Arthur leaned towards Selwyn's touch to his arm without meaning to; even with his inner turmoil, the kiss and light touches were very welcome. So it was about intimacy, at least a little — intimacy or physical touch or whatever. He mirrored Selwyn's grin — Art's was a little tired around the edges, like the sex had worn him out and maybe it had. He tossed the towel back towards the nightstand when he was done with it. (Selwyn seemed like the sort of person who had servants who would deal with this later.)

Art pushed himself on his elbows. "Mm, well you can rest assured that I've had fun," he said cheerfully. (That was the thing — he had enjoyed himself, even as he did one of the few terrible things he had never done before. Cheating on his wife had felt good. Fuck.) "And —" he regretted saying it before he did too "— I hope I've been an entertaining guest."

---

Emrys offered him a wicked grin. "Quite entertaining," he agreed. He hadn't expected to have any liaisons tonight at all, and certainly hadn't expected to have one with Pettigrew, which brought back the comment he'd made earlier: this man was surprising, in the most delightful ways. Emrys wanted to ask some probing questions to see if there was much chance of repeating the encounter, but he couldn't decide which tactic to employ. The first thing that came to mind was asking if Pettigrew did this sort of thing often, but suppose the answer was no? Emrys didn't really have any desire to hear about Pettigrew's wife, at least not right now — particularly since, if Meredith Watchword was to be believed, there was significant trouble in paradise for the pair of them. That sounded tedious to listen to, and Pettigrew probably didn't want to tell him anyway — it wasn't as though they were friends, or anything.

Emrys shifted his attention down to his fingernails and frowned faintly. "Speaking of host duties, though; I probably ought to go make another round. Ensure no one's stealing away with my candelabras or setting the sofa on fire," he joked with a light shrug. Sliding his eyes back over to Pettigrew, he continued with a mischievous glint to his eye, "If you're not in a hurry we could go another round later." Without waiting for a response, he pushed himself up off the bed and started to get his pants back on. "But only if you want. It won't hurt my pride if you leave."

---

"I think I have to go," Art said, less because he had anywhere pressing to be and more because he did not think he could mill about this party with everything they'd just done hanging around in his head. He smiled wryly. "Maybe another time." Maybe, maybe, maybe. He had to stop saying maybe, because then it would happen, and if it did — well, if it did, what kind of person was he?

He was pretty sure the answer was not a good one, but he hadn't settled on it yet.

When Selwyn was gone, Arthur got himself together and went back to London.

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