He’d merely intended to reassure Fletcher that all would be well and his secret was safe, but suddenly the moment had turned into something more, pregnant with meaning and restless tension. Dismay and an unwanted hum of anticipation shimmered through him. Attraction reared its ugly head, and Declan had sufficient experience to know this type of desire was difficult to squelch. Better to simply give in to it, let the fever run its course. Declan had somehow assumed a spartan aesthetic would permeate the curate’s house and was surprised to find James Fletcher’s living quarters boasted a warm and homey charm. A colorful hooked rug on the floor softened the warped hardwood. The walls were painted in earthy tones, and pastoral prints decorated them. He would’ve liked to see more, but Fletcher had led him straight to the parlor. Next time, an inner voice promised. Declan was fairly certain he would eventually see all of the curate’s cozy abode, including the bedroom, but for now, he’d allow James to think he had a choice, rather like a cat which let its prey escape, then caught it over and over again.
What do You think about The Merchant And The Clergyman?
