Simply Pleasure (8 page)

“He liked hurting me because I fought him. He liked making me bleed and beg. If I'd had any sense, I would've been more like you and let him have his way.”

“That didn't work either. He made my skin crawl with the things he made me do.”

“You're safe now,” Val murmured. “We're both safe. I need you to get better and be by my side.”

“You don't want me.”

Val breathed deep at the stark desolation in Peter's tone. “I want you to get well, and stop being dependent on opium.”

“And on you.”

“We'll deal with that another day. At the moment I just want you to survive.”

“For what? To live in a world where I have no place, no family, and no knowledge of who I really am?”

Val kissed Peter's burning forehead. “I know who you are.”

“That's only because I've modeled myself on you for the last ten or so years. I'm a pale reflection of everything you are and have no idea who I really am.”

Val raised himself up on one elbow and stared down into Peter's ravaged face.

“How can you say that? How can you value yourself so cheaply when you've been the only thing between madness and me? The voice of calm and reason I've clung to in my worst moments? My bloody
conscience?
”

Peter closed his eyes. “I'm so tired of it.”

“Then when you are well, you can make new choices. I won't stand in your way, I swear it. But you have to get well first, you
have
to.”

Peter's face relaxed, and he was asleep again. Val rolled onto his side and stared at the curtained windows. He was as much to blame for the current situation as Peter was. That could no longer be denied. But could he bear to lose the one thing that mattered to him? If he wanted Peter to stay, he'd have to make it worth his while.

He turned to look into Peter's angelic face.

He couldn't be alone.

Neither of them could.

Even admitting that to himself made him shy away like a nervous mare, but he had to face the truth. He needed Peter. All he had to do now was accept what he'd have to do to keep his friend safe, forever.

“Valentin!”

Val reached out to shake hands with Captain Ford, who hadn't changed much in the three years since he'd brought the boys home to England. Val had agreed to meet the captain in the offices of Blyton and Sutcliff at the London docks.

“How are you, Captain?”

“Well enough.” Captain Ford hesitated and gestured at the fire. “We should be quite private. Since the death of Mr. Blyton, Mr. Sutcliff is rarely here. Sit down and tell me all your news. Is Peter well?”

Valentin unbuttoned his heavy greatcoat and sat in the large wing chair. “He's abed at the moment with a severe chill.”

“Oh, dear. I do hope I am able to see him before I set off on another voyage. His letters are always so welcome.”

“Do you expect to be leaving soon?”

“I'm not quite sure.” The captain lowered his voice. “Did Peter mention anything to you about the current owners of this shipping company?”

“He told me that the owners were in financial trouble, and that you were worried about your future.”

“It's true. Mr. Blyton, who died unexpectedly earlier this month, was the younger of the two partners, and has no heirs to take on his responsibilities in the company. Mr. Sutcliff was hoping to retire this year.”

“Which is one of the reasons why I wanted to talk to you.” Val crossed one elegant booted foot over the other. “I'm looking to invest in a reputable company, and I wondered whether Blyton and Sutcliff would be suitable.”

“With all due respect, Valentin, you are an aristocrat. You hardly need to dirty your hands with trade.”

“I prefer to be busy, and I am very interested in learning about shipping. Do you think the owner of the company would be willing to talk to me?”

Captain Ford regarded him steadily for a long moment as if trying to gauge his sincerity. “I'll introduce you if you truly wish it.”

“Thank you.” Val sat forward and fixed his gaze on his companion. “There is one other thing I wanted to speak to you about.”

“And what is that?”

Val took a deep breath. “Peter.”

“You're awake. Let me help you sit up.”

“Val?” Peter whispered as a strong arm reached behind him and drew him up against the pillows.

“Yes, it's me. Dr. Fallon is here too. He wants to examine you.”

“Why? What happened?” He groaned. “I feel as if I've been run over by the mail coach.”

“An apt description, seeing as you look as if that fate had befallen you too.”

Peter opened his eyes and stared at Val, who was in his shirtsleeves. “You don't look very dapper yourself.”

“Two weeks in a sickroom will do that for a man.” Val rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Nothing that a shave and a hot bath won't put to rights very shortly.”

