"Oh the nerves, the nerves; the mysteries of this machine called man! Oh the little that unhinges it, poor creatures that we are!" 

–Charles Dickens

The gilded face of the grandfather clock struck seven. It was a mere twenty-nine hours before his night with Louis.

Harry was beside himself with fright. When people spoke to him he jumped, when food was placed before him he had no appetite.

The Duke's blue eyes, like still waters, betrayed no emotion. He carried on as host to the members of Bilsdale, smoking, playing cards, laughing as though he wasn't about to change Harry's life and the very essence of his being forever and ever.

Harry was bitterly disappointed that they couldn't find any time alone together if for no other reason than to reassure him that Louis really did care for him.

But just as Harry doubted the Duke's affection and felt like all hope in the world was lost, Louis would place a hand on his knee beneath the table and every doubt in his mind was completely obliterated by lust.

Twenty-eight hours.

Louis, Oscar and Lord Beardsley were in the drawing room discussing the club's restructuring. Lord Graves was stepping down in the spring and they needed to appoint a new treasurer. It seemed as though Beardsley was making a play on behalf of Oscar who, fidgeting with his pipe, was not nearly as articulate.

On the divan there was no opportunity for them to touch and being in the same room as Louis with no way to touch him was misery, so Harry went to his room to sulk and count the hours alone.

Once in his bedchamber he heard a sharp knock at the door. His heart soared. Was it the Duke here to save him from his loneliness?

It was Frederick.

He extended his arm to Harry. "Walk with me."

They linked arms and wandered through the house's empty east wing. Harry couldn't resist touching the sleeve of Frederick's fine velvet jacket. It was violet, with silver stitching and gemstone buttons. No matter the occasion the Viscount always looked like the inside of a jewelry box. It made Harry self-conscious of his own black clothing and he wondered if it was finally time to come out of mourning.

They said nothing for a while. Frederick broke the silence. "So, you've kissed him."

"He told you!"

"No, you did."

Curses.

"More than a kiss?" he purred.

The Viscount was the last person on Earth Harry wanted to confide in, but Louis was busy playing host, Clarence thought Louis was a murderer, and Charles was convinced he was the devil incarnate. Harry was desperate to talk to someone so he turned to Frederick.

"Tomorrow night there will be more than a kiss. Much more."

Frederick grinned. "You've scheduled it? Will the Queen be in attendance?"

"It's an important occasion!" Harry said defensively.

They stood and examined an oil painting of The Battle of Thermopylae. The Spartans fought valiantly but were no match for the Persian forces. The Viscount's half-lidded gaze fell over the blood and blades with resignation.

He must have felt the tension in Harry's arm because he said, "Don't fret, Virgin. Louis will be gentle."

Harry blinked at the gashes on the soldiers' ivory flesh. "Will it hurt?"

Frederick wasn't one to coddle. "Yes." He then took it upon himself to educate Harry about the more practical aspects of lovemaking: cleanliness, oils, and Harry nearly burst into flames.

He squeezed Harry's arm. "It will also feel wonderful. Louis cares about his lovers' pleasure."

Harry didn't know what was more awkward that they were talking about Louis pleasuring him or that Frederick was speaking from personal experience. Since they were already in the middle of the most uncomfortable conversation in human history, he had nothing to lose and asked the burning question on his mind.

"Frederick, what does Louis... like? I've never... I don't know how to please a man," he blurted out.

The Viscount released his arm and faced him. Harry braced himself for mockery but Frederick's expression was serious.

"Harry, I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully. Louis is in love with you. You are what gives him pleasure." Then he looked down and sighed. "Please don't hurt my friend."

Harry was speechless. He wasn't capable of hurting anyone!

They linked arms again and kept walking.

It was Harry's turn to break the silence. "I heard you and Roy went for a midnight ride."

Frederick returned to his old self and lip curled he asked, "Who told you that?"

"Rumor," Harry said coyly.

The Viscount slipped a hand into his pocket. "He gave me his college pin."

The gold caught the light. It was a beautiful pin with a crest of three lilies, the French fleur-de-lys and the English lion, both taken from the Royal Arms. The motto was Floreat Etona, May Eton Flourish.

"Hideous, isn't it? At Harrow our crest is the lion rampant and two silver arrows enfiled with a wreath of laurel. Our motto, Stet Fortuna Domus, Let the Fortune of the House Stand." He slipped it back in his velvet pocket and cocked his head. "Do you know what it means when a man gives you his pin? It's like a ring between man and woman. It's a pledge of his devotion."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Louis has given me stamps and a book of hymns. No pin."

Frederick slapped his back. "Duke! You have to do a lot more than kiss to earn a man's pin!"

They both laughed at that.

They walked down the staircase to the rotunda and Harry spotted the grandfather clock.

"Twenty-seven hours," he said anxiously.

Frederick put his hands on Harry's shoulders, "You will love it," and surprised him by kissing his cheek.

This filled Harry with ease and a strange sense of tenderness for the prickly Viscount.

They parted ways. Frederick had a card game to attend with Roy and a few of the countless footmen and pageboys they drew into their orbit. Love looked so different on the Earl and the Viscount than it did on the two Dukes, like a crest with different symbols and motto but no less meaningful.

Harry thought he might take another peek at Louis in drawing room. He was exactly where he left him, with Oscar, Lord Beardsley, and a fresh glass of sherry. They were arguing now, Louis talking emphatically about the club's ledgers while Beardsley droned on about tradition.

