"Vices are sometimes only virtues carried to excess!" 

―Charles Dickens

Standing outside of Harry's bedchamber were Frederick and Roy.

"What are you two doing here?"

"We're kidnapping you," said Roy as he threw the Duke over his shoulder.

"Stop it! No! Put me down!"

"This is what you wear to bed?" Frederick held up the frilly sleeve of Harry's nightshirt.

"What do you wear?" Harry hissed, trying to break free.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"How does one take it off?" Roy asked curiously, slipping a hand beneath the folds of white fabric.

"One doesn't!"

He was carried down the darkened corridor and staircase to the drawing room. Candlelight and smoke seeped from the crack beneath the door.

Harry was put down and pushed inside.

Lady Calder and a few footmen were standing around the piano sipping mulled wine, while William played them a sonata. Two drunken pageboys sat at their feet gambling with dice.

They all stopped and stared at him.

On the other side of the room, Louis was lying on the divan with his shirt open, a cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. He was reading a book on Latin grammar.

The moment he saw Harry he dropped the book and jumped to his feet.

Frederick swanned into the room and put an arm around Harry's shoulder. "Look, we brought you a present! He even has a bow!" the Viscount laughed, tugging at the ribbon around Harry's collar.

Louis covered his mouth trying very hard not to smile. "Duke, have they been horrible to you? You look frightfully cross."

Harry straightened the collar of his nightshirt. "I just wasn't dressed for the occasion," he huffed, attempting to recover his pride. 

"Come," Louis said. "Let me pour you a drink."

He wanted to run back to his bedchamber but feared that would only cause further embarrassment, so he stayed. 

As Louis handed him a glass of scotch, Frederick and Eleanor flipped through a stack of sheet music by the piano.

"Play Wagner next," said Frederick. "He's my favorite. I saw Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg in Munich four times and I'm seeing Siegfried in Bayreuth in the spring."

Eleanor flopped down on the divan. Her dark hair was loose and fell down her back like unspooled silk. "I adore his operas but my father says it's just noise."

"My mother thinks George Macfarren is a good composer. I sympathize."

William stared blankly at the sheet music and shuffled though the curling pages. His hands shook with frustration and they fell to the floor.

"I can't read it, your lordship." His face reddened. "I only play by ear."

"Dash it!" Frederick pouted. "I was really looking forward to hearing some Wagner tonight."

Harry rose from the divan and stepped over to the bench in his bare feet. He sat beside William and arranged the sheet music on the rack. Though Harry was out of his element in nearly every way at this soiree, the one place no one could touch him was at the piano.

"Listen," he said to William.

Harry began to play. He read quickly and the footman turned the pages for him, nodding along and watching his fingers glide over the keys. It was a difficult piece with frequent octave jumps, alternating articulations, and complicated polyrhythms. He would need to play it a few times for William to pick up on the key changes.

However, when Harry finished the movement, William didn't wait to hear the piece again. He began to play. He mimicked Harry exactly, with the same technique and musicality.

Harry drew a breath. "That's remarkable."

"For a footman."

"For anyone."

William lifted his chin. "May not be educated and refined like you, your grace, but I've other talents."

The drawing room swelled with music.

Roy pulled Louis up from the divan and they began to dance. Harry had never seen two men dance together before, and even though he'd witnessed Louis and the Earl kiss once, this was somehow more shocking.

Eleanor and a footman danced alongside them.

Not to be outdone, Frederick whipped Harry into a waltz. He never imagined that his first dance would be barefoot, in his nightshirt, with the Viscount Greindl, but the evening was full of surprises.

He had no idea where to put his hand when dancing with a man so he placed it on Viscount's slender waist. Frederick was quick on his feet, twirling and turning sharply while Harry counted the steps in his head and tried to keep up.

This was so different from his experience in the ballroom. Wild and free. There was no etiquette or social niceties to be observed and therefore one could make no mistakes.

Harry couldn't help but steal a glance at Louis, who was laughing softly, eyes crinkled, as he chatted and swayed in his friend's arms.

"Roy was Louis' first," Frederick whispered. "They met at Eton."

First what, he wondered before slowly realizing that Frederick meant lover. He tripped over his feet.

"Did you attend Eton?"

The Viscount glared at him. "I'd slit my own throat before attending that slum. I went to Harrow. Where did you go?"

Harry fidgeted with the hem on Frederick's velvet waistcoat. "I was privately tutored. My father wouldn't let me attend school, what with the close quarters and risk of disease."

Something resembling pity flickered across Viscount's icy features.

It was moments like these that made Harry realize how different he was. There would forever be a gulf between him and other young men, because they had school, memories and each other, while he had nothing but his coin collection, the busts of dead Emperors and Kings. It was ironic looking back on his childhood. His father was so terrified of disease he locked Harry up like a prisoner, while at the same time founding a grand sanatorium for the very people he feared most.

