The Sugared Game (The Will Darling Adventures, #2)

by K.J. Charles

Kim raised a brow. “Do you always enter bedrooms so dramatically?”

“I suppose you want me to hit somebody for you.” “I was hoping to approach the subject with a little more finesse.” “Wrong shop. Whisky?”

“You’ve told me lots of things, and at least two-thirds were barefaced lies,” Will pointed out. “And I think you’ve just told me another, come to that.” “Me?” Kim said innocently.

Kim sighed. “Fate, then. Our wills and fates do so contrary run, and you are the most contrary of Wills.”

“The best defence is a good offence,” Kim said. “And I am nothing if not offensive.

Kim rose. “Let me know when to pitch up. I like the room, by the way.” It was an improvement on the crowded back-room of the shop where he’d lived for months but that was about all you could say for it. Kim had stained-glass lamps and original Pre-Raphaelites. Will had whitewashed walls and second-hand furniture. “It’s not much.” “It’s bare and efficient. Just how I think of you,” Kim said, and slipped off down the stairs without a farewell before Will could think of anything to say in reply.

“I know you’ve thought about this,” Will said. “But there are men in the world who aren’t queer or arseholes. Have you considered marrying one of them instead?”

Loving someone doesn’t oblige them in the slightest. It’s not like ‘good morning’, when you have to say it back.”

He was somehow managing to lie his arse off without technically telling a falsehood.

“I regret I have but one hideous garment to wear for my country.”

“You startled me with sympathy. Ah, Christ, Will.”

“Stop playing silly buggers.” “Silly buggers is what I do. There’s no point waiting for me to do otherwise. There’s no point waiting for me at all.”

“Beautiful.” “The scar?” “Yes.” “You’re bloody odd.” “Scars are always beautiful,” Kim said. “They’re proof we lived.”

Kim had no fresh scars, nothing within the last decade or more. Will had a crawling sort of worry that was because he’d found less visible ways to hurt himself.

“If what you believe in goes wrong, either you let go the belief, or you believe even harder.”

I’d chosen poorly. My idols were false, and for all my principles, the only person I had saved by not going to war was myself. Everyone who despised me for it had been right.”

He paid me a visit, and said he had a use for me. I told him it was more than I did, that I didn’t care if I lived or died, and he said excellent, that was exactly what he wanted.” “Charming.” “He saved my life. For his own purposes, of course, but he never claimed otherwise.

“This is a rule for you: you don’t use me to punish yourself. You don’t decide not to talk to me for two months to keep me out of danger or because you’re a terrible person who deserves to be alone, or any of that. I’ll tell you what I deserve, and what I want to be involved in, and I’ll let you know when I’ve done with you, same as you can me. Got that?”

“Just...” He didn’t know what to say. Stay with me. Talk to me. Hide in me if you have to. Don’t be alone. “Jesus. Kim.”

This was the wealthy son of a marquess, with his fiancée the daughter of a viscount, both of them scattering starlight everywhere. This was a man Will had no right to touch.

“It’s not like a title makes you better than me. You’re still a bloody unreliable twisty liar.” “A dab hand with a cocktail shaker, though,” Kim countered. “A ruthless son of a bitch.” “It takes one to know one.” Will stepped forward, bringing them close, watching Kim’s face. “And you’d still suck me off the minute I asked you to.” “Why would you have to ask?” Kim said, and dropped to his knees.

“I never asked you to wait,” Kim said, white-lipped. “That’s always your excuse, isn’t it? I never asked. You bloody did, Kim. Just because it’s not in words doesn’t mean you never asked, or promised, or made people hope. If you don’t want lovers or friends, stop fucking making them!” “Your expectations are your responsibility.” “Right, it’s my fault for asking too much, so now I’m embarrassed to tell you what a shit you are. Christ, the state of you. You’re so busy torturing yourself for your sins, you don’t even notice how much you’re hurting other people.”

“You dole out information like Lady bloody Bountiful at the village tea. Everything we do is on your timetable, your decision, and if I don’t like it I can leave.” “Yes. You can.” “That’s not a relationship!” Will shouted. “That’s not how you treat a friend or a lover or a partner, or any damn thing! ‘Take it or leave it’ is for customers, not people you care about. You’re meant to compromise, and find a way through, not just say this is how it is because you don’t have the guts to face up to things. You’re meant to give a damn when you hurt people!”

Will would have added an excuse. Kim simply turned back and walked on. Clearly being a lord meant not having to justify yourself. That explained a lot.

“Lovely,” Kim said. “So pleased you’ve brought a murder weapon to a house party.”

When people are obliged to keep an eye out for threats, their eyes tend to be sharp. That’s what women’s intuition means, if you ask me: being unconsciously alert for dangerous men.

Are you two planning to stop leaving a trail of dead? Because I’m not your damned housemaid.”

“I think—I flatter myself—that you want to know if I care for you. No: you must know that I do, so what you want is for me to say so, and I do, Will. I care for you far more than makes me feel safe. I want you, but you’re well aware of that. I feel at peace with you, and I don’t often feel at peace. And without excusing the trouble I have given you, it brings me to my knees that you’re strong enough to bear it. I wish I were worth you, Will.”