Bennet, Pride Before the Fall (Love Austen 3)

Darcy ushered him in, and Bennet slung an arm around his brother’s neck, moving him deeper into the house like it were his own. “This is a nice surprise.”

“It started raining and this place was closer than home.” Lyon shook his head and droplets of water hit Bennet’s neck. “Kinda regretted that choice the moment I saw his face.”

Darcy coughed, and Bennet took the hint. Darcy could hear every traded word.

“His face makes me regret some things, too.”

An amused sound came from behind them.

They moved into the gloriously red living room that Bennet had missed so much. “Dinner’s over. But you’re in time for a game.”

Lyon stood stiffly, hands shoved in his pockets as he glared at all the gothic furniture.

Darcy moved toward the large floor-to-ceiling shelves that flanked the wall. “I thought we could play Scrabble.”

Lyon scoffed.

“But I’m happy to let you decide, Lyon.”

Lyon shrugged.

“Choose a game,” Bennet urged.

Scowling, Lyon scanned the shelf. “Anything?”

“Chess. Checkers. Cards. Any game you like.”

A smug look crossed Lyon’s face as he pulled out Twister. Bennet’s eyes narrowed.

He pushed to his feet. “That’s not the most—”

“No,” Darcy interrupted, eyes glued on Lyon. “If that’s his choice, it’s okay.”

Lyon’s insolent grin grew. “It’s my choice. And I’ll spin the dial.”

He set up the game and Bennet folded his arms, biceps bumping Darcy’s as they waited.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Darcy scrubbed his jaw. “I’ve never played. The kids used to, though. I get the idea.”

“He’s trying to wind you up.”

“I know.”

“You’re letting him?”

“I want him to trust me. I said he could choose and it’s important I show him I mean what I say.” Lyon spun the dial and gestured to the plastic sheet of colored circles.

“Darcy, right foot blue.”

Darcy stepped forward.

“Besides. It’ll be good for me. Outside my comfort zone.”

Bennet flushed, remembering his baiting words at Shear-A-Sheep Day. Darcy placed his right foot on blue, and looked over his shoulder at Bennet. This time there was no trick of the light. As clear as . . . Darcy’s eyes were twinkling with amusement.

“Benny,” Lyon said tightly, “Right foot, yellow.”

Bennet took up next to Darcy, and immediately Lyon called out for Darcy to move his left foot on green—on Bennet’s other side. One look at Lyon’s face said he’d constructed the situation on purpose. He wanted to make Darcy pay for what he’d done with William by forcing him to be close to a man, which, as far as Lyon knew, Darcy feared.

Darcy was tense as he stepped around him, his chest and crotch inadvertently pressing against Bennet’s back and ass.

“It’s okay,” Darcy rumbled in his ear, somehow knowing that Bennet was preparing to scold Lyon. “He’s trying to make me crack.”

Lyon called for Bennet’s hand to touch a color that—if done comfortably—would make their position even more lewd. Bennet whispered, “If you want to make him crack first, you have my absolute permission to make this as sexy as you like.”

Bennet bent slowly to that comfortable circle and made a happy murmuring sound. At Lyon’s next directive, Darcy curled himself warmly around Bennet’s back.

Darcy’s chin bumped against his shoulder as he spoke. “This okay?”

“God, yes,” Bennet exclaimed seductively, and it wasn’t entirely an act. A shiver trembled through him. “You fit perfectly around me. You’re so large.”

Lyon dropped the spinner. “Okay, okay. I give in. Stop it. You’re scarring me for life.”

Darcy immediately stood and helped Bennet to his feet with light touches to his elbow and wrist. They glanced briefly at one another. Bennet could feel the reflection of Darcy’s flushed cheeks on his own face. Lyon rubbed his eyes, drawing his focus.

“Don’t ever force someone to do something they dislike again,” Bennet said coldly. Darcy placed a steadying hand on his shoulder when his voice started to rise.

“Can I?”

Bennet stopped gritting his teeth and nodded. “Darcy is welcome to say his piece,” he said to Lyon. “I want to be clear on something else too. If you’re angry at him for telling William to back off, then you’re angry at me too. Darcy only did what I needed to do and would have done. I’m thankful for it. So whatever anger you have at Darcy, you may as well aim it at me.”

He turned abruptly, avoiding Darcy’s eyes, and packed the game away. His anger, so strong and sudden, was directed at Lyon but disappointment also festered underneath. As though Lyon was forcing him to end this friendship with Darcy and the responsible thing was to stand by his brother.

Darcy confronted Lyon, crouching before him at the sofa. “You’re angry.”

“You’re a genius.”

Darcy deftly ignored the sarcasm. “What I did—what your brother wants—is to keep you safe. It might not feel like it, but this comes from a place of caring.”

“Fine. Yeah. Whatever.” Lyon pushed to his feet, leaving Darcy staring at an empty couch, and strode for the door. “I’m going home. Have fun fucking.”