His Royal Secret (23 page)

After a moment, James said, “Ben?” Very quiet—very unsure.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to say—just that the past couple of days have been lovely. Really lovely.”

“Yeah. For me too.”

James’s voice gained strength. “I’m so grateful for this. This weekend, and, well, all the time we’ve spent together. It’s been a long time since I had so much happiness in my life. I thought you should know what it means to me.”

This was the moment Ben needed to slam on the brakes. He knew it. He saw it clearly. But that truth didn’t touch him; the fear he needed to feel didn’t materialize. He simply pulled back just far enough to look James in the eyes. God, he was so nervous, and yet he met Ben’s gaze, willing to hear anything. It reminded him of those first few moments in Kenya, after the chess game had ended but they still hadn’t kissed.

Ben remembered something James had said to him that first afternoon they’d gone to bed, and he said it back now: “You caught me by surprise.”

James smiled, small and hopeful. Then he tilted his mouth up to Ben’s for a soft kiss.

They lay side by side for the longest time, sometimes kissing but mostly just close together, for the pleasure of the nearness itself. Ben stroked James’s back, trailed his fingers along James’s belly, caught one of James’s ankles between his own. He wanted to touch and look at every inch of James, not out of heated desire but instead so that he could learn him by heart. They breathed in and out together, captured in a silence as delicate and intricate as a spider’s web. James pressed his lips to Ben’s collarbone and then remained there, nuzzling the curve of Ben’s neck.

At moments Ben remembered he shouldn’t be doing this. But it was a distant warning, like an alarm clock ringing in a bell jar during a school experiment meant to show you that sound couldn’t travel in a vacuum. Sound couldn’t travel here. Caution couldn’t reach him. Later, he’d deal with it later. This hour had nothing to do with the rest of the world. It was theirs alone.

He closed his eyes as he gently kissed James’s forehead—and then heard
roll roll roll roll THUD.

The wall shook, and both of them started to laugh. “And he’s at it again.” James propped himself on his elbows to look at the ceiling. “Won’t he ever let that dead body rest in peace?”

“Never,” Ben said, and then they got up, made tea, and dealt severely with a packet of HobNobs that had the gall to be in the cupboard. He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved that moment had been so painlessly broken, or whether he regretted it.

•   •   •

James had thought he would feel wistful when he left Ben’s apartment that Sunday night. Instead he was still aloft, carried above his cares by the memories of the past two days.

“I had a wonderful time,” he whispered between kisses at Ben’s door. Already he was wrapped in the borrowed anorak, counting down the seconds before he needed to walk out and meet his security forces for a swift pickup. “This was perfect.”

“Absolutely.” Ben pulled him into his arms, and James closed his eyes, giving into the kiss.

That giddy buoyancy sustained him all the way out of Ben’s building, even as they passed another neighbor who gave them no more than an absentminded nod. James felt as though he were bubbling like champagne the entire time he rode home in the Fiat, his behavior unquestioned by the security team that took him back to Clarence House in respectful silence. When he was in his own room, unpacking his things from the duffel bag so that he might return that to its rightful owner, he even sang snatches of song to the corgis.

But as he settled in for the night, taking up his iPad to review the day’s news, a headline pierced his happy mood.

Manchester Boy In Hospital After Hate Bash

James looked down at the screen, heart clenching painfully, as he read the story of a young gay man—still in his local comprehensive school, and yet already speaking out for gay rights—who had paid a terrible price for his courage. He had been beaten by some schoolmates so badly he’d had to be taken to hospital Friday night. He was expected to be released the next day with no lasting injuries, a mercy for which James was grateful. But his gratitude deflated into shame.

While a boy who was hardly more than a child had been made to suffer for the crime of being who he was born to be, only because he had told the truth—at that very moment, James had been enjoying his secret passions, safe and sound, because he could hide so very well.

It wasn’t so unlike being a callow teenage boy who could knock back pints of Guinness while his parents drowned in the Coral Sea.

James swallowed hard as he looked down at the beaten boy’s school picture. Quickly he e-mailed Kimberley, telling her to have flowers sent to the boy’s hospital room and to pass along his personal concern. But that was such a small gesture. So useless. It wouldn’t help heal the cuts, or keep the young man safe when he returned to his school.

Until this point, the whispers in James’s mind about coming out had been in Ben’s voice (
Coward.
) or Cassandra’s (
Sod Uganda
!).

But now he heard another whisper, and this one belonged to him alone:
How long can you hide while others suffer for the truth?

How much longer can you live a lie?

