Chapter Nine

The cart hit a bump, and Phillip came back to himself from a lovely, hazy dream of laughter and dancing. A pirate king, a fisherman, the salty flavor of man came to Phillip, and then, with the bump, the taste turned sour.

He realized he’d slid down the seat and his head rested against a solid form. The hard muscle under his cheek had to be Carne’s shoulder. If only Phillip’s stomach and head hadn’t turned rebel, he’d enjoy this moment.

Another bump, and all thoughts but one vanished.

“We need to stop,” he said.

“We’re nearly home,” Carne said too cheerfully.

“Stop. Now.”

Carne must have heard the urgency, for he pulled the cart to a halt. “You don’t hold your liquor, do you, Mr. Singleton?”

Just the word liquor brought a burn to his head and throat and…

“Oh no.” Phillip stumbled off the cart and into the soggy ditch.

A day and evening that had started with such promise apparently would end with misery in the muck of a ditch. He heaved until he supposed he’d lost everything he’d eaten since he left London.

“I should never drink,” he croaked.

“Here.” A hand appeared next to his face, holding a bottle.

“No more.” Phillip cleared his throat and winced. “Please.”

“It’s water.”

He took the bottle and tasted it. Pure lovely water with only a hint of salt. After rinsing his mouth, he greedily drank.

“Don’t gulp it,” Carne said. “It’ll come back up.”

Phillip handed it back and straightened. “The world is sh-spinning, but my stomach no longer wants to turn itself inside out.”

Carne laughed.

Phillip twisted, carefully, to glare at him. “What is so terribly amusing, Mr. Treleaven?”

Carne stood too near him. “You were sounding properly pickled and now you could be sober.”

“Hardly,” Phillip muttered. “I shall never drink again. You are my witness.”

The man laughed again, a deep rumble that soothed Phillip. His large hand grasped Phillip’s elbow. “Come on. Let’s get you home now.”

Home. Gracious, that sounded pleasant. Phillip wondered what in his life constituted his home. The library in the Antiquarian Society? His club in London? Perhaps as he settled to write this book, he’d buy a house. Yes, he might buy one in a village near London so he could easily access the resources he needed. He wished he’d held on to his uncle’s townhouse in the city, with its lovely library, but that house seemed haunted to him and he’d been too sad to stay for long.

And he’d like a house just a bit farther outside the center of the city, a property with trees and more than a tiny garden.

Phillip stumbled over the ground near the road, distracted by the picture of the large house he could buy, perhaps in Wimbledon. Though, really, he’d prefer a cottage with whitewashed walls, dim windows… He formed a picture of a larger version of Carne’s house with room for books and a real garden. He’d want a place his Cantabrigian friends might visit. They’d discuss their studies over tea in the garden, but no ale. God, not ale.

The thoughts were more pleasant to consider than the dizziness that still seized him.

“Easy,” Carne murmured.

He must have groaned aloud. “I’m not going to be sick again,” he reassured Carne. “There’s nothing left.”

“Poor professor.”

“You must call me Phillip,” he insisted. “When one has witnessed a scene such as the one in the ditch, I think first names are de rigueur.”

“Day who?”

“Proper social behavior.” He risked opening his eyes and looking around. The clouds pinked by the light of a nearly set sun heaved a little, but that might have been due to the ride over the bumpy ground.

After a short drive, they stopped in front of the cottage. Carne jumped down and trotted over to Phillip’s side, but Phillip had already managed to climb down. “I think I shall live,” he said.

“Good,” Carne replied.

“I’m not certain I agree at the moment.”

They went into the cottage. He walked into his room, took off his glasses, and collapsed on the bed. He must have slept, because when he next opened his eyes, the cottage was entirely dark.

He sat up, seized by a dreadful thirst. His throat and head hurt, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d contracted an illness, until he remembered what he’d done in the pub. He groaned with mortification.

Something creaked and rustled. “Are you all right?” The voice came from the chair in the corner.

He put on his glasses and made out the shape. “Carne?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Were you doing a death watch?”

“No. Though maybe I mean yes. I knew two men who succumbed after drinking too much.”

“That’s awful.”