“I can't remember what happened, I—”

“It's all right, Mr. Howard.” The doctor took his wrist and felt for his pulse. “Please don't agitate yourself unnecessarily. Lord Sokorvsky has done invaluable work at setting you back on the road to recovery, let's not negate that.”

“Recovery from what?” Peter asked.

The doctor met his gaze full-on. “Addiction to opium, sir. You've not touched the nasty, heathen stuff for twelve days now.”

Unbidden, a deep shaking started within Peter. Val took his free hand and squeezed hard. “It's all right. You are through the worst of it, I swear.”

The doctor continued his examination while Peter lay passively under his hands. Not that he had the energy to do anything
but
lie there. When the doctor left, Peter forced himself to sit up again and waited until Val slowly turned to face him.

“Why what?”

“Why did you
do
this? Why didn't you let me die?”

Val looked away. “Because I couldn't.”

“You had no right to make this decision for me, no right at all!” Peter shook with the rage coiled deeply inside him and with his own self-disgust.

“I know.” Val came and sat beside the bed, his expression tired, the set of his mouth uncompromising. “I couldn't watch you kill yourself.”

“You don't have to watch.” Peter held out his hand. “Give me the bloody key.”

Val felt in his breeches pocket. “Here you are.”

“Thank you. Now, get out.”

His lover rose slowly to his feet. “Will you do me one favor before you descend on your merry path to hell?”

“Why should I do anything for you, you manipulative bastard?”

Val met his gaze. “Because I'm asking you?”

“What do you want?”

“I promised you that we would set a new course. I'd like to share what that future might be when you are still in a relatively sober mood.” He hesitated. “Please, Peter.”

“God, I
hate
you sometimes, Val.”

A faint smile was his reward. “I know.”

Peter sank back on the pillows. “All right. I promise I'll stay at the pleasure house until I feel stronger, and then hear what you have to say before I take any more opium.”

“Thank you.”

Even though he closed his eyes, Peter was aware that Val was still there. “You can go away now. I've given you my word.”

“It's harder than I thought it would be to leave.” He cleared his throat. “Might I sleep beside you?”

“To ensure that I stay put?”

“Perhaps.”

“No.” Peter kept his eyes closed. “Go away, Val. Damn you to hell for your continual interference in my life.” He was aware when Val complied and listened to the soft
click
of the door closing behind him.

Rolling onto his front, Peter pressed his arm hard against his eyes, but it didn't help. There was one certainty in his unorthodox life. Valentin Sokorvsky always managed to make him cry in the end . . .

4

A New Beginning

Val shook Captain Ford's hand and stood back to admire the ship in the dock. It wasn't a particularly large vessel, but the captain had assured Val that it was well maintained and would be seaworthy for several more years.

“It seems that you will sail again, Captain.”

“This time under your command, my lord.”

Val cast him a sideways glance. “There is no need to be so formal. We are rather well acquainted.”

A faint flush rose on the captain's ruddy cheeks. “As to that, I—”

“It's all right. We need never refer to that night again. I'm not intending to repeat it.”

The captain stared straight ahead. “I realized in retrospect that you indulged me merely to keep me away from Peter.”

“You're quite correct.”

“Then are you sure you want to proceed with your current plans?”

“I don't believe I have a choice. Peter needs to make his own decisions now. I've realized I can't control everything in his life.” Val drew out his pocket watch. “Peter will arrive at the Blyton and Sutcliff office in less than an hour. I'll go and meet him there.”

He shook Captain Ford's hand again. “I assume you'll be on the ship?”

“Yes, my—I mean, sir. There are still provisions to load and the cargo to check over. I'm not expecting the full crew until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Excellent.” Val tipped his hat. “A pleasure, Captain, as always.”

He decided to walk back along past the wharf buildings and up to the shipping offices to clear his thoughts and prepare himself for the coming confrontation with Peter. He'd kept his word and kept away from his friend, only checking with Helene that Peter remained within her doors and hadn't disappeared on him quite yet.

That might soon change.

