House of Mirrors (17 page)

After several minutes they broke apart and swam to shore, sloshing through the shallows then collapsing onto the grassy bank side by side.

“Look at the stars,” Jonah murmured. Pulsing bits of light were cast across the sky like diamonds on black velvet. They’d never appeared so beautiful, nor, he was sure, had anyone ever experienced a night to compare with this one.

“Do you know the constellations?” Rafe asked.

“Some. My father was disappointed in me because I had some interest in astronomy, and he thought it a pointless science.” Jonah sighed, recalling the ridiculous fights about God and the universe. “I’m fairly certain I can’t change who I am, but looking back, I wish I’d done a better job of hiding the parts of myself that annoyed my family.”

“I think a parent’s love should be constant—no matter what. ‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. O no, it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is the star to every wand’ring bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.’”

“And you claim to dislike Shakespeare.” Jonah looked at the other man’s bold profile. “I don’t believe you. No one who can quote the bard so beautifully can be indifferent to his work.”

“I didn’t say I was indifferent. I said I didn’t care for much of it. Particularly those dramas that drag on endlessly. Really, who can stomach an unstable lad like Hamlet, who can’t make up his mind to move forward on a course but mopes around act after act? How dreary.”

Jonah pushed up on one elbow and supported his head on his hand. “But he had to be certain. He couldn’t just strike at his uncle without being absolutely sure he was guilty. And even once he was positive, he had to choose the right way to exact his revenge.”

“Perhaps he should’ve just accepted defeat and left the castle. It would’ve been far healthier for everyone involved,” Rafe said drily. “Fewer corpses piling up.”

“But running away would have been dishonorable,” Jonah protested.

“Mm,” Rafe grunted. “Only cowards run away, I suppose.”

Jonah studied his face and tried to decipher the message behind his caustic tone. The unstudied remark about Hamlet had been a mistake. He knew Rafe had fled some situation at home and felt some shame about it. “Tell me about your family, please. I’ve told you about mine.”

Rafe exhaled loudly. “Suffice to say my father died when I was young. My mother and brother still lived when I left England. I’ve told you there was a reason behind my leaving, and that’s all I will say about it.”

Rafe would permit him only so close and no closer, and Jonah couldn’t continue to prod without driving Rafe away. Yet how could they be truly intimate when the other man withheld so much from him? Jonah stared at the stars and wondered what true intimacy someone like him had the right to expect. He should be grateful for companionship and the ease of bodily urges. In his old life he’d been profoundly lonely. Even companionship was more than he’d ever expected to achieve.

“Your show tonight was very entertaining. The people loved it.” Rafe broke the silence. “We’ll give it a run, and if it proves successful, perhaps you can expand on it. Maybe direct the others in acting a few scenes from your beloved Shakespeare, eh? Would you like that?”

Jonah understood Rafe was trying to distract him, like an adult shaking a rattle in front of a baby. But he was no child to be bought off with a few pieces of penny candy. He was sick of pushing—and uninterested in sulking. He waited until he was calm before answering.

“Only if you think people would be interested. They come for a carnival, not highbrow entertainment, as you pointed out.”

“The truth is, you’ve too much talent to waste yourself here,” Rafe said. “Next time we’re near a city, you should take a train to New York. Find yourself a real job working in one of the theaters, forge a real career for yourself.”

Jonah sat up and gazed at the other man’s dark, inscrutable features. The starry sky no longer seemed magical, and a mosquito whined by his ear. “You want me to leave?”

“I’m telling you there’s a grand future for you beyond this cheap traveling show. Don’t limit yourself. And if you’re lingering here because of me…don’t.”

Silence reigned except for the mosquito’s high-pitched tune. That one word “don’t” was like a slap in the face.

“You knew this was temporary,” Rafe continued. “This thing between you and me can’t last. Doesn’t mean it isn’t good or doesn’t matter, but it’s transitory. We have this summer, not forever. Soon the season will be over, and everything will change.”

The boy inside Jonah wanted to jump up and stomp off crying. But he was a grown man, so he nodded coolly, taking Rafe’s words in stride.

