The Merchant and the Clergyman (9 page)

Please, please do
. “Thank you.” He
felt as if he’d run a thousand miles and his heart wouldn’t catch
up. It never would.

“You’re crying.”

“No, nonsense.” He shivered. He refused to
cry. It was absurd.

Declan Shaw pulled out a large white
handkerchief and pushed it into his hand. “I apologize,” he said
and sounded solemn and in pain.

James couldn’t allow Shaw to think all the
nonsensical trembling objections were his fault. So, for the first
time in his life, James tried to find the words. He opened his
mouth, breathed out a sigh, and said, “No, it’s not you.”

He impatiently wiped at his face.

“Sit down,” ordered Shaw, and of course, he
obeyed. “You look pale as a sheet. Christ, James, I’m sorry that I
frightened you. Beastly thing to do to you, particularly after Kip.
I feel simply horrid that I misinterpreted—”

“
No!
” James had to push out the word,
and they both seemed a bit shocked that it emerged as a shout. “I
beg your pardon.” That came out easily. Apologies usually did.

Shaw leaned across the table, poured a glass
of wine, and handed it to James. He waited until James took a sip
before he pulled a chair close. Their knees almost touched. James
wished Shaw would hitch forward just a couple of inches so he could
feel even the smallest contact with him again. Naturally, Shaw
wouldn’t, because he wasn’t a brute. A gentle man who could enjoy
kissing other men? James should have known such a person existed.
He hadn’t been sheltered in this small village forever, after all.
He’d been to London. And he himself wasn’t a terrible person,
usually.

“James, what are you thinking? I can tell
you’re blaming yourself for what just happened. Don’t be a fool. I
take full responsibility. You told me you didn’t want to
indulge.”

James shook his head, grateful that Shaw was
not mocking him.

“Mr. Shaw,” he began.

“Declan, you idiot.” He said it with a smile.
He even reached out as if to touch James’s shoulder, but drew back
quickly.

James said, “I—I do not wish you to think you
are to blame. I cannot like a part of myself that…that…”

“That longs for love?”

He made an annoyed sound. “Not love. That’s
not love.” He thought of the times that he’d touched himself,
imagining Kip’s voice in his ear, how that voice went from contempt
to excitement. The names Kip had called him, the way his body
yearned for every jeering syllable Kip offered, and even more for
the panting climax down his throat. “It’s degrading.”

Declan frowned. “Explain.”

James’s face grew hot, and he knew he
couldn’t say those words out loud. “What keeps me awake at night.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “In so very many different manners, it
keeps me awake. What I think about is not love. It’s rather the
opposite. I didn’t know. I mean, when I was younger, I didn’t
understand how it truly was nothing like affection… I thought…”

He felt the tears again and looked up at the
ceiling, willing them to recede.

Declan leaned forward. “I don’t
understand.”

James waved an impatient hand. “I’m not
certain I do either or that I want to. I would be well satisfied if
that part of me were to fall off, like a scab.”

“Surely you don’t mean…” Declan frowned. “You
aren’t talking about your prick, are you?”

James had to laugh, with real amusement this
time. “No, I’m talking about my thoughts.”

“Your desires,” Declan said. “Ah. Do you wish
to beat someone? Is that what was happening with Kip?”

“No.” He drank the rest of his wine. “Enough
of this.”

Declan sighed and scratched his head. “You
are right. I have pushed enough today—the doctor and then you. But
before I stop speaking of the matter, I must tell you I know you
enjoyed my kiss. I could feel your pleasure, and I’ll wager it was
almost as strong as my own.”

James refused to answer. He stared into his
empty glass. “I must attend a funeral,” he said at last. “I am a
clergyman, and I must go to a funeral to celebrate the end of a
long life. That is a reality that I know is worthy of my
attention.”

“You think what passed between us is below
your attention?” Declan sounded angry.

James understood that anger often covered
pain. He looked up then, wonderingly, and saw he hadn’t guessed
wrong. Declan had been hurt by his rejection. That would not do. So
he made another attempt to explain.

“What happens inside me… What I feel, it must
be ignored. I cannot allow myself to fall again. It is not you, I
promise. I beg your pardon if I’ve offended you.”

