"When he has nothing else to do, he can always contemplate his own greatness. It is a considerable advantage to a man, to have so inexhaustible a subject." 

― Charles Dickens, Bleak House

Louis rarely slept alone.

In London he shared the bed of the Prince Consort; in Paris, the Marquis d'Oilliamson; in Madrid, the Lord of Lazcano; in Bavaria, the Freiherr von Eichendorff; in Amsterdam, the Baron De Haan.

He had a man in every city, for every season, and every mood.

At his home in Warwick, he had a footman warm his bed but when the Bilsdale club met, he preferred Frederick the Viscount Greindl or Roy the Earl of Pembroke.

Frederick, a fine-boned blue blood, had a haughty equine elegance in the bedroom that delighted Louis. Roy, a muscular marksman, possessed a direct brutishness that brought him to his knees begging for mercy. On this night he couldn't quite figure out what flavor of pleasure he craved and decided to have them both.

They stripped off the last of their clothes between urgent caresses and hot, breathy kisses. Louis drew back the curtains of his four-poster bed. Frederick was taking ages with the pearl buttons on his shirt. Roy tried to help him only to have his hand slapped away. Impatiently, Louis pulled the shirt off over his head and pushed him onto the bed. Frederick arched his back with naked indifference. Louis liked it when he played coy and lay down beside him. Roy lay beside Louis as they began the slow pointed touches that were the preamble to lovemaking.

"This bed is huge," Frederick remarked twirling a finger in Louis' hair. "I was worried Roy wouldn't fit."

Roy pressed his length against Louis thigh. "I always fit."

"Perhaps we should invite a fourth next time."

Louis flipped Frederick on his knees and got behind him, "You insatiable little minx," he growled, holding the Viscount's hips. "Who did you have in mind?"

Roy came up behind Louis and licked his neck, the scruff of his cheek sending a shiver down Louis' spine.

"What about The Virgin Duke of Somerset?"

Harry thought the men's nickname for him was The Surgeon, but they only called him that to his face. His real nickname was The Virgin.

Louis stopped. "No. I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" Roy whispered in his ear. "I'd love to deflower him. He has the prettiest head of dark curls. And the things I'd like to do with that mouth--"

"I said, no."

Frederick rolled over and drew Louis' head between his thighs. "You're right, darling. He's a terrible bore just like your cousin."

Roy chuckled. "They do have a lot in common."

Louis dropped Frederick from his mouth. "I have more in common with Harry than stuffy old Clarence!"

"Like what?" Roy asked, sinking his teeth into the flesh of Louis' ass.

Louis thought for a moment but couldn't come up with anything tangible. All he knew was that his desire for men, every sexual experience he'd ever had, could be traced back to one singular moment in time, in a stable four years earlier, when a curly-haired boy removed his glove and showed him how to pet his mare...

"Can we please stop talking about that dull virgin!" Frederick slipped his tongue into Louis' mouth, while guiding Louis' length to his soft velvety entrance.

Normally he loved nothing more than to take Frederick apart like a delicious confection but he was irritated by all this talk of Clarence and Harry. He couldn't concentrate.

"Enough."

"Fuck me!"

Louis jumped up and put his nightshirt on over his naked shoulders. He rang for his valet, Theodore.

It took only a few minutes for an exhausted Theodore to appear at Louis' bedchamber.

"You rang."

"Oh good, you're up. Do we have a copy of Bleak House in the library?"

Theodore blinked slowly. "You hate Dickens, your grace."

"That wasn't my question," Louis snapped. "Do we have a copy of that bloody book or don't we?"

"I have a personal copy signed by the author..." Theodore looked over Louis' shoulder at the two men naked in his bed, Frederick spreading for Roy like an animal in heat. "What are you going to do with it?"

"What do you think! Bring it to me. Now."

Theodore came back moments later and reluctantly handed over the leather-bound edition.

Roy had moved in on Frederick. He had him bent over a pile of lace pillows and was ready to mount. "Come, Louis, join us."

"Start without me."

