Think of England (25 page)

“I’m already thankful, sir. May I ask if you called me here to discuss this?”

“I didn’t.” Sir Maurice sat back and steepled his fingers. “I’ve a problem, and I wonder if you can help me.”

“With pleasure, sir. What is it?”

“I wouldn’t jump at it too quickly.” Sir Maurice gave a sour smile. “I suppose you’ve worked out how the Armstrongs knew you and da Silva were holed up in that absurd building.”

“Da Silva said someone in your office must have talked, sir. Someone telephoned Peakholme to give them everything I’d told you.”

“Quite.” Sir Maurice looked like he was chewing unripe gooseberries. “Someone sold da Silva to the enemy. I assumed the guilty party would become apparent. He hasn’t.”

“You don’t know who talked?” Curtis repeated, incredulously.

“No.”

“You do understand we could have been killed.” Curtis had to fight to keep a rein on his patience at his uncle’s calm tone. “If I wasn’t a left-handed shot, and da Silva wasn’t so quick-thinking—”

“I’m well aware of that. I don’t know who it was.”

“I think you need to find out before you send him on any further missions. Don’t you?” Curtis realised that he had half-risen from his chair, and his uncle was regarding him with a quizzical expression. He sat back down, managing a smile. “I feel strongly on this, sir. I killed two men to save the fellow’s life. I shouldn’t like that to be in vain.”

“Oddly enough, nor should I.” Sir Maurice tapped his fingers together. “My problem with da Silva is twofold. He’s got a damned nasty tongue, and he’s a coward.”

“He’s nothing of the kind!” Curtis was almost shouting, and this time he really didn’t care. “Good God, sir, how can you sit behind a desk and say that? He walked up to three men pointing guns in his face, unarmed—”

“Yes, unarmed,” Sir Maurice repeated. “He won’t learn to shoot, let alone carry a knife. I don’t suppose he’s ever raised a fist in anger. I grant you he’s got plenty of nerve, but he’s a physical coward. Most of his sort are, I believe.”

Curtis didn’t know if “his sort” meant Daniel’s race, politics or preferences, and he didn’t care. He held a deep affection for his uncle, but on this point, he could go to hell. “There’s all sorts of courage, sir. And if you’ve a better man in your office, I should like to meet him.”

Sir Maurice waved that away. “The point is, he can’t look after himself. And I can’t send anyone to look after him. Not just because there’s someone in my department that I can’t trust, either. I’ve tried to partner da Silva three times now, and nobody can stomach the blasted man.” He gave Curtis a slanting look. “Apparently, you can.”

“I’ve a thick skin, sir.”

“And a kindly nature.” Sir Maurice gave one of his rare genuine smiles. “You remind me of your mother sometimes. She had a soft heart for lame dogs too.”

“I do not,” said Curtis, revolted.

Sir Maurice leaned forward. “We both know you need something to do with yourself, Archie. I need someone I can trust. And da Silva needs someone at his back. I’ve work for him, and it may be dangerous. I dare say I shouldn’t ask this, and you may refuse if you don’t think you can tolerate the man any longer. But I’d like to offer you a job.”

Curtis left the office a few hours later, with a piece of paper bearing Daniel’s address.

It would be the height of stupidity to go round there directly, he told himself, as he caught the omnibus in the direction of Holborn. He should write first. Arrange a convenient time. Give the man a chance to refuse.

God knew he’d made himself clear back at Peakholme. This visit wouldn’t be welcome. Curtis considered that as he hopped off the ’bus at the British Museum stop and ventured into the new buildings of shabby-genteel Bloomsbury. Daniel was fiercely proud, defensive to a fault. Curtis shouldn’t force his company on him.

And what if he was entertaining other company? That was an unwelcome reflection, but it had to be faced. Why would Daniel not have a lover in London, or several?

