Think of England (21 page)

After a breathless moment, Daniel released him. “Which is to indicate that I’m honoured, my dear.”

“What? Oh, nonsense.” Curtis grabbed for the now rather soiled handkerchief and made an effort at cleaning them both up.

Daniel waved a hand. “I’m filthy anyway, don’t worry.”

They managed to get into some kind of comfort again, snuggled together on the hard floor under scratchy, musty blankets. Curtis ran his hand over Daniel’s stubbled jawline and leaned forward to kiss him, because he could.

“This is the most peculiar house party of my experience.”

Daniel chuckled, then nuzzled into Curtis’s chest. “It’s had its moments.”

Curtis looked down at the dark head, felt those clever, exploratory fingers running over his muscles and said, without planning, “May I call on you?”

Daniel’s fingers stilled. “Sorry?”

“In London. When this business is done with. May I call on you?”

“
Call
on me?”

He sounded incredulous. Curtis felt himself redden. “Or however one should put it.”

“Ah.” Daniel relaxed perceptibly. “If you mean, may you visit for a fuck, then, my dear fellow—”

“No,” Curtis said strongly, and then, “Well, that is, yes. If you’d like to. But that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Daniel had a frown between his eyes, as if the commonplace phrase had made no sense to him.

“I don’t know how else to say it. I don’t know how men conduct these things between themselves. If I liked and respected a lady, I’d ask permission to call—”

“I’m not a lady. I wouldn’t be a lady even if I were a woman.”

Curtis sighed. “Good Lord, help a fellow out here.”

“I don’t know what you want.”

How they had managed to lose that instant, easy understanding? “It seems quite straightforward to me.”

“Unfortunately, my dear, you are so straightforward I sometimes have trouble understanding a word you say.”

Daniel’s tone was very smooth and mannered, and Curtis fought an urge to say, “Never mind” and retreat. He set his shoulders against the real possibility that he was about to make a hopeless fool of himself. He hadn’t thought this through in the slightest, but he knew the truth of his own words as he spoke. “I mean, I want to see you again. Spend time with you. This, of course”—he waved a hand at their entwined bodies—“but…more. Damn it, Daniel, I want to be with you. You’re brave and clever and rather wonderful, and I even like your poems, and—”

“Stop!” It was almost a shout. “Stop, stop,
stop
.”

Curtis stared down. Daniel looked up at him with troubled eyes. His shoulders were hunching.

“What on earth—”

“Don’t say those things.”

“Why not?”

Daniel shut his eyes. “Because that is what gentlemen do, and I am—not a gentleman. I’m sure we will fuck like the songs of angels, and I look forward to it. But no more than that, hmm?”

“I don’t understand.”

Daniel opened his eyes again to shoot him a glare. “My father is a Spitalfields locksmith. I was brought up between his shop and my uncle’s billiard hall, which my mother manages in a very low-cut dress. I learned to mimic my betters from another uncle who recites Shakespeare in the better sort of music hall. I dress well because
another
uncle is a tailor of excellent imitative powers, not because I can afford a decent suit of clothes. I’m the only one in my grotesquely extensive family who’s ever been to university. You know damned well I’m not of your class.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“Everything.”

Curtis wasn’t sure what to reply to that. “All I’m saying is, I don’t want to treat you like a…whatever the equivalent of a mistress might be.” Curtis reached out tentatively to touch him. Daniel didn’t pull away, but he didn’t respond either. “Look, if it’s that you don’t want to see me in London, for God’s sake say so. I don’t mean to be a nuisance.”

“It’s not that.” Daniel let out a long sigh. “Oh, for— Listen, Curtis.”

“I wish you’d call me Archie.”

“This has been the devil of a week, and you’ve come to some rather rapid conclusions. I suspect that when you return to London this will all seem like a nightmare, or an aberration, or at the least a very poor idea.”

“Daniel—”

“I’m still talking.”

“Of course you are.”

