Page 30 of It Takes Two to Tumble
“You must come to dinner during your stay,” Phillip said impulsively. “Both of you.” All three were staring at him with round eyes, and he realized the words had come out more as a command than an invitation. He tried to adopt a less authoritarian tone. “Your brother,” he told Mr. Hartley Sedgwick, “has been infinitely helpful with my children.” He knew a mad urge to claim Ben as his own. “I’d be so honored to have his brother and his betrothed as my guests.”
At the wordbetrothed, a strange thing happened. Hartley rolled his eyes, Miss Crawford blushed and looked away, and Ben froze. Well, well. Phillip didn’t know quite what to think, only that matters were not as straightforward as they seemed, and that this new intelligence pleased him out of all proportion.
Chapter Fourteen
Phillip was already in bed when he heard the knock on his door.
He knew before he had his hand on the latch that it was Ben. It couldn’t be anyone else; the children were sleeping, a servant had already banked his fire, and houses, unlike ships, didn’t generally have emergent situations. Even if there were an emergency, he would not be the person appealed to. This sense of irrelevance was not as disconcerting as Phillip might have liked.
He opened the door to find Ben in rolled-up shirtsleeves and a fierce expression.
“Did you decide to take me up on my offer and hit me?” Phillip asked. He had made that offer only half in jest. Ben didn’t wear anger well. His cheerful, handsome face belonged in a smile.
“No,” the vicar said, his jaw clenched.
“You’d better come in.”
He stepped only far enough inside for Phillip to reach behind him and latch the door. “Why did you invite them?”
Phillip wasn’t going to remind him that Barton Hall was his own house and he could invite whomever the hell he wanted. “Your brother and Miss Crawford? I thought it would please you to have their company,” he said, because it was the truth.
“I cannot sit at the table with you and Alice. I can’t.”
“Ah. I see.”
“And as for Hartley, he sees everything.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I have to make a decision. And I damned well hate it.” Ben seldom swore, and the coarse language, even more than his fierce expression, told Phillip of his distress.
“I know,” Phillip said. There was nothing else he could say. He had already told the younger man of his own experiences, for what little they were worth, and there was nothing more than that he could offer. The decision had to be Ben’s. Phillip reminded himself that it had nothing to do with him. He would be at sea long before Ben went through with the marriage.
“She’s not well,” Ben said. “For me to break the engagement would be shabby even if she weren’t unwell. She’s my closest and oldest friend, and she’ll be left with precious little after her parents die.”
“She’s a beautiful woman,” Phillip pointed out. “And lively.”
“She can hardly walk. Even if she had occasion to meet a suitor, it’s not every man who could see past that.”
Phillip didn’t know if this were true, but Ben believed it, and that was the crux of the issue. “Can you set aside money for her use, if she’s ever in need?”
“I put all my extra income—and this is not a wealthy parish, so don’t think I’m some kind of philanthropist—into the poor box. But, yes, I do need to find a way to set some aside.”
“Of course you give away all your money.” Phillip would never stop being surprised by how decent this man was. “Of course you do.”
Ben paid him no heed. “I feel like a cad and I’m not used to that.”
Phillip smiled. Ben was used to being adored and appreciated. Phillip had learned that quickly—everyone in the village liked their jovial young vicar. And for good reason. “I don’t envy you,” Phillip said, and it was true. He tried to ignore the utterly irrelevant surge of hope that swept through him at the idea that Ben might not marry this girl. He tried to remind himself that it didn’t matter, that it was ridiculous for him to be jealous of this young woman, that rolling around on the boathouse floor and groping against his desk had nothing in common with building a life and starting a family. But he couldn’t banish either the hope or the jealousy from his mind, so instead he took Ben’s hand in his own. “You really are a decent, good, kind man, and whatever decision you make will be for the best.” The strangest thing was that Phillip actually believed the trite words as they left his mouth. The vicar, for all his youth, really was a good man, one of the best Phillip had ever known.
And Phillip had ruined it for him. Ben had been blithely headed down a smooth path and Phillip sent him careening sideways. Well, that was done and there was nothing left but to ruin it some more.
“Come here,” Phillip said, tugging him close.
Ben sagged against Phillip’s body as if it were a relief to be close. And maybe it was. God knew that at the first brush of their bodies Phillip felt like he was taking a deep breath after swimming underwater for too long. It felt somehow easier to touch and hold Ben than it was not to touch him, which made no sense, because Phillip had never in his life touched anyone like this. He had never run his hands soothingly down anyone’s back; he had never kissed anyone’s temple; he had never whispered nonsense into anyone’s ear as he was doing now. But it all felt right, like he was finally in his native habitat.
It was Ben who first turned the embrace into something more, turning his head so his lips pressed into Phillip’s neck. Phillip held Ben’s chin in his hand so he could see the man’s face and get some idea of what he was thinking. The anger had fled and been replaced with want. Want, Phillip could work with.
Their lips met with more urgency than finesse, and Phillip didn’t care because he had gone too many years with too few kisses, and he had gone his whole life without Ben, and now he had kisses and Ben and he had never felt better.
Ben was steering him backward. Towards the bed, Phillip gathered. He liked that, liked that Ben was taking what he wanted and that what he wanted was Phillip. They landed on the bed in a tangle of limbs, Ben a welcome heaviness on top of him. Phillip wore only his dressing gown, and not for long, because Ben shoved it aside and tossed it to the ground before pulling his own shirt off in one movement. Phillip watched with interest as he began to unfasten his breeches, sliding them down around his lean hips and exposing his already hard prick. God, he was lovely. He was golden and young and he seemed to glow with goodness and beauty. Phillip could have worshiped at his feet, but instead settled for pulling him down and rolling them over.
“I want,” Ben rasped. “I want everything.”
