#spevor

“Were you having a go at me before?” Trevor demands.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You told me your name was Spencer! And then there I was yesterday evening, talking to one of the other gentlemen about the few other acquaintances I’ve managed to make here, and I have to learn from him that you’re Lord Charles Agnew.”

Ah. So that’s it then.

Spencer presses his tongue into the lower corner of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to deceive the lad, not exactly. But he should’ve known better. Anonymity is a gift that was stripped from Spencer at the moment of his birth.

“I hate the name Charles,” he eventually says. “It’s my grandfather’s name. Never suited me.”

Trevor, however, does not seem ready to accept that as an answer.

“We talked for hours. Surely you had ample opportunity to confess who you truly are. Therefore, I can only assume you were having me on. Were you testing me? Trying to see what you could trick me into saying in front of a Marquee’s son?”

He wasn’t. If anything, it was the opposite, though Spencer can’t admit to that. Instead he just shrugs.

“I hate my father too. I make it my personal mission to bring him up as little as possible.”

Finally he seems to have said something right. Trevor’s eyes drag over Spencer’s face, as if he’s still searching for some form of deceit, but eventually his shoulders sag as the fight leaves his body.