Louis peeked at Harry over Roy's shoulder and mouthed: are you having a good time?

Harry nodded and gave Frederick a spin.

The song ended. They bowed and went back to their drinks, the Earl and Viscount sitting on a divan across from the two Dukes.

William switched seamlessly to one of Tchaikovsky's concertante pieces. He knew it well. Louis explained that the footman had accompanied him on his trip to Moscow and could play the composer's full catalog.

Frederick and Roy exchanged glances.

Louis twisted the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. "You two can stop making faces. The Duke knows all about me and Pyotr." He turned to Harry. "Like I said, we never consummated the relationship."

The Viscount narrowed his eyes. "Well, it wasn't for lack of trying. The Tsar walked in on them at the palace. They were both stark naked in his bed, the composer on all fours, Louis ready to mount him like a dog!"

Louis rubbed his temples. "Thank you, Frederick, for that vivid description."

"You're welcome." He hopped onto Roy's lap.

Harry nursed his drink. Louis had only poured him a finger of scotch, but each drop felt like fire in his throat. At this rate it would take him all evening to finish.

The music softened to a ballad and so did their conversation. Half the candles had been blow out and everyone in the drawing room quickly paired off.

Harry searched Louis' face in the dimness, his cheek illuminated by a single candle on the credenza behind him.

"You have an affinity for composers. Did Tchaikovsky play for you?"

"You were the first boy who ever played for me."

"Not the last," Harry quipped.

Louis arched an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink. "Touché."

Though the whiskey had dulled his senses, the smell of spilled wax, perfumed cigarettes, and spiced wine were as heavy as the velvet drapes.

He could make out the silhouette of Lady Calder kissing one of the footmen on the settee. Frederick was on Roy's lap sharing a cigarette, until suddenly they were kissing too.

Everything was permissible in Louis' world. There were no rules and no shame, only pleasure. Was this heaven or hell?

Roy flipped Frederick on his back and climbed on top of him, hungrily nipping at his mouth and neck while the Viscount wrapped his spindly legs around the Earl's waist.

Harry looked up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," said Louis. "My friends are usually much better behaved."

"No, they're not."

"You're right, they're savages. Cigarette?"

Harry accepted, holding it clumsily between his fingers as Louis brought the lighter to his lips. He inhaled and coughed.

Louis leaned back and took a long swig of wine, rolling his ankle to the melody of the music. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone and in the dimness Harry could see the shadow of his collarbone and the fine golden hairs on his otherwise smooth chest.

Like in the carriage earlier that day, Harry let his open hand fall between them and waited for Louis to notice.

The Duke peered down at it with amusement but did not move to hold it.

Harry took his hand back and flushed, completely mortified. Of course Louis didn't want to sit there and hold hands like a stupid child. He had lovers all over the world, lovers in that very room! Harry felt so foolish. This was a huge mistake.

He crushed his half smoked cigarette in an abandoned teacup on the ottoman. "The hunt is in a few days. I'll be returning to Somerset immediately afterward."

Louis smiled at this. "Oh, really."

"Yes," Harry sniffed, picking up his glass and swirling the amber liquid inside. "You'll probably never see me again. I don't care to join the Bilsdale Club. I doubt we'll ever cross paths. "

Harry was hoping these words would injure him but the Duke's blue eyes twinkled.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this. It's not as though you care."

"Harry," he laughed gently. "I'm only teasing. You're as transparent as that crystal in your hand."

He slammed the glass down on the tea tray. Coin or no coin he was done with this game.

"Duke, did you know that I never had a single friend my entire childhood? When I wanted to play, I played alone. When I wanted to talk, I talked to myself. Every night I would go to sleep and dream of the boy who would be my friend but when I awoke I was alone again. Then one day, I learned that a boy was coming to visit. It was the happiest day of my entire life. I thought for the first time I would actually have someone to play with, to talk to. I thought I wouldn't be alone anymore. When he arrived, he was better than I ever imagined—"

The smile left Louis' lips. "Harry, stop."

"I thought my dream had come true—"

"Harry, I was very young."

"So was I. You broke my heart."

Louis took both his hands. "Let me mend it."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut afraid he might cry. "Please don't tease me anymore. I can't bear it. Not from you."

"I won't. I promise."

He opened his eyes. "Louis, I'm so lonely," he confessed.

The Duke brushed Harry's cheek with the back of his hand and Harry leaned into his touch, like a rose seeking out the sun.

"You sweet boy..."

Suddenly a window flew open. The remaining candles were blown out by a gust of wind and everything went black.

The music stopped.

The voices of footmen, Frederick and Roy rumbled in complaint. He heard bodies fumbling around in the dark, the clattering of glasses and cries of stubbed toes.

Louis couldn't find his lighter.

"Matches," Eleanor said. "They're in the bureau."

