A/N: The photo above is by Jacob Kamara, the same photographer who shot the photo in the cover. I love his work!

At dawn, Charles led Harry out of Louis' bedchamber by the scruff of his neck. He may have been Harry's servant but he was also a proxy of the Duchess, charged with protecting her son at all costs.

Back in Harry's bedchamber Charles undressed him angrily while the boy recounted his adventures.

"I fell off my horse!"

"I nearly died!"

"I slept in my riding attire!"

His valet fetched a hot towel from the basin and dragged it over his face. "You're a frightful sight. I scarcely know what to do with you." He leaned in and sniffed. "Is that brandy I smell?"

"The Duke gave me a thimbleful for the pain."

Charles threw down the towel. "This house is bacchanalian!"

He picked up the silver-toothed comb and began combing and arranging Harry's dark curls, restoring them to their natural luster, while Harry chomped wolfishly on his breakfast and slurped his tea.

"There's a rumor that the Duke's a murderer. Can you believe it?"

Charles pursed his lips and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "You shouldn't gossip, your grace. And yes, I can."

Harry smiled. "Charles, you've a wicked tongue!"

After much needling, Charles recounted night of the fire as told to him by a scullery maid, who'd heard it from a parlor maid, who'd heard it from a footman, who'd eavesdropped on the valet Theodore telling the butler in the servant's hall.

The facts were these:

1. The fire occurred at midnight on the east wing of Warwick House.

2. It was the eighteenth birthday of Louis' eldest brother, James.

3. Every member of the family was asleep in their bed.

4. Except one.

5. Louis was nowhere to be found.

Harry thought the details curious but they were far from an indictment. Louis loved his family, his brother James in particular. Harry was sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation why Louis was not in his bedchamber that night. Moreover, Harry didn't believe the rumor because his innocent mind simply couldn't conceive of such evil.

Fully dressed with the blush of health on his cheeks, Harry made his way to the library with an armful of books. The day's sporting event was canceled due to inclement weather. It hadn't begun to rain but the clouds were black and grey as though etched with charcoal.

He had the Latin poems of Ennius to amuse himself on such an occasion. He planned to work on a light translation of The Hedyphagetica in the morning before moving onto to The Epicharmus after lunch.

He spotted Sir Clarence in the rotunda. He had circles deep as wells beneath his eyes and was puffing on his pipe, examining an oil painting of a hound.

Harry waved, teetering under his stack of books. Sir Clarence nodded but did not wave back. Harry approached, the heels of his boots unsteady on the plush Oriental rug.

"Good morning." When his friend didn't respond, Harry added, "is something wrong?"

"You shared my cousin's bed last night."

Harry was dumbfounded. "Nothing of the sort. I mean, yes I was in his bed but—"

"The men say he defiled you."

Harry dropped his books. "That is not true!"

Gossip was not so amusing when one was the subject, Harry realized.

Sir Clarence bit down on his pipe and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know you wouldn't do it by choice. Tell me, did he force himself on you?"

"No—no. He slept in the armchair."

"But he tried."

Harry touched his neck. "He untied my cravat—"

"I knew it. Shameless sodomite," he muttered through a cloud of smoke. "You're lucky you came out unscathed."

Sir Clarence picked up Harry's books and carried them for him.

Lord Beardsley and Oscar passed them on the way to the drawing room. They looked him up and down and whispered conspiratorially. Harry felt the eyes of the whole world upon him and his face burned with shame.

The storm began with a clap of thunder that made the hounds howl and paintings tremble on their hooks. A chorus of heavy rain followed, loud but not loud enough to drown out the whispers.

Roy and Frederick were gossiping tête-à-tête in the corridor. Across from the library was the dining room where men were coming and going from a raucous, smoke-filled breakfast of black pudding, sheep's kidneys, poached eggs and marmalade.

Harry's stomach churned.

He and Sir Clarence sat at a large cherrywood partners desk with a green leather top and lined up the books, fountain pens and stationary before them. Harry got to work immediately, carefully converting Latin grammatical constructions without distorting the text's meaning—difficult work—but no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the passage, all he could hear were the men's voices and he was certain they were talking about him.

Louis suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was wearing his riding breeches and boots flecked with grass. His white shirt was completely soaked and clung to his sinewy arms and chest. He had come from the stables.

"Ah, Harry, just the person I've been meaning to see," he said out of breath, dripping all over the fine rug. "Excuse my attire. I was comforting Albertine. She's afraid of thunder as I'm sure you know."

Harry swallowed, scarcely able to look up from his book.

"Now that I've nursed you back to health I was wondering if you would finally agree to have tea with me," he asked, slicking back his wet hair with a confident smile.

Harry glanced at Sir Clarence, then back at Louis. "I'd rather not."

"Why?"

"I'm frightfully busy with this translation of The Hedyphagetica."

"You have all day to translate the whatever-ica. With whom will I discuss stamps?" he teased.

