Josh's might have called it poor fare. At this moment he could not be so ungrateful, for he was in that rare mood when all things are beautiful, and all people agreeable.
Ducking through the doorway of the small "great cabin" of the Seahorse , he wondered that he had never seen before how the curve of windows and the white-painted wood made it seem almost insubstantial, floating in a great light above the sea. What would it be at twelve knots with the deck heeled over and the rigging singing like a wind harp—the wake falling away like white wings, and Kenyon, with that predatory look of his, urging her forward, white knuckled?
Or—please, God—at twelve knots, with the timbers resonating to the triumphant note of power, the swell of the sea; Kenyon pinning him down over that table, and making him fly like the ship—intense and fast and alive. Walking out afterwards—bruised and trembling—carrying such a secret. A secret he could smile over and hoard possessively away to share with only one man in the whole world. A pearl of great price he could protect against the hypocritical, murderous mob, which was so tender and forgiving of their own fornication but would happily destroy him for his.
"I have avoided going into debt so far," said Kenyon, leaving his contemplation of the windows to slide one of the chops across the table, the handkerchief it had been wrapped in now serving as a plate, "but this is becoming ridiculous. I must buy plate for the cabin, a certain amount of good food if I'm to invite my officers to dine, and the dockyard is expecting a sweetener for the spare main topmast, if it's not to go to the Dart ..."
He paused, and his look of preoccupied business became gradually something shyer and less certain. It was astonishing how a face so hard in all its lines could hold such gentleness. The sun, falling unequally on him, brought out the green of one eye, left the other softly hazel, and Josh found himself studying his commanding officer's eyelashes, wondering how soft they would feel against his lips.
"Forgive me. Was that unfeeling? I'm ... not sure how to talk to you in these circumstances."
"As you always do, sir," Josh said, puzzled. "I'm your premier—I need to know these things."
"But are we not also..." Peter looked down, embarrassed, and then up again in a gesture of openness that seemed to take a great deal of bravery, "lovers?"
Having grown used to furtive meetings in back rooms with men who would not acknowledge his presence on the street, the word was a full broadside, and Josh was shattered by the impact of it. Lovers ! Could Kenyon really be innocent enough to apply that term to this ... arrangement? Could he conceivably mean that he saw no difference between this and the love he might feel for a sweetheart? Was he offering not only his body but his affections? It was too much—too much. It could not be true.
The uncomplicated happiness with which Josh had entered the cabin fled, leaving something greater and more anguished in its place. Kenyon must have no notion what he was offering—he must have used the word lightly, not meaning to stir long abandoned dreams, to torment with hope. And yet he had looked so vulnerable, tentative as a man addressing his new beloved. Josh wasn't sure he could bear it.
"What's the matter?" Kenyon pulled out a chair and sat close looking in Josh's face as if he actually cared about the pain.
Forcing out a curt laugh, Josh leaned his elbows on the table, unclenched his fists and tried to pull himself together; "Lovers? Did I pass out and miss that part? I must have been more overcome than I thought."
"No," said Kenyon firmly, "sarcasm aside, you've gone white as a sheet. What is it? Give me a real answer."
Gritting his teeth, Josh breathed deliberately until the complex of disbelief and desperate yearning died down enough for his voice to steady, and his stupidly romantic thoughts to come back to earth. "I'm just being an idiot—you should ignore me until
Ducking through the doorway of the small "great cabin" of the Seahorse , he wondered that he had never seen before how the curve of windows and the white-painted wood made it seem almost insubstantial, floating in a great light above the sea. What would it be at twelve knots with the deck heeled over and the rigging singing like a wind harp—the wake falling away like white wings, and Kenyon, with that predatory look of his, urging her forward, white knuckled?
Or—please, God—at twelve knots, with the timbers resonating to the triumphant note of power, the swell of the sea; Kenyon pinning him down over that table, and making him fly like the ship—intense and fast and alive. Walking out afterwards—bruised and trembling—carrying such a secret. A secret he could smile over and hoard possessively away to share with only one man in the whole world. A pearl of great price he could protect against the hypocritical, murderous mob, which was so tender and forgiving of their own fornication but would happily destroy him for his.
"I have avoided going into debt so far," said Kenyon, leaving his contemplation of the windows to slide one of the chops across the table, the handkerchief it had been wrapped in now serving as a plate, "but this is becoming ridiculous. I must buy plate for the cabin, a certain amount of good food if I'm to invite my officers to dine, and the dockyard is expecting a sweetener for the spare main topmast, if it's not to go to the Dart ..."
He paused, and his look of preoccupied business became gradually something shyer and less certain. It was astonishing how a face so hard in all its lines could hold such gentleness. The sun, falling unequally on him, brought out the green of one eye, left the other softly hazel, and Josh found himself studying his commanding officer's eyelashes, wondering how soft they would feel against his lips.
"Forgive me. Was that unfeeling? I'm ... not sure how to talk to you in these circumstances."
"As you always do, sir," Josh said, puzzled. "I'm your premier—I need to know these things."
"But are we not also..." Peter looked down, embarrassed, and then up again in a gesture of openness that seemed to take a great deal of bravery, "lovers?"
Having grown used to furtive meetings in back rooms with men who would not acknowledge his presence on the street, the word was a full broadside, and Josh was shattered by the impact of it. Lovers ! Could Kenyon really be innocent enough to apply that term to this ... arrangement? Could he conceivably mean that he saw no difference between this and the love he might feel for a sweetheart? Was he offering not only his body but his affections? It was too much—too much. It could not be true.
The uncomplicated happiness with which Josh had entered the cabin fled, leaving something greater and more anguished in its place. Kenyon must have no notion what he was offering—he must have used the word lightly, not meaning to stir long abandoned dreams, to torment with hope. And yet he had looked so vulnerable, tentative as a man addressing his new beloved. Josh wasn't sure he could bear it.
"What's the matter?" Kenyon pulled out a chair and sat close looking in Josh's face as if he actually cared about the pain.
Forcing out a curt laugh, Josh leaned his elbows on the table, unclenched his fists and tried to pull himself together; "Lovers? Did I pass out and miss that part? I must have been more overcome than I thought."
"No," said Kenyon firmly, "sarcasm aside, you've gone white as a sheet. What is it? Give me a real answer."
Gritting his teeth, Josh breathed deliberately until the complex of disbelief and desperate yearning died down enough for his voice to steady, and his stupidly romantic thoughts to come back to earth. "I'm just being an idiot—you should ignore me until
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