He opened the front door and went through into the main office of the shipping firm where two clerks sat writing busily. Regardless of what happened in the next few hours, he was now the owner of a small shipping company. His father was going to be furious, but Val couldn't be concerned about that. He needed something to do, and sitting around like a useless drone waiting for his father to die so that he could inherit a worthless title wasn't his idea of a fulfilling life.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

Val acknowledged the head clerk and went through to the back offices. “I'm expecting a visitor, Mr. Taggart. Will you show him through when he arrives?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Val paused to appreciate the warmth of the fire in his new office and to examine the two dark leather wing chairs he'd installed by the hearth. His desk stood empty apart from the apparatus of writing and the original ships' ledgers that Mr. Blyton had turned over to him. A clock ticked from the wall and outside was the sound of the heavy carts from the brewery opposite rumbling over the cobbled street.

A knock on the door had him swinging 'round. A young man stood there, his fingers stained with ink.

“Would you like a cuppa, sir? We just made a pot.”

“Yes, please. Frasier, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He took his mug of strong black tea and sat in one of the chairs to wait for Peter.

Peter glanced up at the soot-stained brick building and then back at Helene's coachman.

“Are you sure you have the right address?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I suppose I'd better get this over with,” Peter muttered.

The carriage moved off, and he walked purposefully forward and into the shipping office. He was still ridiculously weak and the craving for opium pounded through his skin like a second heartbeat, but he'd given his word to Val and he hadn't broken it—yet.

“Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?”

Peter paused to take off his hat and regard the bespectacled clerk manning the desk.

“Ah, good afternoon. I'm looking for Lord Valentin Sokorvsky.”

“He's in his office, sir. Come on through.”

In a bemused state, Peter followed the clerk down a dimly lit corridor that smelled of stale exotic spices and waited as he knocked on the last door.

“Gentleman to see you, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Taggart.”

That at least was Val's voice. Peter stepped past the clerk and went into what was indeed an office. Val sat by the fire, a thick mug cupped in his hands and what looked like a leather-clad accounts book on his knee.

Peter stopped walking. “What's going on? I feel as if I'm still dreaming.”

“Would you like some tea?” Val held up his mug.

“Don't start that again. Do you have any brandy?”

“Not yet. I've barely moved in.” He gestured at the seat opposite. “Will you sit down? You still look rather pale.”

Peter didn't have the strength to argue. It was taking all his energy simply to breathe and appear normal in front of his friend.

Val put the mug carefully on the tiled hearth and sat forward, his hands clasped loosely between his knees and his head down.

“You must be wondering what all this is about.”

“You'd be right.”

“I met with Captain Ford last week, and he confirmed that since the sudden death of one of the partners, his employer's shipping firm was failing. I asked him to put me in touch with the remaining owner, and after some negotiation, I agreed to buy the company from him.”

“With what?”

“My father released the Sokorvsky money to me.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

“I'll wager he doesn't want you to waste it on a trade.”

“He doesn't know about this yet. He released the money unconditionally. It was my decision to invest in this business. I felt as if I needed something to occupy myself.”

“Well, I wish you much success with the venture.”

“I didn't just do it for myself.” Val slowly raised his head and looked at Peter. “I did it to offer you something too.”

“I'm not sure I understand you.”

“I know you said you wanted to have nothing more to do with me, but I wanted to offer you some choices.”

Peter allowed his head to fall against the back of the chair. “You're doing it again, Val. You're trying to manage my life for me. Can't you see that I'm sick of it?”

“I suppose you might see it that way, but—”

“Val, stop. Can't you just admit it? You don't want me, but you don't want anyone else to have me either. You mentioned Captain Ford. Don't you remember what you did to that poor man just to keep him away from me?”

“I admit I seduced him.”

“Exactly. Have you finished now? Can I go?”

“Please. Give me a chance,” Val said urgently. “Hear me out, and if you walk away from me then at least I'll know I tried my best to find a way to keep you from harm.”

Peter remained silent, but that seemed enough to convince Val to keep talking.

“You mentioned Captain Ford. He is here at the docks.”

“
Jason
is?”

“Yes. I asked him to stay on as captain of the
Bird of the Isles
, which I now own.”

“How did he take that? Did he get down on his knees and let you fuck him?”

