Duet
Copyright
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
5032 Capital Circle SW
Ste 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886
USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Duet
Copyright © 2013 by Eden Winters
Cover Art by Anne Cain
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
ISBN: 978-1-62380-359-9
Digital ISBN: 978-1-62380-360-5
Printed in the United States of America
Second Edition
February 2013
First edition published by Torquere Press (2010).
Heartfelt gratitude to Pam, Chris, Doug, Lynda, John A., and Feliz. You always believe in me, support me unconditionally, and tell me what I need to know, like “That scene on page sixty isn’t working.” You guys rock.
Thanks to Mara for providing details on Kent and Inverness, and to Kate for my introduction to 1700s Scottish dialect.
Last but not least, I’d like to thank John R. for encouragement, feedback, and the e-mails that never fail to brighten my day.
My world is a better place because all of y’all are in it.
One
Kent, England—1758
N
OT
all of Malcolm Byerly’s passions put him at risk of imprisonment. Music and learning were safe enough pastimes, and he eagerly pursued both as substitutions for the love denied him by his nature. If the closest he’d come to romance was sweet love songs played upon the strings of a violin, at that he could excel.
From the longing in his soul sprang melodies of passion and harmonies of desire, things of which he dreamed and never hoped to have, for danger lurked in the having. Better a solitary existence than to forfeit honor, or worse, to partake of forbidden fruit.
Sometimes, when he tucked the instrument beneath his chin, he unleashed not the joys of affection but sorrows and disappointments, the mournful cries of his violin giving voice to loneliness in a tongue few understood. On the fateful night he set foot on the road to destiny, the notes formed on the strings fluently spoke the language of heartbreak.
He’d paused to scribble notes in the margin of a music sheet when the bells tolled in the courtyard, marking the hour and summoning him to the dining hall. He sighed, regretting the interruption. Alas, the school maintained strict rules and didn’t tolerate tardiness in the students or the staff. The headmaster lectured endlessly on the grave responsibility of teaching young minds and the necessity of practicing self-discipline in order to properly instruct another. After putting away the violin and vowing a quick return, Malcolm left his sanctuary and joined the throng heading for the evening’s repast, the notes of his latest composition echoing in his mind.
The usual faculty members took their places on the long benches on either side of his assigned table, mostly older, gray-haired men who’d been with the school many years—bachelors who, like himself, resided in the dormitories.
Bitter old maids
, Malcolm usually thought of them. However, a few were closer to his age of twenty-three and too new to their scholarly profession for such cynicism.
A handsome stranger occupied the formerly empty place at the table, peering up with piercing blue eyes from beneath a cascade of dark brown hair. An easy smile on a pleasing face ignited a spark of recognition from deep within Malcolm. Something long buried bloomed to life—attraction. Without knowing quite how, Malcolm recognized another lover of men.
He seated himself beside the stranger, willing his pounding heart to calm. Their legs met under the table, sending a jolt of pure desire shooting straight to his groin.
A hint of a blush crept up the stranger’s face. “I’ve been told you’re the gentleman who played the violin earlier in the dormitory. You play wonderfully. I’m Kinnerley, Thomas Kinnerley. And you’re Malcolm Byerly, if I’m not mistaken.” He appeared young and fervent, all bright eyes and bashful smile.
Malcolm’s cheeks flushed hotly and he struggled to accept the compliment with grace. “Thank you. My apologies if I disturbed you. Before the evening bell is the only time I can practice.”
“Oh, no!” the man assured him. “I never learned to play myself, and I’m fascinated by those who can. The song you played, how melancholy. What was it?”
Malcolm’s blush deepened, and he felt somehow exposed that another had been privy to what were, in essence, his most personal thoughts. Since the other teachers never commented on his music, he’d assumed they didn’t listen. “It’s nothing. A little something I’m working on.” He hoped the man wouldn’t believe him boastful.
“A composer! How marvelous!” Thomas Kinnerley beamed, causing a squirming, not entirely unpleasant sensation in Malcolm’s belly.
A stern look from one of their dining companions hushed them. Apparently, the elders frowned upon Thomas’s enthusiasm, much as they frowned upon everything else. Malcolm solemnly swore never to take his anger and bitterness out on the world around him, no matter how old and disillusioned he grew.
He focused on the others’ conversations while munching his portion of roast chicken, occasionally distracted by the beguiling brush of Thomas’s leg against his own. His cock throbbed throughout the entire meal. What harm lay in privately enjoying the accidental contact? He discovered a few moments later that the casual attention wasn’t accidental.
