by Lee Rowan
“I have the carriage downstairs,” Kit said. “A light dinner at home, and the afternoon is yours. To… rest.” He raised an eyebrow at them both.
“A bed sounds inviting,” Will said. “I find it strangely fatiguing to be ashore, and uninterrupted rest is a luxury even a commander can seldom afford.”
“Yes, the Marshall indolence is legendary even in the wilds of Hudson’s Bay,” Davy said mischievously.
“Indolence? You wrong me, sir!”
“Oh, my mistake. I should have said that my desire to sleep with you is known in Hudson’s Bay.”
“That’s not much better.”
“Oh, but it is. Better than anything else I could imagine.”
St. John took each of them by an elbow. “I hope you will refrain from such conversation at table, or my servants will flee. Come, gentlemen, let’s be off.”
WILL HAD not realized how beautiful Jamaica was. From the shaded seat of St. John’s carriage, he could now appreciate the sun’s warmth and the faint fragrance of flowers that seemed to pervade the atmosphere. And St. John’s home was more cheerful than he remembered, with its deep porch and welcoming walls. Clearly, his own mood had colored his perceptions.
The dinner provoked a deep appreciation of what could be done with the improbable combination of chicken and pineapple. Will swallowed his last bite of ambrosia. “If your cook should ever wish to run away to sea,” he said, “I know a little sloop that would be delighted to give him a berth.”
His Lordship frowned sternly. “Attempts to steal one’s cook are considered an act of war in these parts, Captain. But the compliment will no doubt spur him on to greater efforts. Do you have any special requests?”
“I haven’t the experience to know what to suggest,” Marshall admitted. “Nor the gall to instruct an artist in his craft.”
“Antoine is indeed an artiste,” Kit agreed. “I heard some rumor of trifle for dessert.”
“And his is no trifling effort,” Davy chimed in.
Marshall looked from one set of blue eyes to another and abandoned any hope of keeping up with the wordplay. “Your family’s children must cut their teeth on dictionary bindings.”
“My mother loves to read aloud,” Davy said. “I think she went through most of Shakespeare when I was young. She even read to us before we were born. Strange, when I think of it—you’d not expect a lady to enjoy such bloodthirsty fare.”
“The lighter works, perhaps?” Kit offered. “Much Ado About Nothing?”
“Oh, no, a new baby was always an event.” Davy grinned, then suddenly sobered. “I do hope your friend Percy reached her before the official news did.”
“You may be sure of it. He would not be above creating a diversion if he thought official word would outpace the Daydream.”
The arrival of dessert interrupted their speculation, and all three gave the trifle full attention. Rich cream, jam, and tropical fruits made it unlike anything Marshall had ever eaten before; even the cake had some faint flavor he could not identify.
Davy made slow going of it, though. He ate, but not with the hearty enthusiasm he had formerly displayed at table. Will wondered if he would even be able to manage ship’s fare at this point. A futile speculation. Not a question he was ever likely to resolve.
Davy apparently felt his observation and glanced up. “I am all right, Will. The doctor advised smaller, more frequent meals. I’ll be prowling around the kitchen in a couple of hours.”
Kit stole a quick look at his watch. “Come, gentlemen, ‘we sit too long on trifles, and waste the time, which looks to other revels.’”
“Pericles,” Davy replied. He frowned for a moment, then essayed, “My father named me Autolycus, who was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.”
They both turned to Will, who shook his head. “I know when I am outmatched. Though I would hesitate to snap up a trifle that you gentlemen had been sitting on.”
“You have us there,” Davy admitted. “No further trifling, then. What other revels, Kit?”
“It hardly qualifies. You may accompany me to my foreman’s house to discuss shipment of coffee beans, or you may stay here, finish the pot of that same coffee, and perhaps take a siesta?”
Will glanced up and met Davy’s eyes, thought of his duty to his host, and hesitated.
David kicked his ankle under the table. “I think I’d rather stay here,” he said quickly.
