybe it had been just a boring release for Sebastian. Damn these doubts.
The door opened before Sebastian answered. Had he even heard him? Hopefully not.
Footmen arrived with the soup course as well as several platters of bread and cheese.
It was ridiculously over the top and much more food than the pair of them needed in a week, and the hairs on the back of Maurice’s neck rose as a cold chill brushed over his skin.
He hardly needed Sebastian to see this example of ducal excess when they’d just been arguing about it.
“Your Grace, asparagus soup, and the bread and cheese you requested.”
He nodded and waited until the footmen had left the room. Normally they would stay to serve, but he’d requested privacy tonight. The gossip between the servants would be at an all-time high tonight, stoked by his own actions and choices. God. What a god-awful mess he’d made of this.
“Are you intending to feed an army tonight, your Grace?”
He breathed in slowly. “In a fashion. Nothing is wasted by Cook. It all goes to the servants afterwards or to the chickens and pigs. I realise this looks excessive—”
“It is.”
“Yes.” He may as well admit it. “Please try the soup, Sebastian.” He stood to ladle some soup from the tureen into Sebastian’s bowl.
“You don’t need to serve me, your Grace. I am, after all, to be lumped in with servants, chickens, and pigs.”
Maurice gasped. He hadn’t meant it that way.
“But I do. Have to serve you, I mean.” God, he was making such a mess of this.
“I invited you here and dismissed my footmen. You’ve been arguing with me since we left my bedroom.
I’ve obviously done something wrong and I’m attempting to make amends.
Let me make amends.” What was wrong with him?
If it didn’t sound so dramatic and out of character, he might have diagnosed himself with a broken heart. Surely not.
“Maurice. Sit down.”
He sat.
“You were perfect in bed.” Sebastian closed his eyes and rubbed at his throat.
“But?” Something was wrong. It had to be because they were arguing and his entire body ached.
“Look around, Maurice. I don’t belong here.”
Hope fluttered in Maurice’s chest, like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web, trying frantically to escape. If Sebastian felt the same connection, the same potential, as he did, then maybe he was arguing to push Maurice away because it was all impossible.
“I wish you did.”
“Wishes won’t make it happen. It’s better if we treat this as a pleasant interlude and never, ever, think of it again.”
Maurice’s heart broke again. Now that he’d had a taste of Sebastian, he wasn’t so sure he could give him up. The determination on Sebastian’s face and the tension in his shoulders told him that he’d have to.
“If that’s what you want, then I will stay away from you.”
Sebastian’s fist tightened around his spoon.
“What I want is irrelevant. It’s what I need.
This is the only job I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to leave it.
I won’t put it at risk.” When he put it like that, Maurice understood.
He had no wish to lose the best horseman in England. Why was life so bloody complicated?