The Merchant and the Clergyman (24 page)

She’d lost her glow, but she did smile as she
reported that Mr. Hollister’s worries and complaints about James’s
absence were silenced by a substantial donation to the church roof
fund from Mr. Parker. And via Declan, the Shaw family also donated
to the fund.

“You see, Mr. Shaw and I are
determined
that you accompany us. You have no choice in the
matter.”

He wasn’t certain if he felt more delight or
apprehension at the thought of leaving Bishop’s Hartfeld with
Declan Shaw.

Of course, despite Miss Parker’s assurance
that Vicar Hollister was amenable to James shirking his duties for
the next fortnight or longer, that wasn’t actually the case. Not
two minutes after she’d left, the vicar came knocking. He barely
waited for James to open the door before bursting inside without an
invitation.

“What an inconvenience! You can’t up and
leave me to deal with everything. That’s why a curate was hired—to
relieve me of having to attend to minor details.”

Minor details like sitting with the sick
or listening to people’s problems
, James thought. Such things
were too tedious for the vicar, who seemed much more interested in
the church building than in the people who attended his
services.

“You simply must find a way to convince Emily
Parker your presence is not required on this trip,” Hollister
continued before James could say a word.

James folded his arms and did not invite the
vicar to sit in the parlor to discuss the matter. He had packing to
do and many people to see before he “up and left.” Besides, after
the day he’d been through, James had had about all he could take of
arrogant men throwing their weight around—and at the moment, that
included Declan, who’d blithely informed him he must come.

“I’m afraid it’s already decided. I shan’t be
gone long, but this trip is necessary.” James moved forward and
held the door open, politely forcing Hollister back outside. “Give
me leave to carry on with my duties, Mr. Hollister, and I’ll make
certain I’ve assigned my usual tasks to a number of people so you
don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Hollister began, “But I need… You should have
asked permission—”

“Good day, sir. I’ve limited time and much to
be done, so if you’ll excuse me.”

James closed the door, feeling a very
non-Christian burst of glee at the expression on Hollister’s face.
It was the first time he’d denied the vicar anything, and it felt
remarkably good.

After spending the rest of the day preparing
the villagers for his absence, James packed a bag. The last time
he’d used his luggage was when he’d gone off to university. He’d
expected it to grow creaky with age before he used it again, but
here he was, about to set off on an adventure. Nervous excitement
filled him, and it was a long time before he could settle down for
the night.

The next morning, early, James rose from his
restless sleep. He carried his valise across the churchyard, where
he was met by Declan. It was the first time they’d been alone
together since their fast embrace in Declan’s bedroom.

“Miss Parker and her father and maid will
meet us at the station,” Declan informed him. “I wanted to ride
down to make sure you didn’t try to escape capture. My aunt and the
new maid I’ve hired for her will be there too. We’ll be a parade of
baggage and attendants.”

James smiled up at him. “How is your head
this morning?”

“Aching, and this beast’s gait isn’t
helping.” He swung off the horse easily and led the animal while
strolling side by side down the road with James.

“Do you fox hunt?” James asked.

“Why do you ask? Because I talked about
capturing you?”

“Because you seem the kind of man who might
be a fine rider, unafraid of injury and happy to be outdoors.”

“No, I don’t have the time or, I suppose, the
inclination.”

As they walked toward the station. James grew
aware that Declan seemed unhappy. There was awkwardness in their
silence. “I’ll be back in Bishop’s Hartfeld in a fortnight or so,”
he said to reassure Declan.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Oh. You seem so tense. I thought you’d be
reassured to know you won’t be saddled with me for long.”

“Ah, now that sort of riding I
do
enjoy. I look forward to making time for it.”

James felt his face turn hot. He laughed.
“Declan, you must save such talk for when we’re not out in the
world.”

“Why? Does it excite you?”

Of course it did. “No, I’m embarrassed.”

“Both, I’ll wager.”

James heaved a sigh, resignation or
contentment, even he wasn’t sure which. “We have only met recently,
yet you know me very well already.”

“Yes, I do.” Declan stopped suddenly. The
horse plodding along behind them nearly ran him down.

