The Merchant and the Clergyman (25 page)

“I’ve purchased land in Bishops Hartfeld. A
business, actually. One that I shall be there often to oversee.” He
smiled. “The watercourse will be overhauled, and the old mill shall
run again.”

“The mill.” James set down his glass, and his
eyes became saucers. “You’re going to make it operational?”

“I plan to, yes. An operating grain mill
which will serve farmers from surrounding districts. I’ll hire
someone to run the mill once I’ve got it going again. The source,
you see, is not permanently dried up, just needs some attending and
the stream will flow again. I’ve hired an engineer to see to
that.”

“Well, that is…astonishing news,” James said.
“You couldn’t have surprised me more if you’d told me you planned
to, er, move to New York City and open a restaurant there.
Congratulations. This will be a relief for the local farmers who
will no longer have to drive so far to have their grain
ground.”

Declan realized he’d muffed it. This wasn’t
the way it was supposed to come out at all. James didn’t understand
he hadn’t done this as some investment. As a matter of fact, he’d
probably lose money overall. Mills barely made a profit, and the
expense of getting the water flowing again would be outlandish.

“No. I’m not explaining this well at all. The
mill will merely be an excuse to come often to check on its
progress, but my agent has brokered a deal that includes
acres
of land. I would like to build a house, quite apart
from the mill, a country retreat, someplace I could invite guests
to visit, do you see?”

James nodded enthusiastically. “You’ve earned
a home for yourself after all your years of travel.” He still
seemed not to understand.

“But it wouldn’t
be
a home without
someone to spend time with me there,” Declan pointed out. “I
realize we can’t share bachelor quarters as some men manage to do
in the city, but with me living so near, you could come and visit
quite often.”

“Of course I would come visit you. I visit
most everyone who lives anywhere near Bishop’s Hartfeld, even those
who aren’t regular churchgoers.” James smiled, and Declan began to
understand the man was purposely acting obtuse. The sly devil toyed
with Declan and enjoyed watching him flounder to express
himself.

Declan soldiered on. “I wouldn’t want to put
you at risk of the faintest whiff of scandal, but I hoped this way
we might carry on our relationship for years to come.”

“As congregant and spiritual advisor,” James
clarified.

Declan kicked his shin under the table—quite
hard. “Why are you being difficult? I’m asking you if you want me
there! I don’t want to intrude on your life, if you believe my
presence would complicate things too much. The point is, I want
more of you, more than a few sporadic meetings a year in London or
some other city whenever you can manage to get away without raising
too many questions.”

God, he wanted to reach across the table and
slap that smug smile off the irritating man’s mouth, or kiss it
away so hard he brought tears to James’s eyes. “I’m telling you I
want to invest in a relationship with you, the sort that married
couples have, apart yet as together as we are able to be.”

“Many in the upper class
are
married
in name only and conduct entirely separate lives, even living in
different countries. An arrangement like this would indeed make us
like many married couples,” James said. Then, at last, he took pity
on Declan and stopped teasing. He reached underneath the
cloth-draped table to touch Declan’s knee. “It would be the thrill
of my life to have you living near me and to see you at any moment
I could get away, both day and night. I am so happy I want to leap
up, throw this table out of the way, and launch myself into your
embrace.”

A swell of joy surged through Declan. That
was much more the reaction he’d hoped for and rather expected. He
couldn’t stop beaming as he gazed at James across the vast distance
of a tiny table. Indeed, it was way too far apart, and he’d like to
knock the table aside too.

“I’m glad. I’d hoped you’d want me there.” He
heaved a sigh. “Now I suppose we must finish up this meal so as not
to upset Signor Polenti, and then we can be on our way to the villa
I’ve rented.”

“A villa in Italy. I never in my life thought
I’d live so decadently,” James mused before hurriedly gobbling the
last of his meal.

They were soon on their way in the carriage
Declan had rented. The driver’s eyes were on the road and, although
the conveyance was open to the air and sunshine, Declan might
surreptitiously hold James’s hand on the seat between them as they
talked.

“How is your Aunt Mary?” James asked.