"I told you, I can't."

Louis looked puzzled. "Are you quite alright, Harry?"

"I'm fine."

"You're pale."

"No, I'm not."

"Perhaps you haven't recovered after all." He reached out and pressed a cool hand to Harry's forehead.

Harry slapped his hand away. "I'M NOT A SODOMITE."

Pain flickered across Louis' face like he'd met the end of a whip.

All chatter in the house ceased. Every man in the dining room craned his neck to gawk at the scene. Frederick and Roy who were never short on clever barbs were dead silent.

The light in Louis' blue eyes was extinguished. He addressed Harry in the acid tone usually reserved for his cousin.

"Very well then. Good day, Duke."

Harry scrambled to take it all back, his words like unspooled thread in a tangle before him.

"Louis, wait! I did not mean—"

But he was already stomping down the hall, a young dark-haired footman chasing after him. "Your grace! Your grace! Are you alright?"

"Come, William."

♞

The storm was unrelenting. Fast winds and buckets of rain beat down on the house, tearing the shutters off their hinges. It went on all afternoon. The sky was so dark Harry hadn't realized the day had turned to night.

Sir Clarence was an ideal studying companion. He brought casework from London and reread the tax code for pleasure. He could read an entire book without blinking. Harry on the other hand curled around his book like a cat, chewing his lip and absentmindedly twirling his hair--until Sir Clarence cleared his throat and he sat up straight.

They took their dinner privately at Sir Clarence's suggestion.

On the other side of the wall, in the parlor room, he could hear the laughter of Louis and his friends playing cards. Harry would stop occasionally and try to make out their conversation.

Sir Clarence plucked two more books from the shelf, their embossed titles glowing like molten gold in the firelight. He stopped and spoke. "You shouldn't feel guilty about upsetting my cousin. If you knew what he's done, you would feel nothing but loathing."

"I know about the rumor."

"You don't believe it?"

"It's curious but none of the facts incriminate him."

"Facts demand to be examined." He sat across from Harry and lowered his voice. "I shouldn't be speaking this aloud but I trust you: I've been building a case against my cousin in secret."

Harry tugged at his collar. "A murder case?"

"I could use a keen mind like yours to help me."

The men on the other side of the wall laughed again. Harry did not want to refuse Sir Clarence but he did not believe Louis capable of such a crime, and especially not when he was just a boy.

He quickly made some excuse.

"I just remembered that I forgot a book in my bedchamber. Let me fetch it and later we can discuss your case."

Harry dashed up the grand staircase to his bedchamber but he did not grab a book. He grabbed his money purse, which contained all of the funds for the journey home and crept downstairs to the parlor room.

Like Sir Clarence, Harry's father had disapproved of gambling. He said it was a disease of the mind and like bodily diseases, should be stamped out. But Harry did not travel all the way to Warwick House to play the obedient son; he was there for adventure, and wherever Louis went excitement seemed to follow.

He stood outside the parlor room door and took a breath. As he turned the brass knob he was hit by a cloud of smoke—not the smoke from a pipe, but the sweeter scent of French cigarettes.

As the smoky air thinned he saw Frederick, Roy and several footmen.

They were all sitting at the cards table.

And they were all stark naked.

Harry had never seen a naked person besides himself, and even then he thought it prudent to avert his eyes.

The footmen were the only ones to display any modesty. They covered up as best they could with their arms and hands. One ran behind a curtain.

"We're sorry, your grace."

"Forgive us, your grace."

Harry froze. "It's my mistake, I thought you were playing cards."

Then Louis appeared through the haze at the far end of the table. He was fully dressed. "We are."

"Oh, um..." Shakily, Harry held out his money purse. "I've got money."

Roy, who was wearing nothing but one boot, laughed, his voice hoarse from the whiskey. "Does it look like we're playing for money?"

"No, I suppose not."

Frederick slinked around the table, gesticulating with the cigarette between his fingers. "This game is by invitation only, Virgin. Go back to the library with your dull companion Sir Clarence."

Virgin. The most accurate nickname was somehow the most hurtful.

Louis steepled his hands beneath his chin. "Now, now Frederick. Let's not be too hasty. How much money did you bring, Duke?"

Harry swallowed. "One hundred and fifty-three pounds, seven shillings, and six pence."

Louis turned to his dark-haired footman. "Deal him in."

Harry sat down at the felt table, careful not to touch anything or anyone. William dealt him a hand.

He wiped the cards with his handkerchief.

It was only Harry and Louis playing. The others either had no interest or no means. Harry tried to be as unassuming as possible, but a Catholic in his mourning attire surrounded by a group of naked sodomites was bound to stand out. It certainly didn't help that every word out Frederick's mouth was another poison dart.

"Can you even play poker?"

"I've played Old Maid with my governess."

"Do you hear that gentlemen, he's played Old Maid with his governess!"

The naked Viscount smoothed a hand over the back of Harry's chair, his member near enough to touch. Harry tensed.

