"Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may last!" ― Percy Bysshe Shelley

Upon hearing that the cricket match he organized would be canceled, Teddy threw his pocket watch at the wall. Its cogs and springs burst from their silver casing and rolled around the freshly waxed parlor room floor.

Louis knew his valet would have a conniption at the news but it couldn't be helped. His time with Harry was too precious. The young Duke was leaving for Somerset after the hunt and Clarence monopolized every other minute of his day.

Harry's valet, Charles, who just so happened to be the son of a watchmaker, painstakingly picked up each and every cog and spring. He placed the pieces in a handkerchief and turned to Teddy. "I'll take it to the servant's hall and repair it," he said, and shot Louis a reprimanding glare.

Teddy was so vexed that Louis had to ring for one of his footmen to prepare him for his ride. Naturally William was the first of his men to appear.

"My coat and gloves," Louis said curtly.

William bowed his head, a crown of curls falling in his face. He looked so much like Harry at times. Except for his eyes. William's eyes shone like black pearls.

Louis slipped on his calfskin gloves and William did up the brass buttons on his coat, his hands lingering on the Duke's chest.

Louis stepped away from him toward the door and the footman grabbed his arm.

"Choose me."

"William—"

"I love you."

Egad! How did Louis always manage to find himself in this situation? Had he misled William? Was he too careless with boys' hearts?

"I have to meet the Duke."

William eyed him fiercely. "I know I am nothing and no one but you are everything to me!"

Louis looked around to make sure no one was witnessing this outburst. "You've seen me with other men. What's brought this on? It's most unlike you."

"You've stopped seeing the Viscount and the Earl in your bedchamber and you sleep alone instead of ringing for a footman. It all started the moment he got here. Tell me the truth, has he won your heart?"

"He has," Louis admitted. "But I have yet to win his."

"You've won mine," William said in a small voice.

Louis shook his head and embraced him. "You're a beautiful lad and I'm very fond of you. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Then he untangled himself from the boy's arms and left.

♞

Harry was outside the stables standing beside Achilles on the grassy knoll. His legs looked especially long in his riding boots and breeches. Even though he wasn't a strong rider, Louis loved to see those gangly limbs wrapped around a powerful stallion...

"Afternoon, darling."

Harry put a hand on his hip. "I'm furious with you."

Louis grinned and motioned for the groom to fetch Albertine. "What have I done this time?"

"Teddy is in a wretched state over the cricket match! My valet has been consoling him all morning. You really shouldn't vex him so. We have a responsibility to care for those who serve us."

"He serves at my pleasure and it pleases me to go riding," Louis said, buffing his nails on the lapel of his red coat.

"You're a terror."

Louis enjoyed getting a good scolding from the Duke. He wondered what other terrible things he might do to provoke him.

Albertine was led to Louis already saddled, her heavy hooves clomping on the grass. Unlike Achilles who was stubbornly pulling away from Harry, the mare nosed his chest with affection. He smoothed a gloved hand over her snowy white crest and withers. She was saddled to his satisfaction but something was missing.

"We'll be needing a blanket as well."

"A blanket," the groom repeated, eyes darting between the two Dukes.

Harry covered his face with both hands, mortified.

"Yes, a soft blanket." Louis smiled.

Once on their horses and in the woods, Louis led the way—a pity since he quite liked watching Harry bounce up and down on his saddle.

He looked behind him at Harry who was trotting off in the opposite direction.

"Achilles!" he barked, trying to steer the stallion that defied him. "Left, you brute! Left!"

If only Harry understood how communicate with the animal. He was such a fine specimen and Harry such a brilliant mind. They would be invincible if they would learn to listen to each other.

It was a crisp fall day, the wind as sharp as the leafless branches that formed a canopy above their heads.

"Are we close to your fox den?" Harry inquired.

Louis stopped. He swung his leg over the saddle and hopped onto the ground. Harry clumsily slid off Achilles.

"Harry," he said. "I know why you want to go back to my fox den."

