“I hope you realise,” he said in a mock-serious tone, “if you deploy that snowball, I will have no option but to take that as a declaration of war and act accordingly.”
Sam’s only response was to raise his eyebrow, pull his arm back, and let fly.
Jasper barely had time to duck. Sam’s snowball glanced his ear as he went to one knee and began scooping.
Moments later, he was back on his feet with two weapons in hand, but no sooner had he straightened than he was hit, full in the face, the snow exploding on impact. He recoiled, laughing and spluttering, having lost one of his two pieces of ammunition. He threw the other too quickly, too haphazardly, wasting the effort of having made it.
“Ha!” Sam shouted. “I see you’re still pitiful at this! I’m going to beat you one-handed!”
Jasper spluttered out an inappropriate laugh. “You’ll pay for that!” he promised.
The next few minutes were chaotic as the two men hastily made and threw snowballs at one another without pause. How Sam was managing, Jasper had no idea—he didn’t have time to check—but somehow Sam was not only managing, it seemed he was easily surpassing what Jasper managed to produce.
Somehow, Sam managed to force Jasper to retreat, advancing on him with all the relentlessness of Wellington himself. At last, cornered, Jasper could only watch as Sam stalked towards him, a truly colossal snowball at the ready and a wicked smile on his face. Holding up a hand in surrender, gasping with helpless laughter, his sides aching, Jasper cried, “All right, I give in! I can’t take any more!”
Sam halted his advance, weighing the weapon in his hand. “So I can’t make use of this?”
“Not now,” Jasper exclaimed, outraged. “I’ve surrendered! That would be dishonourable!”
Sam huffed at that, but he threw the snowball aside—only for Jasper to pull his other hand out from behind his back, yell, “Honour be damned!” and throw his own last snowball at Sam with an unholy cry of triumph.
To his horror, though, when the snowball hit, Sam gave a startled yell and fell to his knees in the snow, clutching his face with his right hand.
“Sam!” Jasper shouted, alarmed, and ran towards him. Had there been a stone in there he hadn’t noticed?
Jasper fell to his knees in the snow next to Sam. “Oh hell, are you all right, Sam? Sam?”
And that was when Sam grabbed him, his arm snaking round Jasper’s waist and twisting him onto his back in the thick snow.
“Cheat me, would you?” he chuckled, straddling Jasper’s writhing body as Jasper gasped with helpless laughter. Sam scooped up a handful of snow and tried to force some down Jasper’s neck while Jasper struggled and tried to wrestle him off. They tussled for a minute, both laughing like idiots until… until suddenly they weren’t laughing anymore. Suddenly, Sam was crouched over Jasper’s body, and his handsome face was very serious. Serious and the most beautiful thing Jasper had ever seen.
Sam said hoarsely, “I’ve spent the last five years regretting running away from that kiss, down by the lake.”
Jasper’s heart felt rather as though it might have entirely stopped. He could not move nor speak nor even breathe as he waited for Sam to continue.
“I used to lie awake at night in Portugal and imagine how things could have been, if I’d had the courage to stay—if I’d kissed you back.”
Jasper’s heart was thudding so hard he felt sure Sam must hear it. “Kiss me now, then,” he whispered.
Sam swallowed nervously, but he lowered his head, his face hovering above Jasper’s for a long, tense moment before he gave a helpless groan and crushed their mouths together.
Somehow, Jasper had expected something tentative, something soft and unsure, but there nothing unsure about this. Sam’s lips were on his and his tongue was sliding into Jasper’s mouth, deepening the kiss, the fingers of his right hand sinking into Jasper’s hair.
Jasper wound his arms about Sam’s neck and kissed him back eagerly, intoxicated by his scent and the powerful press of his body against Jasper’s.
After a minute of frantic kissing, Jasper tore his mouth away, gasping.
Sam blinked at him dazedly. His mouth was deliciously swollen from their kisses. “Is something wrong?”
Jasper shook his head. “I was just wondering if we might continue this somewhere a bit warmer. Your bedchamber perhaps?”
Chapter Seven
Sam
The house was very quiet when they went back inside. Most of the servants had retired, but Hobbs intercepted them in the hallway.
“The breakfast room has been cleared now, sir,” he told Sam, “but I can have the fire in the drawing room built up and fetch you some more wine if you would like?”
“Thank you, Hobbs, but there’s no need,” Sam said, trying to sound calm and not like a man impatient to be gone so he could indulge in earthly pleasures. “We’re both retiring for the evening. Do you have a candle we can take upstairs?” The candles in the wall sconces beside the main staircase were still lit, but further up, on the next floor, the stairwell and corridors would likely be dark by now.
“Of course, sir,” Hobbs said, passing his own chamberstick to Sam. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Sam said. “Unless Mr. Huxley requires anything?” He glanced at Jasper who shook his head, smiling.
“Very good, sir,” Hobbs said and melted away.
Excitement and nerves sparked in Sam’s belly as he began to climb the stairs, absurdly conscious of Jasper climbing behind him, their dual footfalls slightly out of time on the wooden treads.
When they reached Sam’s door, he passed the chamberstick to Jasper to hold while he pushed the door wide and stood aside in invitation.
Jasper walked past him, his expression curious, and Sam followed, feeling curiously exposed.
The bedchamber was lit only by the warm glow of the banked fire behind the fireguard and the single candle Jasper held. Perhaps that was why it was only once they were both inside, with the door firmly closed behind them, that Sam had realised something rather mortifying: his false arm was still lying on the bed, looking oddly like an abandoned toy.
Sam wanted to push past Jasper and grab the arm. Throw it into some drawer so that Jasper couldn’t see it. But it was too late. Jasper had already seen it. He was standing beside the bed, staring down at the contraption in fascination. Staring at the smooth beechwood of the limb, the carefully carved fingers, the leather harness and straps.
Softly, he said, almost wonderingly, “In a strange way, it’s rather beautiful.”
Sam gave an odd, strained laugh at that, and then he did move forward, picking up the arm and busying himself with putting it away in the armoire.
When he turned back, Jasper was watching him curiously. “Why didn’t you wear it tonight?”
“My”—my stump—“arm was rather uncomfortable. I was wearing it all day, you see, and it rubs on the—well, it rubs.”
It rubs on my stump.
He couldn’t bring himself to say the actual, ugly words aloud.
“I prefer to pin my sleeve,” he added honestly. “Mostly I wear the arm out of habit and to please my mother—she prefers it.”