The Professor and the Smuggler Read online

  He placed the glasses on, and they immediately began to slide down his rather large nose. He impatiently pushed them up. “But it wasn’t until I’d graduated university, taught there for a few years, and decided I wasn’t particularly good at or happy with teaching that I began to plan this—well, I like to think of it as an expedition, exploring the British Isles rather than undiscovered lands. If my project here in Cornwall goes well, I’d like to travel to other overlooked corners of our land. You see…”

  Carne stared at his visitor in amazement. The man didn’t hesitate to offer facts, thoughts, opinions, and even personal feelings to a complete stranger. He was like a child in his candor and exuberance, which was both refreshing and somewhat alarming. Didn’t Singleton know it was dangerous to tell a person too much about himself, that some people might take advantage of his openness?

  Apparently not, for Singleton babbled on while Carne helped him carry the camera equipment and baggage into the house and install it in his sisters’ old room.

  “To me there’s nothing more intriguing than tales from human beings’ collective past. I don’t mean the dates and battles from history lessons, but personal stories of people long dead. This brings history to vivid life and reminds us that people change very little despite any advancement in terms of society or technology. Love, lust, desire for power, comfort, home—all these needs never change, do they, Mr. Carne, er, that is Treleaven.”

  Carne set down the heaviest trunk and faced his guest in the small room his sisters had shared for so many years. “Not a good teacher? You have lecturing down pat.”

  Singleton turned red right to the tips of his ears in the way only fair-complexioned men did. “I’ve talked too much. Sorry. It’s a bad habit when I’m feeling nervous.”

  Carne glanced at the lumpy bed, the rug his sister Liza had braided, the window that hadn’t been washed since his sisters left home. “Not much to fear here.”

  Singleton dipped his chin and smiled as if to himself. “No. Not much. Only the master of the house.”

  Carne pointed a thumb at his chest. “Me? Why would you be fearing me?”

  Now Singleton laughed. “I must admit, it occurred to me as we rode through the darkness to your house that I’d placed all my trust in a man I’d only just met. Not a wise course of action in a strange place. I’ve been told often that I behave too impetuously—most recently by the university staff when I gave my notice at Cambridge on a whim, in their opinion.”

  “You are rash,” Carne said bluntly. “But no harm will come to you beneath this roof, I swear.”

  He found the professor’s utter honesty endearing. It certainly wasn’t a quality he was used to in a man—or woman, come to that. Nobody he knew talked like this Phillip Singleton. A stirring of…Carne didn’t know what, but something he’d never felt before, made him uneasy. He backed toward the door.

  “I’ll leave ’e to unpack. Suppose you’re hungry? I’ll see what’s in the larder.”

  “Capital! Add meals to my bill, and thank you very much, Mr. Treleaven.” Singleton beamed at him so brightly, Carne had to look away.

  “Call me Carne,” he muttered before escaping the room to turn the fish he’d caught earlier into dinner.

  *

  Singleton must have calmed down, because he didn’t chatter through the meal, which was a pity. The more Carne heard, the more he could report back to the others in the Concern.

  The former professor did seem to watch Carne. Every time Carne glanced his way, he met those bright gray eyes. Singleton’s gaze seemed fixed on Carne’s shoulder. Carne craned his neck to check his shirt, which seemed clean on that spot, or at least no dirtier than any other part of it. But then Singleton seemed to be staring at his mouth. Carne stealthily wiped his lips, which made the other man abruptly look away and…redden. Even in the dark room, Carne could see those cheeks flush.

  A strong suspicion hit Carne, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it.

  He’d met a sodomite once, a superior snobbish fat gentleman who wore too much scent, too many rings, and clothes that were too tight. That gent had come to deliver a purse to the village, so no one had been eager to treat him badly. Even after he’d handed over the money, no one had attacked him because he also wore a gun. But the disgusted murmurs started the moment he’d left the Stoney Ground. Nancy. Sod.

  Singleton was nothing like that man—except they each had more money than Carne could ever earn in a thousand years of fishing.