"You do."

"Of course."

The Duke blanched.

"My brother's stamps!" Louis laughed. "I remembered you eyeing the Penny Reds. You two are exactly alike!"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "You're right."

"I fetched them for you this morning and had them brought to your bedchamber. The fox den is west and riverbank east. It's too far out of our way," he explained, tucking his boot into the stirrup and climbing back on his horse.

Slowly Harry did the same.

They heard the river long before they reached it. The rushing water sounded like the whispering of angels. The Dukes tied their horses to two trees and stepped through the brush into the clearing.

This spot, with its smooth pebbles, shimmering water and ribbon of blue sky was the perfect home for their passions.

Louis spread the blanket out on the grass. "I swim here in the summer," he said, pointing to the deepest part of the riverbed.

"In the nude?"

In the nude. How cute.

He found himself wishing it were summer. He would have taken Harry to that very spot and guided him by the hand, naked and pale, into the moving water.

But autumn had its own charms. They sat on the square blanket framed by fallen leaves: the portrait of young love.

Harry lay down on his back, knee bent, and watched the clouds drift overhead. The wind nipped at his cheeks and his skin pinkened like the blush on a rose. At the tender age of seventeen Harry maintained his boyish grace, though the line of his jaw hinted at his approaching manhood.

Louis lay beside him propped up on one elbow.

An almost imperceptible look of worry crossed the Duke's patrician features, a look only Louis would recognize since he spent so much time staring at him.

"No one will find us here," Louis reminded him.

He nodded unconvinced.

"Annuit cœptis," Louis said in Latin, which, loosely translated, meant, God approves our undertakings.

Harry didn't look at him but said, "You were reading a book on Latin grammar last night in the drawing room and Bleak House a few days before that."

Louis could have said something clever or witty at being called out but he chose to be honest. "I only read those books because you love them."

Harry turned to him. "You know, you could just give me back my coin."

Louis rolled onto his back and laughed. "Where's the fun in that?" He put his hands behind his head. "Besides, if you want your coin, take it, I won't stop you."

This was such a shameless ploy to get the Duke to touch him that he was amazed it actually worked!

Harry sat up and gingerly patted the front of Louis' coat feeling for his precious coin. He undid the brass buttons and slid his cool hands inside, checking the lining and pockets. When this turned up nothing, Harry's fingers skimmed his fitted waistcoat and then the fabric of the thin shirt beneath.

Louis was in heaven.

His hand slowly moved down to the pockets of Louis' breeches.

"Find what you were looking for?"

"Yes." Harry tipped his head shyly.

There was no coin. Louis left it back at the house. At what point did Harry realize or had he known all along?

Maddeningly, the boy continued his exploration.

His fingers moved from the waist of Louis breeches and trailed down the seam as though he were following the route of a map, lower and lower and lower...

Louis couldn't take anymore.

"Harry."

He hooked a hand in Harry's curls, drew him near, and pressed a hot desperate kiss onto his lips.

The young Duke was startled. He didn't know how to kiss. But he parted his pink lips and let Louis in.

Louis slid his tongue into the boy's mouth and pulled him on top of his chest. They tumbled around on the blanket, kissing frantically between gasps for air. He ripped off his cravat and then Harry's, both of them burning feverishly despite the cool autumn breeze. When Louis kissed his bare neck, Harry let out a soft cry that drove him completely mad. Kissing had never before sent him into such a frenzy. Soon their hips aligned and he felt Harry's excitement mounting against his own.

Could he have him there on the riverbank? He hadn't intended to but nature had other plans. Their bodies ached for one another.

He placed a hand between Harry's legs.

"Don't," Harry whispered.

"What do you mean? This is agony!"

"I like being in agony."

Frederick was right about Catholics: they were masochists!

Harry's rule about touching did not extend to Louis' body, however. He began to paw him through his breeches, his curious fingers tracing the shape of Louis' length.

"Don't start something you don't intend to finish," Louis breathed dangerously.

