House of Mirrors (9 page)

Could Talbot be another like Edward, who appeared guileless and transparent but harbored murky depths? It was dangerous to be taken in by appearances. Rafe had learned that the hard way from his brother. The carnival wasn’t the only home of dangerous illusion.

He sat up, tired of his useless thoughts. The tiny room had grown stuffy. He threw aside his blanket and rose from the bunk. If he wasn’t going to sleep, Rafe might as well take over guard duty.

Outside he strolled through the cool night air, jumping over the stakes and ropes in the dark. No matter where they set up, the pattern of wagons and tents was the same. He found Crooked Pete dozing by the tethered horses and nudged the man awake. “Go find your bedroll,” he said. “I’ll take over.”

Pete yawned and stumbled to his feet. “I was awake.”

“Awake enough,” Rafe agreed. “We’re not at war here. It’s a good little town.”

Pete pulled out paper and tobacco and rolled a cigarette with his stubby fingers. “So what’s the preacher’s boy going to be useful for?”

What a small world they inhabited. For all the talk of never mentioning the past, poor Talbot apparently had dragged his along with him.

“Claudia says he did a fair job of shouting her charms the other night. And he’ll regain his strength soon enough,” Rafe said.

“Too old to learn useful skills like tumbling,” Pete muttered. That was a good sign. If he was trying to think of where to put Talbot, then he had come to some form of acceptance. “He might be good with the animals, but all that slow moving might be his injuries,” Pete went on. “He’s wholesome and good-looking, so he shouldn’t hide behind the scenes shoveling shit. He could be the shill. A natural for that. He’s got that trustworthy kind of face.”

Rafe watched the red end of Pete’s cigarette glow bright. It was rather astonishing that Pete, a man who hated to do any more thinking than necessary, would expend this mental energy for Talbot. Perhaps the earnest young man had engaged him as well.

“Can’t have a useless body eating a share of rations and not providing his share of work,” Pete said. So much for the theory that Talbot had won him over.

“True enough. Go to sleep,” Rafe said. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Pete raised his foot and carefully extinguished the cigarette against the sole of his boot. He put the butt in his pocket to separate the paper from the unsmoked tobacco later. Rafe wanted to tell him to stop worrying about every strand of tobacco, that the lean times were over for the show, but he didn’t want to lie.

Stretching his arms high, Pete ambled off in the direction of the wagons.

Rafe leaned against a post they’d pounded into the ground to stretch the rope for the corral. The horses stood mostly silent, sleeping. The rain still hadn’t come down, but clouds blocked the stars and scuttled over the face of the moon.

He smiled up at the moon and breathed in the scent of horses, meadow, and wood smoke spiced with an occasional hint of distant honeysuckle. He was alive and at peace with the world again, so he almost resented the voice that interrupted his solitude.

“Sir? I mean, Mr. Grimstone.”

His heart beat faster. Now there was godforsaken desire added to the mix. He’d been so content. “Talbot. You should be asleep.”

“I suppose so.” The dark figure stopped by the next stake, moonlight gilding his pale hair. “I’d hoped I might find you here.”

“You were looking for me?” Rafe became aware of his hands, as if the need to pull the other man close came from his fingers instead of his damnable brain. “Is anything wrong?”

“No.” Talbot drew a breath. “Yes. I think I should apologize.”

“Oh?” This would be interesting. Was the preacher’s son a thief after all and that was the reason he’d fled town? That would put the finishing touches on Rafe’s current disgruntled state. It’d be hard to learn he’d lost his ability to read anyone.

“What I did in your wagon the other day… I was pushing you. I shouldn’t have gone after you like that.”

The stumbling speech made it seem as if Talbot imagined he’d besmirched a virgin. Rafe gave a bark of surprised laughter.

“You, after me? Think back. Who touched whom first? We’ll share blame if there’s blame to assign in the matter.”

“You’re not upset?”

“No. I’m not,” he snapped.

“You’ve seemed angry these past few days.”

He wanted to hit something. “No. But I promise I
will
grow angry if you keep asking me about my mood.”

Rafe was astonished to hear Talbot snort in derision. “That is exactly the sort of thing people in a bad mood say.” The young man no longer sounded careful and hesitant, which suited Rafe. He didn’t want to kick at an injured lost lamb. And he felt like kicking something.