“Of course, I know that. I don’t imagine I’m in love. I’m not such a romantic fool. We’re worldly men having a brief affair, and when it’s over, we’ll part as friends.” He swatted at his neck. “Now, I think we’d better go back, because I’m getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.”

A part of Jonah watched himself perform. He was impressed with his aplomb as he dressed and kept up inconsequential chatter all the way back to camp. He really
was
quite an amazing actor. Rafe was right. With skills like these, maybe there could be stage work for him in New York. He waited until he was alone on his bedroll to snarl bitter curses under his breath.

Chapter Sixteen

If he’d done the right thing, why did he have a heavy feeling in his gut as if he’d swallowed a cannonball? Rafe spent the entire day with memories of the previous night’s frolicking in the moonlight with Jonah playing in his head. He didn’t want to push them away. In fact, he never wanted to forget how, for a little while, the fake glitter of the sideshow had become real. Last night he’d felt like a boy again, open to possibility, believing in magic and the chance of a happily-ever-after.

But when Jonah had started asking questions, Rafe had remembered his life in England, the reason he’d left, and that there could be no future with Jonah. He’d quickly sobered from the intoxicating spell of moonlight. No glitter. No happy endings. Just as there was no real magic when Parinsky discharged a shot of gunpowder and pulled a live bird from his sleeve.

He’d known from the beginning it was a mistake to get wrapped up in Jonah Talbot. The young man was too sincere, too emotional, too deep to indulge in a merely physical affair. All of his chatter last night hadn’t hidden the fact that he was hurt by Rafe’s rejection. When he wasn’t on guard, Jonah’s face reflected his inner self like a shining mirror, whereas Rafe’s face was the distorted reflection of the cheaper mirrors in the wagon—blurry and unclear.

“Good Christ, what a bungle,” he growled. “No more sex. That’s it. Fucking him will only encourage his romantic fancies.”
And mine.

He gave a sharp bark of laughter as he paced out the measurements for the ring in their new setup. He couldn’t fool himself with bold words. Come nightfall, he’d find his way to Jonah again, drawn like a farmer’s hungry child drawn to the candy butcher. As long as Jonah was around, he wouldn’t be able to keep away.

He liked him too much. That was the problem. Not merely the sex, although that was amazing, but the lad himself, his warmth and open heart, his imagination and cleverness, his enthusiasm and eagerness to experience all life had to offer. Rafe felt he regained some of his own lost innocence when he saw the world through Jonah’s eyes.

Rafe shoved a marker into the ground, and Pete hurried over to him. “That’s not seventy, boss. Sixty-eight.”

“God damn,” he muttered. They couldn’t afford mistakes like that. The performers and their animals counted on every measurement being exact, especially in the ring. He went back to the other marker and began to count off again.

“Hey, Mr. Grimstone.” Jonah’s voice sent a bouncing ball careening through him, unpredictable, beyond his control, goddamn
feelings
he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Rafe lost count. “God
damn
,” he growled. A day of frustration got to him, and he whirled around. “What the hell do you want, Talbot?”

Jonah took a step back. “Nothing, sir.” His gaze cut to the side, and Rafe understood why he’d called out to him. Perhaps he’d also spent the day thinking of last night and whether they would come together tonight. Desperation churned in Rafe’s gut. This was stupid, hopeless. He raised his chin rather than bellow the angry need he felt.

Jonah took another step backward. “Never mind,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” He turned and walked away quickly.

Rafe watched him go. Suddenly he didn’t give a damn about where the red wagon stood or—

“Boss?” Pete said. “We’re waiting.”

He had to get back to work. By the time he’d finished pacing out the setup, he was even more on edge. He tossed the measuring rope for the ring to Pete. That had to be even more exact, and he didn’t trust his own patience at the moment.

After watching the men at work for a few seconds, he strode past the wagons as they moved into place. He slapped the flank of a horse that tried to sidestep into him and didn’t slow for Treanor’s jocular greeting.

Rafe found Jonah squatting by a cook fire, adding wood. “Come with me,” he ordered.

Jonah rose and followed without a word, as if he knew that anything he said would break Rafe’s uneasy hold on his temper.

They stopped far from the encampment in a field of grass so tall, it was nearly over their heads. When they were face-to-face, Rafe was the one to drop his gaze.

