The Merchant and the Clergyman

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright © 2014 by Bonnie Dee & Summer
Devon

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Dedication

For Kade, Kaje and others who like many of
our books and not just because we like yours too. And of course for
you too.

Chapter One

James had spent much of his childhood holding
personal conversations with God, so becoming a curate, a curer of
souls, made perfect sense. Never mind that most of his
conversations were one-sided arguments and complaints. By the time
he left school, he’d made a concord of sorts with his maker and had
learned to help others find a version of peace.

His father and mother, genteel souls, were
quietly delighted with his choice and even happier when he came
back to the village where he’d been raised.

Life in Bishop’s Hartfeld suited him. After
all, he’d grown used to his own loneliness and secrets. He knew how
to tuck them away while he visited parishioners to drink tea or sit
by the bedside of the dying.

Vicar Ethan Hollister seemed pleased that he
took up all the more onerous daily tasks of their profession, and
the bishop liked the fact that ladies in James’s parish threw
themselves into church work.

Today James was to meet with Miss Emily
Parker to discuss what the villagers called the wedding of the
decade. He invited the bride into his cottage for tea and ginger
biscuits. For a moment, the sheer enthusiasm of her acceptance gave
him pause. After several embarrassing experiences involving
weeping, disappointed ladies, he’d learned never to spend time
alone with women or girls, as they seemed to be unaccountably
attracted to him. Miss Parker’s purpose turned out to be almost as
appalling as an attempt at seduction.

“The bans have been posted, and Kip and I
wanted to tell you the wedding will be held on the sixteenth, a
Saturday morning.” Miss Parker beamed and ate her stale biscuit and
sipped too-pale tea with apparent pleasure—James had no housekeeper
and could never get the measurements right. “You’re free, I hope?
You know Kip is especially fond of you. He tells me all about your
school adventures.”

For a moment, he gaped at her. Did Kip tell
how he’d tortured James, or how he’d kept that as much a secret as
the more unmentionable things that had happened between them? No,
of course Kip Darnley wouldn’t be so honest with his fiancée.

“Yes, we were the only two from Bishop’s
Hartfeld to attend the school.” James carefully wrote the date for
the wedding in his book and forced himself to look up at the happy
and beautiful young lady sitting in a chair across from his desk.
“I think Vicar Hollister will want to conduct this ceremony. Squire
Darnley will want that as well.”

“Oh no.” She waved a hand. “Kip insists that
you must perform the service. He asked me to talk to you about
it.”

The coward wouldn’t face him, of course, and
what was he playing at, demanding James be involved in the wedding
ceremony?

James smiled at Miss Parker and couldn’t
bring himself to resent her smug pleasure at landing a giant fish
like the squire’s son. She repeated Kip’s name as if the word
itself was precious and she couldn’t keep from saying “Kip thinks”
as often as possible.

James hoped the entitled son of a squire
appreciated her joyful spirit and didn’t turn his sharp mockery on
her. It would be a sad thing to see this cheerful girl beaten down
by Kip’s derisive nature.

“Reverend Hollister should perform the
ceremony. My duties mostly consist of administering to the sick and
teaching.” James tried to sound regretful. “You should speak to
him.”

Miss Parker gathered her gloves and smiled at
him. “I shall, but it’s a disappointment, Mr. Fletcher. I don’t
think Kip will be pleased.”

And I don’t give a damn what Kip
thinks.
James hoped he wasn’t lying to himself.

James should have known Kip would toy with
him like a cat with a mouse. A week after Miss Parker’s visit, and
less than a week before the wedding, the betrothed couple appeared
at James’s small cottage. Kip’s large but elegant form filled the
front door, blocking out the watery daylight. He sauntered in,
trailed by his fiancée. Kip sat on the threadbare sofa without
being asked. After a moment’s hesitation, James offered a chair to
Miss Parker next to the sofa.

“What’s this I hear? The guests are arriving,
and we need to get this settled. Miss Parker says you’re balking.
Not what I like to hear.” Kip shook a finger at James. “You do the
service. My fiancée particularly wants it.”

A small flicker of surprise crossed the young
woman’s face, but then she nodded and agreed.

Kip turned to her. “Dearest, you must go see
if Mrs. Hollister is in. I’ll be along in a minute. I just need to
twist our friend’s arm.”

She rose and kissed his cheek. James escorted
her to the door and watched her skip down the lane toward the
vicar’s much larger home across the churchyard. With most people
over the age of ten, skipping would seem an affectation, but not
for lighthearted Miss Parker.

James closed the door, turned to Kip, and
spoke. “She deserves happiness.”

“Are you implying I won’t make her happy?”
Oh, how that lip, curling in a sneer, reminded James of their
past.

“I hope you will both be happy,” James said
politely.

“You sound like you’re uttering a funeral
pronouncement. Come on, Jimmy, you know I’ll be a fine husband. No
one knows better.” He leered. “Do you miss me, Jimmy?”