Declan’s frown darkened his face. “Ah, Kip
did not lie, and something happened between you both. Not you
inflicting pain. It would be the other way around. You enjoyed some
pain and humiliation and hate yourself for it.”

James stared back.

Declan waved a hand. “Blast me for a fool,
didn’t I just say I wouldn’t annoy anyone else? I beg you to
forgive me.” Declan gave him a smile filled with actual warmth. “I
think I am making a fuss because of my own disappointment and
because you look positively devastated, my friend.” He paused. “You
don’t mind that I call you friend?”

James shook his head, astounded that Declan
could be so easy-going. Shaw had shown relentless power—and a
casual disregard for propriety and rank which hardly matched what
James considered the mark of a powerful man.

“It is an honor.” James wished he didn’t
sound so hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Allow me to reassure you
that I will tell no one what passed between us today.”

“I’m not worried,” Declan said. “As long as
you promise me you won’t forget that kiss, hmm?” He raised and
lowered his eyebrows in a fashion no doubt designed to be comical.
James rather wished he would stop speaking of the matter, though he
also felt grateful Declan didn’t make heavy weather of the
incident—and that he would still be cordial. That was almost a
miracle.

“I must try to forget,” he said more to
himself.

“Well, that is a pity,” Declan said. He went
to his coat hanging on a hook and drew it on. “Peace, James, I
shan’t berate you any longer. No, don’t get up, I’ll see myself
out. I’d say enjoy the funeral, but that’s a ridiculous wish, isn’t
it? Thank you for your help and your most valuable insight. And for
that kiss. I can’t remember one I’ve enjoyed more. Please don’t be
cruel to yourself for that pleasure. Place the blame on me if that
will help. We both know that’s an accurate accusation.”

James stayed in the chair, still clutching
his empty glass as the door closed behind Declan. Then he pressed
his fingertips against his mouth.

“
As long as you promise you won’t forget
that kiss,”
the teasing voice taunted him. As if he could, as
if he ever would. His lips tingled with it still, and he guessed
they would for the rest of his days.

Chapter Nine

Declan strode through a field, vaulted a
stile, and ambled along a thicket of trees. He carried a walking
stick he’d picked up in the Orient after he’d been attacked by
street thugs. Funny to discover upon his return to England that
many gentlemen had adopted the same affectation. As he walked, he
slashed at tufts of grass and saplings with his stick.

Two miles of tramping later, he still felt as
impatient as ever. He must marshal his facts and ignore the
insistent memory of the kiss. He’d gone too long without touch.
That was all.

He’d asked James for his help for a reason
that had nothing to do with James’s slightly angelic face and those
wide-set gray eyes. Declan needed to think about Aunt Mary.

Come now, he was used forgoing pleasure when
the family business made demands on his time. He didn’t care to
dwell upon the pleasure of embraces with a man who was obviously
horrified by his own desires. Unfortunately, just the thought of
James’s desire made his own imagination take fire.

What could James and Kip have done? He
pictured James in the school chapel, on his knees, with hands
clasped to pray, but for what? There was Kip striding up the aisle.
And, somehow, when Kip arrived upon the scene, he became
Declan.

He laughed out loud at his own bizarre
imaginings and banished them by observing his surroundings.

The manor stood on a hill, and he slowed as
he walked up the gravel drive. The gardener hadn’t cut the grass as
short as he recalled. The building didn’t appear neglected, but it
also didn’t shine as it had in the past and the grounds did not
seem as neatly groomed. At his feet, a weed pushed its way up
through the gravel.

All the subtle signs of neglect—especially
with the upcoming wedding—were not right. Uncle Darnley had any
number of faults, but indifference to his home was not among them.
The man took a great deal of pride in the hall.

Declan let himself in the front door. A
footman polished the dark wood of the main staircase. The smaller
jobs would be done for the big celebration.

He watched for a moment, then went on a hunt
for Kip, whom he found in the billiard room studying the scattering
of balls across the green baize surface of the table.

“Too nice a day to be cooped up,” Declan
said. “Shall we go for a ride?” His cousin had seemed uninformed
and uninterested in his mother’s plight, but perhaps he might have
some answers. Declan would pry him open.