He threaded his way through long streets of grey-bricked houses, dodging perambulators and flower sellers, wondering about that. He knew his own mind. No doubt there, after eleven endless, restless nights, clutching at every minute of those few precious hours in the folly, already afraid he’d begin to forget. But what Daniel really felt, what he wanted, whether he had pushed Curtis away purely for his sake or because he had no need for an inexperienced, overfond fool, whether he shared Curtis’s sense of a connection between them that was more than physical and more than mental…

Curtis didn’t know any of that and, he thought as he pulled the bell of the small boarding house, he was an utter idiot simply to charge forward. Any chap with sense would handle this with discretion, and consideration, and tact. Nobody in his right mind would just knock at the man’s door.

The landlady showed him up to the first-floor landing and indicated the door. He knocked. There was a faint sound from inside that was almost certainly a curse, the door was pulled open with clear irritation, and Daniel was there.

He was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, cuffs rolled back. His hair was unoiled, and tumbled, as though someone had been grabbing at it. There was ink on his fingers and he was wearing wire-rimmed spectacles. Curtis was captivated by the spectacles.

Daniel blinked twice, then snatched the spectacles off his nose. “Curtis.” He stepped back to let him in, and shut the landlady firmly out. “What the hell do you want?”

“I want to see you.”

“I told you. No.” Daniel put the reading glasses on his desk. It was a small deal table, piled with papers. The top sheets were covered in Daniel’s looping scrawl: short lines with a lot of scratching out and insertions.

“Are you writing a poem?” Curtis asked, fascinated.

Daniel turned the sheet over in a pointed fashion. There was writing on the back as well. He hissed with annoyance and slapped a newspaper on top of the pile. “I don’t care for observation.”

“No.” Curtis looked round the room. It was a humble sort of place, rather cramped and with faded furnishings. A small fire burned in the inadequate grate, and the coals were low in the scuttle.

“Can I help you?” enquired Daniel waspishly. He propped his shoulders against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “Since I told you that you were not welcome to visit…”

“This is a professional call.”

“Really? Did I invade someone’s country?”

“Your profession,” Curtis clarified, and added, “Not the poetry.”

“Yes, I grasped that, thank you. What about it?”

Daniel was clearly not in an accommodating mood. No point beating about the bush, then. “I thought I should let you know, we’re going to be working together.”

That broke through the facade. Daniel stared at him. “We what?”

“Working together. My uncle asked me to. In case you find yourself in a scrap.”

Daniel’s expression suggested a scrap was imminent. “I do not need a nursemaid,” he said through gritted teeth. “I do not want a partner. I have never wanted a partner.”

“No. My uncle told me you’ve already driven three chaps off with that vicious tongue of yours.”

“Quite. Of course, if a man favours me with his opinion of bloody sodomites and bloody Jews, that is simply the civilised exchange of views. Whereas if I give him my opinion of his intellect and physical prowess in return, that’s my vicious tongue.”

“I like your tongue.”

Daniel’s brows shot up, and it was not a mannered movement. He recovered his poise. “How daring of you to say so.”

“Not really.” Curtis stepped forward, one stride closer. “I know you don’t need a nursemaid. But my uncle has just given me a reason to be close to you. If you want me to be.”

Daniel’s dark eyes were unblinking. “A reason only your uncle will know. And meanwhile, the whispers start.”

“He told me there was a chance people might speculate, if I was seen to form a friendship with you. I told him I didn’t care. I don’t.” Daniel gave him a sceptical look. “I don’t. He’s given me a reason that he and Sir Henry will be happy with. If I needn’t worry about my uncles, the rest of the world can go hang.”

“So you say now.”

“You don’t hide,” Curtis said. “You could convert, you could dress conservatively, you could speak like a—an officer, if you wanted. You don’t
pretend
all the time. Why do you insist I should?”

“You’ve been pretending for thirty years,” Daniel flashed.

“I’m sick of it. I was going to come here anyway, Sir Maurice just made it easy. Daniel, I want to be with you. And if I can’t have that—” He stared into the dark eyes, willing him to understand. “I still shan’t go back to the pretence. I’ve spent my life in this state of—of murkiness, as if I’ve been in one of your blasted fishponds all this time. Dark water. And I won’t put my head back under.”

Daniel’s eyes widened, then he turned his face away. Voice biting and very brittle, he said, “No, poetry really
isn’t
your field, is it. I suggest you leave the metaphors to me.”