Daniel gave the barest twitch of a smile. “The thing is, you are a gentleman. In the true meaning of the word. I don’t want you to feel bound by anything you’ve said, or to resent me because you shouldn’t have said it. I don’t want you to put yourself in a corner. And I won’t be blamed for it if you do.”

Curtis said, with some force, “I am not your bloody duke.”

“Son of a duke.”

“More like son of a—” Curtis stopped himself, remembering the fellow was dead. “That is, don’t assume I’ll behave like a cad.”

“I don’t want you to behave like a gentleman. Not if it means honouring a commitment you shouldn’t have made. You’re not in the habit of going back on your word, are you?”

“No, and I don’t change my mind a great deal, either.”

“You seem to have changed it about what you want recently,” Daniel pointed out. “You might wish to change it back.”

That’s my affair
, Curtis wanted to say, but of course it wasn’t only his, not if Daniel cared what he felt. Not if Daniel was afraid to let him come close for fear of being pushed away.

“You’re not the first man I’ve been with,” he said abruptly. “I’ve done plenty of things before. I’ve never found a woman I felt fond of, in that way. Damn it, I’ve never kissed a woman of my own class.”

Daniel blinked. “You’re not serious.”

He was. He’d had a few unsatisfactory encounters with ladies for hire, but had never felt the urge to pursue a flirtation that would lead to commitment.
Waiting for the right woman
, he’d told his uncles, but he’d been quite content to wait, because the prospect of marriage had seemed as dry and joyless as the rest of his future. “I haven’t changed my mind about myself. I’ve just—failed to consider matters until now. I never had to, in the army.” He paused, then said, with more difficulty than he’d expected, “I had someone. My lieutenant.”

“He was your lover?”

“Oh—well…” The word sounded extraordinary in the context of George Fisher. He’d been a redheaded sunburnt fellow, a comrade in arms, a friend. “He was my tentmate. We used to, you know. This sort of thing.”

“May I suggest you use verbs and nouns? They won’t change what happened, and you might even become more accustomed to things.” Daniel sounded, not entirely unsympathetic, but a little dry. “I’m not asking you to speak about private matters, but if you
are
going to speak about them, do use words.”

Curtis gritted his teeth. “All right, if you must. We tossed each other off sometimes, and it wasn’t something we discussed, just something we did. He didn’t talk all the damned time, and I never really thought about it, what with being rather busy with the Boers. He wasn’t my lover. It wasn’t like that.” Curtis had never kissed Fisher, never felt the urge. He wondered if Fisher might have wanted him to. “But he was my friend, my companion, and he died when the Lafayette gun I’d given him exploded. He bled to death while I watched—” He stopped, the lump in his throat choking him.

Daniel’s fingers closed on Curtis’s right hand, over the scarred knuckles. “I’m sorry.” He said nothing else, and Curtis breathed out evenly, over the tightness in his lungs.

“Anyway. That was how things were out in South Africa. And it hasn’t been an issue since then. The last year or so has been…”
A living death
, he wanted to say, but that was hardly fair on Daniel. “Tiresome. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that I wanted anything, from anyone. But when I did, now I look at it, it’s always been with men. Nothing’s changed. You must think I’m a bloody fool.”

“That’s not what I was thinking.” Daniel massaged the bridge of his nose. “Oh Lord, I don’t know. Very well. Make me a promise.”

Anything
, Curtis almost said. “What do you want?”

“Promise me that you will not contact me, back in London, for, say, a fortnight. Promise me that you will think, and not with your prick either, about what you want. Promise me that you will not allow anything you have said or done this week to bind you in any way. Promise me, in fact, that if you decide that you’re going to propose to Miss Merton—well, perhaps not her, but some delightful young lady—and pretend none of this ever happened, or even that on the whole you’d rather bugger a good honest English chap of your own class, you will simply go ahead and do it without a second’s thought for my opinion.”

“Daniel—”

Daniel rolled on his side, looking at Curtis with wide, dark eyes. “Promise me. And then, if you still want—anything, after you’ve had time to think about it, we’ll talk, and if you decide you’d rather not, we’ll part friends. Do you see?”