Kip nodded eagerly, then made a sour face. “I
can’t. I must take Emily for a stroll or some such nonsense.” He
slapped the table with his billiard cue so hard, the sound of wood
against wood might have been a gunshot.

“Careful, or you’ll break it,” Declan
said.

He should have known better. Kip looked at
the stick, at the table, and smashed the stick again. “No.” He
sounded almost disappointed. “M’father only buys the best of
equipment.”

Declan considered calling him a fool but
decided to go with one of James’s tactics and employ tact for a
change. “What has you in such a foul mood?”

“I hate my life,” Kip burst out and clamped
his mouth tight. His lips quivered as if he fought tears.

Declan recalled now how Kip usually saw—or
imagined—that the world conducted a campaign to hurt him or thwart
his desires.

He swallowed his sarcastic
poor you
response and asked, “Why is that?”

Kip eyed him and didn’t answer. Declan had
always made his scorn so clear, Kip probably regretted that
outburst.

Declan tried again. “No, truly, why are you
upset?”

Kip folded his arms. “I miss my friends.
London was magnificent. I hated coming home. Is that enough? I am
here to do my duty and fill the coffers.”

“Emily Parker’s dowry?” Declan guessed.

Kip nodded glumly.

“She seems an agreeable girl, and she’s
smitten with you.”

Kip nodded again.

“You could do worse than marry such a
pleasant girl.”

Another nod, this time accompanied by a sigh.
He said, “You wouldn’t understand. The whole thing was arranged
years ago, and I’m the sacrificial goat. You’re free to run around
the world and do what you like and visit foreign countries. I must
enter a good marriage to earn money.”

Declan would have pointed out that he ran
around visiting foreign countries to earn money, but he must tread
carefully if he wanted to learn anything. How would James approach
the topic? With warmth and sympathy, of course, although perhaps he
wouldn’t bother with either when it came to Kip. Declan hid a
smile, recalling that knee to Kip’s groin. He said, “I’m sorry
you’re not looking forward to your nuptials.”

Kip gave an overly hearty peal of laughter.
“Oh,
that
I will enjoy, I think. A celebratory party
followed by the wedding night. My new bride will be a nice handful,
I’ll wager, eh?”

Declan ignored Kip’s invitation to discuss
Miss Parker’s attributes. Instead, he said, “It’s a trifle
surprising that there’s a need for income. Aunt Mary brought a good
deal of money to her marriage.”

“Yes, Mother did have money.” Kip picked up
the billiard cue again and examined its length. “But there’s some
tied up somehow. Father said, oh it was something or another—she
has money we can’t touch even if the hall crumbled around our ears.
Poor old mother,” he added as if he suddenly realized he sounded
cavalier. “You asked me about her health, remember? So I went to
talk to her, and the poor old thing is out of her wits, as far as I
can see.”

He allowed his shoulders to droop a little to
demonstrate sorrow, then, a moment later, waggled the billiard cue
at Declan like an eager dog. “Care to play until it’s time for me
to fetch Emily?”

Declan did not. “Certainly,” he said.

His mother had always claimed he didn’t give
Kip a chance to be friends. Very well, for the sake of this
“investigation,” he would.

He beat Kip easily the first game, winning
all sixteen points. Kip scowled and growled about cheating and
caroming balls.

“You are still an appalling loser,” Declan
said, almost amused at the sight of a grown man behaving like a
sulky child.

“I am not.” Kip looked as if he’d been
struck. “I’m not,” he said with less heat. “I am just…just
passionate. That’s what it is, you know. Why I lose my temper.”

“Is that what your mother told you?”

Kip picked up a ball and rolled it around the
table without answering, which was answer enough. After a few
seconds of silence, he said, “Want to play another game?”

Declan had had enough of his cousin. “I don’t
think so. I could walk with you to Miss Parker’s house. She must be
getting impatient by now.”

“I shan’t dance to her tune,” Kip said.
“She’s a sweet thing, I’ll grant you that, but I won’t be led by my
wife.”

“Oh?”

“I shall wear the trousers in my own
household.” He snickered. “Now if that nancy Fletcher should ever
get married, one would wonder who would be the girl in that
pair.”