Kit glanced from one to the other and shook his head. “Will, I asked only as a matter of form. The maids are already filling a tub in the bathing-room between your chambers.”
Will felt himself blush. “Thank you…. I—”
“Once I reach home, after a suitable greeting of offspring, Zoe and I will pack the children off to my mother and lock ourselves away for at least a week. I will enjoy your visit immensely if I only see you occasionally… not that your company is displeasing.” With a wicked grin, he folded his napkin and left the table. “Have a lovely afternoon!”
When they were left alone, Will took another sip of the excellent Jamaican coffee. “What a thoughtful gentleman your cousin is!”
“Truly. But you know, Will, he has spoken just as kindly of how you treated him back on Calypso.”
“He—I was terribly rude to him, Davy. He was so much like you… and I had nearly lost you to that fever.”
Davy fixed him with a look. “I can’t say as I remember much of that, but I believe I was ill from natural causes, and no fault of yours.” He finished his own coffee and set the cup neatly on its saucer. “Let it go, Will. We’re here, now, and there’s a bed upstairs.”
“Two beds, if I recall.”
“We shall only require one.”
THEY WENT up to Davy’s suite, and Will was surprised to see that the guest parlor was now mostly a study. A desk had been brought in near the window, where it caught the afternoon light. A small table stood beside it. Both were piled high with books, maps, and monographs.
“Been doing some reading, Davy?”
“Quite a bit. Studying for my new role.” Davy pulled the door shut and slipped an arm around Will’s waist. “Every book I could lay hands on that has information about North America. Geography, politics, even fiction….”
“Oh. For ‘David St. John.’ To make him well-rounded?”
“Yes. I’ve spent so much time with my nose in a book, I could tell you more than you want to know about Canada. Would you care for a lecture on weather? Beaver-trapping? Fishing in the northern waters?”
“Not especially. I’d no idea this new identity would be such a trial.”
Davy smiled. “Oddly enough, I’ve enjoyed the task. Not much else I could do while convalescing, Will, and you know how I am about books. There’s been the added incentive of knowing that my life might depend on playing a convincing Canadian. Yours too. Has that spy business been cleared up as yet?”
“I don’t think so. The bastard’s still on the loose, but the intelligence service is apparently scooping up his network—he visited several people in Kingston, and they’re being followed as well. I’ve only been told that you are not yet allowed to return to the land of the living, even if you were fit for it. But you’ve not been idle, have you? This research looks like damned hard work.”
“Easier than navigational mathematics—easier for me, at any rate. The role of a lifetime.”
“Should I call you St. John, then?”
“It would be best, at least in public. You can practice in private if you like. Of course, I kept the first name, and there’s enough resemblance that any mistake on your part would seem natural enough. But we’ll not be in public much.” Davy turned him toward the inner door. “Shall we retire? If you’d rather sleep alone, the other bedroom is still available for you.”
“Of course not.” Will glanced down at the face turned up toward his and brushed the back of his fingers over the beard. “I hear you, and you sound the same—and then I look, and must look again—but it is no longer
such a surprise.”
“It will matter less, after dark.” Davy surveyed the room. “There was something else….” He went to the desk and took out a small object wrapped in a handkerchief. “Here. For you.”
As soon as he felt the bundle, Will realized what it had to be. The handkerchief unrolled and the thick plait of blond hair fell into his hand. Braided; they’d almost never bothered to do that when they dressed one another’s hair, but of course it would hold together better this way….
“I thought you might like to have it,” Davy said diffidently. “It had to go, of course.”
Will’s fingers closed around it. He could not speak.
Davy frowned at his silence. “I’m sorry, Will. Of course you needn’t—”
“Thank you.” Will caressed the braid with his thumb before wrapping it again and stowing it in his inner breast pocket, golden treasure that it was. His other hand reached out to touch Davy’s short dark hair. A new feeling. “Thank you.”
“I’m not quite used to it, myself,” Davy admitted. “Though—Will, it does save time. Without you to comb it out.”
