Page 14 of It Takes Two to Tumble
“He lives in London,” Sedgwick said, which answered only one of Phillip’s concerns. “Anyway, you understand...”
Phillip passed a hand over his mouth. “If that bastard is your family’s only experience with naval officers, then I damned well can’t blame you for thinking me likely to cause trouble.” He ought to leave it there, but he didn’t want Sedgwick to think him a villain. It mattered, somehow, that this man with his frank smiles and his blatant efforts to make Phillip smile in return not think him anything like Dinsdale. “But, Sedgwick, I do hope you can see the difference between a man like that and a man like me.” He was openly pleading now, so badly did he want this man not to think the worst of him.
Something in the strain in his voice must have been apparent to Sedgwick, because he raised his eyes to look directly at Phillip. “A man like you,” Sedgwick repeated. From any other man Phillip would have recognized the words and the intent look as a plain invitation.
But this was the vicar. Phillip hadn’t planned on lusting after the vicar. The vicar, of all people. There could hardly be anyone less suitable. But all that bashful, freckled righteousness was too good to resist. Phillip decided to take a chance. He slid his hand over to where Sedgwick’s rested on the table. It was no more of a touch than when Sedgwick had slid him that note earlier—that blasted note, which Phillip hadn’t the slightest idea what to do with. Sedgwick’s hand was warm and solid, as tan with the sun as Phillip’s own.
Sedgwick lifted his eyebrows questioningly.
Phillip lifted one of his in return, and moved his hand to cover Sedgwick’s. They were alone, and it was only hands, innocent to any observer, he told himself. Sedgwick’s hand felt strong under his, a little rough with work. He laced his fingers into Sedgwick’s and was startled to find that it felt right, as if he had always wanted to hold hands with a madcap vicar at his dining table, and only realized it now.
Maybe Sedgwick’s thoughts were along similar lines, because Phillip could feel the man’s pulse quicken. Then, suddenly, the vicar let out a huff of laughter, as if it were only mildly amusing that the two of them were sitting here acknowledging an attraction, actually touching one another.
Then Sedgwick pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. “I ought to go finish up tomorrow’s sermon. I suppose I’ll see you in church?”
Well. That rather dampened Phillip’s ardor. Nothing like talk of sermons to ruin a moment. “Doubtful,” Phillip said, and he knew he sounded annoyed. The truth was that he didn’t trust the church any more than Sedgwick trusted the navy. He didn’t want any part of an institution that shamed and vilified what Sedgwick had alluded to asmen like him. And he was rather surprised, disappointed even, that Sedgwick did. “Good night,” he said curtly.
“Quite all right,” Sedgwick said, as if it did not matter to him in the least whether people went to church or had relations with other men. And maybe it didn’t. Phillip was out of his depth.
Ben took the stairs up to his bedchamber two at a time, shut the door behind him, and turned the key in the lock because there was no doubt in his mind about what he was about to do. He flung his coat onto the bed and had his breeches unfastened before he had stopped walking.
He groaned when he wrapped his hand around himself. The past few days had been torture, trying not to stare openly at Dacre while he did things like... smile... and talk. And every now and then he got this imperious look in his eye and he was clearly on the verge of ordering people about, but then he quelled it and did something decent instead. Even if he hadn’t been the handsomest man Ben had ever laid eyes on, Ben would still be here in an attic room with his hand tightly around his prick, tossing himself off like he hadn’t done this in ages, when in reality he had done it yesterday.Yesterday. He was actingdepraved.
He wasn’t even going to pretend this wasn’t about Dacre. He didn’t even stop himself from thinking about the man, the taut muscles of his arms and the habit he had of biting back a smile as if smiles cost extra and he was saving up for an especially big one. Every stroke of his hand, he imagined it was actually Dacre’s, spreading moisture along the length of his aching prick.