“What’s wrong?” Jonah asked softly.

“I-I…” He rubbed his face briskly. He didn't know. He didn’t fucking want to know. He just needed to lose some of the heat and anger, and this was the only way he knew how. He lunged for Jonah, who caught him in his arms, stronger than expected.

“
Damn
it.” Rafe didn’t hide the desperation he wouldn’t speak of, but let his mouth and hands show the gnawing hunger he felt.

He needed to touch and taste Jonah, get as much as he could while he still could before an ocean separated them. His belly lurched with desire as he yanked at Jonah’s shirt, determined to feel the smooth skin against his fingertips. But Jonah put his hands on Rafe’s shoulders and pushed him backward. “No. There’s no shelter, no trees. We’re too out in the open.”

Gasping, Rafe drew the back of his wrist over his mouth, feeling the damp of their last deep kiss, the rough tingle of it. “Right,” he said when he could speak.

“Rafe, I want you, but—”

“Talbot… Jonah, I said you were bloody right.” Two deep breaths later, and he’d regained most of his calm. Rafe had no patience for men who allowed strong emotion to control their actions. Edward had used that as an excuse for the crime he’d committed.

He stared at the distant wagons and figures. They would be looking for him soon. And when they didn’t see Jonah, too many of them would make an assumption. What the hell was he thinking? Rafe rubbed his palms against the sides of his trousers, trying to banish the plaguing desire that still held him. “We should return.” He began to walk fast, without looking to see if Jonah followed.

“Wait.” Jonah’s voice lashed like the crack of a whip, stopping Rafe in his tracks. The tall grass swished as he approached. Though he wouldn’t turn to look at him, Rafe felt electrically charged by Jonah’s presence beside him, the hand gripping his shoulder.

“This can’t be all about what you want and when you want it,” Jonah said. “You can’t control everything—the entire world around you and everyone in it—Mr. Ringmaster. Tonight I’ll come to your wagon again, and you’ll let me inside. To talk, if nothing else.”

Rafe cut a sideways glance at him.

Jonah’s jaw was set, his mouth rigid, and his eyes harder than Rafe had ever seen them. He appeared angry and in as much turmoil as Rafe. “I
missed
talking to you today,” Jonah whispered. “Didn’t you miss that too?”

God, yes. All day
. Rafe dipped his head. “All right. Come to my wagon.”

“Grimstone!” Parinsky’s loud call came from only a few yards away, and he was suddenly there; his scowling face and balding head glimpsed through waving glades of meadow grass.

Jonah dropped his hand from Rafe’s shoulder and backed away, but it was too late for him to disappear deeper into the grass. Parinsky had spotted them and pushed through the grass like a big fat carp swimming through pondweed.

“There you are. Someone said you’d gone this way. What the hell are you doing out here in the weeds? The local law’s shown up, some trouble about our permit again.” He stared long and hard at Jonah and then at Rafe before flicking another quick glance at Jonah. Parinsky’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re too busy…”

“No. I’ll deal with it.” Damned if he’d make up some flimsy excuse. Nevertheless Rafe’s heart pounded as he strode past Saul. A few seconds earlier, and Parinsky would’ve caught them in each other’s arms. Maybe that had been the man’s intention, because he hadn’t called out while he was searching. Had he actually been stalking them, hoping to see something he could use against Rafe? Or was that thought preposterous?

Back at camp, Rafe put his personal worries aside to deal with the police chief who threatened to put them back on the road. With a promise that their show was on the level and a little bribe to seal the deal, Rafe sent the officer on his way. Then his mind swung inexorably back to Jonah like a compass needle pointing north.

After Parinsky’s near discovery, the man would be watching them. Now more than ever it was extremely foolish to meet, especially right in camp. Rafe should intercept Jonah and tell him not to come to his wagon. Yet the idea of not spending time with him was untenable. Maybe if he invited Henry Fisher along as a chaperone, their friendship would be acceptable. Good God, he was dithering like an emotional young girl. He blew out an impatient sigh at himself.

“Feeling peaky?” Parinsky appeared beside him again, startling Rafe and convincing him more than ever that he was spying. “I got just the answer for that.”

“Thanks. I don’t want your medicaments.”