His Royal Secret (22 page)

The rolling began again, and James shook his head in wonder. “So this is what it’s like to have an upstairs neighbor. Have you ever seen him?”

“A couple of times. He’s a big guy. Solid. Never heard him speak.”

“So you’ve never just asked him what it is?”

Thud
against the wall. Ben shook his head. “I don’t want to know. Just in case it really is a dead body.”

It was the most glorious day, though James never said so out loud, knowing Ben would have thought it was preposterous. But every aspect of their time together was as dear to James as it was exotic: breakfasting on Sultana Bran at that tiny table, having no need to watch a clock and mentally figure out how long he had before duty would resume, and hours upon hours to spend in Ben’s company, knowing nobody would intrude.

For the most part, Ben worked; James did too. Although he’d brought his novel to read, he also wanted to write a draft of the Christmas speech. James employed a speechwriter, of course, and both he and Kimberley would review and revise whatever he came up with, but he thought it would be nice to have at least some of his own thoughts included. They’d film it in another week or so.
Best get a move on
, he told himself.

It was a pleasure just to have Ben near, and the few words they exchanged every hour or so were more than enough for now.

A bit before lunch: “James?”

“Hmmm?”

“Something in this book reminded me about a reference I ran across once—about a former Prince of Wales who was in the army—”

James looked up. Why did Ben appear so concerned? “Yes?”

“You said you weren’t in the military. For medical reasons.”

“Right.” James sighed. “I’d been looking forward to it too. It’s more or less the only chance I’d have had to live mostly like a normal person. Dad loved his time in the RAF.”

“But what medical reasons?” Ben persisted. “You’re not—it’s not anything serious, is it?”

“Good Lord, no. Football accident when I was at school. Thought I’d show off, tried a header, and wound up with a detached retina.” He tapped his left temple, remembering that weird blurry time. “Scared my parents half to death, but the doctors set it right. Like as not I’ll never have any problems with it again, but it turns out the military don’t accept soldiers who have even a remote chance of suddenly going blind in one eye.”

“You’re all right, then.”

Ben said it very simply, but a deeper current of feeling flowed around James and made him almost shy. “Yes. I’m all right.”

They both went back to work, but the silence felt fuller than before.

Over a lunch of sandwiches and cold cuts, with a sort of mustard colored an almost comically vibrant yellow: “So why do we love Hemingway so much when he’s such a bloody homophobe?”

Ben shrugged. He didn’t seem to notice anything odd about the mustard. “Because he’s brilliant, and there’s no denying it. We can love him without him loving us back, I suppose.”

“He makes the world seem so simple. So clear-cut. And yet romantic and complex too. It’s a difficult combination, but there it is, in everything he writes.”

“I don’t believe in most of what he says after I lay down the book. While I’m reading, though, I believe completely.”

“Me too.” James took a tentative bite of his sandwich. The mustard actually tasted pretty good.

Midafternoon on Saturday, however, he became a little restless. As much as he liked Ben’s apartment, and Ben, they didn’t have very much room. James worked out virtually every day and enjoyed riding, hiking, and other outdoor pursuits. More than twenty-four hours in such close quarters felt strange, not just mentally but physically.

“Gorgeous day out,” James said at one point, gazing from the window. The blinds would make it hard for anyone to see in, but he could look out well enough. “I know it’s cold, but it’s so sunny. I always enjoy days like this. Makes it seem like winter’s not going to be so gloomy.”

After a moment, Ben said, “Why don’t we go for a stroll?”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

“I mean it. I could use a short break right now. Why not?”

James turned away from the window, gave Ben a look, and then pointed to his own face.

This wasn’t as persuasive as James had expected. Ben said, “You’re halfway to a beard by now—which looks very handsome, by the way. You could wear your sunglasses and your cap. Besides, half of recognition is expectation. Nobody expects to see a member of the royal family strolling around Islington of a Saturday afternoon. Speak in your Scottish brogue, and trust me, nobody’s the wiser.”

It couldn’t be that easy . . . could it?