  Yet instead of a superior air, Singleton behaved more like an eager child, and he seemed cleaner than the fat man. Come to think of it, he might be better washed than any man Carne knew. When Singleton had passed Carne to come into the house, there’d been a scent of petrol and smoke, but not sweat or grime. How could an active man stay so clean? Singleton must have bathed in the ocean.

  Carne rubbed his mouth again. That earnest gaze had returned to his face, and it seemed to make his skin itch.

  “Stop it,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re staring at me. Stop.”

  “I am? Unintentional, I assure you.” Singleton murmured another apology and tilted his head back. For a gawky man, his throat seemed rather elegant, which wasn’t a word Carne often thought about anything or anyone.

  Singleton stared up at the ceiling, and after a few seconds, started speaking about beams and roofs. “I don’t know enough about thatched roofs or any other for that matter. Such an essential part of life, and one knows so little of their production. I should see if I can discover a thatcher and determine if the method has altered over time. The small things in the world are so important and get lost without anyone taking note of changes.”

  Carne picked up his spoon and ate another bite of his fish stew. He understood now that his quick temper had made the man nervous, and now he felt a little guilty, as if he’d slapped an eager pup—a purebred variety of animal far above Carne’s class.

  “Didn’t mean to snap at you, sir,” Carne grumbled when Singleton fell silent on the matter of trusses and rafters and shifted his attention down to the tabletop, quickly moving his gaze from the ceiling as if avoiding what came between, which was Carne.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Singleton said, addressing the chipped cup that held his portion of stew. “I stared because you are a person with a sort of magnetic attraction.”

  “Here now! Stop.” He tapped the table and realized he imitated Gwalather’s most annoying mannerism. He curled his fingers into a fist. Singleton’s gaze came up and fixed on something over Carne’s shoulder.

  He’s no threat to me, Carne thought. Physical or otherwise. I could break the fellow in half.

  He softened his voice. “Mr. Singleton, you’d best not say another word. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’d do if you admit to wanting that sort of thing.”

  Singleton’s eyebrows went up, and for the briefest moment, he met Carne’s eyes. “I said nothing about wanting anything in particular. I’m attracted to beautiful art. I’m attracted to the views of the ocean. I’m attracted to daffodils. I can admire from afar.”

  “Daffodils,” Carne said and, despite himself, smiled. “You’re daft.”

  Singleton’s answering smile was entirely too powerful.

  “I’d best tidy this now.” Carne hauled himself to his feet and grabbed up the cups and spoons.

  “May I help?”

  “No, I’m particular about my washing up,” Carne lied. He did not want the man standing near him.

  Singleton meekly stayed in his seat at the small table and didn’t say a word. Earlier in the day, Carne had wondered if the jabbering man could be quiet, and the answer was yes, far too silent, in fact.

  Singleton folded his hands on the bare wood and watched Carne, but his attention seemed less direct now. He didn’t track him with the concentration of a hunter sizing up prey. If Carne hadn’t been so very aware of Singleton and his…predilections, he might no
t have noticed. When Carne stood at the sink with his back to his guest, his spine seemed to crawl as if that scrutiny brushed his skin.

  Singleton cleared his throat, and Carne damned near dropped the plate he was drying. “I should make some notes,” Singleton said. “I’ll do my work in the room you assigned me. I don’t want to get in your way.”

  “Nearly done,” Carne told him. “Off to bed when I finish this.”

  “Oh, of course.” Singleton sounded mildly dejected. Surely he didn’t expect an invitation? No, of course not.

  If Carne woke early enough, he might look through some of his guest’s belongings still out in the motorcar, see if he really had packed for a long trek about the country. Then Carne could give the Concern a more complete report.

  Hell.

  He grimaced at the realization he was at it again, trying to change the reality of a thing to make himself comfortable. Just as he’d prolonged his arrangement with Bea simply to keep himself from sinking into loneliness, even as he’d known she wanted more from him for a time now.