“Better than when you last saw her in
Ireland. Poor thing did not take well to change. It took my mother
weeks to calm her agitation and get her accustomed to her new
location, but Mother says these days she’s calmer and clearer, more
like her old self, though still with a streak of vagueness. She
continues to wander in her mind and always will, but her fears have
subsided. I believe she’s truly healing.”

“I’m so glad. She is a dear woman. And the
rest of your family? All well?” James continued.

“My father wasn’t happy with me choosing
Cousin Patrick to take my place. In fact, he was quite thunderous.
But in the end, Patrick has developed surprisingly well. The family
seems pleased with how he’s grown.”

“That’s good. It should free you from feeling
any guilt about drawing away from business concerns.” James drew a
circle on the back of Declan’s hand with his thumb. “Since we are
trading news, I recently received a letter from our Miss Emily.
She’s been very happily caring for her aged auntie in London and,
while there, has had the opportunity to have a bit of a social life
too. It seems she’s met a widower with a young daughter who’s been
looking for a new wife.”

“And Emily longs to be a wife and to care for
a family, so that should suit them both well.” Declan smiled at the
thought of Emily Parker finding love. Just now he wanted the entire
world to find love as he had. He squeezed James’s hand and leaned
close to whisper, “I’m going to give you an order you must
obey.”

James smiled and nodded slowly.

“For the rest of the ride, you must close
your eyes, then describe to me what you experience with your other
senses.”

“Very well.” James instantly obeyed, his
lovely long lashes fanning against his cheeks. “I…I smell dung. And
something sweet, grapes, perhaps, from the vineyards we’re passing,
or some local flower. I feel…the breeze on my face, the hard seat
under my rear, the jostling of the carriage on a rough road
vibrating through my shoes and my body.” He smiled. “Warm flesh
against mine, tickling fingertip and a strong grip… The heat of
your presence beside me, even where we’re not touching. And the
scent of your coat, your hair, your skin warmed by the sun.”

His whisper and the way James lifted his face
into that sunshine made Declan’s cock stiffen. He yearned for sex
and all the pleasures of physical connection, but even more, he
simply ached at the beauty of this wonderful man who’d become so
special to him. His heart overflowed with feelings. What a
desperate romantic he’d turned out to be after all.

“Ah, the sun,” James continued. “After cold,
wet weeks of an English winter, this is like reaching heaven. Pure
sun-kissed heaven.”

“Blasphemous,” Declan teased. “But the
beauties of Italy could go a long way toward convincing an
unbeliever like me. If heaven exists, it must be like this.”

“It exists,” James replied calmly, sweetly.
“I have no doubt of it or the existence of our Creator. I believe
he is blessing our union, not condemning it as most people would
say. I believe he simply wants his children—
all
of his
children—to be good to one another and to be happy. It needn’t be
as difficult as fanatics through the centuries have made it.”

“With talk like that, you’ll win over my soul
yet.” Declan cast a quick glance at the driver’s back and at the
field they drove past. No people in sight. He quickly leaned to
press one kiss to James’s lips.

He sat back. “How did that feel?”

“Warm, damp, soft yet hard at the same time.”
James flicked his tongue over his lips. “Tasted like garlic and
wine. Sent heat and fire burning through me and awoke every part of
me.”

Declan chuckled. “And this?” He reached over
to feel the bulge in the front of James’s trousers and gave a light
squeeze before he let go.

“Pressure. Wonderful pressure. A throbbing
ache there and deep in my groin. Yearning. Desire. Need. Something
like the gnawing of an empty stomach.” He cocked his head and
considered. “More than that. The primitive beat of something animal
yet sublime at the same time.”

“Ah, my little minister, always searching for
the sublime in the primal muck. That’s what I love about you.”

Declan had had enough of the game and the
too-long carriage ride and was anxious to be home. His rental house
might finally feel like home now that James was here.