Declan absently reached up and patted the
horse’s neck, but his gaze rested on James. His face was drawn
again, as if he felt deep pain. “One of the things I celebrated
about my nature is that I’ve never felt the need to form bonds that
were so tight as to choke a man. That is, I’ve watched friend after
friend find a woman and leave behind great portions of their lives.
I didn’t understand why they would sacrifice any part of their own
interests for someone else—someone other than family, since, of
course, I’ve sacrificed much of my life for my family, but that has
been out of duty, not some sort of joyful choice.”

James nodded to show he was listening. He
didn’t want to interrupt.

“But when I met you, I understood, James. It
all became frighteningly clear. A sacrifice of time or money or
hobbies or even friends—they’re nothing compared to giving up
someone who is uniquely dear. So…” He nodded, gave a tiny wince,
perhaps at the pain in his head, and continued walking.

A declaration? Did he mean that he loved
James? James had trouble catching his breath because his heart
pounded so hard.

“Frighteningly clear,” he repeated when he
caught up with Declan “I scare you?”

Declan’s tense expression eased and at last
he smiled. “You have no idea.”

“I know what you mean,” James said.

“Of course you do.” The smile grew warm. “You
practice that sort of selfless sacrifice every day of your life for
your parishioners.”

“The thought of Mrs. Moore doesn’t make my
heart race. When I think about Mr. Parker or Mr. Wallace, I don’t
long for their kisses.”

“Now you make me blush.”

“I know. I can hardly say these things when
it isn’t in the heat of…of the heat we share. But I suppose we’d
best just get this conversation over with before we get to the
station. That love you describe, that I feel for my flock, is far
less greedy than how I feel about you. You make me insatiable,
Declan. Also I think I might be possessive and selfish when it
comes to you.”

“I see. You turn me into a saint, and I turn
you into a sinner.”

James laughed. “Perhaps.”

“So what do you wish to say before we meet
with our travel companions?”

“I love you.”

Declan’s smile vanished. “You don’t know me
well enough to make that claim.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” James didn’t point
out that Declan had said basically said the same thing with more
words. “And perhaps I’m as foolish as poor Emily Parker doting on
Kip when she didn’t know his worst secrets. Still, I know what I
feel. Infatuation, perhaps? Will that be less frightening to
you?”

Declan eyed him. “No. God, perhaps I
shouldn’t have dragged you out of your old life even for a
fortnight. You might be changed. I’d hate to be the source of your
disillusionment, James.”

“Then don’t be.” James felt lighthearted.
“No. Stop looking as if the weight of the world has fallen on your
shoulders. Think like me. I’m about to start a journey with a man I
love. Whether the love lasts two week or forever, it fills me with
a richness I’ve never enjoyed before.”

“Oh, well, when you put it like that.”

“I do.”

Declan began to walk a little faster.

“Are we running late?” James asked. “Might we
miss the train?”

“No, I’m more than ready to get started on
this holiday with you.”

“And our parade,” James reminded him.

“Yes, them as well.” Declan broke into a
trot, and he claimed his head didn’t hurt at all.

Chapter Nineteen

Bologna, Italy, one year later

Italy was a culinary miracle, Declan decided
as he sampled yet another local dish that used basically the same
ingredients of olive oil, fresh herbs, vegetables, and pasta as
many other meals he’d sampled yet was completely its own amazing
entity. Every locale in this country had its own flavor and ways of
seasoning that set it apart. Each time he thought he’d uncovered a
tiny gem, there would be another just beyond it, such as this
family establishment in a quaint Bolognese village. At this rate,
his waistline would soon pay the price. But tonight he could
scarcely eat at all, for James sat across from him at last. That
beloved face, the handsome features, the clear gray eyes gazing
back at him eradicated from his mind all desire for other tastes
and pleasures.

“I can hardly believe you’re here,” Declan
repeated for perhaps the thirtieth time since he’d met James at the
train station. “All the way here to spend an entire week with
me.”