After several of their peers left the table, Thomas leaned in, pressing his leg to Malcolm’s more directly. He quietly suggested, “Perhaps some evening I can come to your room whilst you play?”
Malcolm froze. Thomas couldn’t mean…. He studied the new teacher, from the heated sidelong glances and the suggestively lifted brow, to the slight, smirking upturn of lips. The hand casually stroking his thigh removed any lingering doubts of Thomas’s intent.
Breath caught in his throat, Malcolm scanned the table for possible witnesses. Those remaining sat too far away or seemed too deeply engaged in their own conversations to notice. “I’m sure that would be highly inappropriate!” he hissed, reluctantly pulling his leg from Thomas’s. His traitorous body naysaid him, creating an unmistakable bulge in his breeches.
Thomas gave Malcolm’s thigh a light squeeze before removing his hand. “I merely wish to hear your music,” he said. A wink and a brazen look added heat to the words.
Malcolm stammered, “I… I’m not like that!” Terrified of being overheard, he sank lower on the hard wooden bench, praying his far-too-forward admirer would go away before the whole world knew his secret.
Thomas was either naïve or unafraid of the consequences. Malcolm, however, had no intention of skulking back to his father’s house, tail between legs because he’d been dismissed from a post, or worse—bearing the accusation of sodomy and facing the full punishment of the law.
“Your words lie,” the young teacher persisted. “I can tell what you are and what you want.”
Struggling with the urge to flee, Malcolm pleaded with his eyes for understanding. “What I want is to finish my meal and retire to my room—alone.”
From down the table, another teacher laughed, obviously misunderstanding what little he’d overheard. “That’s the problem, Byerly—you spend too much time alone. If you’ve no need of a wife, I know of a reputable place not far from here. The ladies are comely and affordable, even on our salaries.”
Few topics captured the attention of the older, single teachers housed at the school, which was a beacon of higher learning where the sons of the wealthy and titled received their educations. Women, or rather prostitutes, were one of them. The remaining men expressed opinions on the subject or made suggestions about their favorite ladies. All except for Malcolm and the new arrival.
“I’m very tired tonight,” Malcolm stated. “I believe I’ll retire early. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” Outwardly, he rose and calmly walked away; inwardly, he ran, too afraid to take a chance. Thomas didn’t follow. Malcolm’s emotions bounced from relief to disappointment.
The next night, he deliberately came to the table late, risking the wrath of the headmaster. An empty place remained at the opposite end from Thomas, who seemed fully occupied, smiling and nodding, conversing with another. Good, maybe there’d be no repeat of last night’s advances. How dare the man make such a suggestion openly, where anyone might overhear! Nevertheless, in the pit of Malcolm’s gut lingered the bitter pill of regret. Deep down, he wanted the attention, wanted to accept Thomas’s offer, not daring to admit the truth.
Occasionally, Thomas’s admiring gaze found his, full of longing. A kindred spirit. After all these years, he’d met someone like himself whom he found desirable. Malcolm hardly touched his meal, too busy waging an inner war with his conscience. Did he dare cast aside years of hiding and take a chance? Could he and Thomas conduct a discreet affair, leaving none the wiser? After excusing himself, he wasn’t surprised to hear footsteps behind him in the courtyard separating the dining hall from the dormitories.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling sharply, Malcolm waited. He turned to find an eager, expectant face—eagerness he intended to crush.
“I’m sorry for my forward behavior last night,” Thomas began. “When I first laid eyes on you, I knew you were like me, and I—”
Malcolm didn’t let him finish. “Thomas,” he said, a shake of his head sending curls bouncing around his face. “I’m not like you. You’re bold, I’m not. You’re daring, I’m a coward.” A quick glance ensured their privacy before his eyes found his would-be suitor’s and held them. Very deliberately, he spoke rehearsed words to destroy what might well be his one chance at happiness in this place. “What you seek cannot be found here.”
Unwilling to witness Thomas’s pain—the same pain and rejection he’d always felt in his own soul—Malcolm fled across the courtyard, slamming the door once he’d reached his tiny room. The rough wood bit into his back and he leaned against it, burying his face in his hands. Why did he have to be this way? Why couldn’t he, like his brothers, want the love of a woman instead of a man? Why couldn’t he be content to marry and father children?
Afterward, he and Thomas remained politely civil, limiting their talk to matters of the school and other innocent topics. Gradually, the yearning in those blue eyes faded. Months passed, and a new empty space appeared at the table when a teacher left for a private post. A few nights later, a replacement arrived, an energetic blond with a hearty laugh and an infectious grin. Malcolm liked him immediately and, apparently, Thomas did too.
