Thomas bit back a smile despite himself. Evan might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer—if anything, he was duller than a blunt spoon—but at least he was entertaining.
Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw the Earl of Aramanthe stand and move down the table, settling in the empty seat to Evan’s left. He didn’t say or do anything else, but Thomas’s curiosity was piqued. Perhaps the earl was hoping for a repeat of last night’s performance.
Conversation gradually picked up around the table, and it was when everyone was otherwise occupied that the earl leaned in close to the duke. Thomas took a subtle half step forward so he could hear better.
The earl spoke low and urgently. “I believe you have something of mine, Your Grace.”
The duke turned to face him, wide-eyed. “Have I?”
“Yes. That’s my coat you’re wearing, and I was wondering if I might have it back. It’s a favourite.” His hand darted out and he froze with his fingertips on the lapel, like he wanted to snatch the coat from Evan’s body but didn’t quite dare wrestle a member of the royal family out of his clothing.
Evan tilted his head, and his expression resembled that of a confused spaniel. “Why would I have your coat?”
The earl blinked. “We had… drinks last night, Your Grace.”
“Did we?”
The earl let out an indignant huff, nostrils flaring. “Surely you remember!”
Evan leaned forward, and just for a second, his vacuous expression brightened with a gleam of mischief. “Perhaps if you were to drop your trousers, it would help jog my memory?”
The earl made a choked sound, his face turning bright red. “I-I?—”
Evan laughed and wrapped an arm around the earl’s shoulders. “I was jesting, Remy. Of course I remember last night. How could I forget a lovely tight arse like that? It was delightful.”
Watching the array of emotions playing over the earl’s face as he decided whether to be flattered or scandalised at the duke speaking so freely about the state of his arse was the most entertaining thing Thomas had seen all week. The duke might be addlepated a lot of the time, but he kept things interesting.
In the end the earl gave a weak smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. I would quite like the coat back, though.”
“Of course. It doesn’t fit me anyway.”
Evan stood and peeled out of the too-long jacket, slinging it carelessly into the earl’s lap. Then he plopped back down in his seat, stretching his arms over his head and leaning back. The front legs of his chair lifted from the ground and the back legs scraped across the stone, leaving him balanced precariously. Thomas darted forward, gripped the duke’s shoulders from behind, and pulled him to his feet a bare second before the chair fell backwards from under him, the wood clattering loudly.
The duke staggered back and Thomas clamped an arm around his belly instinctively, holding him upright. Evan’s fullweight settled against Thomas’s chest, his dark hair brushing Thomas’s cheek as he let out a startled laugh. Thomas relaxed his grip and waited for Evan to step away, but the duke seemed content to stay where he was, which presented Thomas with a problem. As much as he was enjoying the heat of another man’s body, this was in no way appropriate. He could hardly stand here all morning cradling the duke.
He cleared his throat and removed his arm from Evan’s midsection. “Are you all right, Your Grace?”
Evan stepped from the circle of his arms and turned and perched his arse on the edge of the table, his eyes dancing with merriment. “You know, for somebody whose title is Your Grace, I really don’t have any at all, do I? Grace, that is.”
Thomas bit his lip. The duke wasn’t wrong, but Thomas wasn’t about to agree with him. Helikedhis job, thank you, and planned to keep it.
It seemed Evan wasn’t expecting a reply. He shoved off the edge of the table, wobbling slightly when he stood. “I think I shall go and recover in my rooms.”
Then he leaned over and stole a slice of toast and jam from the king’s plate before strolling from the room in a slow, rolling gait that would have been more at home in a bordello than a castle.
Thomas wondered briefly how it was that a person who was so inherently clumsy could somehow move with all the fluidity of a prowling tomcat before pushing the thought aside. There was only one thing he knew for sure about Evan Devere, Duke of Ravenport.
Attractive or not, he was a right royal pain in Thomas’s arse.
Chapter Two
Thomas stifled a yawn and subtly arched his back, trying to stretch out the stiffness that came from standing in one spot for hours. He hadn’t expected today’s trade talks to take so long, but the light filtering through the window of the chancellor’s office had softened from the brightness of midday to late afternoon hues, and still here he stood watching over the king and the prince as the day dragged on.
The trade talks weresupposedto be a formality.
Thomas had been under the impression that this was just a renewal of the standing agreements with the neighbouring kingdoms, who traded a percentage of their raw materials for port access. The whole affair was generally cut and dried—a several weeks’ long diplomatic exercise consisting of balls and dinners and plenty of good wine followed by some token negotiations, after which everyone would go home happy.
And most of the negotiations had gone exactly as planned—a signature, a handshake, and a glass of wine to celebrate.
