Marlowe's Ghost by Sarah Black

Author:Sarah Black [Black, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: gay, dreamspinner press, Novella, Suspense, glbt, sarah black, romance, Paranormal, m/m romance, Mystery, Fantasy
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2012-01-24T00:00:00+00:00

WILL wanted to have a talk with Kit. He’d stumbled across a replica of a painting during his anarchy research. It was titled “Portrait of an Unknown Gentleman, 1588.” But it was more widely known as the Grafton Portrait of William Shakespeare. Will knew as soon as he saw it that it was a portrait of Kit. He went out to the garden, and Sir Francis Walsingham curled up on his lap.

“Wills, darling, would you like some lemonade? I’ve made some fresh. Let me get you a glass.”

“Thank you, Mrs. T.”

He fell asleep and found Kit in a tavern, drinking from a pewter mug, and in a foul mood. “Come out into the sunshine with me. The roses are blooming in Mrs. Thompson’s garden.”

“I don’t want to lie around in the garden.”

“I’ll share my fresh lemonade.”

“Why don’t you share your fresh young ass?”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Kit rolled his eyes and let Will tug on his arm until they were outside and in the sunshine. They walked through a London that looked like layers of translucent images, the same streets in 1588, 1802, 1945, 2011. “Is this how it looks to you, all filmy and layered? It’s like we’re looking at it through silk.”

“Yes, this is how I see London.” Kit reached down, slid their fingers together. “And it could look like that to you as well. You just have to open your eyes. Be willing to see.”

“Is everything okay? You seem in a bad mood.”

Kit sighed, shook his head. “Too much thinking, not enough making love in summer gardens. Gloomy old England does this to me. How is Tommy?”

“He’s good. Working a bit too hard. He doesn’t know how to stop and rest.”

“I can’t help him with that. You’ll have to watch over him.”

“What do you think of this idea of his, of themes of anarchy in your plays?”

Kit shrugged. “Naturally I was an anarchist, every thinking person is when they’re twenty-three, though saying such a thing out loud still causes my gut to weaken and turn to liquid. Words have such power. Anarchist, atheist. Words that kill as quickly as a rope, or a knife.”

“You’re in a mood.” Kit shrugged again, kept his eyes on the grass. Will settled back on the chaise, pulled Kit down until they were snuggled together, legs tangled, arms reaching for each other. Kit rested his head on Will’s big chest.

Will reached down, brushed the hair back from Kit’s forehead. When Kit looked up at him, Will felt a jolt of shock, and Kit grinned. He had two eyes, two beautiful, whole hazel eyes. They were greenish-grey, with little flecks of chocolate brown. “What the hell happened to you? Or didn’t happen? I can’t believe it! Tommy was right!”

“I will leave you to figure that out. But let me ask you this. If I wasn’t killed in Deptford, why did I spend all day in Eleanor Bull’s house?”

“You were waiting for the tides. There was a ship, the Peppercorn, waiting in Deptford. On the Thames.

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