He sat at his desk and lit the wick of his oil lamp. As the lamp slowly saturated the room with amber light, he opened the book and began reading. One sentence in and he was already bored senseless. He poured himself a glass of red wine from the decanter and took a sip.

It was impossible to focus with Frederick's screams just a few feet away.

"Harder!"

"I'm trying, Frederick! You're tight as a vise. Louis, where do you keep your oils?"

"They're in the chiffonier."

Louis read and read and read, with each page no closer to understanding Harry than the page before. Why were there so many characters? Who was Jarndyce? What in tarnation was this book about?

Roy hit his stride and Frederick clung to the headboard for dear life, his pink toes curled, his voice high as a flute.

"Quiet!" Louis hissed.

Frederick's darted tongue over his sweaty lip. "Make me."

Roy moved aside, his length heavy and oiled. "Here, have a turn with him."

Louis looked longingly at his lovers.

He craved the sweet release that came from being deep inside another man, the release that came from having a man deep inside him, and the exhilarating sensation of both at the same time... But for some inexplicable reason he felt compelled to keep reading this god-awful book.

He sighed and turned the page.

By dawn, Roy had fucked Frederick into a stupor and the two lay in a still embrace, Roy's heavy leg hooked around Frederick's pale, hairless torso, holding him to his chest like a porcelain doll.

Louis was still awake. He read the last few pages before collapsing face first onto the book and drifting off to sleep himself.

♞

When he opened his eyes his lamplight had been snuffed out and Theodore was shaking his shoulder.

"Your grace, wake up! Wake up! You're not going to believe this but today's event is running precisely according to schedule. We'll be able to start the event on time! Isn't it splendid?"

"Cancel it. I've barely had a wink of sleep." He threw back the remainder of his wine and touched his bed, Frederick and Roy were gone and his sheets cold.

He paced around the room.

Theodore chased after Louis to get him dressed. He was impossible to pin down. Even as a child, Theodore had to wrestle him into his breeches.

"Teddy, I'd like to have tea with the Duke of Somerset today."

"Whatever for, your grace?"

"Because we have a massive amount in common, that's why! I'd like his private counsel on a literary matter."

Theodore arched an eyebrow but knew better than to ask questions.

Louis was told by one of the maids that Harry was in the library. Perfect! He smoothed his hair in the mirror above his fireplace and tucked the copy of Bleak House beneath his arm.

On the way to the library, William, the eagle-eyed new footman tried to get his attention. He was young, having only come of age in the spring, but he was ambitious and had moved up the ranks from pageboy to first footman in less than a year. It was not hard to see why. He was eager to please and fiercely devoted.

Unlike Theodore who was resigned to the chaos of Warwick House, for William every issue was a matter of hysterical urgency. There was some row among the footmen that resulted in a broken leg; Lady Calder lost a ring at last night's dance; and his barrister had a land accord that needed to be signed posthaste.

All this before noon!

He quickly signed off on the accord. He ordered William to dismiss the footman who started the row. If the parlor maids hadn't found the missing ring in the house that meant her ladyship dropped it in the garden and it was most likely lost forever.

♞

Harry was indeed in the library. He had a large atlas spread out before him. A dark curl had fallen over one eye and his lips were parted. He was in black again, a hard tone on a boy so soft. Louis would have liked to see him in pink or lavender.

He was examining a map of the West Midlands, his finger tracing the Oxford, Worcester and Wolverhampton Railway.

Louis cleared his throat. "What are you looking at?"

His eyes didn't lift from the book. "A map of the lands where my father built churches and hospitals. He was a very pious man."

"I too spent the night reading," said Louis, patting the book under his arm.

Harry glared at him. "Oh really?"

He seemed testier than usual, Louis thought. Was he still cross about Albertine?

Louis cleared his throat and fumbled his way through a quote from the book: "...injustice breeds injustice; the fighting with shadows and being defeated by them necessitates the setting up of substances to combat."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Are you mocking me?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Mocking? No! I take literature very seriously. Especially the grave scene in the courthouse."

