The Merchant and the Clergyman (5 page)

Shaw’s stare seemed so intent and focused,
James knew that anything he said would be taken seriously, so he
didn’t blurt out what he worried and wondered about. He rested his
chin on his palm, gazed into the fire, and tried think of what he’d
seen of Mrs. Darnley, a woman he rarely noticed.

His pause as he gathered thoughts proved too
much for his infernal guest, who took James’s silence to mean he
didn’t intend to speak at all.

“I need answers, Mr. Fletcher. Do not forget
that I hold some secrets about you, sir. I hesitate to use them
but…” The words trailed off, an implied threat.

Cold anger filled James. “You hold none of my
secrets, sir. I will not be coerced. I had planned to share my
observations, but I have changed my mind. I have had enough of your
family and its threats.” He rose to his feet and walked toward the
door. “This conversation is over.”

Shaw also rose to his feet. “I was wrong. I
am too anxious to learn what I can about my aunt, and I pushed you
too hard and in an unforgivable fashion. But please do forgive me
anyway.” To hear those almost abject words from someone who looked
like Kip seemed very odd.

James took a step away from the door and
gaped at Shaw, whose features were gilded by firelight. Shaw didn’t
move, and James only stared, until the strange moment proved too
strong and he looked away.

“I shouldn’t have threatened you, Mr.
Fletcher. I’m sorry.”

An actual apology—James shook his head in
astonishment.

Shaw misinterpreted the motion. “You don’t
forgive me? I suppose I can’t blame you.”

James was a diplomat, usually not entirely
honest, but from the first, this man had provoked him, and he
blurted, “You are rather like your cousin. You use charm and, when
that doesn’t work, threats. And you expect people to obey
instantly.” Those words seemed innocent as James said them, but
obey
had such a peculiar meaning to his secret self. His
face grew hot.

Shaw heaved a dramatic sigh and stepped
closer to James. “Alas, I suspect you are right. My family does
tend to breed the sort of man who is used to getting his own way.
You should see the stubbornness of our womenfolk.” Shaw gave a wry
smile. “My poor aunt excepted.”

His blue eyes weren’t so much like Kip’s
after all. Where Kip’s shone with malice, Declan’s merely had a
mischievous sparkle.

“I should bid you a good night.” Shaw touched
James’s shoulder, a friendly pat. James nearly jumped as the jolt
of unexpected desire struck him. Apparently, Shaw noticed nothing,
for he continued, “I grew so determined to find answers to my
questions as soon as possible, I forgot common courtesy.”

“Look, never mind. Just don’t…”
Don’t
touch me.
“Don’t threaten me. I’ll be glad to help you any way
I can.”

“You’re generous.”

“It’s no more than my duty to help my
parishioners,” James said, knowing he sounded sanctimonious. “So
what do you wish to know?”

Shaw returned to his chair near the fire.
This time, he didn’t pretend nonchalance. He leaned toward James,
elbows on knees. “Anything you can tell me about my aunt.”

“Ah, but I really can’t think of anything
helpful. I haven’t visited the Darnley family often since I moved
back to this area after seminary. In three years, I’ve been invited
to visit along with the vicar a handful of times. Hollister is a
great favorite at the hall.”

“Then there’s that mysterious past you share
with Kip. That would keep you from wanting to visit.”

“Hmm.” James would not grow uncomfortable, no
matter how closely Mr. Shaw studied him. He pointed out, “You wish
to know about Mrs. Darnley, not me.”

“You’re interesting as well.”

He ignored Shaw’s show of charm. “I knew Mrs.
Darnley to be a fine lady when I was a child, the times she made an
appearance at village gatherings. She was gracious and kind as she
handed out Christmas parcels or attended the harvest festival.
After I returned here to take up my post, she made a special effort
to welcome me, even though my position was beneath her notice. But
it seemed after her illness, she was less…” His voice trailed off
as he tried to think of a way to describe the change. “Less kempt”
seemed to fit. “I’ve heard others say she was always quiet in
company, not the one to lead conversation or even add many words.
But now she seemed almost drowsy, although once when I met her near
the village green, she appeared to be agitated, worried, though
unwilling to discuss the problem.”