  Sometimes he could justify just about anything to himself. He wanted to look through Singleton’s fancy leather cases because he was curious about a man so unlike any others he’d ever met.

  Carne hung up the dish brush and the tea towel. He went outside and dumped the wash water.

  When he reentered the cottage, Singleton still sat at the small table. The single light gleamed on his hair, the gold of his glasses, and glowed on his folded hands.

  A sodomite, Carne reminded himself and shivered when he realized he wasn’t disgusted. Could a man catch that sort of fever? He had no one he could ask, except perhaps Singleton himself. Carne imagined the enthusiastic and thorough lecture he might receive. When he realized he was grinning at the thought, he muttered, “Night.”

  He hurried into his room and shut the door, hard.

  Chapter Four

  Despite his friends’ laughing assurances otherwise, Phillip fancied he read people fairly well. He’d seen the hostility in the villagers earlier that day, and he could have sworn he’d seen the fire of hunger in Carne Treleaven’s eyes.

  Before meeting his beloved American, Geoffrey had been dangerously open with his desires and approaching men. Geoffrey swore a few men who shared their taste for other men ran away more quickly than anyone else and cursed more loudly than the indifferent blokes. Perhaps Carne’s interest was real, as was his desire to quash it.

  Phillip would respect the slammed door for the rest of his stay. He wandered into his room, reminding himself that he wanted to write notes about his day’s work and plan for the next day. For a time, he lost himself in examining the maps he’d carefully composed in London, a detailed picture of ships lost off the coast and another of known smugglers’ hideouts from the previous century, as well as all known stone circles and ancient signs of groves in the area. He wished he could see again the map he’d been forced to leave behind in the university archives, a treasure map on faded and crumbling parchment. How wonderful if he found a previously undiscovered circle during this journey—or buried treasure. Either would be equally as marvelous.

  After he blew out his lamp, Phillip sprawled on the narrow bed. His thoughts returned to matters of the flesh. Such a nuisance to be plagued by unasked-for desire, yet even unfulfilled yearning contained a splendid whisper of excitement and longing and…imaginings. He imagined creeping into Carne’s room—and he imagined being beaten to death by his offended host.

  He rolled onto his side. And then onto his other side. He should have slept soundly now that he lay in a bed. Perhaps he’d forgotten how to be comfortable.

  No. It was likely Carne Treleaven’s presence only yards away. The rooms were smaller than a pantry in Phillip’s house. If he listened hard, he could hear the other man’s deep, even breaths.

  His best friend accused Phillip of lusting after what Geoffrey called “uncultured, lower-class specimens. A rough lot of lads,” but that wasn’t true. Phillip had no particular preference. In the previous year, he’d felt a spark of interest in a hulking bearded don at the university, a slender young lecturer, as well as a kindly porter. Phillip decided he had an unfortunately randy nature.

  Geoffrey probably got that notion about a preference for rougher men after Phillip revealed the troubles he’d had when he was seventeen and he’d acted on his attraction to a stableman in his parents’ employ. Young, silly, romantic Phillip imagined the two of them going away together, traveling, buying and breeding horses picked out by the stableman, who did have a way with the animals. In love, he’d imagined the man wanted more from Phillip than having his prick sucked. And so the fellow did. He also wanted to be paid for his silence, which Phillip refused to do.

  At least the stableman hadn’t proven to be a liar. He’d announced his threat to tell Phillip’s family and then carried through on it.

  Phillip wouldn’t be a fool again. And, really, hadn’t he despised gentlemen who took advantage of subservient men? Gentlemen who used money, threats, or influence to get their desires quenched by lower-class men were far worse than a blackmailing stableman trying to get ahead in the world in any way he could. Phillip swore he would never do such a thing again, take advantage of someone of lowly birth. Besides, as he told Geoffrey, he would much prefer his encounters to include a meeting of minds as well as flesh. That would be ideal.

  He’d thought Carne interesting and intelligent, but, no, enough. He’d content himself with admiring from afar. No attempts to seduce the daffodils.