"It's satire."

Louis laughed airily. "Of course it is! That's what I meant. Gravely... humorous."

He wandered over to the shelves and pretended to busily scan the titles. "Would you," Louis began, "care to discuss the passage over tea this morning?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you."

He slammed the atlas shut. "You didn't mishear me. I don't wish to have tea with you. Not now. Not ever."

"And why not?"

Harry got up from his chair and headed for the door. "I know what you are," he said and left.

Louis' gloved hand curled into a fist.

Clarence.

The club had convened in the dining room for breakfast. The room was filled with a heavy smoke from their pipes and the sound of arguing, this time over trade and the price of tea from India.

Sir Clarence was silent at the head of the table reading The Daily Telegraph, a proletariat rag. Without uttering a word the man was insufferably smug. Louis hated his cousin. His defense of the poor wasn't a selfless act, just the opposite, it was a way to distinguish himself from others and sneer and scorn at a society he was incapable of charming. He was suspicious of those who were charming, suspicious of men like Louis, who moved through social circles with confidence and ease.

Louis snatched the paper out of his hand.

"What did you tell him?"

Clarence removed his round reading glasses, calmly folded them and placed them in his breast pocket.

"If you're referring to the Duke of Somerset, I didn't tell him anything."

"I know you, Clarence. You've been meddling in my private affairs for years."

The man thought he was a genius because he deduced that the fire that killed Louis' family wasn't an accident. Any idiot could see that it was no accident.

"What vile lies have you told him?"

Clarence leaned in, mustache twitching as spoke. "He saw you, with his own eyes, carrying on with two men outside your bedchamber like the whore of Babylon."

Events from the previous night were a bit hazy after all that wine but things slowly came into focus. Louis groaned when he realized the scene Harry must have stumbled upon.

"Well," he recovered, "at least he knows where I stand." Louis plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and took a juicy bite.

"Yes. With the DEVIL."

"You're so dramatic."

"And you're a sodomite." Clarence tapped his soft-boiled egg with a spoon. "The boy turned white as a ghost when he saw you three. I thought the shock alone would kill him. He's never seen something so depraved in his entire life. He didn't even know it was... possible between men. He asked me to escort him to both morning and evening mass to pray for forgiveness. He thinks he's sinned just by looking upon your depravity."

"You're not even Catholic."

"My grandmother was Catholic."

Louis threw up his hands. "Oh, for heaven's sake!"

The Duke of Somerset was overly emotional. His cloistered upbringing had made him sensitive as a hothouse flower. Louis had never known anyone so sheltered. It made him furious to think of Harry locked up in that sanitized manor his entire life with no siblings or friends. Louis spent his youth covered in mud with his brothers chasing frogs, and later at boarding school chasing boys.

Louis checked his pocket watch. "The event is cancelled today. You best be going or you'll miss your train back to London."

"I've decided to stay until the hunt."

"What about your work?"

"The Duke of Somerset is my new cause. I won't let you defile that boy."

Defile him, Louis thought, how utterly preposterous! He merely wanted to discuss literature over tea. Was that a crime?

♞

Louis searched the entire grounds of the estate. Harry told no one where he went, not even his valet, Charles.

He decided to look in the last place anyone would expect to find him and he was right. Harry was outside the stables with Achilles.

He was holding a whip.

"I thought you didn't whip your horses," Louis said.

The stallion was cowering by a tree his head dipped down in a protective posture.

Harry sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "What else can I do? He doesn't listen to me! He doesn't obey!" he cried, voice cracking.

This emotional outburst was about much more than a disobedient horse. Louis hated the thought of Harry's anger toward him being taken out on such a magnificent animal.

He took the whip from Harry's hands and tossed it to the ground.

"Why are you tender with Albertine and cross with Achilles?" Louis asked.

Harry put his hands on his hips. "Firstly, her name is not Albertine, it's Bertie. Secondly, Bertie is sweet-tempered, Achilles is defiant."