“If someone is in an ill temper, do you honestly think it best to keep pestering him?” Rafe shoved his hands in his trouser pockets but took a step toward Talbot. Hot with restlessness, he felt dangerously close to starting a brawl—or grabbing at the man for entirely different reasons.

“If I believe something I’ve done might have contributed to his bad mood, yes, I do think I should try to amend the situation. It’s the Christian thing to do.” The last was said without a trace of irony, and Rafe nearly smiled at the contradiction between Jonah’s wholesome beliefs and the unholy act he’d engaged in with such eagerness. The boy was full of unexpected contrasts, which somehow didn’t come across as hypocrisy.

Jonah took a breath. “I like you, Mr. Grimstone. I’ve watched you. You’re fair and strong. I’ve heard all about you from the carnival folk, and they admire and respect you, for the most part.”

Rafe waited, but that seemed to be the end of Talbot’s speech. The man backed away now, seemed ready to take off, but Rafe stopped him with a growl. “What the hell do you want from me?”

Chapter Nine

That should be obvious
. Jonah smiled up at the moon and breathed deeply, the air ripe with the scent of horses.

Ever since the interlude in the wagon, he’d watched Grimstone and seen the way the man laughed, smiled, and talked animatedly with everyone around him—except when Jonah drew near. Then he grew brisk and businesslike. Despite Jonah’s vow to act just as casually about their encounter, he couldn’t stand the snubbing. He’d already ruined his past with sinful lust, and now it seemed he’d ruined his future. He had to confront Grimstone and find out if he could settle the tension between them.

But not if Grimstone would deny its existence.

“Nothing. I want nothing from you except to get along with me. But perhaps it’s too late for that. Maybe I should leave,” Jonah finally replied. “Find another place for myself.”

After all, he didn’t look quite so battered now. Maybe he could find work in this area, but God have mercy, even as he’d said the words, he knew he wanted to stay with the other sinners. He’d discovered he liked so many things about this life. There was the pleasure of luring people in with only words. The unabashed shabby glitter of the carnival might have struck him as lurid once upon a time, but now it seemed more honest than real life. No one expected pious perfection from carnival folk.

The opposite, in fact, if even half the stories he’d heard were true. A wholesome facade contained so much more potential for sin. He thought of the smiling Rev. Burns, whom he’d thought was a friend, advisor, and so much more, and how the man had denied and betrayed him when he needed him most.

Conversely, Grimstone hadn’t allowed him to take the blame for that episode in the wagon even though Jonah had been willing to shoulder it. And even though he knew exactly what he was doing there. He’d do it again too, given a chance. He flashed on the image of Grimstone’s face at the moment of his sexual fulfillment—his lips parted, his eyes mostly closed. That memory brought sudden arousal. Jonah shifted impatiently. He needed to get away as temptation reared its head again.

Abruptly Grimstone lunged toward him. “I give up.”

Before Jonah could ask what he meant, hard hands grabbed his arms and pulled him close, and a husky voice muttered, “Stay. Keep me company, again.”

Now Jonah understood the source of the other man’s tension. He’d been fighting hunger too. Jonah’s answering craving for touch sent a shiver through him.

Rafe’s warm breath touched his cheek. “You’re cold?” Ridiculous question, because the early June evening was plenty warm.

“No.” He had to clear his throat; desire clogged it. “I didn’t understand. I thought…”

“What?”

“I knew I wanted you. But you wanted me to leave. You were uninterested.”

“Hell, yes. I don’t want this. I want to be done with it.” He smiled, taking the edge from his harsh words.

“I guess I still don’t understand, then, because, um, your hands…” Those long fingers still clutched his upper arms.

“Then you’re a fool.” Grimstone’s tone was one of fondness rather than anger.

“Perhaps I was one, but at least now I understand why you’re angry. You don’t want this, yet you think you can’t help yourself.” Jonah forced himself to take a step back and hated it when Grimstone’s hands released him. He cleared his throat again. “You
can
help yourself, though. It’s possible to rise above desire.” A variation of words he’d heard his father preach to the congregation often enough. Except now when he envisioned rising above desire, he pictured himself rising over Grimstone, pressing him flat, holding those strong wrists in his hands, demanding that he take Jonah in his mouth and pleasure him.

He’d never been the aggressor when he’d been with Rev. Burns, but he knew exactly how to play that role. He wanted it all now. Aggression, tenderness, play, and fighting. He gave a silent prayer to be purged of this overwhelming hunger.