It hurt like a physical blow. Curtis stared at him, and suddenly realised that he was sick of talk, sick of trying to breach defences with weapons he was no damned good at using.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m no poet. Let’s do this the military way.”

“What—” Daniel began, and then gave a strangled squawk as Curtis jerked him forward, pinioning Daniel’s left arm to his waist and gripping his other wrist hard. He leaned in against him, using fifteen stone of solid muscle to press him to the wall.

Daniel glared up at him. “What the devil are you doing?”

“Shutting your damned mouth,” said Curtis, and kissed him as forcefully as he could.

Daniel made a noise of outrage against his lips, struggling with what felt like genuine effort. It did him no good. Curtis was far stronger, and had restrained plenty of men, albeit not while kissing them, and he easily overrode Daniel’s attempts to break free, forcing his mouth over lips that moved with what were probably curses. Daniel’s writhing was bumping their hips together, and Curtis deliberately pressed closer, body to body.

Daniel twisted violently to get his mouth free, and managed, “…fucking Viking!”

“Black mamba.”

“Black what?”

“A kind of snake. Dark, beautiful and appallingly foul-tempered.”

“Sod you.”

Daniel lunged at him. Their mouths met again, hard and hungry. Curtis didn’t restrain his strength and felt Daniel’s savage response, teeth digging into his lips. He could feel Daniel’s arousal, pressing hard against his thigh, his movements now all about rubbing bodies rather than winning freedom, and though it was far outside his experience, Curtis knew an overwhelming urge to pick him up, throw him down on the bed, do things that would make him scream aloud and shatter his defences for good. He was bloody well going to find out what those things would be.

He drove his hips forward, pushing Daniel back against the wall, and relished the gasp against his mouth.

“Pax,” Daniel managed, turning his head sideways for air. “Pax. All right, what did that prove? That you’re bigger than me?”

“You want me. This isn’t over.” Curtis loosened his grip on Daniel’s arms and leaned back, looking down at his bruised lips and dark, unfathomable eyes. There was a moment of silence and hard breathing.

“That,” Daniel said at last, “was ungentlemanly.”

“I’ll be a gentleman if you will.”

They stared at each other, chests rising and falling. A lock of Daniel’s tousled hair was falling into his eyes. Curtis brushed it away, fingertips skimming the skin, felt rather than saw Daniel’s tiny sway towards him.

He said, more gently, “I meant what I said. I’m glad this happened, between us.”

“
Please
.” Daniel spat the word. “Don’t pretend I’ve done you any favours.”

“You have. You don’t know how much. Look, Daniel, I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone like this before, and I don’t suppose I will again. I want you to argue with me, and make me laugh, and laugh at me, or with me. I want the appalling things you say and the modern nonsense you spout. But if you honestly don’t want to carry on as we were, then I’ll accept that. I’ll have to. All I ask is that if you send me away, it’s for your sake, not mine. I don’t need a nursemaid either.”

There was utter silence for a moment.

Daniel pushed the heels of his trembling hands over his eyes. “I can’t have you work with me. Absolutely not. I won’t be babied, and you’d only put your gigantic feet all over everything anyway.”

Curtis took a second to interpret that and felt the slow dawn of joy. “Fine.”

“And this isn’t my fault. If you want to make a mull of your damn fool life, I can’t stop you.”

“No.” Now Curtis couldn’t stop grinning. “Are you always this difficult?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ever going to make things simple for me?”

“I doubt it.”

Curtis put out a gentle finger and tipped Daniel’s chin up so their eyes met. “May I kiss you?”

“You just did.”

“Yes. May I?”

“Oh, good
God
.” Daniel grabbed a handful of Curtis’s hair, pulling his head down so that their lips met in urgent collision. Curtis grunted, wrapping the slighter man in his arms, feeling Daniel sway forward at the exercise of his strength. He pulled tighter, and felt a gasp, then he was thinking of nothing but kissing Daniel, his tongue in the other man’s mouth, feeling his lips and teeth, hands all over the slim body. He devoured him with the desperation that he hadn’t let himself face until now, the need for Daniel in his arms that had been a burning urgency for days, until he felt Daniel gasping and trying to say something and reluctantly released his mouth.