by Lee Rowan
It was worth the risk.
But the riches had come at a terrible price. If he had been asked to go back to that day in mid-July and somehow been given the chance to take a different course…. “Davy,” he said aloud. “If you could change this past month so that we’d never seen or heard of Adrian and his damned brig, would you do it?” Because that was the one dark stain on all their good fortune: the two weeks of humiliation and sexual abuse that Davy had endured.
Davy was silent for a moment, the light of his blue-gray eyes a little shadowed. “No,” he said at last. “No, I wouldn’t.” His sudden grin lifted Marshall’s heart. “I’d given up hope of ever getting you into bed, Lieutenant. If not for that bastard’s schemes, I might never have managed it. And, by God, it felt good to be a hero at the end, instead of a victim.”
“You were that all along,” Marshall said, and leaned down for a kiss, so much better than the first and filled with the power to set his whole body afire with longing. He groaned and pulled away. “We can’t, not here in town.”
“I know.” Davy sighed and sat back. “Damn the Articles. We should have made better use of our time in that cell.”
How many times had it been, now? Twice only, aboard the renegade’s brig—the first time, and then the night when they seized their chance because they’d never thought they’d leave the ship alive. Their first coupling had been little more than an instinctive reaction to the fear and uncertainty of their situation, David coming panicking out of a nightmare and Marshall, a virgin himself, taken flat aback. There’d been precious little intention to that wild surge of passion, though Davy confessed later that he’d had feelings since they first served together. And then yesterday afternoon in the post chaise—was it really only yesterday? And a long, wonderful evening and night and morning at that little inn, with a thunderstorm to mask the sounds of their misbehavior.
Not nearly long enough. But that was how it would be, always—at least as long as they were able to serve together. A stolen moment here and there, an occasional shore leave—
“I shall have to write my mother,” Davy said abruptly.
Marshall blinked. “Sorry?”
“I am under strict orders that if I’m ever in town, I must inform my mother. At this time of year, the whole family will likely be out in the country, but if Mama is in town for any reason and learns that I was too and didn’t let her know…. Well, I can’t omit that duty. She hasn’t seen me since I went to sea, more than five years ago. I shall send a letter to the townhouse. If they have to send it on, she will know I’ve done my best.”
“Is she a Tartar, then?”
“Oh, no, she’s quite unlike my father. I’d very much like to see her if time allows. I haven’t seen any of the family since we ran across my cousin and his fiancée. You remember Kit and Zoe.”
“Of course.”
“Kit” was Christopher St. John, Baron Guilford, a young man who looked enough like Davy to be his brother. Some years back, their frigate, the Calypso, had happened to run across a smaller vessel carrying the Baron, his bride-to-be, and her father out of the insanity of the postrevolutionary Terror in Paris. St. John was a delightful fellow, and it was clear that he and Davy had a long-standing friendship as well as family ties.
Marshall felt a sudden stab of guilt. “I’m sorry—I’ve no family myself, it never occurred to me that of course you would want to see them. Should you not stay at your family’s home, then?”
“No! If they are here, naturally I want to see them, but I think not until after I’ve been promoted—or failed. Think of how grand it would be to arrive as Lieutenant Archer, when I left as a lowly midshipman. And if I fail—”
“You won’t.”
Davy shook his head. “Either way, there’d be no harm done because I thought I’d missed the chance for promotion this year. I only sent a note assuring Mama and my sisters that I was alive—I didn’t know what my future held that day we came into port. So long as my father’s not in town, a visit will be no hardship. And if he is, well, he’ll be on best behavior for my mother’s sake. He’d cut off his own arm rather than hurt her.”
Will did not reply, knowing that Davy’s father, the Earl, did not respect his bookish son as he should. “I’m glad. I know it’s selfish, but I want you to myself for as long as possible.”
“I’m just as selfish, Will. I’d have been content to lurk about the inns in Portsmouth with you. Though I suppose we’re safer, so far away from anyone who might know us.”
The coach slowed and swayed as it made a turn, bumping a little on the cobblestones. “Not long now,” Davy said. “I wonder how we’ll manage, aboard ship. I hope I haven’t drawn you into something that will ruin your life.”
Odd that only yesterday Will himself was thinking that—and how the night had chased his doubts away. He shook his head. “No. My father always said it takes two to make a quarrel, and the same is true of our situation. You may have startled me, but you certainly didn’t seduce me! However difficult this may be, we’ll find a way.”
They had just time for a kiss before the chaise slowed to a stop and the postboy called, “Here’s the George, gents!”
Will took a deep breath and followed Davy out of the chaise, doing his best to maintain a blasé expression that said he’d done this a hundred times before. It took him a moment to get used to standing on solid ground after the interminable joggling of the chaise. Davy, apparently less rattled, paid off the postboy.
Their bags landed at Will’s feet, so he handed over the sum that Davy had advised him to give for the service. Since one of their tasks would be to replace the dress uniforms damaged during their late adventure, his own bag was no burden, and they only had to carry their things to a room at this same inn. Will suspected the reason they were staying at the George was because, as Davy had informed him, it had been one of Shakespeare’s haunts. He would have preferred something smaller and less hectic, but the aromas wafting out of the kitchen as they booked a room convinced him to put up with the racket.