"Ah," Louis examined the horse's eyes. "That makes him sweeter still. The more defiant a horse, the bigger his heart. You have to earn his love."

"How?"

Louis motioned for Harry to bring the horse forward. Harry grabbed him by the head collar. Naturally, the horse resisted.

Louis grabbed Harry roughly by his lapels.

"Hey!"

"Does this displease you? Then don't do it to Achilles. Understand?" Louis said firmly.

Harry huffed and straightened his tailcoat.

Louis approached Achilles and the horse's nostrils flared. He smoothed a gloved hand over his crest and withers. He held his hand against his flank and felt the heavy thudding of his heart. The animal was anxious but Louis' touch was calm.

"A horse is like a lover. You must understand his body in connection to yours. Become a source of comfort to him."

Achilles leaned into Louis. With utmost ease, Louis placed a foot in one of the stirrups and leapt onto his back.

Harry's eyes widened.

"Here," Louis said, climbing off the horse's back and handing Harry the reins. "You try."

Harry, who was still very much the little boy eager for friendship took the reins. Then he looked down suddenly, his green eyes troubled. Something was holding him back.

"I saw you last night. Outside your bedchamber," he said.

Louis was used to receiving this type of reprimand from Clarence, but coming from Harry, it cut him. "I'm not ashamed of what I am."

Harry was scandalized. His entire body tensed, hands gripping the reins so tightly the leather nearly snapped. Achilles' ears flattened in an expression of bewilderment.

"Calm," Louis instructed. "Like a lover, remember."

Louis knew damn well that Harry had never made love to anyone. He just liked to make him blush.

Harry's eyes fluttered shut, dark lashes sweeping his rosy cheeks. He took deep breaths until his nerves steadied and his heart was beating in tandem with that of Achilles. When he opened them he slid his boot into the stirrup and clumsily swung his other leg over the saddle.

"I did it!"

Louis smiled in spite of himself. "Good! Now bring him to a trot."

Harry squeezed the reins and tapped Achilles with his heel. Together they trotted in a circle around Louis.

He had a lovely boyish build and, even though he was barely in control of his long limbs, it pleased Louis to watch his thighs loosely straddle the stallion. It pleased him very much.

Perhaps he would try to invite him to tea again. This time he might say yes.

Louis cleared his throat and just as words began to form on his lips, a dapple grey thoroughbred galloped toward them.

"Sir Clarence!" Harry called.

"Stunning creature you have there. Care to go for a ride?"

"Yes, lets."

With newfound confidence, Harry leaned back in the saddle and tugged the reins, instructing Achilles to turn left.

Clarence tipped his hat to Louis. "Afternoon, cousin."

♞

He waited for them by the parlor room window, nursing a bottle of sherry. It was dusk and they still hadn't returned from their ride. Then Louis remembered that Clarence said they would be attending evening mass together.

Instead of joining the rest of the men for a lively game of cards, he retired early.

There was someone waiting for him outside his bedchamber.

"William."

"I found her ladyship's ring."

He must have scoured the garden for hours. His trousers were muddy and his hands scratched to bits from the thorny rosebushes.

Louis smiled weakly and leaned his head against the doorframe. "Good. That's very good, William. Thank you."

He took the ring and headed inside his room when William placed a hand on his shoulder. "I would do anything for you. Anything at all, your grace." His eyes drifted toward the bed.

Louis paused. Then he turned and held the young man's face in his hands. He kissed his full lips and waited for the familiar stirring in his breeches, waited for his passion to ignite and catch fire and consume them both.

It didn't.

Instead, he went inside his bedchamber and locked the door behind him, and for the first time in months, the Duke of Warwick slept alone.

A/N: Sorry, this chapter took forever to finish. I keep telling myself to write shorter wattpad-style chapters but I hate splitting up scenes that go together.  

I'm developing a real soft spot for Frederick and Roy in case you couldn't tell ;) I know some people hate it when H&L have sex with other people, but it's a big part of Louis' character and I'm rolling with it. It's just sex, beloveds!