Kissing Davy saved Will from another incipient snivel. “Let’s get to that bath, shall we? I’ll see what you’re like with a wet beard.” He opened the door to the bathroom, and a warm, floral scent enveloped them. The enormous tub was half-full, and clean white towels lay on a small bench beside it.
“We’ve been unshaven before,” Davy said. “Even the first time.”
The first time. Aboard that renegade’s ship, so foolish—each of them had been secretly in love with the other, though only Davy had been fully aware of his feelings. And Marshall had been disgusted with himself for having allowed such contact with a shipmate, particularly one under his command. But after they had spent two weeks together, when Davy took and passed his officer’s examination… somehow all the fears and hesitation had been sorted through and discarded. Maintaining their love under the Articles of War had been difficult and always risky; opportunities to be together were rare and precious.
As this one was.
They kissed; he began to undo the soft cravat at Davy’s throat. “Would you rather bathe first, alone?”
“I—” Davy’s mouth tightened. “No. You may as well see the thing. It’s ugly, but—well, it will be dark soon.”
Did Davy not realize he’d seen that dreadful injury in the days after his mock funeral? He had been unconscious or feverish much of the time then and dosed with laudanum for the pain, so perhaps he did not remember.
“Whatever you like, Davy. It’s really no matter.”
“Let’s not let the water get too cold.” Davy turned away and stripped quickly, clearly bracing himself for an ordeal. Will undressed as well, placing his shirt and other clothing over his uniform coat. Captain Smith had told him to find himself an epaulet in Kingston, the symbol that would transform the uniform of a Lieutenant into that of a Commander. He had not sought that promotion; he did not deserve it. He would trade it in a heartbeat to have Davy back beside him, even in a rowboat.
Will shed the last of his clothing just as Davy pulled his shirt over his head. His unaccustomed slenderness, the vulnerable bare neck with its cap of dark hair, touched a protective chord. Before Davy could turn around, Will moved up close, gathering his lover against him. “I don’t need to see, Davy. You’re alive. That’s enough.”
“I may have to hide from the world, but I will not hide from you.” Taking Will’s hands, Davy moved them to his lower chest, where Will felt a raised, slightly bumpy irregularity on the smooth skin. “That’s the entry wound. This one”—a longer, slightly thinner ridge—“that’s from the surgery.”
He nuzzled the back of Davy’s neck. “Do they hurt?”
“They itch. Damnably, sometimes. I’m told that’s a good sign.” He took a step away and turned quickly, studying Will’s face. “Please—tell me if you can’t stand it.”
After one brief glance at the long, ragged red line, Will raised his eyes to meet his friend’s. “You’re breathing.” He placed his hands carefully on Davy’s shoulders. “You’re warm.” He let his hands slide down those shoulders, spreading over his chest, fingertips sliding through the scattering of hair, brushing the nipples. Davy shivered. “You’re alive. And we’re free of that sneaking traitor—because of you.” He bent to meet Davy’s lips and touched the scar again. “Because of this. If I could trade places with you, I would. There’s more courage here than in all the decorations on Nelson’s chest.”
Davy swallowed and let his forehead rest against Will’s shoulder, his own shoulders slumping in wordless relief.
“Anyway, it looks better now than when I helped Dr. Curran change the dressings.”
“What?”
“When you were half-conscious, or delirious. I never realized you would not remember.”
“I thought I was dreaming,” Davy said under his breath. “Will, why—?”
“You were restless. He needed help.” He’d had to sit behind Davy, restraining his hands while the doctor performed the painful necessities. He’d felt it all secondhand through Davy’s cries and the tremors that shook the feverish body in his arms. He never wanted to endure such torment again. “We’ve both seen wounds before, after all.” He rubbed Davy’s bare back soothingly, taking his own comfort in its coolness. “This was worse, because it was you. Not because it was ugly.”
“No, not why did you help, why ever did you let me carry on like that?”
“It was your choice. To show me or not.”
He let out a breath. “Will, I feel a fool.”