Kip leaned forward. The scent of expensive
cologne reminded James of the feel of Kip’s body near his, the
taste of him on his tongue. The casual, exciting cruelty of his
touch. The contrast of his dark hair and blue eyes had entranced
James since the day they’d met. Kip’s muscular body and the
absolute lack of delicacy in his blunt features had always seemed
thoroughly masculine—brutal and lovely.

“Not at all.” James wasn’t lying—not
entirely.

“I could make you do whatever I wish again. I
could get you to suck my cock. You would fall to your knees with a
smile on your face.”

James walked across the small room and stood
behind a chair, a sad attempt to protect himself from Kip—and his
own desires. “No. I think not.” His mouth watered.

“Are you so much more devout now that you
wear that collar?”

Actually, he felt less pious all the time. “I
can see you more clearly now, Mr. Darnley.”

“So formal, Jimmy boy. You are growing
stuffy.”

James went on as if the overbearing blister
hadn’t interrupted. “May I say that I hope, for Miss Parker’s sake,
that you care more about her than you do about most of the
world.”

“She has nothing to do with this.”

“You’re here to discuss your wedding. I’d say
she has a great deal to do with our meeting.”

“This meeting between you and me? Oh, not at
all.” Physically, Kip was glorious, with his blue eyes and wide
smile. He rose to his feet now. James was horrified to see that he
was unbuttoning his trousers. And James was even more horrified to
feel his own fascination and the pressure of his own erection.

“Come on Jimmy boy. It’s been a long time,
hasn’t it?” Kip cooed and reached in to pull out his partially
erect penis. “Have a nice treat.”

“Go away, Kip. You’re disgusting.”

“Nonsense. You crave me. Suck me.”

He came close enough to place his hand on
James’s head and exert pressure. For two years, when that pressure
touched his head, James had dropped everything, his pride, his
scruples, and he’d fallen to his knees. He’d worshipped that lovely
prick as if it was precious to him. It had been.

He craved powerful men and, apparently,
casual cruelty. He’d begged God to take both desires away. But that
prayer hadn’t been answered, so he’d had to take matters into his
own hands and learned to turn away from that part of himself.

“Jimmy boy, you know you’ll obey me.”

“Stop it,” James said.

The pressure on his head increased. “No.”

He felt too close to giving in, so he took
action. He brought his knee up fast and hard between Kip’s legs.
Kip yelled, clasped his hands over his crotch, and collapsed on the
floor. The sight shocked James. He’d laid low the one devil of his
life, though it gave him little pleasure. If only he could as
easily vanquish the demons in himself.

James squinted in unavoidable sympathy but
didn’t move except to fold his arms. “I shan’t conduct your
wedding. I have half a mind to tell your bride what sort of man you
are.” He added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to strike such a hard
blow.” As usual, he tempered his strongest actions with
apologies.

Kip writhed and gasped. When he managed to
get his breath back, he used it to call James a cocksucking nancy
and other phrases he’d used while thrusting into James’s mouth back
in their school days.

“No, I’ve decided I won’t tell her,” James
said, loud enough to be heard over Kip’s curses. “She loves you,
and perhaps she has enough love for both of you.”

James hadn’t heard the door open. He’d been
too focused on escaping Kip’s power over him. It had been so long,
and he was dismayed to learn he still desired one of the least
amiable men he knew.

A deep voice startled him. “Good God, what
happened here?”

“Perhaps Mr. Darnley is having a fit,” James
said, too disgusted with Kip and himself to care what this stranger
thought.

The large man wore dusty clothes, a driver’s
coat, and worn boots. After giving James a scowling frown, he
dropped to a crouch by Kip’s side. “What’s going on?”

“He hit me,” Kip gasped.

The man looked at James. “Aren’t you some
sort of priest?” His deeply tanned face made his eyes—as blue as
Kip’s—brilliant. They regarded James with interest.

“I’m James Fletcher, the curate. And I didn’t
hit Kip, I, ah, struck him with my knee.”

The man suddenly showed a gorgeous smile. So
familiar—Kip’s smile. “That’s some muscular Christianity you have
there, Mr. Fletcher.”

James didn’t smile back and turned his
attention to his victim. “Are you able to stand, Mr. Darnley? I’m
certain your fiancée is wondering where you are. You said you’d
join her.”

The big man, who could only be some sort of
relative, clapped a hand on Kip’s shoulder, then rose to his feet.
He crossed his arms and studied James. “Why on earth did you knee
Darnley in the balls?”

“He can tell you if he wishes.”

Kip had more color in his face but still took
deep breaths between words. “Fletcher is a sodomite, and when he
tried to pressure me to do horrible things, we got into a
fight.”

“Hmm.” The man didn’t seem particularly
shocked, which should have relieved James, but he still felt the
haze of disinterest. None of this felt real.