•   •   •

Ben reviewed his work one last time after dinner, tidied up, and went to bed. As he lay there, he once again heard
roll roll roll THUD
and began to smile.

And by instinct, he turned his head toward the place in the bed where James would have been.

James wasn’t there. Ben missed him. In that moment, he knew this had gone too far.

Their relationship had spilled over the boundary lines Ben had set. For the first time since Warner, Ben felt . . . tethered. If Fiona de Winter came to him tomorrow and told him he was wanted for a long-term assignment in Buenos Aires or New York, Ben would hesitate, and he had built a life with no room for hesitation. Was he going to wreck that now?

Yes, there were limits to what he and James could have. But the connection that had grown between them created limits of its own, limits on Ben’s freedom. That freedom was the only thing Ben had ever owned absolutely, the only thing he could ever be sure of keeping.

If there had been no such limits—if James were not Prince Regent—there might have been other possibilities. Ben didn’t let himself consider them in detail, though he could not hold back one misty image of the two of them together in New York City, hand in hand. This was not an ordinary relationship; neither of them had ever forgotten that for an instant. Ben knew better than to forget it now.

He wasn’t ready to walk away immediately. It would be cruel to James. But Ben knew that if he was going to remain the man he’d been, the man he wanted to be, he had to find a way to slowly step back.

He had to find a way to end this.

The Mirror Crack’d

Gentiles often became sentimental at Christmastime. James in particular seemed like the type to revel in the holidays, and he deserved what joy he could have. So Ben told himself there was no need to rock the boat for them just yet.

He went to Clarence House on a cool, bright Christmas Eve, because apparently James would be busy all Christmas day. Dinner was on an even grander scale than usual: cheese soufflé, roast duck, some kind of salad dressing with champagne and Brussels sprouts and nuts that was glorious—even if it was again eaten in the cozy kitchen. Ben was gently amused by the fact that James was wearing a deep crimson sweater, but he’d dressed up a little more than usual himself that night. They had to make events from the ordinary, he supposed.

“Are you nervous about the speech?” Ben said as they settled in by the fire that evening. “The one that comes on before
Doctor Who
?”

James gave him a look. “Is that how they refer to it now? There are worse fates, I suppose.” He sighed as he handed Ben a glass of mulled wine. “No, I’m not nervous. We recorded the speech a week ago.”

“Then what do you do tomorrow?”

“It’s all mixed up this year. Normally we’d be at Sandringham, but the king’s illness has kept us here. So, Christmas morning, we’ll exchange presents at the House, and then a concert in the evening at the Royal Albert Hall.” James shook his head ruefully. “That means there will be cameras everywhere throughout the day, which means no chance for you and I to get together, which means presents get exchanged tonight.”

No decorated tree stood in James’s private suite of rooms, but a large wreath of fresh holly and ivy hung above the mantel, and ivory-colored candles burned on virtually every surface. That had no doubt been the work of the butler, and affected Ben only in that he found the candlelight somewhat sexy. But then James brought out two presents, so obviously and clumsily hand-wrapped, that Ben felt something tighten around his heart. They were even wrapped in Hanukkah paper.

“All right,” Ben said, reaching inside his battered satchel. “You’d better have obeyed the price limits, because I had to.” Shopping for a prince had been daunting.

“I didn’t overdo it. I promise.” James’s eyes were dancing with excitement, though, and Ben wondered whether he was fibbing. Maybe he’d open one of his presents and find a deed to something preposterously grand. Like Sussex.

Ben first took out a box of chew treats, two of which were immediately dispensed to Happy and Glorious. He felt a bit silly giving presents to dogs, but the treats had been on sale at the market. Besides, it made James laugh.

They’d agreed on two gifts—one big, one little—and went for the big gifts first. Ben wasn’t entirely shocked to receive a new satchel, as he’d seen James eyeing the shabby one that had done hard duty for the past decade. But Ben was surprised at how well he liked the new version: cognac-colored leather, ample pockets, large buckles, masculine and classic and precisely what he liked. When he said so, James smiled with real pleasure. “All right, that was over the price limit just slightly. But it was perfect for you, I thought. Hemingwayesque.”

Which was of course the moment James finished unwrapping Ben’s gift, a first edition of
For Whom the Bell Tolls
.

“It’s not signed,” Ben said hastily as James studied the old-fashioned book jacket, which was at least in mint condition. “You probably have a dozen of those.”

“I don’t.” James drew Ben close for a quick kiss. “Even if I did, it wouldn’t mean anything. Those would just be museum artifacts, no more. This is so much better, so much more personal. Thank you. I can’t think of anything you could’ve given me I would like more.”