“What you mean is, I’m to do as I wish without giving a damn for you.”

“If you give a damn for me, you’ll do as I ask,” retorted Daniel. “I can bear a great deal but I can’t bear being an obligation.”

“Or caves.”

“Or, as you say, caves. I’m serious.”

Curtis thought about it. He could feel Daniel’s tension, a physical thing against him.

He had no idea what he wanted from Daniel, except that he should be there somehow. He only knew that his life outside the army had seemed purposeless, futureless, withered on the branch, and now, though he still had no idea what the future held, it was no longer empty. He had fought and made love this week, taken life and saved it, and it was all down to the man next to him.

Of course Daniel was right about the difference between their social circles. But he had spent the last year and a half drifting between clubs and sporting events and house parties, and it had been the driest, most pointless time of his life. Society was all very well; Curtis wanted companionship. More: he wanted Daniel, with his smooth skin and smoother tongue; wanted to get inside his fierce, brittle defences and protect the vulnerability within; wanted their growing bond so much that he flinched at the thought of its loss.

Curtis had no idea how this could possibly work, in London or anywhere else, but that was no reason to stop. Plans were for generals. He would approach this as he did everything, head on, forging forward step by step.

He looked down at Daniel, who was contemplating his chest hair like a man absorbed. “All right. I understand. You’ve scruples.” Fears too, but he would no more have pointed that out than poked a mamba with a stick. “I’ll make you that promise—a fortnight’s consideration, no obligations, all you ask—if you’ll tell me something in return now.”

“What?” Daniel sounded wary.

“Subject to your stipulations and so forth…” Curtis leaned in and kissed him gently. “May I call on you?”

“Fuckin
’ell
, Curtis!” That came out as the purest East End. Curtis couldn’t help grinning. Daniel narrowed his eyes and retrieved his poise along with his accent. “If you intend to start sending me posies with ‘Wear this for my sake’ cards, I shall
assault
you.”

That wasn’t an answer, except, in its defensive flare, it rather was. Curtis kissed him again, a little more demanding this time. “You’ve talked about what I want. I need to know what you want. May I call on you?”

“Yes, all
right
. If you must.”

Curtis took hold of a handful of black hair and gave it a tug. “Does that mean you want me to?”

Daniel glowered. “Go to the devil, you overbearing, oversized sod.”

Curtis lay back, satisfied, pulling him closer. He felt a whisper of a kiss against his chest.

“Get some sleep.” Daniel yawned indicatively. “It’s damned late. When will you go back in the morning?”

“I won’t.” Doubtless he should, it was what he’d intended, but Daniel had to be protected, and a fellow couldn’t be expected to do everything. “The cavalry will be here soon enough. I’m staying with you.”

Daniel’s lips curved. He rubbed his head against Curtis’s chest, catlike. “Now, quite seriously, my dear, get some rest.”

Curtis wasn’t reluctant; it had to be past three o’clock by his reckoning and he felt somewhat drained by the day. He wrapped his arm over Daniel’s shoulders, steadied his mind, and slept.

Chapter Fourteen

“Wake up. Wake
up
.”

Curtis blinked into consciousness. The light was the yellow-grey of autumn dawn, which meant it must be past seven o’clock. His back was a solid line of soreness from lying on the hard floor, his mouth tasted furry and dry, the clothes he’d slept in were sweaty-cold, and Daniel was shaking his shoulder urgently.

“Wake up, you lump.”

“What?”

“We’re besieged.”

Curtis was on his feet in a second, so fast his head swam slightly, crouching so as not to present a target to the window.

Daniel was kneeling by him, eyes wide in the dim light. “There’s people moving out there. I saw March. I heard James Armstrong.”

Curtis grabbed his Webley, checking it with the speed of long practice, and thrust handfuls of cartridges into his pockets. “Pat left a revolver. Can you shoot?”