The Merchant and the Clergyman (17 page)

So Declan wasn’t the only one who worried
about Mary Darnley and who wasn’t in awe of the squire. Good for
Emily. “I said nothing at all about my aunt to Miss Parker, I
promise you. And I’m going to dance the next mazurka with her.”

His uncle glared at him. “I am on to your
plans, sirrah, and if you try—”

“Enough, Uncle. I swear upon my life I am not
interested in the young lady in question or in interfering with
Kip’s wedding.”

He walked out into the cool evening, leaving
the noise and his uncle behind. A breeze picked up, and he gazed up
at the clouds skittering over the moon and wondered if it would
rain tonight or tomorrow.

He leaned against a low stone wall and turned
his attention to the lights of the ballroom. Declan had never felt
pity for Kip before this visit, but he’d never seen the unpleasant
side of his uncle. Now he felt sorry for Kip
and
for his
bride-to-be.

It was getting late. Would James wait for
him? When it came time to claim Miss Parker for the dance, he
reentered the ballroom. Her elaborate hair seemed to be escaping
some of its braids. She took his arm and clasped it tight as she
laughed with the grim air of a person determined to enjoy herself.
Declan had a sense of déjà vu and recalled a night in Belgium. He’d
spent the evening with a corporal before the soldier shipped off to
a warzone. That man had shown the same bleak and determined
giddiness as Emily Parker did now.

“Are you well?” he asked as he spun her into
the energetic dance.

“I’ve been drinking more than lemonade,” she
informed Declan.

“That explains a great deal,” he said. “I
hope you don’t wake up with a headache.”

She threw back her head and laughed as if
he’d said something utterly delightful.

She looked to the side, and there was Kip
watching them dance.

“I wonder, are you trying to make Kip
jealous?” Declan asked as they whirled across the room.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t wish to speak
about it any longer. What do you think we are having for the
supper?”

This was his chance to make excuses. “I know
the squire has ordered more than enough food, and his cook is
excellent, but I’m afraid I have no appetite for the meal. I must
solve an immediate problem that has cropped up.”

She nodded solemnly. “Indeed. I feel as if I
know exactly what you mean.”

He wondered if he should press her to find
out what that vague statement meant or what had suddenly made her
turn serious, but that might encourage a kind of intimacy he didn’t
think would benefit either one of them. James would know what to
say to her, of course. Declan imagined dragging James along with
him everywhere he went from now on, to interact with the world and
make his own manner appear sweeter. The idea made him smile. Miss
Parker didn’t notice, thank goodness, or she’d think he was
laughing at her.

They finished the dance with energy, though
Miss Parker no longer pretended to be delighted.

As the dance drew to a close, Declan said,
“Will you make my excuses at the supper, should anyone notice my
absence?”

“I’ll tell them you were overcome with
illness. Then they shall all worry about contagion.”

“You are a minx.”

Her smile seemed real now. “I never was
before, you know. I have always been a good girl.”

He said something weak such as “Of course,
you still are,” but he suddenly understood that his uncle’s fears
about the wedding were not baseless. He led her toward her next
partner. Her gloved hand on his arm seemed to tremble, and his
protective instinct overcame his promise to his uncle. “Miss
Parker. You do not seem entirely happy. I’m not very good at
talking through problems, but if you need advice, you can always
speak to Mr. Fletcher.”

“I have,” she said in a low voice.

“Oh,” Declan said. “Then I suppose if you
need anything else. Action, perhaps. Uh…” He didn’t like the way
she stared at him with hope. He hurried on, “What I should say is
I’m not going to sweep you off, you know.” He prayed he didn’t hurt
her feelings or embarrass himself by supposing more than he should.
“I’m not the sort of man to marry, but if you need money. Or a
train ticket or some such. If you have no friends you feel you can
trust, or if everyone has expectations of tomorrow that you can’t…
If you should decide… Well. I hope…” Her next partner came toward
them, and Declan gratefully stopped his stumbling speech.

He wondered if he’d ever in his life made
such an ass of himself.

She squeezed his arm and in a low voice said,
“Thank you. I think I understand that you would be my friend.”