Harry ignored him. Of course he did. Louis had laid bare his feelings and Harry knew he could do anything he liked.

Their kisses slowed and deepened, Harry's lips and tongue clumsily mirroring his own. They weren't just kissing, Harry was learning how and by God that made it so much sweeter!

The soft wool blanket shifted beneath their weight and he heard the rustling of the tall grass and the goldfinches that had not yet flown south for winter but seemed to remain at Warwick solely so they could sing for them in this moment.

Harry's touches became less exploratory and more pointed, his long fingers sliding over him with increased pressure and speed until Louis was fully aroused, straining against his breeches.

"Wait. I need to compose myself."

Harry furrowed his brow. Ironically, he did not like being asked to stop.

He twirled a finger in Louis' hair while they waited anxiously for his excitement to subside, but that only made him more excited. Louis then made peace with the Lord because he was probably going to die of agony on that blanket.

Impatient, Harry reached for him again. Louis had never met anyone so repressed and so starved for affection. He wondered what, if anything, Harry knew about lovemaking.

He laced his fingers through Harry's and pinned him to the blanket. The young Duke gazed up at him, panting, black lashes sweeping his flushed cheeks.

"Harry, do you know how a man loves another man?"

"My father once owned a painting by William Etty."

"Is that a no, or—"

"It was a Greek subject, with one soldier poised to plunge his sword into the heart of another."

Louis' head fell on Harry's chest and he laughed softly.

"It's a very stirring piece!" Harry said defensively.

"I believe you. Now tell me, are you the sword or the heart?"

He bit his lip thoughtfully. "What are you?"

"Accommodating." Louis smiled.

Harry smiled back and eyed his lips.

Louis kissed his eyelashes, his cheeks, his ear, his dark glossy curls, the hollow of his throat. He quoted Dickens and whispered every word of Latin he knew, even silly words, like iris and capra to amuse him. He hummed Bach's Agnus Dei, which Harry had played for him on the piano, and recited the prayers Harry spoke in church. Louis worshipped at the altar of Harry's beauty.

They lay there for hours but it could have been seconds or centuries. Time had no meaning. The only thing that meant anything to Louis was Harry's mouth when they were kissing and his sighs of contentment when they paused to rest.

Harry reached for his gloves. Even something as small as Harry's hands being cold made Louis' chest ache.

"Put your hands under my coat. I'll warm them."

It was more than just his hands. The blush on Harry's cheek was gone. His skin was pale under the silver light of the moon.

The moon.

It was night.

They had to head back.

Riding horseback after hours of tumbling on the blanket with Harry was less than ideal. He was tempted to jump into the icy river to cool off.

They trotted slowly, side-by-side, not speaking but sending each other conspiratorial glances and shy smiles. Harry had done something with Louis, however innocent, that he had never done with anyone else. This bound them together.

When they emerged from the brush and approached the stables, they saw Sir Clarence standing outside smoking his pipe. He wasn't cross, he was too calculating to be cross. Louis could practically hear the cogs in his brain turning.

Louis dismounted and handed Albertine's reins to the groom.

"You're back," he said, leaning on the weathered stable door. "Everyone's dined without you. I've asked the kitchen to prepare something for just the three of us."

The three of us.

"How generous of you to invite me to dinner in my own home!" Louis said as he snapped off his gloves.

Clarence must have suspected that Louis had won the young Duke's favor, because he was being unusually congenial. He even had the cook prepare lamb, Louis' favourite.

During dinner, his cousin enlightened them on the new tax legislation making its way through parliament. Much like the new bill, the conversation moved at a glacial pace. Louis was too tired to change the subject.

Harry scarcely breathed a word. In a misguided attempt to act natural he looked guilty as sin. His eyes never left his plate. Under Clarence's watchful gaze the Duke didn't dare acknowledge Louis' presence or speak about their ride, though it was fairly obvious what they'd been up to from his tousled clothes. Also, he had a leaf in his hair.