But then he saw the mischief in Ben’s eyes, saw how badly he wanted to do it, and that enthusiasm caught like a spark into flame.

Who’s to say what’s impossible?

“I’ve got to text my security team,” James said, anticipation building. “Let them know what I’m up to. Otherwise they’ll think you’re kidnapping me, and that wouldn’t end well.”

“They won’t forbid it?”

“Forbid it? I’m the bloody Prince Regent, aren’t I?” James hesitated. “But they’ll follow at a distance.”

Ten minutes later, pulse pounding, they headed back down the absurdly narrow stairs, though the lobby—no one there this time, thank goodness—and then James was walking down the pavement, alongside an ordinary street on an ordinary day. True to Ben’s prediction, nobody gave him a second glance.

“We’ll head down to the nearest park,” Ben said. “It’s not far. Nice stretch of green.”

James nodded silently. He trusted his brogue but couldn’t find his voice.

Store windows: clothes in awful taste, specials at the greengrocer’s—were those prices high or low? He hadn’t any idea—a comic-book place with a cardboard standee of Wonder Woman on the door, half a dozen places to buy mobile phones, coffeehouses, and an Oxfam shop. James found himself staring at all of it. Even those parts that were familiar to him from his university days had seemed far distant.

At the park, some kids were playing rugger, and he and Ben hung around for a while to watch. From the corner of his eye, James glimpsed one of his security guards standing about thirty yards away; nobody else might notice the man, but the black suit with unbuttoned jacket was a dead giveaway for those in the know. The jacket was unbuttoned so that they could quickly reach for their guns, if needed.

I can pass more easily then they can
, James thought with pride.

Across the way, he saw two men who were obviously gay walking along, one with his arm slung casually around the other’s shoulders. It took James’s breath away to see both their confidence and the utter nonchalance with which their togetherness was treated by those nearby.

Could he take Ben’s hand? How incredible that would feel, to hold Ben’s hand in front of the whole world—

—but no. His security guards would see them, and after that, they’d know the truth. Their confidentiality was expected to be absolute, as was that of all those in service to the royals, but breaches had occurred and would again. James couldn’t chance it. Not even here, not even now.

“Are you all right?” Ben said.

“Aye. Just . . . lost in thought,” James replied in his brogue, and the smile that won from Ben smoothed over any discontent, at least for the present.

•   •   •

Ben had heard that suspense heightened arousal like nothing else. That afternoon walk proved it.

“We did it,” James breathed as Ben shut the door behind them. “We actually did it.”

“We did indeed.” Ben grinned as he watched James pacing the circuit of his tiny living room, like an actor dancing on the stage where he’d just earned an ovation.

“I walked past a Pizza Express. I could’ve gone into a launderette. Hundreds of people walked right past me and they didn’t suspect a thing!”

Grinning, Ben said, “You were magnificent.”

“Hardly.” James gave him a look Ben had learned to anticipate. “Come here, you.”

Then he was practically tackled against the wall and dragged into the bedroom amid laughter and kisses. Ben let James be the one to undress him, and he willingly toppled onto the bed when James pushed him back. Once James was naked too, he straddled Ben’s thighs with a wicked grin on his face.

“There, now,” James murmured as he squirted lube onto his hand and took hold of Ben’s cock, already rock-hard and jutting up from his belly. “Play it cool all you like. You enjoyed that walk as much as I did.”

Ben thrust into James’s grip, very slowly, enjoying the roll of each finger over the swell of his cock. “Not nearly as much as I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I don’t think you’re going to get any work done for a while,” James said. “I’ve broken my promise not to interfere.”

“Depends on what you mean by work. Because I’m going to work you hard.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mmmm.” Ben took James in hand as well.

“That’s—that’s good—oh, come here.”

James pushed aside Ben’s fingers, the better to bring their cocks together in the cradle of his slick palms. As he pressed them both together, moving his hand slowly back and forth, Ben groaned.

