Best Laid Plaids Page 3

  And that was going on ten years.

  He shoved that thought away and raised his wineglass in one hand and another hunk of bread in the other to soak it up in his stomach. Because it wouldn’t do to get drunk and act on the provocative comments Ainsley dropped as often as his proselytizing father had said amen.

  Ainsley Graham was the last sort of man Joachim needed to get muddled up with, even if he was looking for a man beyond an hour at a time. Which he most decidedly wouldn’t, even if it was his fondest wish to find a simpatico soul to spend his life with. The sort he and George had whispered about back in the trenches.

  Though believing he’d find that sort of relationship again was as delusional to imagine as believing in ghosts, if he were honest about it.

  The dean of his college had sat him down a month before and told him in plain language to apply for a professorship opening in the autumn. That it would be his once he finished this dissertation and got the letters behind his name. Which meant scrutiny into his private life. Joachim hadn’t spent so many years studying to throw it away.

  Not that it mattered; all he’d had on offer was the chance to suck the redhead’s prick. Hardly the stuff of the sort of enduring romance Joachim craved.

  “Tell me why you’ve come to Scotland. Do you plan on driving to all of the places that hold legends of Scottish hauntings? You’ll be a long time here, if that’s the case.” Ainsley flourished a chicken leg in one hand and his wineglass in the other, though he still hadn’t taken a sip.

  “I came on a bus, so that would be out of the question. I hoped you’d point me in the direction of some of the most compelling examples. Five or six, perhaps.”

  Because he needed to have a strong enough sample size. It wasn’t extraordinary to assume that one or two of the sights might produce some sort of manufactured psychic twinge. Joachim worked with enough minds to understand that mass hallucinations weren’t an unheard of phenomenon. A sample size of ten would be better, but he hadn’t the time to take, sadly.

  “On the bus?” Ainsley’s lip curled in horror. “Ghastly. All those people in your space.” He emptied his hands and wiped them on his napkin, his mind clearly spinning off in some obscure direction.

  Then the younger man nodded once as if coming to a great conclusion. “Well, there it is. I suppose I can run you about. I’d already sorted myself for a holiday—told everyone I was leaving tomorrow. Ironic as I planned to escape your visit, and now I’m shackling myself to you for the next week.” He fluttered his eyelashes in mock innocence. “Just the two of us. For days and days. And nights.”

  Joachim’s belly rippled. He wasn’t one to succumb to temptation, not usually. He’d had a few anonymous encounters over the years, but they were cold and quick and left him more blue than usual. He was moderate in food and drink. And was one of the only chaps he knew who didn’t smoke. A week in close quarters with Ainsley might destroy the nonchalance he struggled so hard to achieve.

  Ainsley snapped his fingers in front of Joachim’s face. “Good to know it works on you, as well.” He winked again. The man was a habitual winker, and it was charming. “I was asking whether you minded sleeping outdoors? Some of the places I have in mind are accessible to hostelry, but a few aren’t.”

  Joachim snorted unintentionally. “I hadn’t guessed you as a camper. But I can doss down anywhere. Army, you know?” He added a level of scrutiny to Graham, who lifted his chin and pushed his shoulders back, as if enjoying the attention. “Were you—”

  The face across the table stilled, as if someone drew down the shades over the sparkle in his eyes. “I wasn’t old enough. Seventeen on Armistice Day, and before you question my patriotism asking why I wasn’t a drummer or a cabin boy or what have you, my parents wouldn’t allow it.”

  He picked at the remnants of meat on the chicken bone and licked his fingers. It was vulgar, but in the way that made Joachim’s dirty thoughts twitch. “Perhaps my father would have—I was an unceasing disappointment to the old bugger—but my mother said not even over her dead body. I had two brothers die already over there. I think that’s enough for one family.”

  Joachim pressed his back teeth together and stared into the fire. “Your mother was right—your sort of wandering mind would have gotten you killed on day one.”

