Convincing Arthur (London Legal Book 1)

Convincing Arthur

London Legal, Book #1

Ava March

A holiday in the country to indulge his wildest fantasies…

Arthur Barrington knows exactly what he wants. His old friend, Leopold Thornton, an overindulged son of a wealthy viscount with a reputation for vice and debauchery, couldn’t be less of a good candidate. Yet when Leopold extends an invitation to his country estate, Arthur agrees. Perhaps a holiday with the sinfully beautiful man will help him get over a recent breakup. Then he can return to his thriving London law practice and resume his quiet life.

Ten years ago, Leopold learned the hard way that patience doesn’t always have its rewards. Now he has only a few days to open Arthur’s eyes to the possibility that he’s the man Arthur is looking for. That his love is genuine—and he’s worthy of Arthur’s heart.

Warning: Includes a gorgeous bad boy who’s been in love with a conservative solicitor for a decade. Indecent acts in a forest between two hot men. Angst. And expectations turned upside down.

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Convincing Arthur

London Legal #1

Published by Ava March at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 by Ava March

3rd Edition

Cover Art: Kim Killion

All rights are reserved. No part of this work may be sold, manipulated, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not construed to be real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely incidental.

Warning

This work contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Intended for adult audiences only, 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.

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DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. The author will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in this title.

Convincing Arthur

London Legal, Book #1

Ava March

Dedication

To my family and friends, who make my world a better place.

Chapter One

November 1821

Yorkshire, England

The deep amber rays of the setting sun gently receded, cloaking the study in twilight shadows. Sprawled in a comfortable leather armchair, Leopold Thornton glanced over his shoulder. The lit candle on the fireplace mantel illuminated the white porcelain clock.

Damn.

He yanked his pocket watch from his waistcoat and scowled at the small black hands. Apparently the clock on the mantel wasn’t broken. In any case, clocks in need of repair 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-gray stallion, yesterday afternoon to verify the excellent condition of the roads surrounding his Yorkshire country home.

Ignoring the untouched glass of whisky and the nearly full bottle on the small table beside his chair, he stood and crossed to the window. He pressed his cheek to the glass, trying to get a glimpse of the gravel drive leading to the front door, but the large oak trees blocked his view. Why did the architect have to put the study on the side of the house? Bloody idiot.

Maybe he should move to the drawing room. The two windows afforded an unobstructed view of the front lawn. But…no. Cold seeped through the glass, chilling his cheek, reminding him in no uncertain terms that it was November. The fire a maid had lit hours ago in the study’s hearth warmed the room. But as he rarely used the drawing 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 flanked by tall bookshelves to his rarely used desk, which dominated the end of the room, and then back, passing the unread books, the armchairs and the leather couch, and to the door and back again. The silvery violet shadows grew darker as night descended, until only the candle on the mantel lit the room. Possible excuses for Arthur’s tardiness tumbled about in his head. Perhaps a client had needed his assistance, delaying his departure from London. A busy, successful solicitor like Arthur must surely have demanding clients. Leopold’s own father, Viscount Granville, being one of them. But Arthur 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 to block out the days.

There was no family to keep Arthur in Town with unexpected demands on his time. He was an only child, and his parents had passed away long before Leopold had first laid eyes on him. The uncle who raised him had gone to his grave years ago. And there 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 door opened, revealing Jones, his middle-aged footman. The man had an unattractive receding hairline and a well-fed belly, but his competence in his duties and his ability to hold 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 than I. His knotted stomach could not tolerate a piece of bread right now, much less roasted chicken with carrots and potatoes, Arthur’s favorite.

Thank you, sir. With a tip of his head, the footman left the room. The door clicked shut.

Fucking hell.

Leopold stalked to the armchair, snatched the glass from the side table and downed 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 that Leopold hadn’t borne his fair share of them over the years with nary a flinch, but this one had come from Arthur Barrington. It hurt more than he could have believed that the man had given him hope only to snatch it away, without even speaking one word.

To think he had actually believed Arthur when he accepted Leopold’s invitation for a short holiday at his country estate. Knowing Arthur rarely had the opportunity to indulge his fondness for hunting and shooting, Leopold had tempted him with the prospect of early mornings trudging about the countryside with firearms searching for pheasants.

But even that wasn’t enough of an incentive to put up with my presence, he muttered, as he stared into his empty glass.

His chance was gone. Yanked from his grasp by Arthur himself.

His hand shook, the clink of glass on glass harsh on his ears as he poured a healthy splash of whisky into the cut-crystal tumbler. The second glass went down easier, the first tendrils of blissful numbness spreading across his chest. Another large swallow, and then another, until the pain was finally reduced to a