"Don't worry, Duke," Frederick purred. "We know you're not a sodomite. The whole house heard you this morning."

"The whole village heard him." Roy stood and kissed the top of Louis' head protectively.

Harry didn't mean to stare but he was staring.

Frederick arched an eyebrow. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he quipped.

There was a nervous chuckle from the footmen, who didn't want to insult the Duke by laughing nor the Viscount by staying silent.

The room was bathed in amber light from the candelabra on the piano and a beaded chandelier that hung above them like drops of honey. The men's naked flesh appeared rich as cream as they leaned over the table and watched him.

Harry hid shyly behind his cards.

He won the first couple hands and was feeling confident. He called Louis' ten pounds and raised him ten more. Louis blindsided him with a straight.

During the next hand, Louis' blue eyes betrayed a similar excitement, so Harry folded, only to be shown Louis' cards. He had nothing. He was bluffing.

Their dance continued. Louis would set up a trap of false confidence then pull the rug out from under him.

Harry realized just how easy it was for Louis to deceive, how good he was at it, as though it were second nature. Harry could not read him at all.

He was down to the end of his purse. If he lost, he would have to write his mother and explain that he had gambled away all his travel money and send for more.

Frederick sat on Louis' lap, his naked arms draped around the Duke's neck like a mink stole. "Finish him, Louis."

Louis moved two hundred pounds to the center of the table. Harry would have to go all-in to call.

He had a decent hand, two pairs—jacks and queens. He narrowed his eyes at Louis across the table. He thought he saw a twinge of displeasure at the sight of his cards. Was it a bluff? No, he reasoned, the pained expression was too close to the one Harry had witnessed earlier when he insulted the Duke.

Harry called, and almost instantly regretted it, for that twinge of displeasure on Louis' face transformed into one of pure glee.

Before they showed each other their cards, Louis held up his hand. "Wait. This isn't all of his money. The Duke is deceiving us."

Harry had never told a lie in his entire life. "This is everything I have!" he cried, horrified by the accusation.

Louis motioned to Roy. "Check his pockets."

The naked Earl leaned over and groped inside Harry's waistcoat. He'd never been violated in such a fashion.

Roy held up a coin. "What have we here?"

It was Harry's Byzantine solidus with the bust of Christ and Justinian II.

"That's an artifact, part of an invaluable collection!"

"It's also money." Roy flipped the coin into the pot.

Louis fanned his cards on the felt table and just as Harry feared he had a royal flush. Hearts. Harry lay bare his own inferior hand of pairs.

Frederick clapped and Louis hugged his pile of winnings, Harry's Byzantine coin the cherry on top.

William shuffled the deck, beaming proudly at his master. The other men threw back their spirits, eyes wandering over each other's bodies, waiting anxiously for the night's debauchery to resume.

Harry stood, chin quivering. "Well, Duke, you've vanquished me." He addressed the rest of the table. "Goodnight gentlemen."

Louis struck a match and lit the cigarette dangling from Frederick's lips. "Wait, Harry, you're only out of money. You still have your clothes."

Louis had slapped one cheek by taking his coin and now the other with this lewd invitation.

He walked out.

"Sleep well, Virgin!" Frederick called.

His heart hammered harder than the thunder that shook the house to its foundation. Once again, he had completely underestimated Louis and the depth of his cruelty. No kindness Louis showed Harry could be trusted.

Instead of going back to his bedchamber he went to the library, where Sir Clarence was sitting exactly as he'd left him.

"When do we start?"

He looked up from his book.

"I want to help you build your case."

Sir Clarence's mustache drew up at the corners into a victorious smile. "Meet me back here in the library at dawn."

Harry nodded and went upstairs to retire for the night, still furious but full of resolve. He had not thought Louis capable of something as evil as murder but now he believed the Duke capable of almost anything.

He could hear the men, wild as dogs, in the parlor room below and could only imagine what Louis was doing.

He did not have to imagine. Louis wasn't in the parlor room, he was standing outside Harry's bedchamber flipping his Byzantine gold coin in the air.

"Heads or heads?" he said with a grin.

"I hate you."

He had lost his waistcoat and Harry wondered with irritation which of the men won that hand.

"I'd like to give you a chance to win your coin back."

"Why? So you can give me another lashing?"

"You deserved it."

The two men were silent for a moment.

"Come with me into the forest," he said. "I want to show you something."

Harry glanced outside. The sky was black but for a bolt of lightning.

"It's the middle of the night and pouring rain!"

"Are you afraid?"

"No."

He was terrified.

A/N: Boys behaving badly... Who behaved worse in this chapter, Harry or Louis? (No write-in votes for Frederick!)

What do you think Louis wants to show Harry in the forest?

Will Louis and Harry ever have that cup of tea?

Originally, this chapter only featured regular poker, then I saw the Kamara photo and thought, no, strip poker! I'll let you decide which of these guys are Frederick, Roy and William.