Convincing Arthur Ava March

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.CONVINCING ARTHURAva Marchwww.loose-id.comWarningThis e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may beconsidered offensive to some readers.Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adultsONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.* * * * *DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that mightbe found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experiencedpractitioner.Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss,harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of itstitles.Convincing ArthurAva MarchThis e-book is a work of fiction.While reference might be made to actual historicalevents or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either theproduct of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance toactual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirelycoincidental.Published byLoose Id LLC870 Market St, Suite 1201San Francisco CA 94102-2907www.loose-id.comCopyright © July 2009 by Ava MarchAll rights reserved.This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY.Nopart of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed orelectronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.Please do notparticipate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author'srights.Purchase only authorized editions.ISBN 978-1-59632-979-9Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS ReaderPrinted in the United States of AmericaEditor: G.G.RoyaleCover Artist: April MartinezDedicationTo SharonChapter OneNovember 1821Yorkshire, EnglandThe deep amber rays of the setting sun gently receded, cloaking the study intwilight shadows.Sprawled in a comfortable leather armchair, Leopold Thorntonglanced over his shoulder.The lit candle on the fireplace mantel illuminated the whiteporcelain clock.Damn.He yanked his pocket watch from his waistcoat and scowled at the small blackhands.Apparently the clock on the mantel wasn't broken.In any case, clocks in need ofrepair tended to slow down, not speed up.He slipped his watch back into his pocket and scrubbed both hands over his face.“Where the hell are you?”Arthur Barrington should have arrived hours ago.And not just a couple of hours,but many hours ago.The autumn weather had been remarkably cooperative of late,with barely a sprinkle of a rain shower.Leopold had even taken out Vice, his iron gray2Ava Marchstallion, yesterday afternoon to verify the excellent condition of the roads surroundinghis Yorkshire country home.Ignoring the untouched glass of whisky and the nearly full bottle on the smalltable beside his chair, he stood and crossed to the window.He pressed his cheek to theglass, trying to get a glimpse of the gravel drive leading to the front door, but the largeoak trees blocked his view.Why did the architect have to put the study on the side ofthe house? Bloody idiot.Maybe he should move to the drawing room.The two windows afforded anunobstructed view of the front lawn.But…no.Cold seeped through the glass, chillinghis cheek, reminding him in no uncertain terms that it was November.The fire a maidhad lit hours ago in the study's hearth warmed the room.But as he rarely used thedrawing room, its hearth would be dark, leaving the room damn cold.Scowling at the oak trees, he let out a frustrated sigh, his breath fogging the glass.Then he turned from the window and began pacing.Past the marble fireplace flankedby tall bookshelves to his rarely used desk, which dominated the end of the room, andthen back, passing the unread books, the armchairs, and the leather couch, and to thedoor and back again.The silvery violet shadows grew darker as night descended, untilonly the candle on the mantel lit the room.Possible excuses for Arthur's tardinesstumbled about in his head.Perhaps a client had needed his assistance, delaying hisdeparture from London.A busy, successful solicitor like Arthur must surely havedemanding clients.Leopold's own father, Viscount Granville, being one of them.ButArthur defined punctual.Leopold couldn't recall the man ever being late for anything.Perhaps Arthur had mistaken the date? No, no.He had checked his schedule.Even pulled the little leather-bound book from his coat pocket and written a note toblock out the days.There was no family to keep Arthur in Town with unexpected demands on histime.He was an only child, and his parents had passed away long before Leopold hadConvincing Arthur3first laid eyes on him.The uncle who raised him had gone to his grave years ago.Andthere were no other obligations beside his office that Leopold knew of.But perhaps—The click of a knob turning interrupted his pacing.He whirled around as the dooropened, revealing Jones, his middle-aged footman.The man had an unattractivereceding hairline and a well-fed belly, but his competence in his duties and his ability tohold his tongue more than made up for his appearance.“Mr.Thornton, shall I instruct the kitchen to continue to hold supper?”“No.” Leopold shook his head.“Give it to the staff.They'll appreciate it more thanI.” His knotted stomach could not tolerate a piece of bread right now, much less roastedchicken with carrots and potatoes, Arthur's favorite.“Thank you, sir.” With a tip of his head, the footman left the room.The doorclicked shut.Fucking hell.Leopold stalked to the armchair, snatched the glass from the side table, anddowned the contents in one swallow.The whisky burned a searing path to his stomach,leaving his throat numb, but did nothing to dull the pain in his chest.He could fool himself no longer.Arthur had given him a rather sharp cut.Not thatLeopold hadn't borne his fair share of them over the years with nary a flinch, but thisone had come from Arthur Barrington.It hurt more than he could have believed thatthe man had given him hope only to snatch it away, without even speaking one word [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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