“You say that now. Open the little present.”

That made James narrow his eyes in mock suspicion, but he immediately turned to the next present, which was welcomed with a whoop of delight. “You remembered! It’s
perfect
!”

Ben couldn’t stop laughing as James pulled out his brand-new blue Slanket, tugged it on, and modeled it. The corgis waddled closer to sniff at the hem; no doubt it smelled like no organic thing.

James smoothed the front down. “I believe I’ve found my coronation robes.”

“The nation would be dazzled.”

“Stunned, at any rate. And it actually is sort of comfy, isn’t it? Too warm for in front of the fire, but perfect for the drafty back rooms.” As James tugged it off, he plopped down onto the couch, the better to nudge Ben toward his remaining gift.

This was something fairly small, in a tin, with small pieces that shook a bit inside; he wondered at first if it were chocolates or candies. But Ben pulled away the blue-and-silver paper to reveal a miniature chess set, complete with metal board and magnetic pieces. He smiled as he lifted one of the pawns. “Are we going to play for secrets again?”

“We can play for any stakes you’d like.” James’s expression became serious. “It’s for travel. I know that you—that you’ve spent much of your life on the go, and no doubt you’ll find yourself on the road again, lots of times. I wanted you to have something to take with you, so you could always enjoy a game of chess.” His green eyes met Ben’s evenly. “And think of me.”

James knew this wasn’t forever. Probably he already knew this wasn’t for much longer.

Ironically that was what made Ben draw him closer, made the prospect of splitting from James seem far more remote. If they only had a short time, then Ben felt safer to enjoy it. He could make sure James had a good Christmas.

They folded together in an embrace, kissed long and deep in front of the fire. When they broke the kiss, James smiled. “You really like your presents?”

“Very much,” Ben murmured. “Now, what was that you said about playing chess for any stakes I’d like?”

Arching one of those thick eyebrows, James said, “Tell me what stakes you have in mind.”

“We’ll start with one piece of clothing for each chessman lost. Once you’re naked—”

“—which will be several pieces after you.”

“—then I’ll get a little more creative.”

So they played a long, lazy game of strip chess, right there in front of the fire. They were generous with definitions—one lost pawn meant both shoes and socks went, for instance—the better to get to more interesting penalties.

“And your knight is mine,” James said, snatching it up. He still had boxers on, the smug bastard.

Ben leaned forward over the chessboard. “Name your price.”

“Suck me off.”

“No getting off until you capture the king.”

“Since when is that a rule?” James pouted, pushing out that full, dark lower lip.

“My chess set,” Ben insisted. “My rules.”

James’s eyes danced with anticipation. “Then come here and suck my cock for, hmm . . . two minutes.”

Ben bowed down and did it, slicking James’s cock with his own spit so he could work him better with his hand. Two minutes was more than enough to have James panting, but Ben kept an eye on the clock, and he leaned back on the second. “There we go.”

“Ben—oh, come
on
—”

“Play or get played, Your Most Radiant Exaltedness.”

“Now that’s just silly,” James said with as much dignity as he could muster with his hard-on jutting from his boxers.

Ben won the next piece, which got James’s boxers off. He also won the one after that, which got him both of James’s hands pumping him while they kissed with their mouths open. The negotiations continued into the night, each of them earning every touch, every kiss.

Beneath their hunger for each other, Ben knew a deeper level of bargaining was going on. How long would they touch each other? What limits were they going to set? Those boundaries had become too blurred for them lately. This was what they needed: hard and fast rules. A relationship fixed into the formality of a game. Black and white squares, defined moves. After all, as tonight proved, even sex so strictly regimented could be deliriously good. It made perfect sense to him, at least in this haze of arousal and need.

Finally, as one of the fireplace logs crumbled into glowing embers, Ben moved his knight into position and whispered, “Mate in three.”

James studied the board, even now unwilling to surrender, but after a few moments he nodded, conceding the game. He stretched his naked body out for Ben’s gaze as he said, “Name your prize.”

So Ben grabbed a condom from his satchel and lay down on his back, close enough to the fire to feel heat painting his skin. His cock stood up from his body, rigid and thick, and he reveled in the way James’s eyes darkened as he watched Ben prepare to take him. Ben’s voice was low and rough as he said, “Come here and ride me.”