“Didn’t you feel you should you should talk
to her? She is your parishioner.”

Another spark of indignation heated James.
“Mrs. Darnley is hardly dependent upon me. She has her family, her
servants, and many friends in the area. Mr. Hollister is a dear
friend of the family, and
he
is her spiritual guide. She
doesn’t need a curate to push his way through the crowd around her
to demand explanations, especially one who is her son’s age and
came from a humble background in the village.” He paused and added,
“You might have a private word with Mr. Hollister.”

“He is something of a sycophant to my uncle,
so I don’t know if I trust his judgment.”

James cleared his throat. “And yet you trust
mine?”

“Yes, indeed I do.” Declan ruined the
compliment by adding, “Although I am not sure why.”

James’s smiled then grew somber almost at
once. “The fact that you apparently don’t trust some people—does
that mean you think that Mrs. Darnley’s husband might have
something to do with her current condition?”

“I don’t know what I think yet. I’m disturbed
that my uncle seems uninterested in her changed manner. No one at
the dinner seemed to notice or care that she seems deeply sedated
by whatever Tarkington has prescribed for her.”

“What about…Kip?” James tried to sound
unconcerned, but he heard the pause before he said the name. “What
does he say? Or Miss Parker? She’s an intelligent lady, young and
infatuated, perhaps, but generally observant.” Observant except
when it came to Kip—but James was the last person who could toss
stones at that glass house. “She nursed her mother through a fatal
illness so she might have some insight about such drugs as
laudanum, or whatever the doctor has prescribed.”

“You really are the first person I’ve talked
to other than my uncle, and my aunt, who was in an alarming state
of agitation earlier.”

“Why me? You don’t know me.” Because of his
profession, James was used to the confidences and secrets of
others, but the way Declan Shaw seemed to trust his judgment felt
more flattering than it should. He must not think of that and
concentrate instead on a solution to Shaw’s family problem.

Declan Shaw studied James. James felt some
relief that only the fire and candle illuminated the room. Shaw
said, “That is a very good question, one I might have asked before
barging in here. It certainly isn’t because you’re a man of the
cloth.”

James said, “You’re Irish. Are you Roman
Catholic?”

Shaw gave a short humorless laugh. “There are
some of those in my family tree. I prefer to regard myself as a
free thinker. I think what I choose, and God hasn’t struck me with
a lightning bolt yet, so I suppose he doesn’t mind.”

James didn’t know what to say to that. He’d
learned rote answers for members of the flock who’d lost faith, but
rarely managed to use those answers properly. “Your aunt.” He
reminded them both of the purpose of Shaw’s visit. “You could talk
to the doctor and find out if the changes were gradual or sudden.
She
is
aging. Perhaps the wandering mind of the aged has
simply struck her rather early. Maybe whatever he’s given her is
exactly what she needs to calm her.”

“Dr. Tarkington is another good friend to
squire Darnley. He was at the dinner tonight. In fact, I begin to
suspect anyone of any consequence in this village is on good terms
with my uncle. He has that air of amiability.”

James sucked in a breath. “You truly do
suspect him of some hand in your aunt’s current condition.”

Shaw shrugged. “An unfounded suspicion, I’ll
admit, and yet intuition tells me something is amiss. Over the
years, I’ve learned to trust my intuition, as it has sometimes
saved me from folly or brought me success.”

James rose to poke at the fire, considering
Declan Shaw’s suspicions. For that matter, considering the man
himself. There was much to consider: his roguish charm, his
arrogance and overbearing attitude, the sense of capability he
exuded. James could well believe Declan could build an empire or
destroy someone who stood in the way of a business scheme.

That thought tickled something in his memory.
“Your family is…” It was most indelicate to discuss a person’s
income.

Declan stood and joined him by the fire, his
presence too close and distracting. “My family is what?”

“Well-off? That is to say, your aunt brought
money to the marriage?” James flushed and didn’t know if it was
because of the fire’s heat, his rude prying, or the man standing
beside him.

“Yes. A large dowry, I’m certain, though I
don’t know the amount. And she has a monthly stipend from her
family, the Hennessys. My mother’s family,” he explained. “Why? You
think my uncle intends to…do what, exactly? If my aunt were to die,
her income would cease, not be delivered to him in a lump sum. So
he’s controlling her money by keeping her
non compos
mentis
?”