His prayer was not answered. Grimstone drew closer again and put his palm on Jonah’s unshaved cheek.

He had to try again to make himself clear. “Listen, Mr. Grimstone, if you touch me again, if I touch you, and if it’s just once, that’s fine.” It wasn’t perfect, of course, but he’d tolerate it. “But if afterward you look at me as if I’m a diseased creature, then I’d just as soon not indulge, if it’s all the same to you.” His voice cracked as if he was a lad of thirteen.

Grimstone hummed gently, a soothing croon. “Naw, I won’t do that.”

Jonah believed that might be true. It hadn’t been Jonah he’d pushed away, just his own hungers.

“And you needn’t call me Grimstone. It’s Rafe.” Luminous eyes pierced his and held him harder than the hands on his arms.

“I want to stay with the carnival,” Jonah said, his voice firm again. “But if what we do together makes a difference—either way,” he added hastily, because he most definitely didn’t want to make his living as a whore. “Then I’d rather not.”

Rafe moved his hand over Jonah’s front, down his belly. The carnival man twisted and grabbed Jonah’s semihard dick through his trousers. “Oh? You’d rather not?”

Jonah gasped. “Yes. That’s just…just desire.”

“Desire is good.” Rafe leaned forward and brushed his lips over Jonah’s. “Except when ’tis very, very bad. We might give in to the devil again.”

Jonah was lost when the kiss deepened, grew heated enough to melt his resolve to do anything but taste and lick. Unlike his light words, Rafe’s kiss seemed full of desperation and need but no clever play. Jonah pulled back a little, teased and nibbled, using the wiles he’d been taught by his first and only lover, a skilled man. A skilled rat, but now was not the time to think of anything but the sensation of Rafe and his forceful touch.

Rafe reached to cup Jonah’s scalp and hold him still. They’d fight for control, then—a pleasant game. He stepped forward and pulled Rafe into his arms, then ground his erection into his leg. Rafe’s answering guttural groan told Jonah he wasn’t the only one to be dragged under by the drug of lust. There was something about Rafe’s touch—desperate, almost blundering with need—that made Jonah feel confident even as his body grew sizzling hot.

Jonah pulled back and dropped to his knees in the cropped grass by the horses’ enclosure. He unbuttoned Rafe’s trousers.

“What the devil?” Rafe whispered.

Jonah looked up at his face but didn’t see anything except his silhouette. “No one else is awake. And if they are, the horses will hide us from view.”

“But…” Rafe’s protest gave way to a low moan as Jonah freed his swollen cock from his clothing. Jonah started with some gentle swirling licks around the head, grasping the shaft lightly—so very lightly—with his hand and moving the foreskin. He sucked once and pulled back almost immediately just so the cool air would touch the damp he left behind. Then the warmth of his mouth would be that much more overwhelming. He licked delicately, ran his teeth over the shivering man’s cock, then lunged, engulfing as much of it as he could, licking even as he sucked.

“Christ, Talbot. Oh, Jonah.” Rafe muttered curses. He put a hand on Jonah’s head, light and caressing. Then when Jonah went to work, sucking and licking, Rafe’s hold on his hair grew rough, entirely needy. Jonah pulled and twisted. He reached for Rafe’s balls, cradled them even as he moved his finger to the hot crevice behind them. He used his hands, his mouth—all the knowledge he’d gained—to bring Rafe close to the edge.

The man pumped, fucking his mouth, frantic for relief. Jonah could tell he was near his crisis and wrapped his hand tight around the base of his cock to stop him.

“Hey, what…? What are you doing?” Rafe tightened his fingers on Jonah’s hair.

Jonah returned to long, slow licks from the base to the head of Rafe’s cock. He chuckled to himself. It was very satisfying to reduce the quick-witted man to a babbling wreck. Jonah ached to pull at his own cock, but he wanted this to be only about Rafe’s pleasure, and he needed both his hands for that.

When Rafe gave another cry of frustration, Jonah pulled off and looked up. He could see very little of the man’s features in the dark but felt the rapid pulse in his cock, and the silvered light on his chest showed Jonah the man panted with arousal.

“You’re killing me,” Rafe said in a hoarse whisper.

“If it is to be just this once, I want it to last as long as possible.”