Harry was closest. He stood and felt his way around, grabbing the back of the divan, then skimming his fingers along the textured wallpaper and carved picture frames until he bumped into the bureau. He slid open the top drawer and felt around. His fingers first grazed what felt like a day planner. The letters embossed on the cover weren't Louis' initials but rather the initials of his father. He continued to feel around for the small matchbox. When he had it in his grip, he turned to make his way to the candelabra on the piano.

Someone pushed him from behind.

He fell to the ground.

The blow knocked the wind out of him and it took him a moment to recover. When he stood, he stumbled to the candelabra. He struck a match on the box' sulfur strip and a flame bloomed with a hiss. Slowly, he lit each wick.

The room now illuminated, he saw William sitting on the divan next to Louis, holding his master's hand.

Louis jumped away from the footman. "Dear God, I thought he was you, Harry!" He pointed to the door. "William, you're dismissed for the evening. Go."

Harry glared at the dark-eyed footman, who crossed the drawing room with a smirk.

"Told you I had talents," he whispered, and left.

The party died down after that. The room was eerily hollow without the sound of William's playing, as though a spell had been broken.

Everyone chose a lover for the night: the two pageboys, Eleanor and a footman, and Roy and Frederick.

Louis extended his arm. "Shall we?"

They followed Frederick and Roy up the staircase.

"I'm sorry about William," said Louis. "He's fixated on me. It's a terrible nuisance, honestly."

"Perhaps Warwick is not the best place of employment for him."

"His family has served us for generations," he sighed. "Of course, if you feel strongly about it..."

Harry thought back to William's embarrassment at not being able to read, and the remarkable way he played. Clarence said he was born to a scullery maid. The chap probably didn't have a cent to his name. Harry chose to forgive him.

"Just be careful," Harry warned.

The Earl and Viscount chased each other up the steps like schoolboys. Frederick tripped on the laces of his high-heeled boots. Instead of helping him up Roy tackled him and ripped open his shirt, kissing the Viscount's pale chest and slipping a hand down his breeches.

"Will you animals at least wait until you're in your rooms!" Louis barked. "This is uncivilized!"

Roy turned to face him. "Louis, I've fucked you on these very steps in broad daylight."

"Shhhhhhhh," the Viscount said tipsily. "He's trying to impress the Virgin!"

They howled with laughter. Roy scooped Frederick up into his arms and carried him, the Viscount's legs swinging excitedly as Roy kicked open his bedchamber door.

Harry stopped outside the door to his own bedchamber. Louis put his hands behind his back and they both stared awkwardly at the brass doorknob.

Harry broke the silence. "It's nearly dawn. Charles will be up soon. He keeps a close eye on me and writes my mother every day. She knows I gambled away my money and caught a cold."

Louis smiled. "What can she do? You're Duke."

"You don't know my mother."

They looked at their feet and chuckled. Louis didn't seem quite ready to go and Harry did not want him to.

"It was the same for me. At Somerset," he said.

"What was?"

"You were better than I imagined. I liked your... knee socks." He grinned.

Harry raised his eyebrows. He didn't think the Duke noticed him at all when he was at Somerset, let alone his socks.

"Let's start again," he said.

"Would you like to see my coin collection?"

"No!" Louis pushed him playfully.

Harry knew what he meant. The first time he saw Louis, he was so excited he threw his arms around the Duke's neck and kissed his cheek. It was different now. A child could be forgiven for displaying emotion but it was unbecoming in a gentleman. He placed his hands on Louis' broad shoulders and in a more formal display of affection, embraced him.

Louis did not stand there stiffly the way he did four years ago at Somerset.

He seized Harry by the waist and embraced him in turn, kissing his cheek and nosing his dark curls.

"Charles will be here any moment," Harry gasped.

Louis held him tighter. 

"Ride with me this afternoon," he whispered hotly in Harry's ear, pinning him against the doorframe.

"Where."

"We'll take Achilles and Albertine through the woods, to the riverbank. I'll bring a blanket. No one will find us."

The Duke's heart was pounding so hard Harry felt it beat inside his own chest.

Louis wanted him. Not the way he wanted Frederick or Roy or the countless footmen he'd seduced. He wanted Harry the way he won a race or hunted an animal, with determination so fierce he would not stop until he claimed his prize. This might have made Harry feel helpless, instead he felt dizzy with power.

"On one condition."

"Anything," Louis breathed.

"Take me back to your fox den."

A/N: This is a dangerous game Harry's playing...

We've gone from a kiss on the hand to a kiss on the cheek! What do you think will happen on that blanket??? 

(Listen, I know things are moving slowly but there WILL be smut in this fic if it's last thing I do on this earth!)

Do you think Harry should have been harder on William? Would you have forgiven him?

The photo above is by David Armstrong, the same photographer whose photo I used for Frederick in the last chapter. 

A little off topic: I had Frederick attend Harrow instead of Eton because there's a huge rivalry between the schools and the thought of Frederick hating Eton boys and later sleeping with two of them cracks me up :D