“Since you are presently feeling me, you are no doubt correct. Climb in the tub, Mr. Ar—Mr. St. John, and I shall scrub your back.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Marshall.” Davy stepped into the tub. He sighed as Will dipped the bath-sponge into the scented water and squeezed it out over his back. “Would you care to join me?”
“In a moment. You should be washed properly first.” He dropped the sponge back in the water and soaped his hands.
“Or improperly.” Davy reached behind him, finding Will’s naked thigh. “You could stand closer.”
“Are you suggesting I neglect my duties, sir?” He gave Davy’s shoulder a light nip and slid his hands down front and back, cupping Davy’s genitals in front, fingers slipping between the curved buttocks. As Davy’s lips parted in a startled cry, he completed the surprise attack by capturing his mouth.
Davy responded with sweet ferocity, nearly upsetting the tub as he pulled Will against him. The urgency took them again, and Will’s lust-fogged mind lost track of details. Somehow he stumbled into the tub and wound up lying back against its sloped side. Davy settled atop him, leaning back on his raised knees, and ground against him. The water lapped at Will’s chin.
“You’re going to drown me,” he observed, lifting water in cupped palms to rinse the suds off his lover’s chest.
“That is not what I have in mind.” Davy reached between them, fingers closing around his objective. “Do you suppose there’ll be any water left in the tub…?”
“We’d ruin your cousin’s floor,” Will said, trying to balance the exquisite sensations against practicality. He took hold of Davy’s cock, smiling as his lover’s hips thrust forward. The water surged with him. “You wiggle about so, we’d probably have the tub over.”
“So you say.” Davy leaned closer. “I will wager you a day’s—damn.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I will wager you… any outrageous request that I can bring you off without tipping the tub.”
Will hesitated for a moment. Davy’s wagers could have unpredictable results. Still, he wouldn’t embarrass his cousin… would he? The blue eyes held his, laughing in challenge.
“Done!” he said, curiosity overriding prudence.
He had never thought of using soapsuds as lubrication, and he had an uncomfortable suspicion that they might both be sore later, but as Davy slid slowly down, surrounding him, he forgot all that and b
egan to raise his hips to meet the enveloping warmth.
“Hold still,” Davy said.
“What—?”
“I’ve had time to think, these past weeks.” Davy shifted a bit. “Knowing if I ever saw you again, it might only be for a little while… so I have thought of a few things I would like to try.” He grinned wickedly, and Will’s cock was embraced tightly as Davy clenched around him. “What do you think of this one?”
He could only squeeze his eyes closed, fingers digging into Davy’s hips as his breath hissed between his teeth. He felt Davy’s fingers tease up his sides, his chest, pinching and rolling his nipples until his body was aflame, the pleasure shooting through him. He pumped Davy’s cock in return, knowing he was the one splashing now, but no longer concerned.
It didn’t take long. Davy cried out, and the shudders that ran through his body pushed Will with him. They both shook with the release, and Davy fell forward on him, the wet beard strange and scratchy against Will’s neck. The water rose even farther, nearly enough to overflow.
But they did not tip the tub.
Chapter 15
“DAVY?”
“Mm?”
“That wager… what is it you want?”“
“Oh, that… I have no idea. Wait and see.”
“Davy.”
“Oh, for—aren’t you sleepy?”
“A little. Davy, you were going to wager a day’s pay… forgive me, but—I do have prize money—if you need it—”
“Keep it, Will. You earned it.”
“I owe you everything.”
“You have given me everything. Will, my funds are still protected—our prize money, some I had from my grandmother… gave it into Kit’s care, to invest for me, and he is still my trustee on it. I can get whatever I need. I wrote my will a while ago, leaving it to you.”
“Whatever for?”
“My dear fool, if either of us were a woman, we’d be married long since. Who else would I leave it to? But Kit is trustee while I’m in limbo. I am well provided for. But if you should ever be in need….” He sighed. “You wouldn’t tell me, would you?”