“Yes,” he said. “That is indeed the
word.”

Declan watched Miss Parker’s partner lead her
to her place in a simplified quadrille. His uncle stood with other
gentlemen his age, pontificating about taxes and crop prices in a
voice loud enough to be heard over all other conversations. Kip
danced with a girl who looked enough like Miss Parker to be a
sister.

Declan walked into the dining room and found
platters of delicacies already set out for the dancers. A footman
placed a cruet stand near an epergne of fruit and flowers, then
hurried back toward the kitchen. While he was alone, Declan
hurriedly grabbed thick slices of ham, rolls, and pastries and
wrapped them in napkins, ruining the poor footman’s display.

A few small oranges from the family’s
orangery decorated the table. He grabbed one of them.

He bounded up the servants’ staircase to his
room, where he found a sack and loaded it with his spoils. He
considered changing his clothes but didn’t want to waste a single
minute. He hurried down the stairs, and, as he sneaked out the
door, he felt like a truant schoolboy. But the breeze skittering
across his face, the promise of seeing James again, banished every
other concern from his mind. He ran, laughing breathlessly as his
polished shoes slipped as if he ran on ice. Most definitely he
behaved more like a schoolboy than he ever did as a youth—though
tonight a very manly imagination spurred him on.

The walk to the abandoned mill was farther
than Declan wished, and because he had to travel through dark
woods, he couldn’t move quickly. When he reached clearings and the
moon shone bright, he ran as fast as he could so he was breathless
and sweating by the time he reached the large, vine-draped
building. At least some of the starch had gone out of his shirt.
Now it clung rather limply to his overheated body. His shirt was no
longer stiff as a board, his tie had been stuffed in a trouser
pocket, and he’d slung his jacket over one shoulder.

The vast mill wheel hadn’t turned in years,
due to the mere trickle of water that had once been a healthy
stream. Vines shrouded the wheel and grew over the roof of the
building—nature reclaiming her territory and giving the dark form
of the mill the hulking shape of a monster. A light shone through a
window of the stone building, welcoming Declan home, and when he
entered and beheld James sitting on a blanket near decaying wooden
bins which had once held grain, he knew he’d arrived. He was
exactly where he ought to be. The drift of dirt and dried leaves
covering the flagstones, the cobwebs that tickled his face as he
passed seemed charmingly romantic because James’s lantern-lit face
beamed with happiness at the sight of him. James scrambled to his
feet and stood, silhouetted against the massive grinding stone that
had remained unmoving for years.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” Declan
stripped off his waistcoat and rolled up his shirtsleeves before
producing the small packet of treats he’d brought. “I hope you have
an appetite. I’ve brought food from the party. Unfortunately, I
couldn’t figure out a way to hide an entire bottle of wine.”

“Never mind. I have one.” James indicated a
bottle in a basket near the blanket. He’d brought a pair of pillows
too, smart boy. “I’ve placed a layer of old burlap sacks under the
blanket to provide some cushion, so it may smell a little musty
but…” He trailed off. “You look so debonair in your evening
clothes. I feel country oafish in comparison.”

“Nonsense. You’re delectable.” Declan started
toward him. “But I’ll make a confession. I rather wish you’d worn
your clerical garb. It excites me to strip it from you.”

He moved in nearly chest to chest with James
without reaching out to touch him. He’d prolong the moments of
yearning and simply inhale the man’s scent. “I must confide
something else. I may not be wearing my bow tie, but I’ve brought
it along. I can picture it now, tied around your wrists. Would you
like that?”

James’s lust-darkened gaze turned up to his,
and the man simply nodded.

Declan leaned closer and whispered in his
ear. “When I saw the mill wheel outside, I thought how lovely it
would be to see you strapped to it, naked and spread-eagle, bound
fast and waiting for me to do with you as I please. Too bad we have
no rope and that the streambed is likely filled with stinging
nettles.”

Declan chuckled as James gave an excited
shiver at the idea of being bound to a mill wheel. This darling man
was a delight to paint fantasies for. “Right now,” Declan continued
to murmur softly, but in a tone that brooked no argument, “you
should kneel on the floor.”

