Chapter Twenty
James
James cracks open Bobby’s door, peering into the hall. He clutches his robe across his chest, but there’s no one there. He
glances back at Bobby, blissfully naked, sheets about his waist, body already curling around James’ abandoned pillow. For
a moment, James thinks maybe he should just get back into the bed—allow whoever plans to see to his room find him absent—and
curl back up against his beautiful sleeping paramour.
But the fear of someone finding them together zips across his skin, and with regret he tiptoes into the hall, closes Bobby’s
door, and hurries across and into his room. He stands at the threshold, staring around. It’s quite orderly, compared to the
mess they keep making of Bobby’s each night. His trunk is mostly still organized, his bed barely slept in. The staff must
think he’s a most well-behaved houseguest.
Hopefully they’ll never know it’s because he’s been buggering Mr.Mason all night. James feels an exhausted clench in his
midsection at the thought and rolls his eyes. He can’t exist on sex and Bobby alone. His stomach rumbles and James sighs,
heading for the wash basin. They were up most of the night, and even with his hunger he’s tempted to slip back across the
hall to lie back down with Bobby when the clock on his mantel chimes nine.
There’s no turning back now. While Bobby can lie in until midafternoon, James’ absence would be far too conspicuous much later than this. He has to face the day and return to the real world. Bobby’s bed will be waiting tonight.
He stretches as he heads down the empty halls, feeling his back pop, his thighs and arse and abdomen delightfully sore. Much
as he’s coming to detest sneaking out of Bobby’s room, the rest of the days at Mason Manor have so far been quite devoid of
anxiety. It’s probably all the bloody fantastic sex that has him so relaxed, but it is odd. He’s not used to feeling...
settled. But there’s no sense in focusing on the absence of panic. He should enjoy this week as best he can—wring every possible
ounce of every type of pleasure from it—before they have to face the world again.
He yawns and comes around the doorway to the dining room, surprised to find Beth still in her seat, a cup of tea in one hand
and a book in the other.
“Sorry,” he says as she looks up.
“For what?” Beth asks, smiling at him before looking back at her book.
James shuffles into the room, feeling wrong-footed somehow, though he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s never been
very comfortable in other people’s homes. He spoons the last of the porridge into a bowl and pours a cup of tea, then slides
in across from Beth and stares down at his breakfast.
He’s damn uncomfortable in his own home, if he’s honest. It doesn’t feel like his home.
He looks up at the sound of a page turning and that discomforted unease suddenly makes sense. He does have an apology to make.
An important one. And this might be the only chance he has to make it without an audience.
He bites at his lip. He just has to do it, be brave. He’s learning to fight for things; this should be one of them.
“I’m sorry,” he says, wincing as it comes out high and a little cracked.
Beth looks up, letting her book slowly slip down to rest on the table. “Beg pardon?”
James picks up his napkin to wipe his suddenly sweating palms. “I need to apologize on behalf of my deplorable family. For
my uncle, and my stepfather, and the callous cruelty with which they treated you and your mother,” he rushes out.
“Oh,” she says, looking as shocked as he felt when he found out all the ways his own silence had punished Beth and her mother.
“And I must apologize too for my own inaction. Had I asked more questions, or taken more initiative, I might have saved you
the pain and humiliation of being sent from your home, even if you have managed to end up in a better place.”
Beth slowly closes her book, considering James as he sits there, hoping his apology alone can suffice. She and Lady Havenfort
will never receive what they’re due from his stepfather, but then again, that’s not his stepfather’s place. James is Viscount
Demeroven. It’s up to him to make this right.
“If there is anything I can do now that I have my title, and the Demeroven fortune, anything at all, please tell me. As soon
as I came into the title, I should have made it right. But I was cowardly and took my terrible stepfather’s words as truth,
instead of coming to you and your mother. It was wrong, and I want to make amends.”
“James,” Beth says, her voice soft and a little hoarse.
“I want to make this right,” he insists, feeling an urgency and a simultaneous overwhelming relief. He’s said what needed
to be said, and now he can do what must be done.
Beth stands and James feels that relief flickering in his chest. He watches Beth walk around the table and tries to keep his back straight as she approaches his chair. Beth leans down and takes him by the shoulders, guiding him up so she can wrap her arms around him. James hesitates, and then hugs back, feeling like a giant weight has just come off his shoulders.
Beth pulls back, holding his biceps. She smiles, her eyes shiny. “I cannot tell you what it means to me to have what happened
acknowledged.”
“I could do more,” he insists, shifting to take her hands. “Please. Let me make this right.”
Beth shakes her head. “I don’t blame you for what your stepfather did to us, nor what my father did to us. That isn’t your
burden to bear.”
“But it is mine to make right,” James says, squeezing her hands. “And it’s taken me too long already.”
“It was a battle between our parents, and we’re not responsible for their mistakes. All I ask is that we do better,” Beth
says firmly.
The way she’s staring at him, collected, calm, and sure—she looks so like his aunt. “All right,” he agrees, because what else
can he do but do as she asks?
Beth smiles and pulls him in for another fast hug before releasing him to return to her seat. He stays standing, watching
as she settles herself and picks up her teacup. There’s relief and joy and pride humming through him, but it’s still not quite
right.
“You’re wrong, you know,” he says, slowly sinking back into his seat at Beth’s arched eyebrow. “I may not be responsible,
but I need to reckon with the mistakes of my predecessors to make the Demeroven name right.”
He winces. How easily he falls into old patterns, letting his words get ahead of him to insult her father...
“My father was a complete arse. And let’s be honest, your stepfather is too,” Beth says easily.
James snorts in surprise. “No argument here.”
“But I agree, it would be nice to see something good come from the Demeroven title. Something...” She trails off, eyes
fixed against the back wall.
“Agreed,” he says, the reality of their impending return sinking back onto his shoulders. “Obviously, I agree with Lord Havenfort’s
politics. It seems... inconceivable not to, so I will continue to... fight the good fight in the Lords.”
“Already an improvement over my father,” Beth says.
James raises his teacup and takes a sip, wishing it felt like more of an accomplishment. “Otherwise, I only know I want to
put the title toward something good. I just don’t know what that should be,” he admits.
Beth bobs her head, contemplative. “Whatever you decide, my mother and I will support you.”
“I’ll try to do the family proud, whatever I choose to do—whatever we choose to do,” he says, watching as she smiles. “You
may not have the name any longer, but you’ll always be part of the Demeroven title.”
Beth takes a deep breath, her eyes glistening. “We’ll make our own path?”
“Together,” James agrees, something like contentment settling into his bones.
“Dream bigger than our parents ever did,” Beth adds.
James feels himself smile. “I’ll cheers to that,” he says, raising his teacup. Beth smiles and does the same. They each take
a sip and Beth considers him for another moment before returning to her book, that smile still wide on her face, a little
knowing.
And finally, he feels true hunger, and tucks into his breakfast.