“Of course, it had to be rebuilt after the big Southwark fire back in 1677.” Davy’s lecture continued as they followed a boy up two flights of stairs and along a gallery to a room near the end. “But it didn’t burn down completely, and we’re not too far from Whitehall. Tomorrow we can find another inn that’s quieter, if you’d rather,” he added as a mail coach rattled into the courtyard. “The Bard didn’t have to contend with all this traffic.”
Will glanced down at the hubbub as hostlers ran out with fresh horses, unharnessing the ones who’d just pulled in and replacing them in the traces at amazing speed, sending the coach on its way again faster than he would have thought possible. “I think I should like that,” he said absently. “I suppose they must practice, to change so quickly.”
“Yes, like gunnery drill,” Davy said, tipping the boy who unlocked the door and handed him the key.
They entered and set their bags down; Davy locked the door. They listened a moment, while the boy’s footsteps retreated down the gallery, and then moved into a brief embrace, pressed up against the door. Will felt himself relax once more and drew back. “What now? You were thrilled at the thought of London—well, we’re in London. Shall we go to the tailor’s first?”
Davy gave him a puzzled look. “That would do us no good. It’s Sunday.”
“It is?” They’d been sent off on Saturday; the coach broke down that evening, just last night. “So it is. Yesterday morning seems such a long time ago.” He looked about the room. Small but adequate—larger than a ship’s cabin, at any rate. A small table sat before the window, with a chair on either side; the bed took up most of the wall beside the door. “We should work out an itinerary.” He chose one of the chairs, pleased to sit on something that was not swaying back and forth.
“We should go find some dinner. We’ve two days before I walk into the lions’ den, and after that, come what may, we’ll have a week of freedom. And we needn’t eat here. Ther
e’s another inn just next door.”
“Who dined there, Marlowe?”
“You’re on the scent, but it’s the wrong scent. Chaucer.”
Will rolled his eyes heavenward. Dinner was on his mind—but not only dinner. “Must we? Immediately?” He leaned over to peer through the window and saw nothing but the brick wall of the building opposite.
Davy lifted a small towel from beside the washbasin and draped it over the doorknob, blocking the keyhole. “We must, but not immediately. Did you have some other activity in mind?”
His voice had a tone in it that sent a warm flush down to Will’s toes. Then he sauntered over and stood close enough that Will could put an arm around his hips, so he did. “Well, yes.”
“Very likely the same thing I do,” Davy said, and bent until their lips met. Shakespeare, Chaucer, and the entire British literary pantheon fled, replaced by the sudden need to get as close as possible to that amazing warm body.
Will was on his feet without knowing how he got there, Davy pressed against him, both of them moving slowly toward the wall beside the window. He felt a little fear at how completely his control was gone, his whole being focused on a trail of fire that flashed down his body, his hips arching forward involuntarily.
Davy shifted away, and Will gasped as a warm hand covered his cock through his breeches. “Never mind the bed,” Davy whispered, working the buttons free.
Will nodded dumbly and pulled loose the lacings that kept Davy’s breeches fitted tight to his glorious arse, and then there was only flesh touching naked flesh, their cocks sliding against each other, the sensation building with every move until it burst like a signal flare all through his body, and a moment later, Davy stiffened against him with a muted gasp.
He felt a bit silly after, with his belly sticky and his breeches down around his knees, which were just a little shaky. But he held Davy tight against his chest and let his face rest against that golden crown of hair. Oh yes, worth the risk. Worth any risk.
Davy cleared his throat and looked up with a smile. “I didn’t want to try the bed. It doesn’t look as sturdy as the one we had last night.”
Will laughed. “Well, then, since you’ve done reconnaissance, is there water in the jug?”
“Of course.”
They cleaned up quickly, leaving no trace, and took the opportunity to wash away the road dust from their faces. Will heard someone pass by on the gallery outside—a man and a woman, talking in low tones. If he could hear them…. “We shall need to be quiet here.”
Davy shrugged. “I know. We always will. Quiet and careful as we’d be aboard ship. We were mad last night, to do so much. Lucky, too.”
“It was a wonderful storm.”
“Indoors or out?”
Will laughed again. It felt strange to be so happy. He’d always been fairly content with his life, but this joy was something new. “Anywhere you like. Come, let’s go find something to eat where Venerable Bede took tea.”
“Chaucer. And it’s the Talbot now, but originally it was the Tabard—and that, Will, is the inn from which the Canterbury pilgrims set out. It’s been rebuilt since then—”
“Burned down in the Southwark fire, of course,” Will finished. “I expect almost everything around here did. Out, sir, and no more literary lectures until we’ve found something more digestible than Chaucer and his babbling band.”
BY THE time they returned to the George, Will had seen the signs explaining the Talbot’s origins—two of them, obstructing the inn’s galleries but making it clear to all and sundry that any traveler setting foot in the mucky wagon yard was automatically hallowed by association. The food was, of course, better than shipboard fare, and Will had nothing to complain about when the roast beef came with pieces of potato, carrot, and onion in gravy that he mopped up with a chunk of fresh bread.