And then he remembered the press of Dacre’s long fingers against his own, the heat of his palm and the strength of his touch. He brought his own hand to his mouth to wet it, and from there, it was easy to imagine himself licking Dacre’s fingers, drawing them into his mouth, watching Dacre’s eyes flare in desire. And then, since this was wanking logic and nothing had to make sense or even be physically possible, it was Dacre’s cock in Ben’s mouth and his hand on Ben’s cock.
Ben braced his free hand against the bedpost and stroked himself faster now, not even bothering to hold back the images that flashed before his eyes. Hands, lips, sweat, wanting, being wanted—and then he was spending in his hand.
He cleaned himself up and tried to steady his thoughts. Usually he regarded this a basic biological necessity, like eating or sleeping, and he didn’t refine too much on the passages in the Scripture that suggested masturbation might be sinful or shameful. He tended to think that when the Bible condemned something practically everyone did, whether it be tossing oneself off or eating pork, there was likely some nuance that had been lost either to history or to translation. And then he didn’t think about it anymore. He wouldn’t do the people of Kirkby Barton any good by thinking about bacon or wanking, so he didn’t think about either and had to imagine neither did God.
This time, though, it hadn’t felt like a basic biological need but like an indulgence. This was the first time he had focused his desires on one person rather than the act of getting himself off efficiently.
He realized to his horror that he felt like he had done something wrong by thinking about Captain Dacre. Was it that he thought the captain would mind? Hardly. Was it because he thought Alice would mind? That, he felt, was closer to the mark. He couldn’t know whether Alice would mind him wanking off to thoughts of a man because that wasn’t something that they could ever possibly discuss. And that, itself, was a problem.
But there was more, lurking at the edges of his consciousness, if only he could be brave enough to look. He made himself examine his thoughts. He would never feel the enthusiasm for the marriage bed that he felt for tonight’s solitary relief. He had always known that, to some extent, but now that he had fixed a name and a face to his desire, what he had to offer Alice seemed inadequate in comparison.
Men such as he married for many reasons. They wanted families; they wanted companionship; they needed a shield against suspicious minds. And Ben didn’t fault them. Couldn’t fault them. But now, for the first time he thought that his conscience might not let him go through with it.
And if he couldn’t marry, then he’d need to jilt Alice. Sick, disabled Alice, who might not have any other chance to marry and certainly didn’t have any other means of providing for herself. The solution would be to talk about it, to see if they could find their way to a meaningful agreement on what their marriage would be like, but this wasn’t something he could talk about. To admit to his desire for men would be to risk his position and his life.
He went over to the window, thinking that maybe the view from this height would give him some perspective, but it was all darkness below, and above was nothing but stars and a waning moon.
Chapter Seven
Phillip, waking at dawn on Sunday morning, was the last person in the household to rise. The children did not number sloth or idleness among their vices, it would seem. He found the twins mucking out the stables while Ned talked with a man Phillip dimly remembered as the land steward. The vicar, his coat once again gone missing, was nominally supervising the twins but any fool could see that he was actually feeding apple cores to one of the foals. The foal, predictably, was following him around as if he had the elixir of life.
Phillip crossed the sun-dappled stable yard. As he approached he realized the twins were not working silently, but rather reciting something. For an astonished moment he thought it had to be a prayer, but then realized it was a history lesson.
“James, Charles, Charles, James, WilliamandMary—” these last monarchs were said in a single rush “—Anne, and then three Georges.”
“You’ve rather glossed over the interregnum, but you’re in good company there. Also I’m afraid there were a couple of wars in there we ought to at least be able to name, but I can’t for the life of me remember the name of the one that wasn’t against the French.”
“The War of the Spanish Succession,” Jamie suggested.
“No, that one was all about the French,” Peggy said.
“Perhaps Peggy wouldn’t mind looking it up for me later. I’d be mortified if one of my parishioners asked me and I didn’t have an answer. I’d look daft. Can’t have a daft vicar.”