  When he turned back, stark sadness drained Ainsley’s features of animation as though he, too, had seen tragedies he still couldn’t comprehend. He was lost in thought until Joachim couldn’t bear witnessing it for another second and waved his hand in front of Ainsley’s face. The Scotsman blinked and looked at Joachim full on. Gray eyes, Ainsley had. A tone of slate like the winter’s sky on a freezing December morning.

  With effort, Joachim pushed his lips into a smile he didn’t believe. “But I’m fine sleeping on the ground as long as it’s for less than a fortnight.”

  “Heavens no, thank you.” Ainsley worried a fingernail, already ragged. “If we’re out tomorrow by nine, we can start your conversion.” He pushed his drink away. “I suppose that’s enough of that for the night, eh? But it’s too early for bed.”

  Joachim pointed out, “You haven’t even had a sip since I’ve been here,” but Ainsley didn’t appear to have registered.

  Instead, he ran his tongue across his front teeth, leaning on his elbows so his face was much too close for Joachim’s comfort. “Unless I can talk you into joining me? It does seem a shame to have this entire house empty for no reason.”

  Joachim’s heart stuttered and it was a triumph that he was able to arrange a look dark enough for Ainsley to settle back in his seat. “I don’t...that is, I’m not—”

  But Ainsley cut him off with a loud exclamation of disgust. “It’s one thing to turn me down flat—I’ve been told often enough I can be a wee bit overbearing and demanding. But don’t lower yourself to lie or I’ll change my mind about this entire scheme.”

  That wouldn’t stand. Joachim mumbled something about taking umbrage at Ainsley’s assumptions, clinging to his fragile veneer of faux outrage like a life preserver.

  His host’s elaborate eye roll proved he was having none of it. “If you were truly offended, you’d have been out the door a half hour past.”

  As his mother always said, like recognizes like, and Joachim was generally honest to a fault. But something about the charming scholar felt dangerous. Besides, he was Stuart’s brother and he’d never be able to look his mentor in the face again if Stuart were to catch wind of a torrid affair. Instead, Joachim opted for self-preservation. And it wasn’t a lie.

  “Me passing muster with the dissertation committee depends on your hospitality, Dr. Graham. Unlike you, I’m not able to impulsively act in any way I wish without weighing the consequences.” His tone was more weary than angry, but Ainsley’s stricken face made him wish he could take it back.

  But instead of the blank stare or saucy reply Joachim anticipated, Ainsley stood and pushed around the logs to bank the fire and then put a screen around the hearth. Then he stalked to the wide carved molding doorframe and paused without turning. “I’ll have the motorcar packed and ready by nine. I’ll head out with or without you.”

  Dear Lord, it wasn’t yet half seven. He’d not fall asleep for hours.

  “Where are you going?” Oh dear, pathetic and plaintive.

  Graham must have registered it too because he wheeled around. For the first time, Joachim drank in the glittery wonder of Ainsley Graham all at once. His stance was aggressive, forward leaning, hands in fists at his sides. Good God he was beautiful. With the shapeliest calves he’d ever seen.

  Thank goodness Joachim was sitting down because his knees may have buckled.

  “I’m headed to Edinburgh. I’ll do my best to explain to my dearest friend, Alec Barley, that I won’t be able to ascertain the carnal preferences of his current amour tomorrow evening because I’ll be shepherding some meek arsehole afraid to admit who he is around the length and breadth of the bloody country.” He threw his hands in the air as if overcome with the idiocy of it all.

  Put like that, Joachim was left with one choice. He stood as well, walked the five feet to Graham. “Shall I begin again?” He extended his hand.

  Ainsley’s mien was wary. But he took the hand.

  “How d’you do? I’m Joachim Cockburn, and I promise there is no joke you can make that I’ve not heard before. I do not respond to Joe or Kim. Only one man ever got away with giving me a nickname and he’s dead. In fact, I rather like Joachim.”

  Graham had the decency not to look away. His chest did stop huffing so hard, though, and a smile played around the outside edges of his eyes.

  Joachim dropped Ainsley’s hand with regret.