Davy, curious to see what was going on in town, had located day-old copies of both the Times and the Morning Post. But he set these aside long enough to pen a note to his mother and find a serving lad who could deliver it first thing in the morning.
“I’ve told her you’re with me,” he reported, “and that we have official business to keep us occupied tomorrow and much of Wednesday. And, as it’s August, I really doubt we’ll hear back. The family generally goes out to the country this time of year.”
“Would you like to go there?” Will asked. “That is, would we have the time?”
“No. There might be time, but we would spend almost all of it on the road. That might have its compensations, but I don’t believe we’d be there long enough to make the trip worthwhile. It’s something like two hundred and fifty miles, Will. We could make the trip in a day or so on a mail coach, but those carry four passengers, so there’d be no privacy at all, and only five-minute stops all the way.”
Staying put suited Will perfectly. He would never deprive Davy of something he truly wanted, but the notion of facing the entire Archer clan was more than he felt prepared to tackle. “I’m convinced. Now, would you care to spend a little while in a review of scudding?”
“I would not,” Davy replied, folding his newspaper to a comfortable size for reading. “There are a hundred details to remember that I would enlarge upon if asked, but the most important is that a ship’s safety while scudding depends on minimal sails and a steady hand at the wheel.”
“When would you inspect a ship’s boats while at sea?”
“After sunset. Though I still think it makes more sense to inspect them just before, when there’s some light. And I know when you go to bend sails, you bend the light ones first. I can name the number and ranks of a full ship’s complement for any size vessel you can imagine, I know the proper loads of powder for various sizes of cannon…. I do know all this, Will, really. I’ve lived and breathed it for the past five years. So long as they give me a moment to think, I’m sure I can remember.” He smiled at the doubt Will knew was on his face. “Truly. If I don’t have it in my mind by now, a cram is pointless. I know you picked up a Naval Gazette in Portsmouth, so why not enjoy it and let me read my paper?”
Will saw that even if a cram was not pointless, an argument was. “Very well.”
Much later, they went upstairs and expressed their mutual affection in a quiet but thorough manner. The bed survived.
SOMETHING HEAVY crashed against the wall at the foot of the bed, shaking the room. David Archer’s eyes flew open.
Will was sitting bolt upright in his nightshirt, staring at the door. “What was that?”
David shook himself awake. “I’d guess someone dropped a trunk,” he speculated, “or fell against the wall, or—” Another crash, farther down the gallery. “Or is carrying too many bags for such a narrow space. Hope he doesn’t go over the railing. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, until someone’s baby started howling just before dawn. You didn’t seem to notice.”
“I plead exhaustion,” David said with a grin. “All your fault. What’s the time?”
Will stretched an arm over and snagged his breeches from the nearest chair. “Half past six,” he said, consulting his pocket watch.
“Excellent!” He prodded Will’s side with a finger. “Well, we’re both awake now. Out or down, sir! We’ve no time to waste. The boy should be up with hot water in ten or fifteen minutes.”
Will shrugged and climbed out of bed, yawning. “Don’t know why I’m so sleepy,” he grumbled. “Four hours seems plenty of sleep on watch.”
“Yes, but you get four hours twice a day at sea. We should be just about used to shore hours by the time we’re due back. If you want to find another place to stay, we had better pack our bags now.”
“I do. Have you a place in mind?”
“Mr. Drinkwater recommended the Red Lion, did he not? It’s on the same side of the river as the Admiralty, and fairly close. A good area too. Or we could scout around today, stay here, and change tomorrow morning. But before we go anywhere, Will, I must tutor you on London as you’ve been tutori
ng me in navigation.”
Will put his shaving kit down and turned. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve not been to London before. I know you’re brave and clever—and I’d want no one else at my back in a fight—but you’re easy prey for the street urchins and other lowlife. You must be careful of where you stow your money. Never keep more than a couple of shillings and a few pence in your coat pocket. Put your other coins in your breeches and banknotes in your inner waistcoat pocket, and don’t take your watch out in public. Or—perhaps we should find a shop and buy you one of these.” He dug through his packed clothing and found his money pouch, a drawstring bag with a long looped cord. “I can keep your bankroll in this until you have one of your own. Around the neck, under the shirt—you’d notice if a pickpocket tried for it there.”
Will smiled a little dubiously. “But there’s two of us—and we do have swords!”
David sighed. “You are a babe in the wood. Will, the street thieves learn their art from the time they can walk. Most of them have little choice, poor brutes. They’re experienced by the age of five or six. A boy sees his target—a well-dressed greenhorn, gawping at the sights—and rushes by, snatching his purse and disappearing into the crowd before you realize you’ve been robbed. Some of the older ones work in pairs—one jostles you from in front while his accomplice brushes past behind and relieves you of your riches, or perhaps just your handkerchief. They’re swift, and your sword is useless because by the time you could draw it, the only ones you’d endanger are innocent bystanders.”
Will stood there with his mouth half-open for a full ten seconds. Then he said, a little incredulously, “And… you consider running this gauntlet a jolly pastime?”