Why did his cousin have to ruin everything? Louis did not spend the entire afternoon carefully cultivating an amorous mood to have it wasted on a tedious lecture about the tax code!

While eating dessert, Clarence looked at Harry and gestured to the library.

"I can show you a copy of the proposed bill."

Harry pushed his dessert away untouched. "It's been a long day. I think I'll retire early."

"So will I," Louis agreed with an exaggerated yawn. "Long day indeed."

"Stay, cousin," Clarence said lighting his pipe. "It's so rare that you and I talk."

Begrudgingly, Louis pulled out his cigarette case and put his boots up on the empty chair beside him.

Harry gave Louis one last surreptitious glance before escaping the dining room.

The moment he was gone Clarence placed his palms on the white tablecloth. "Why doesn't he want to go to the library with me?"

Louis tapped his lips with an unlit cigarette. "Let's see. Perhaps because you're dull."

"He did not find me dull yesterday."

"Then perhaps it's because he's your social better and doesn't take orders from the lower ranks."

"You're vile."

"I'm Duke, his equal, it's only natural that he would prefer my company to yours."

"James would be horrified to hear you speak this way."

"He has, and yet he loved me anyway. What does that say about you, whose politics he shared?"

Cruelly Louis glanced at the portrait of his father at the head of the table, who he knew his cousin missed terribly.

"Why is it you never went into politics, Clarence? Was it really because you didn't want to or would my father's party not have you? They would have had James."

"We'll never know. Someone took him from us."

"Someone. Yes, on that we can both agree."

Louis finished his cigarette and snuffed it out on his plate. As he began to stroll out of the dining room, Clarence stopped him.

"There's just one thing," he said, packing the bowl of his pipe. "I see families every day at the courthouse whose loved ones have been murdered. Some of these cases are decades old... You let the magistrate declare the fire an accident."

"I was a child at the time in case you've forgotten."

"You're not a child anymore. Yet you never reopened the case. Why wouldn't you if you believe there was foul play?"

Clarence was worse than a hound. Once he picked up the scent of fear he was relentless.

Louis did not have an answer. "Leave it."

A smile tugged at the corners of Clarence's trimmed mustache. "Curious isn't it?"

"I said, leave it!"

He stormed out before his cousin could utter another word.

In the dim hallway Louis leaned against the wall and caught his breath. Fire. He could still smell it. Four years later and ash hung in the air like it was yesterday. He pulled out his lighter and dragged a hand over the flame, possessing it, reminding himself that it could not consume him.

His small light illuminated the drawing room a few feet away. He noticed something shifting in the darkness.

He stepped closer. Harry was sitting inside on a wing chair.

"I thought you'd gone to bed."

He rose. "I forgot to say goodnight. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Louis wanted so much to be invited to Harry's bedchamber or to invite him to his, but he knew that suggesting it might make the Duke uneasy. Their afternoon on the riverbank had been perfect. He didn't dare spoil it.

Instead, Louis simply said, "I leave my bedchamber door unlocked at night."

"I see."

Harry said nothing more and Louis did not press the matter.

They were about to head upstairs when Harry stopped him.

"Wait, I have something I need to tell you."

And in a mad hot burst of affection, the young Duke threw his arms around Louis' neck and whispered in his ear: "I'm the heart."

A/N: Does Harry have the courage to visit Louis' bedchamber?

And the bigger question, why would Louis choose not to reopen the case on the fire if he believed his family was murdered????

Do you still believe Louis is innocent?

Also, they kissed! It was very tough to balance Harry's innocence with his thirstiness in this chapter. I thought him wanting to touch but not allowing himself to be touched was a good compromise.

It was also tough to decide whose POV to use here. I relate more to Louis' character so I went with him, but there will be plenty of kisses from Harry's POV. Let me know which POV you like best!

The painting above is by Henry Scott Tuke a late Victorian artist whose main subject was male nudes. I'm cursing myself for not setting this fic during summer because I could have written a skinny dipping scene. Live and learn.