“I couldn’t say. I wouldn’t suggest an
outlandish notion.” James could hardly think to answer as Declan
moved close, so close James imagined he could actually feel warm
breath gusting lightly against his cheek when Declan spoke. If
James stopped staring at the fire and turned toward the man, their
faces would be only a foot apart. His skin burned, and the rest of
his body followed, pulsing with the heat of desire.

This would not do at all. He must get this
man out of his house.

James hung the poker and moved away. “I shall
see what I can learn. For tonight, I have no suggestions to offer,
so I shall see you to the door. Again, I’d highly recommend
speaking to the doctor, who might be able to shed some light on
your aunt’s well-being.”

“I will, and I appreciate your help with this
matter. And your discretion.” Shaw smiled, and James moved even
farther away from him, as if this stranger were a flame that seared
him.

“As you say, Mrs. Darnley is my parishioner.
I shall do everything in my power to help her.”

Shaw seemed in no hurry to leave. He lingered
in front of the fire, the glow enhancing his features with warm
golden tones. James moved toward the door, wondering how else he
could make it clear he was ready for his late-night guest to
depart.

“As for the other. The secret between you and
Kip. The idea that you attacked him is laughable. But let’s just
say, if he wasn’t entirely lying, I wouldn’t reveal the truth to
anyone. What a man does with another in privacy is their business,
I’ve always thought. We all have parts of ourselves we hide from
the world.” Declan looked at James, and the weight of his stare was
palpable, probing, incisive. James shifted and squirmed under the
examination.

Shaw gave a single nod before turning on his
heel and heading past James toward the front of the house. “I shall
see myself out. I’ll speak with you again soon.”

Then he was gone, leaving James alone in
silence that absolutely vibrated with the words
“I’ll speak with
you again soon
.
”
Anticipation swelled within him as if
Shaw had made some sort of ulterior promise to do much more than
speak. But that was surely James’s own wayward impulses talking. If
he didn’t get a grip on himself soon, he’d lose his mind like poor
Mrs. Darnley.

Chapter Five

Declan stood on the curate’s doorstep,
breathing hard. He’d merely intended to reassure Fletcher that all
would be well and his secret was safe, but suddenly the moment had
turned into something more, pregnant with meaning and restless
tension. Dismay and an unwanted hum of anticipation shimmered
through him. Attraction reared its ugly head, and Declan had
sufficient experience to know this type of desire was difficult to
squelch. Better to simply give in to it, let the fever run its
course.

Declan had somehow assumed a spartan
aesthetic would permeate the curate’s house and was surprised to
find James Fletcher’s living quarters boasted a warm and homey
charm. A colorful hooked rug on the floor softened the warped
hardwood. The walls were painted in earthy tones, and pastoral
prints decorated them. He would’ve liked to see more, but Fletcher
had led him straight to the parlor.

Next time
, an inner voice promised.
Declan was fairly certain he would eventually see
all
of the
curate’s cozy abode, including the bedroom, but for now, he’d allow
James to think he had a choice, rather like a cat which let its
prey escape, then caught it over and over again.

“I’m not that cruel,” he muttered to himself
as he jammed his hands in his pockets and set off for the hall. But
a man like James
wanted
to be prey. He craved being handled
and forced just a little bit. Declan knew the type, and it was in
his nature to supply that force, that managing hand. Control and
yielding. His cock thickened at the images of Fletcher in all sorts
of interesting positions. Declan nearly licked his lips at the
thought. Heavens, maybe he was a mean old tomcat after all.

He diverted his attention from his burgeoning
erection by focusing on Mary’s mysterious condition. Perhaps he’d
completely overreacted with his crazy suspicions. Fletcher was
right to point out that she was growing older, and it was entirely
possible she’d simply lost her mind. It ran in the family. His
Grandma Hennessy had been batty and fearful about nonexistent
burglars toward the end. Even if Aunt Mary was becoming as mad as
her mother, Declan couldn’t shake the itchy feeling of something
not quite right. How horrible if his aunt truly was in jeopardy and
he abandoned her to her fate because he didn’t believe her
complaints.