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Rage flashed across Milton s bloated face. Displaying far more strength than a drunk should possess,
Milton jerked hard, pulling Henry forward. Using the momentum to his advantage, Henry landed with his
knee on the small of Milton s back, pressing the man flat on the bed. Twisting Milton s arm behind his
back, Henry held him down.
Get the fuck off me! Milton thrashed, pushing the pillows off the bed and knocking a wine glass off
the bedside table.
Settling all his weight onto his knee, Henry tightened his hold and wrenched the man s arm higher up
his back.
Milton let out a pained grunt and tried to throw him off. You bastard!
Cease!
At the authority in Arsen s voice, both men stilled.
Henry glanced up.
Arsen stood next to the bed, a look of severe displeasure on his face. What appeared to be Bordeaux
stained the sleeve of his white shirt and dripped from the tips of his long fingers. Quit behaving like an
arse, Milton. You re in the wrong room, you damn fool.
Milton turned his head left and right as much as he could in his current position. His low rumbling
growl vibrated Henry s knee. I hate the color pink.
As do I. Now will you behave yourself? Eyes narrowed and green depths glinting with an
undisguised threat, Arsen stared down at him.
Yes, Milton grumbled.
All right then. Arsen glanced to Henry. Let him up.
Suppressing a few choice words, he gave the man s arm one last twist before releasing him. He got
off the bed and tugged on the end of his coat to straighten it.
Raising one eyebrow, Arsen glanced to him and let out a barely audible harrumph.
Henry lifted his chin, not caring if Arsen was annoyed at him for interceding. He may not be fond of
his own size, but it did prove useful at times.
Milton slowly pushed up. Swaying slightly from side to side, he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed
his hands over his face. His bloodshot gaze swept the room, stopping on Henry. His fleshy lips curled.
Shaw. Always toadying up to Somerville. Kissing his arse. Milton let out a snort of contempt. You d
like to, wouldn t you, Shaw? He looked to Arsen. You should let him, Somerville. Bet he s good.
For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the faint squeal of a woman from down the
corridor.
Shaw. Call for a footman, Arsen said, his tone one of patent boredom. His attention never wavering
from Milton, he flicked his fingers to the burgundy stain on the cream patterned rug. This needs to be
cleaned before Miss Cassandra retires for the night.
But Henry s feet wouldn t move. His pulse pounded in his ears. Deafeningly loud. Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Now, Shaw. Before the stain sets in.
He turned and forced his legs to take him across the room. His hand shook as he grasped the knob and
opened the door. Stopping next to the nearest footman, he cleared his constricted throat. Lord Somerville
needs your assistance.
The burly footman gave him a deferential tip of the head and walked to the room.
Closing his eyes, Henry clenched his fists.
Enough. He would not be made the brunt of an arse like Milton s jokes.
This infatuation was over.
Finished.
Shoulders slumping, he dropped his chin to his chest and let out a heavy exhale. The tension slipped
from his body. His fists unclenched. His arms hung limply at his sides. Oddly, he felt no pain. The vicious
beast that had once gnawed at his chest was gone. He felt& nothing. Only emptiness. Vast, hollow, endless
emptiness.
He heard the sound of footsteps approaching yet he didn t move. He just stood there wanting only to
be left alone.
A soft bundle hit his chest. Reflexively he caught it and opened his eyes. In his hands was a black silk
embroidered waistcoat, the fabric still warm. He looked up to see Arsen s white shirted back striding down
the corridor.
Henry quickly glanced over his shoulder. Dark hair disheveled, Milton staggered in the opposite
direction.
Shaw.
His head snapped around at the sound of Arsen s voice. What, no come along ?
Continuing down the corridor, Arsen flexed his right hand by his side then disappeared into a room at
the end.
Henry meant to stay where he was, but his legs moved. Just need to return his waistcoat, he
mumbled. He had no use for it certainly wouldn t fit him and he sure as hell wasn t going to keep some
token of Arsen like a lovelorn fool. The garment clenched in one fist, he followed for the last time.
After closing the door behind him, he passed through a darkened room and went into the next. As the
knob clicked shut on that door, he paused. His lips pulled in a smirk devoid of all humor. He trained you
well, Shaw.
He turned from the door. Somerville The words stopped in his throat.
His back to Henry, Arsen pulled his shirt over his head. Ruined, he grumbled, tossing the shirt to
the floor.
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