“’Twas.” Another creak and rustle.

“Were they close friends?”

“Naw. One was a drunkard who keeled over having a fit, and the other a fisherman who choked. I saw poor Chappy’s fit. So, then, Professor Phillip, if you’re still alive, I can go to my own bed.”

“I suppose you’re not up for a chat this time of night.”

That low rumble of laughter. “What do you want to chat about?”

“I think I remember what I did last night, but…”

“Tonight. Only hours ago now.”

Phillip rubbed at his face and muttered an oath.

Carne seemed to settle back into the chair. “Wonderin’ if you did anythin’ daft?”

“I’m rather certain that I did. I-I tend to become a bit too friendly with my fellow humans when I’ve had a single drink.” He groaned again. “I love the species and don’t try to hide it.”

Carne’s laughter was a warm caress. “You didn’t do anything to make anyone teasy. That is annoyed.”

So he hadn’t attempted to kiss Carne, then. That was a relief. He recalled something else humiliating. “There was that disgusting interlude in the ditch.”

“Not a cause for anger.”

Phillip waited for him to say more, but after a great loud yawn, Carne only said, “Need water? ’Tis next to the bed.”

His eyes had adjusted to the faint moonlight illuminating the room, and when he spotted the mug, Phillip drained it immediately. He was greedy for Carne again, for his company, and tried to think of a way to stall him from seeking his bed.

“Since I’m employing you, I give you leave to sleep as late as you wish. No need to worry about this late hour.”

“Very good, m’ lord, but I have errands unrelated to your worshipful self’s needs.”

Phillip laughed. “That’s put me in my place. Very good.”

“Such a peculiar man.” There was only a hint of amusement in Carne’s voice now. “I forget myself over and over with you. You’re as informal as can be.”

“Too true.” Phillip dropped onto his back on the bed. “I do know how to behave myself and did for most of my years at Cambridge. I can be as stodgy a fellow as you could ask for.”

“What’s it like, then?” Carne actually moved the chair closer to the bed. In the small room, that meant he was close indeed. Phillip could hear the soft sound of his breathing. “I mean the work. You didn’t do anything strenuous with your body, only your mind. Why would a man leave a plum position like that?”

Phillip wished he had more water, but didn’t want to say such a thing for fear of losing Carne’s presence. “I was a scattered sort of a lecturer. A student could merely introduce a tangent, and then the lecture would go well over time. I think I told you I was held back by my duties, but in truth, I could have pursued my research in the field under the university’s auspices. Ha, I’d have had some students to help with the research as well.”

“Someone else to cart your equipment?”

“Exactly. I knew you were an astute fellow.”

“If they’d let you wander the countryside, why not remain a part of the university?”

“I have always been a part of some school or another since I was a child. I wanted to explore the world outside academia. To find out on my own where I fit without the presence of my university looming over my plans and dreams.”

“Dreams.” Carne sounded disgusted. “They don’t pay for dinner.”

“Ah, that is due to my uncle. He and I were good friends.” He broke off, still not able to speak easily of his beloved relative who’d died two years earlier. The existence of his uncle, a confirmed bachelor, had reassured Phillip that desire for another man could dwell in the most admirable of gentlemen.

During a long-ago visit, his Uncle Downlaw had discovered young Phillip weeping. When Phillip brokenly confessed to unnatural inclinations, his uncle had told him he should feel no shame. Some men were simply born different. Phillip had understood without Downlaw saying it that they were both of that special sort.

“Have you fallen asleep?” Carne whispered.

“No, no. I was thinking about my uncle.”

“The one who supports your dreams?”

“In a manner of speaking. He left me well off.” He sighed. “And he would be annoyed that I mentioned that fact to you. He disliked conversations about money.”

“Was he a stodgy sort?”

“Not at all. He, ah, he understood me.”

“And what does that mean?”

Phillip thought Carne knew full well what it meant. Did Carne want to engage in battle about Phillip’s desires? But that didn’t seem to fit the man who’d helped him all day, including that episode in a ditch.

Phillip said, “My uncle never showed anything but the most decorous behavior with me, but he was another like me. His acceptance of me was a balm on a sore spirit.”