He’d already slicked James up (the lost bishop), worked him open (the fallen queen). All James had to do was straddle him—there, one firm muscled leg slung across Ben’s waist, James’s thigh hot against Ben’s pelvic bone—then lower himself down. Both of them groaned as James sank onto Ben’s cock. Heat and pressure made Ben close his eyes, suck in a sharp breath. Then James rode him, hard and fast and good, and Ben couldn’t stop the sounds he was making, hoarse ecstatic cries that seemed to be torn from deep inside.

“Please,” James panted. “Ben—please—” His begging stopped short the moment Ben took his cock in hand. Now they were both plunging toward the brink together, bodies locked in a rhythm that overwhelmed them both.

I can have him
, Ben thought, disjointed and broken through the daze.
I can have him and walk away and have him again, it’s just right, this is just right, don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop—

James came in Ben’s palm, hot and wet, and his open-mouthed grimace of sheer pleasure was more than Ben could take. Breath and heartbeat and thought all seemed to stop for one perfect instant, and then he was coming deep inside James, lost in the heat of it.

When they lay together beside the fire afterward, James murmured, “This might be my favorite Christmas ever.”

“It’s definitely mine. Of course, I never celebrated it before.” James elbowed him, and Ben grinned as he added, “I might have to observe it from now on, at least in a highly sacrilegious way. Turns out I like this holiday.”

“You’ll never hear Christmas carols the same way again.” James dropped a kiss on Ben’s collarbone, then pillowed his head on Ben’s shoulder.

This was just the sort of thing Ben had meant to avoid from now on. He’d even gone so far as to be “busy” the last time James had called. But the travel chess set sat nearby, showing remnants of a game Ben had won, and it served as a promise of future voyages, enduring freedom, and a lover who, despite occasional lapses into sentimentality, still understood the rules.

Ben felt as though there were an open door nearby, one he could walk through whenever he chose. So there was no hurry, not yet.

•   •   •

For a man with no particular religious feeling and no ties to Christianity whatsoever, Ben wound up with a very busy holiday schedule. He spent Christmas night with a group of unattached people from work, all hosted at Fiona’s flat.

Fiona’s place was more glamorous than James’s. Far smaller, but stylish, everything vaguely Moroccan with patterned silk pillows, elaborately geometric candle holders, and bold, crimson curtains draped thickly around the narrow windows: It looked more like a scene from some glossy magazine than anyplace an actual human being would live. Even Fiona’s decorations were all of a theme, stars and ornaments in the same brassy gold she seemed to prefer in jewelry.

Most of the evening was spent drinking, telling awful jokes, and cheering up Roberto, who had blown his last days off for the year going back to the States for Thanksgiving and was badly homesick. As night fell, however, someone said, “Turn on the telly. It’s time for the Christmas speech.”

Fiona groaned. “Must we?”

A natural enough reaction—and yet it seemed so rude, almost cruel. Ben could only think of James in his flat that weekend, laboring over each word, all for the sake of people who would rather have been playing with their new video games. Before he could react, though, someone else said, “It’s
tradition
,” and that seemed to win the day.

Ben maneuvered himself front and center so he could have the best view. His pulse quickened when the BBC announcer decorously intoned, “And now . . . the Prince Regent.”

James appeared on the screen, wearing an elegant suit. He stood in a room Ben didn’t recognize, one dominated by an enormous Christmas tree. Was that in Buckingham Palace? Was it a stage set? He’d have to ask.

“This year, for the first time in half a century, our king is unable to give the Christmas speech, though I know his thoughts are with us all,” James said, his voice every bit as warm and engaging as it was when he spoke to Ben in private. “Our entire family, and I believe the whole nation, has been united by our concern for the king’s welfare, and our admiration for the courage with which he has faced his illness and worked toward his recovery. That courage is something I have seen reflected in so many people in Britain, the Commonwealth, and around the world—as individuals and communities find strength in times of adversity.”

It took a lifetime of training to look so unstudied in front of a camera. Ben was impressed.

The others were at least engaged. “He’s easier to look at than old King George, that’s for sure,” one girl said as James began talking about various examples of bravery from around the country. “Do you really think the king’s going to recover, or are they glossing it?”

It was Fiona who answered. “I have some sources within the palace. They say the king’s able to speak a little now. Not much, but if he keeps getting stronger, they’d probably end the regency within a couple of months.”

This was exactly what James had told Ben, but he had to stifle a smile at Fiona’s pride.
Sources within the palace.
If she only knew.

“Hey, wait,” Roberto said. “Listen.”

James was saying, “—when Gregory Matthews of Manchester was bullied and beaten for coming out, he not only returned to that same school but continued to advocate for gay rights, now joined by dozens of classmates who understand that we are all equal under the law, and all beloved in the eyes of God.”