“Your letters made the Italian countryside
come alive. In your letters, I could practically see and hear the
scenes you described, and the food… Suffice to say I spent many an
evening salivating at your descriptions of the food you’ve been
eating and cooking. You won me over with
a light cream sauce
steeped in garlic and fragrant cheese in its base.
But I am
suspicious of your persuasive powers, since you made me crave
simple, hot bread with fresh butter. I asked Mr. Parker about
a
secco Lambrusco
, and I am a bit disappointed to learn it’s
merely a fizzing sort of wine.”

“Wait until you taste what can be done with
Tuscan grapes.”

“Mm.” James lifted another forkful of pasta
to his mouth, sucking in the spaghetti until his lips glistened.
Declan watched in fascination and licked his own lips clean.

James gave Declan a coy look from lowered
eyes. “But of course it wasn’t only the food that drew me. There
were other considerations that weighed more heavily than a loaf of
bread or a flask of wine. Other types of sustenance I couldn’t
withstand the craving for.”

“Nor I.” Declan leaned over the table. “I
wished to write of those sorts of things in my letters but feared
putting you in danger.” He shrugged. “One never knows who might
steam open the mail in a village postal office.”

“You were quite right to be circumspect, but
I could read between the lines. Your loving descriptions of the
pleasures of a gourmand represented something quite different.”
James’s cheeky grin flashed, and Declan recalled that smile was
probably the first thing that had hinted the country curate had
hidden layers Declan needed to explore.

Declan gave up on eating and set his fork
down. “I shouldn’t have brought you here on the way back from the
station. I should’ve cooked for you at home.” He lowered his voice,
though few of the other customers likely spoke any English. “I must
get you alone soon, or I will bend you over this table and take you
in front of a room full of shocked Italians.”

James swallowed hard, and his face flushed.
“I would enjoy that as well. Perhaps not with all these witnesses…
But we may leave this minute if you’d like.”

Declan dismissed his urge to agree and flee
the restaurant. “No, no. Take your time. We must finish our meal or
offend the cook. I’ve learned that during my travels. Italians take
their cooking very seriously.” He leaned close and murmured,
“Ignore my eagerness. Long anticipation followed by slow savoring
is best.”

“Oh, I’ve been anticipating for quite some
time,” James teased. “Since I said good-bye to you in Dublin all
those months ago. That fortnight was the best holiday of my
life.”

Declan said, “It could have been longer, you
know.”

“My real world is Bishop’s Hartfeld and I
needed to return to my parish duties. I loved our time together,
but I also love my work.” He held Declan’s gaze as if begging for
forgiveness for being devoted to his work.

“Of course I understand, Reverend Fletcher.
You can’t blame me for wanting you to stay with me so badly.”

“I know. You tried to convince me in…numerous
ways on our last night together, risking noise that might have
informed your entire household what we were up to. If you hadn’t
gagged me…” James smiled down at his pasta. “Anyway, I thought it
might end with you tying me up and stowing me in your steamer
trunk.”

A delicious shiver went through Declan at a
mental image of James tied up—though not in a trunk. “I wouldn’t
have minded at all. I quite like the idea of taking you out and
using you at my whim,” he growled hoarsely.

James grew redder, and he scanned the other
patrons. “Shh. Not so loudly.”

“I told you, they don’t understand us,”
Declan reminded him.

“But any idiot could understand
that…
tone
!”

“Have I mentioned I adore it when you blush?”
He chuckled over James’s discomfort but sat up straight and resumed
eating as the server came by to offer more wine. After the waiter
had left, Declan continued, “I want to tell you something. I hope
it pleases you. I haven’t shared this news in a letter because I
wanted to make certain everything would go as planned, and now it
has.”

James regarded him with sparkling eyes over a
fresh glass of wine. “What is it?”

Declan had never thought he’d know the
anxiety of a man about to propose marriage. Though his mother and
various aunts and female cousins had repeatedly thrust this or that
prospect at him, he’d always known he’d not marry. He was, after
all, married to his work, or had been until he began to feel the
solitary life no longer satisfied him. Now he was ready to open
himself to someone, the only one he could ever imagine wanting to
see morning and evening for the rest of his days. He took a
breath.