They arrived at last. James’s several bags
had already been delivered by wagon and awaited them in the front
hall. Declan had made certain to give his few servants the day off
so the house stood empty. Once the door was closed, he was free to
step over a valise, grab James by the shoulders, and push him up
against a plaster wall. He kissed and groped and stripped and
fondled until his guest stood half-naked, hair rumpled, chest
heaving, lips reddened, cock dripping, gazing back at Declan with
lust-glazed eyes.

They took their time with each other, even
though the fever built to an unbearable degree, and Declan’s hands
trembled as he stripped off his underclothes. He’d waited too long
and now felt feverish with need. Declan wanted to command James to
lie still, but he longed to feel the other man’s arms around
him.

Later, he’d take the time for games. Now he
only wanted as much of his body touching James as possible.

He took the time to push James down on the
floor. The villa’s elaborately carved furniture was far too
uncomfortable.

His hunger grew as he slid along James, on
top of him, skin to skin at last.

More kisses, and he flexed and arched, his
cock needy. He groaned. “If we don’t stop, I’ll be…”

James reached between them, grasped him in
his fist. Declan cried out. Just a few yanks more, and he might
orgasm. “I’m too close. I’m sorry. But the wait for you… Just the…”
James’s grip tightened, and Declan could no longer speak. He thrust
into James’s firm hand with precious little control and no
technique, but that couldn’t matter, not when James held Declan
tight with his legs.

The jerks of his orgasm ripped through him, a
delicious, uncontrollable explosion rocking his entire body. He
came to himself realizing all his weight lay on James, who writhed
under him, but with eagerness, not the desire to break free.
Declan’s slowing heart picked up when he recalled their pleasure
had not ended.

He crawled off James and knelt over him,
taking his hard-as-quartz organ in one hand and lapping along its
length. The flavor made him sigh and lick his lips. “Better than
anything I’ve ever tasted, and I’ve sampled delicious cuisine from
all over this country.”

James gave a strangled laugh that became a
gasp as Declan opened his mouth and took him in almost to the
root.

Declan licked and sucked—and kept his gaze
fixed on James’s face until James tilted his head back, his throat
arched. The cock in Declan’s mouth grew impossibly hard and
swollen, and Declan drew out James’s pleasure and enjoyed the thrum
of the spending against his tongue.

When they could speak again, Declan lay on
the carpet next to him. “Welcome to Italy, James Fletcher.” He
tucked James against his side. “Once I’ve built my house in
England, I shall expect to offer as warm a welcome there as
well.”

“Mm.” James ran his hand along Declan’s hip.
“I can’t wait.”

Chapter Twenty

The first time James visited Declan’s new
home built at the edge of the woods near the almost completely
refurbished mill, he brought a jar of excellent plum jam. He burst
into laughter when Declan led him to the kitchen and showed him
three identical jars. “Miss Bannock has visited before me? I’m
afraid you’re going to get even more attention than I. Your life
will consist of running and hiding from women who would capture you
like Diana the huntress.”

“Marco, a friend in Italy, said that a rich
man like myself ought to be married and suggested I find a girl
who’d rather avoid sharing a bed with anyone or perhaps preferred
her own sex.”

“I remember Marco.” James recalled the old
man, a widower. “Are there such women?”

“You are an innocent, my friend. There are
many females who enjoy Sapphic passion.”

James’s joy at seeing his friend darkened
slightly. Of course a wealthy and attractive young man like Declan
would be harried in a small village like Bishop’s Hartfeld. Perhaps
one day he’d even meet a woman who’d transform him, and that would
be the end of James in Declan’s life. He almost grew jealous of
this imaginary girl until he considered the impossibility of such a
change in himself. His worry dissipated.

He looked around the brightly painted room
that already had herbs hanging from the ceiling. The scent of
tomatoes and wine blended with the new-wood and wax smell pervading
the entire structure.

“Where is your cook? Mrs. Moore said her
sister told her you’ve hired some fantastically expensive gent from
London.” He looked around. “Where are your servants?”

“Ah-ah. This is your first visit. I took care
to give them the night off. Remember your visit to my villa? You
and I were far too loud, and I wanted to be alone again. I said I
wanted to practice cooking on my own, which is true.”