Sight exhilarated him almost as much as sensation. James straddled him, naked as Ben was himself; the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the curtains painted them in gold. There was the ripple of muscle beneath James’s stomach and along his thighs as he rocked back and forth, the dark thatch of pubic hair that bucked forward with each thrust, and the vivid redness of their cocks as they disappeared into James’s clenched hands, slid forward glistening with pre-come, then slipped back again. This obscene display was exactly what James wanted, Ben realized. It was a sort of gift, a turn-on for them both.

“You said once there was something innocent about me,” James panted as he began moving his hands faster, bringing them both closer. “Still think so?”

“You’re wasted as a prince,” Ben said, grinning open-mouthed. “You should’ve been a pornographer.”

James laughed, and then he sped up again, until they were both dizzy and gasping and desperate, until they both came across Ben’s chest, the final and most intoxicating image of all.

•   •   •

“Stay out of sight,” Ben said again as they listened to the deliveryman’s footsteps on the stairs.

“I am!” James ducked down behind the bar that separated the kitchenette from Ben’s living room. He could have giggled—here he was, the Prince Regent of England, hiding from the guy bringing them chicken tikka masala. But the laugh would have given him away.

Besides, after the smell of the stuff wafted in, James no longer felt like laughing. Instead he was overcome by the most ravenous hunger. It wasn’t just the appetite he’d worked up on his walk, and his later exertions with Ben; it was also the fact that he hadn’t had chicken tikka since Cambridge, and he’d missed the stuff more than he’d realized.

They washed it down with wine of very uncertain vintage. But James wouldn’t have traded the stuff for a Domaine de Romanee-Conti Montrachet, if it meant drinking the wine with anyone besides Ben. The glow remained long after dinner and drink, long after Ben had returned to his labors and James had completed a first draft of his Christmas speech and returned to his novel. They were simply sharing space, sharing a night, like any other couple in England.

Would it be so hard to live like this?
James thought.
I don’t think so. I think I could get used to it.

Not that he could expect this sort of life, were he ever to lose his place in the line of succession. “Normal” wasn’t an option for him, ever, no matter what. James could possibly cease to be heir to the throne; however, he could never cease to be royal. If he did not become king, he’d probably be given a lesser title, a worthy estate someplace forgettable, and the cold shoulder at formal events. His life would retain most of its current inconveniences while losing most of its current pleasures.

And yet. Ever since the House of Lords had cleared the way for gay marriage to become legal in the UK starting next year, James had found himself wondering more often whether there might be a way to deviate from his hereditary path.

But if what I really want is impossible, what’s the point?

Ben lifted his head from his work. “What is that? On the stereo.”

“You said I could put on music.”

“Well, yes, but isn’t this Scottish nationalist stuff?”

“I don’t know that you’d call Runrig Scots nationalists. Maybe they are? But I don’t care. Cass listens to nothing else and she got me hooked.”

“Nobody would know what to make of an English king who listened to Scottish Gaelic music. Least of all the musicians.”

“It’s like we said earlier. I can love Runrig; they don’t have to love me back.”

So very many things could fit into that formula.

•   •   •

Waking up beside James, a lovely mutual wank in the shower, a quick breakfast, and back to work: In Ben’s opinion, this was the way to live.

Not only was he working productively, but he was also making even better progress than he would have had James not been around. Instead of getting caught up in larger distractions, Ben could have a few minutes of conversation with James, or a couple of lazy kisses, then settle back in. And instead of the oddly disconnected sensation he usually got when he had to work for long periods of time, Ben felt content. At ease.

By midafternoon, he was done but for a final double check. “And I’m celebrating with a nap.”

“You party animal, you,” James said, nose still deep in his book.

“Come on, then.” Ben pulled James off the chair and back to bed. Instead of undressing each other, they both just lay there, James curled along Ben’s side, in the pleasant space between waking and sleeping.

It occurred to Ben after a few minutes that he might as well have let James keep reading. If they weren’t going to have sex, why had he dragged James to bed with him? Why did he simply want James near?

Better not to have the answer to that question.

But Ben found himself weaving his hand through James’s chestnut hair, gently pulling him close. James responded by wrapping his arm around Ben’s waist. They held each other like that as the silence between them shifted from comfortable to charged.