James gave a low groan and sank down
immediately. He gazed expectantly up, awaiting Declan’s next order,
and Declan felt a few shivers of his own. There was no sight more
beautiful or erotic than that of James Fletcher in a pose of
submission.

“Take your shirt off so I can look at you,”
he ordered.

James complied while Declan shed his own
sweat-damp shirt.

“Your undershirt too,” he continued.

When they both were bare-chested, Declan
circled slowly around James, studying him from every angle. His
form was pleasing, as was the way his head automatically bowed
under Declan’s inspection.

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re a very
handsome man, with a comely face?” Declan asked.

James shook his head.

“But, as we’ve established, the ladies of
your flock swoon over you, so you can’t be unaware.”

Was that a blush? How absolutely
adorable.

“What of Kip? Did
he
never tell you he
found you attractive?” Declan continued circling, on his second
pass trailing his fingertips across James’s back from shoulder to
shoulder.

“No.” James’s head sunk lower, exposing the
vulnerable curve of his neck, which made Declan want to nip the
tender flesh. “He preferred insults over compliments.”

“Ah.” Declan shook his head. “More fool he.
Authority doesn’t have to go hand in hand with humiliation. Not the
mean-spirited sort anyway.” Now he was in front of James again, and
he bent to cup the other man’s chin and force his face up. “Look at
me, James Fletcher.”

When James’s gaze locked on his once more,
Declan told him in the gravest tone possible, “You are beautiful in
every way, and I want to shower you with affection, not flay you
with a tongue like a blade.” He slipped his hand around the back of
James’s neck and pressed a searing kiss to his mouth.

His own lips tingled when he pulled away.
“Now, I want you to crawl over to that sweet little nest you’ve
made up for us, take off the rest of your clothing, and await your
next order.”

James exhaled a soft groan of contentment
before moving to obey. The sight of him on hands and knees was
enough to make Declan even harder. He quickly removed the rest of
his clothes and dumped the formalwear in a pile. Cool night air
tickled his skin like fingertips as he strode over to James, now
nude and kneeling, head bowed in subservience.

Declan used his tie to loosely bind James’s
wrists together, and took the clean handkerchief from his jacket
pocket to blindfold him. “Enhances your other senses,” he
explained. “I want you to open yourself to all the sensations I
will give you.”

He rummaged in his small parcel of provisions
and found what he was looking for, a fig so sticky it clung to his
fingers. He smeared the dried fruit across James’s parted lips.
“Taste,” he ordered, and James licked his lips.

“Sweet,” James murmured. “Honeyed fig?”

“Indeed.” Declan smeared again, then leaned
close to kiss the sweetness from his lover’s mouth. The stickiness
made their lips cling together a little as he pulled away. With his
clean hand, he smoothed James’s hair back from his high brow. It
sifted like fine silk between his fingers.

Declan knelt before James and continued to
feed him morsels like a favored pet. A little cheese, a bit of
meat, wafer-thin slices of bread which were only slightly broken
from being stuffed in his pocket. He told James to tip his head
back and squeezed a wedge of orange so the tart juice poured into
his open mouth. Again, Declan licked and kissed that open mouth,
plunging his tongue inside and crushing their lips together with
bruising force.

James’s trusting willingness was coal to the
fire in Declan’s belly. He would love to thrust a lot more than
food into James’s mouth, but first… He uncorked the bottle of cheap
wine James had brought and again ordered his obedient partner to
tilt his head. Declan allowed the wine to trickle into James’s
mouth, but it also struck his lips and dribbled down his chin,
throat, and chest. Declan stooped to lick every drop from James’s
skin. The combination of fermented grapes and salty flesh was more
delicious than any famous chef’s concoction could ever be. James
whimpered and shifted as Declan tongue-bathed him all the way up to
his mouth, and when they kissed again, James reached with his bound
hands to grasp Declan’s cock.

Oh, it felt amazing, but an obedient man
mustn’t be allowed to touch without asking permission. Declan drew
back, leaving James leaning so precariously forward, he nearly
fell.