  As for that physical nagging need, he had a good left hand. Funny how he’d been taught to write and eat right-handed, but no one had attempted to retrain him for this use. He smiled into the dark and allowed his hand to slide under his smalls for a good grasp on a cock that had spent too much time awake and alert of late.

  “Go to sleep, you,” he muttered and gave himself a hard tug. Just right. He slid his hand up and down. His fingers had been hardened by photography and now would grow even tougher working on the motorcar and living outdoors. His rough skin scraped deliciously against his member. And he could more easily imagine that Carne touched him, rubbed with increasing fervor.

  Carne’s shoulder would firmly come down, holding Phillip in place. His lips would skim Phillip’s mouth, pause for a kiss, then move down, that mouth, oh, so demanding and eager and—Good Lord, the orgasm hit quickly, harder than he’d expected. Phillip barely had time to raise his other arm so he could bite down on the fleshy part of his thumb. He must hold back the cry. A savage growl emerged instead. The moment the jerking and spasming came to an exhausting end, he felt a twinge of embarrassment at his own eagerness. He carefully wiped his spending on his own clothing.

  If you heard that, please don’t grow angry, he silently asked his host. Sleep came soon after, deep and satisfying.

  Phillip woke suddenly and aware he wasn’t alone. Papers rustled. He didn’t feel alarmed because he knew who it was even before he opened his eyes to pale morning sun through the smeary window lighting the room.

  “I say, Mr. Treleaven. What are you doing?” Phillip fumbled for his glasses and sat up.

  Carne rose from a crouch by Phillip’s trunk. He didn’t hold anything, but Phillip was fairly sure of what he’d heard.

  “You won’t be able to read any of my papers because I use a sort of writing I invented myself.”

  Carne was dressed in shirtsleeves that had been folded back. His forearms showed cords of muscle and…drat, Phillip was staring again. He shifted his attention to the papers that lay in a neat pile. Since he’d left them strewn, he knew he was right and Carne had been looking through his things.

  “Why’d you do that?” Carne asked.

  “Eh?” Phillip had lost track of what they were talking about

  “Why invent a writing? What’s wrong with the usual sort?”

  “It’s a shorthand.”

  “A what?”

  “It allows one to write more quickly than usual.”
He bit back the desire to demonstrate or explain more. Just because someone asked questions didn’t mean they deserved answers, especially when the person was poking amongst one’s belongings.

  “I have very little of value, Mr. Treleaven.” There were his cameras, of course, but their case lay undisturbed. “Why are you snooping about my possessions?”

  “I, ah, I was curious.”

  The confession caught him off guard. He’d expected Carne to deny he’d touched Phillip’s things or maybe say something about cleaning up the room for his guest. Curious? Well. Phillip couldn’t condemn a man for his own most besetting sin.

  He almost climbed out of the bed when he recalled he wasn’t dressed in anything but drawers, and Carne’s nearness in the small room had had an effect on him, as well as the usual morning greeting from his body. So he remained under the covers and waited for more from his host.

  Carne folded those impressive forearms over his equally impressive chest and continued. “You claim you’re only interested in gathering histories from local folk, but forgive me if I have my doubts. Round here, we don’t much trust strangers.”

  Phillip clasped his own far more spindly arms around blanket-covered legs. “I understand this area has a long history of being at odds with the Crown. Back in the days of the free traders, they couldn’t be too careful. But such illegal activity ceased long ago.”

  He stopped speaking abruptly as it occurred to him that might not be the case. There might well be a reason Carne had warned him not to explore the vicinity. Could it be that the days of smugglers hiding goods from customs agents was not completely a thing of the past after all?

  Phillip quickly glossed over both his pause and Carne’s transgression. “I understand your concern. After all, I have no credentials but my word to offer you. You may look at any of my books, papers, or maps you care to. I have nothing to hide.”

  Carne—No. Treleaven. Phillip ought to think of him by his surname as was proper—grunted and had the decency to duck his head a little as if embarrassed. “That’s all right.” He quickly changed the subject. “There’s food laid out on the table. Where do you wish to be guided today?”