  “I’m this close,” he held his pointer finger and thumb a half inch apart, “to achieving my life’s goal, which is to teach on the university level. A damned war tried to stop me—and it worked for a bloody long three and a half years—but I was one of the lucky ones who came home, even if I have an ankle that doesn’t always cooperate.” There was no need to detail the two years it had taken to walk a quarter of a mile unassisted. His story was common enough in every village in Britain.

  “But perhaps, the most important thing about me to you is that I’m the sort of man who will be a perennial bachelor. And yes—it’s because I’ve never met a woman I had any interest in beyond friendship, nor shall I.”

  The glint reappeared in Ainsley’s eye and his lips took on a wry twist. “I knew it.”

  Clutching an enormous amount of willpower, Joachim took one step back. “That doesn’t mean I intend to fall into bed with you.”

  “Yet.” Ainsley’s smug smile displayed h
ow very aware he was of his own charms. “I do like a challenge.”

  “Be that as it may, Dr. Graham, I will not. You’re not my type.”

  It was true to the extent that Joachim had never met any man as extraordinary as Ainsley.

  They stared at each other for a long moment, neither speaking.

  Ainsley’s attention didn’t waver, which was equal parts fascinating and terrifying.

  It was Graham who spoke first, his shoulders sagging a wee bit. But just a wee bit. “Well then, that’s sorted. Will you come to town with me?”

  “To town?” Joachim repeated it trying to find the thread Ainsley’s mind had followed.

  “You see, I promised myself that I’d go to bed with someone tonight, and if it isn’t going to be you, I suppose I’ll have to look elsewhere. I thought you could tag along. I’d love to see who your type might be.”

  Damn, but he deserved that. His solar plexus seized and his spine stiffened.

  “I won’t, thanks for the offer. I’ve spent too many hours traveling already today, and then we’ll be off again in the morning. If you’d tell me which room is mine?”

  Ainsley gave him hasty directions accompanied by a vague wag of his hand.

  “I’ll see you at nine tomorrow morning. Good night.” Joachim made it up the stairs without his walking stick, aware that Ainsley was watching him. In his room, spacious and decorated in shades of red and orange that reminded Joachim of Ainsley himself, he stood by the door, listening.

  Ten minutes ticked by, and Ainsley hadn’t left.

  Perhaps he’d changed his mind.

  Or perhaps he was lost in a daze, waiting for Joachim to retrieve him.

  You’re a God damned liar, Cockburn. What real harm would it do to allow yourself this one treat?

  He was on the verge of going back and allowing Ainsley to win, damn the consequences, when the front door slammed shut. A minute or two later, an engine roared down the drive, splaying gravel like a hailstorm. Joachim made his way back downstairs, slowly and with more than a hint of pain in his ankle.

  A man in his mid-fifties wearing a silk dressing gown and slippers stood in the foyer, shaking a fist at the closed door. “Bloody lunatic’s going to kill someone driving so—”

  Joachim cleared his throat and the man turned, glaring. “Pardon me; I didn’t know anyone else was here. Joachim Cockburn. I’m an acquaintance of Ainsley’s.” He held out his hand, but it wasn’t shaken.

  Already pale skin blanched a ghostly white, leaving a trail of freckles to stand out on the man’s nose like pinpricks of blood. “As if I’d care to meet any fool friend of his, even if you could hear me, whippersnapper.” Slippers scuffed along the hall toward the back of the house.

  Dear Lord, was he some senile servant wandering? Joachim kept his voice calm like he did when dealing with those of unsound mind at the asylum. “May I ask your name, sir?”

  “My name?” The man’s face contorted in surprise. “Are you speaking to me?”

  He was tall and slender and haughty with a sneer that was all too familiar.

  “I am.” Joachim gave a bland smile. A reassuring one, hopefully.

  “Heavens. I’m Robert Graham.” He smoothed his hand down the collar of his dressing gown and then glanced at his fingers as though surprised he was wearing it.

  Stuart and Ainsley’s father. Hmm. He’d been under the impression that both of Stuart’s parents were dead, but Stuart rarely divulged any personal details, so Joachim must’ve made a wrong assumption.