“I didn't ask him to.” Val hesitated. “I wouldn't. He's looking forward to seeing you again.”

“We have corresponded over the past three years. He's become a good friend.”

“I know.” Val picked up his mug again and studied it. “He will be sailing to the West Indies in search of sugar cane and rum.”

“From slave owners,” Peter said flatly.

“That is something I wish to change, and one of the tasks I have charged Captain Ford with—to find us suppliers who don't use slave labor. If he can't find any, we'll reconsider the cargo we carry on those routes.”

“When you say ‘we' you mean you and Captain Ford?”

“That's up to you.” Val got up and went over to his desk. “There are two things you might want to consider here. You could sail with Captain Ford and find out this information for yourself. On your return you could decide whether you wanted to continue traveling with the good captain, or come back and work at the shipping company as my full partner.”

Peter felt his heartbeat falter. “I beg your pardon?”

“It's quite simple. You can leave with Captain Ford and become a company agent, traveling the sea in search of new trading opportunities. I will, of course, pay you a wage for doing so, and a percentage of any new deals that you make along the way.”

“Or . . . ?”

“You stay here for the most part, become a full partner in this shipping firm, and we work together to build our own empire. There is a suite of rooms upstairs you could live in if you want them.”

“I have no money to invest in such a venture. I'd be living off you again.”

“As a partner, you will receive a share of the profits. You can pay me a percentage of that profit every year to buy your partnership.” Val paused. “This isn't a totally altruistic gesture, Peter. I do need someone here full-time to run the business. I have obligations to my family, which will only increase as my father grows older.”

“I know nothing about shipping.”

“Neither do I, but I'm very willing to learn.” Val perched on the edge of the desk. “I find it a fascinating business with a tantalizing element of risk.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate being bored.”

“That's not what I mean, and you know it. Why would you offer me the opportunity to leave you for Captain Ford?”

“Because I've realized that I can't keep forcing you to stay with me like some kind of pet dog. You deserve financial independence and your own life.” Val half-smiled. “I thought maybe that if I could offer you these things, you'd choose to live rather than go back to your addictions.”

“Live without you?”

“If that's what it takes to keep you alive, then yes. I've begun to wonder whether it is my presence in your life that makes you want to escape it.”

Silence fell while Peter contemplated what Val had said and what he was offering him.

“And what of you?”

Val shrugged. “I'll be here running the company regardless.”

“So I could become your business agent, leave with Captain Ford, and come back here occasionally to give you my report and take my share of the profits?”

“Yes.”

“And what would you expect in return?”

Val looked down at his boots. “Nothing.”

“And what if I decide to damn you to hell and go back to my old habits?”

“I can't stop you doing that. Ultimately, you are the only person who can decide whether you want to live or die.”

Peter's hands were shaking so he gripped onto the armrests. “How would you know anything about that?”

“Because of Aliabad.” Val took in an unsteady breath. “When I swore I'd rather die than let him do what he wanted, he offered me a dagger to kill myself with.” He looked up. “I couldn't do it, Peter. I wanted to live too much, so I let him win. I let him beat me until there wasn't a bloodied inch of me that wasn't marked by his whip, or his hands, or his teeth, and then I let him fuck me and fuck me until l lost my senses. At the time, I was deeply ashamed of myself for craving my life so badly, but now I realize that if I hadn't wanted to live, I would never have been set free.”

Emotions curdled in Peter's gut, and he stood up. “Where's the ship?”

Val's shoulders sagged. “I'll get Mr. Taggart to take you down there.”

He turned away to open the door and shouted something down the corridor before seating himself at his desk and opening the nearest ledger. Peter watched him for a moment, and when Mr. Taggart returned, he walked out.

Resentment, rage, and sorrow rolled through him. He craved the easy oblivion of opium, and he wanted to see Captain Ford. He
wanted
to cry like a small naked boy cowering in a slave market, the only thing keeping him sane the hand of another boy firmly holding his.

Valentin
.

Peter imagined that hand slipping out of his and leaving him completely alone. He stopped walking. He could go to an opium den if he wanted. He was completely free. There was no longer anyone to stop him.

Except himself.