And his uncle’s restrained behavior and advice taught Phillip discretion. Which he most definitely was not showing at the moment. He resolved to shut up.

“So he was a man who liked…who didn’t like women?” Carne sounded curious rather than confrontational.

“He liked a great many people.” Phillip was tired of the sexual desire coursing through him when near Carne, and he had grown even more tired of defining anyone by their hungers. “He was popular in society, with a pattern of generosity to charities. When my Uncle Downlaw died of a wasting disease, hundreds of people attended his funeral.”

“I’m sorry,” Carne said. “I can tell you’re offended. I’m trying to understand.”

“What? Why? Do you think I might explain to you why I was designed in this manner? I have no notion. I should tell you this, Carne, I am not sorry about what I am or who I desire.”

He shook his head, which barely ached now. Yet his spirits had sunk. That might have come from thinking of his uncle—and no doubt drinking too much and growing sick. “No, now I must beg your pardon. You are a wonderful host, and I have abused your hospitality more than once. Now I’m being abominably rude. Please do excuse me.”

He waited for Carne to leave the room, but he didn’t.

“Earlier.” Carne began. He moved in the chair, which creaked under his weight. “Earlier today. I thought about what it would be like. To be. What you and I might do.”

“Oh.” Phillip let out a long ragged breath. Suddenly, the desires he’d dismissed minutes ago seemed vitally important. “You are curious. Perfectly natural.” He wished his voice hadn’t cracked. “Have you ever done anything with a man, or perhaps, when you were young, with a boyhood friend?”

“God, no.” The revulsion was clear, and Phillip flinched. “But then again, I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Oh.” That might be the only thing he was capable of saying now. What a strange long day this turned out to be. “What would you like?”

“I think… I’m not sure…” He fell silent.

“What?” Phillip whispered into the dark, which wasn’t so complete any longer. He could see the slump of defeat in Carne’s shoulders. Or perhaps he was merely leaning toward Phillip.

“I think I want to lie down with you. And maybe we’ll just go to sleep,” Carne added hastily. “But if you don’t mind.”

In answer, Phillip moved to make space on the bed, which was luckily quite wide, as both of Carne’s sisters had shared it. “This is your home, after all.” He tried to add a bit of humor, but it didn’t work because he could hear his own breath and heart racing, and he could feel the bed shake as Carne sat and pulled off his boots.

Phillip wished he could smell himself to make sure he didn’t reek of ale or worse. But his worries dissolved when Carne stretched out on his side facing Phillip. This was more than he’d even hoped for, the culmination of his recent fevered dreams.

And if he didn’t frighten Carne or disgust him, more might come. He inched forward. He’d planned to let Carne lead the way, but he couldn’t bear to allow so many inches to separate their bodies. The dizziness coursing through him had nothing to do with the drunkenness of earlier and everything to do with the scent of salt and smoke and the heat of the man he nearly touched. Carne’s chest rose and fell at a rate almost as rapid as his own.

Phillip couldn’t bridge the last inch—that must be Carne’s choice. He whispered, “If anything more than this companionable rest occurs, I shan’t be disappointed, I assure you.”

Rest wasn’t a truthful word at the moment. With his arm twisted above his head and the other under his body, he wouldn’t be comfortable, but that didn’t matter.

Something moved, and a hand brushed the front of his trousers, up and down. “You’re lying,” Carne said.

“Carne,” Phillip whispered. “I don’t mind if you conduct experimentation with me. But I might…”

He didn’t want to finish the rest of the thought because he didn’t want to appear to be the tenderhearted fool he’d been in the past. I might just fall in love with you.

Having known the total immersion of a heart consumed by love, Phillip feared its overwhelming power. He could be casual, and had been so with several partners. He thought particularly of Geoffrey. Yes, it was possible to begin and end a physical relationship without breaking any hearts. But was that sort of simple gratification sufficient? He wasn’t sure if that’s all he wanted for the rest of his life.

He closed his eyes and waited for Carne to decide the next move.

“Might what?” Carne asked, in a regular voice.

“Enjoy myself,” Phillip said and opened his eyes. A small gleam in the dark told him Carne smiled. Good.