  “Ainsley’s friend?” Mr. Graham frowned at Joachim again. “Exactly what I need; more bloody catamites crawling all over the damned place.”

  It took all his willpower not to react to that. But Joachim had years of practice controlling his emotions. “I’m also Stuart’s friend, from the university. I’m here to chat with Ainsley about his work.”

  Robert Graham’s face broke into a smile. “Stuart made it home, did he? Warms my heart to hear it. Wondered why I hadn’t seen him around.”

  “Er, to Durham?”

  Red eyebrows speckled with a few long white hairs rose incredulously. “Are you mad, man? Nay, home from bloody Belgium.”

  Someone was indeed not in control of their faculties, but it wasn’t Joachim. “I served with Stuart in the war.”

  “And did you...die there?”

  Joachim stared for a long minute. “Uh...no, I didn’t.”

  “Harrumph. My sons Hector and Charlie weren’t so lucky. Not that either come by to visit.” The man moved down the hall farther. “Help yourself to the liquor cabinet. God only knows, I wish I still could.” He entered a room and slammed the door hard enough that the electric lights flickered. And then bolted the door behind him with a loud snick.

  Was it possible to catch a train back home? There probably weren’t even any bus services this far out in the country in the evenings. So, Joachim took Mr. Graham’s advice and found the liquor cabinet.

  Stuart was correct that Ainsley Graham was more than a tad bit eccentric. But Joachim wasn’t at all sure that his mother was the only parent to blame.

  Chapter Four

  Ainsley

  Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger. Bloody sod...bugger.

  Fuck.

  No one ever turned Ainsley down. Not once.

  Had they?

  He nearly forgot to stop at the end of the drive and could have gotten clipped by a neighbor. That bush needed to be trimmed so it was easier to see who was coming. He’d tell Nelson because he’d sort that out.

  Bugger. He’d better focus. Thank God he knew this trip like the back of his hand, but he sat up higher in his seat and looked both ways down the road. He was alone, as usual.

  He scanned through faces of men he’d fucked or been fucked by or even wished to fuck and tried to recall any other time someone said no.

  He came up empty.

  What about that time in St. Andrews? Right. A small closet had been involved, but he’d gotten what he was after. He smirked. The closet wasn’t the only thing that was tight.

  Barley would calm him. He always did, always would.

  He glanced at the speedometer. Then braked hard. It was the paved road instead of the gravel. He always picked up speed there.

  It would serve fucking Cockburn right if he wrapped himself around a tree and wasn’t there at nine and he waited and waited. Only, had he even had any of it to drink? He licked at the roof of his mouth and couldn’t taste the trace of anything. Didn’t have a hint of that fuzzy not-caring that alcohol could provide.

  All right, so no alcohol, thank Christ. He glanced at the speedometer and it barely registered twenty-five miles per hour.

  Regardless, Ainsley had no wish to die. Not now, probably not ever. Perhaps he might change his mind when he was old. Though, by rights, if Charlie was dead, Ainsley ought to be, too. He braked again.

  Damn, the two-seater Austin was made to fly over the road.

  “Just not in dusk when you’ve had a drink, Ainsley.” Ah—Mama. She’d not left him alone for a day since she died, which was both a comfort and a nuisance. She tended to pop in and out at the most inconvenient times. Not that he could see her—just heard her voice—and caught the trail of her Coeur de Paris perfume. It made him sneeze.

  “I didn’t have anything to drink.” And he was thirsty. Parched.

  “What a nice man he is, darling. Precisely the sort Charlie and I have been waiting to arrive.”

  Matchmaking. No thank you. “Go away, Mama.” He said it aloud since she wasn’t responding to his mental pleas.

  It didn’t matter if Joachim was nice or dull or excessively ordinary. And stupid to boot. He had no idea the things Ainsley could do with his tongue. No idea at all.

  What a handsome face though, because it was. And that beard.

  Ainsley ground the brake down as he came to an intersection and had to allow another car to pass. The other driver must have heard him chatting because she stared like she was frightened to press her foot onto the petrol.