Harry rested his cheek on the doorframe and sighed.

Louis' eyes flashed at him for only a brief moment before he pursed his lips and returned to his conversation.

Harry wouldn't leave but fingered the molding on the doorframe and watched him.

Louis shook his head and mouthed: you're distracting me!

This pleased him. Perhaps if he were distracting enough Louis would join him upstairs.

But before he could spirit Louis away, Sir Clarence came up from behind and clasped his shoulder.

"Come with me to the library. I have something to show you."

Clarence had become suspicious of all the time Harry spent with Louis, but the Duke assured him that he was only getting close to Louis in order to dredge up information. This wasn't a complete lie since he was closer than ever to discovering the location of Louis' fox den.

In the fire-lit library, Clarence grabbed his satchel from the chair and turned it over. Dozens of letters poured out onto the desk.

Harry picked one up. They were Louis' private correspondence with his barrister.

Clarence dragged a hand through his unkempt hair, a few grey strands sticking out like corkscrews.

"You read though half and I'll read through the other half," he ordered.

Harry lifted one of the envelopes and touched the jagged edge of its broken seal.

"This is the Duke's private correspondence."

Clarence held an unfolded letter in one hand and made notes in his journal with the other, pen violently scratching the paper with each stroke.

"How did you get these?"

"Never mind how I got them!" Clarence's fist struck the desk angrily.

Harry had never seen him lose his temper. It was ugly and it made Harry feel ugly for ever having agreed to help him.

Then he composed himself. "An acquaintance of mine at the courthouse retrieved them from his barrister's office."

"These are private letters!" Harry cried. "It's illegal! It's wrong!"

He turned to leave when Clarence grabbed him roughly by the arm and swung him around. His eyes were wild, his skin grey, dry as parchment, as though he hadn't slept in days.

"Sometimes you have to do wrong to make the world right! My uncle, my aunt and my cousins are dead, burned alive in their beds! Is what happened to them not illegal?"

His argument was nonsensical.

"We don't know that Louis' guilty. I can't betray him this way!"

The fire hissed and crackled across the room. Clarence lowered his gaze. "You already have."

He was right. Was Harry really any better than Clarence? They had conspired together for weeks. Harry had been searching for the fox den. He broke into Louis' bureau. He suddenly felt deeply ashamed. If he truly cared for the Duke why didn't he trust him? Why was his word not enough?

Harry wanted to end his involvement in this investigation but he had gone too far. He knew too much. He was afraid of what Clarence might do or say if he refused him now.

"I'll read them in my bedchamber," he said, unable to stomach Clarence's presence.

"Good."

Clarence handed him a leather folder to conceal them.

He did bring the letters to his bedchamber, shoved them in his vanity, but he had absolutely no intention of reading them. He would hand them back to Clarence in a few days time and say he learned nothing and leave it at that. If Clarence didn't believe him he could read the letters himself.

♞

Louis glanced at the clock on the mantel beside his desk.

Thirteen hours.

He felt his breeches tighten. He leaned over and groaned. He would have done away with this ridiculous plan of waiting and ravaged Harry yesterday had the infuriating business with Lord Graves not sprung up.

It killed Louis to see the young Duke pining for him without being able to hold and comfort him. But he had to resolve this issue about appointing a new treasurer while the club was still convened at Warwick.

Though there was much debate, in the end Louis managed to convince them to appoint Roy. While Lord Beardsley was adamant that the spot go to his soon to be son-in-law, Oscar, Louis knew the position would require complete transparency, and he could think of no one he trusted more than his best friend.

Louis thought Beardsley should worry less about Oscar's club standing and more about the lad's pathological lust for scullery maids. Revolting, truly.

Roy was meeting him in his office that morning where he would deliver the good news.

The Earl lumbered into the room and closed the door behind him. His hunting jacket smelled of pine and sparkled with drops of fresh fallen rain. It's earthy tones brought out the warmth in his eyes.

He was surprised by the news and gladly accepted the position. Louis pulled a cigar out from his desk and handed it to his friend to celebrate.

Roy then glanced at the clock. "So... Thirteen hours." He smirked.

"Who told you!"

"Frederick."

"How on earth does he know!"

Roy sat on the edge of Louis' desk and brought a lit match up to the cigar on his lips. "The poor lamb is frightened of the act," he puffed. "He needed Frederick's guidance."

Louis banged his head on the desk. "Did the fiend terrify him?"

"He told him what he needed to know."

"What did Harry ask?"

"How to pleasure you."

Oh sweet angel! Did he really not know that his beauty was all the pleasure in this world?

"He also asked if there would be pain."

Louis' heart burst at the thought of Harry's innocence.

He circled his desk and stood in front of Roy, taking the cigar from his fingers.

"God, was I ever that innocent?"

"Never," he replied in a way that said precisely the opposite.

Louis fell into Roy's arms. "Help. I'm in love." The words were muffled by the thickness of Roy's tweed hunting jacket.

The Earl patted his head. "I know you are."

Then Louis heard the familiar thudding of Roy's heart quicken.

"Louis, there's something I need to tell you..."

"Oh?"

"I've given Frederick my pin."

Louis looked up with confusion. He didn't know why this surprised him. The two had become inseparable the past few weeks, though the thought of the icy Viscount being in love with anyone was perplexing to say the least.

"What did he say?"

"Oh, he was quite horrified. Told me a Harrow boy in possession of the Eton crest was next to treason."

Louis could picture him saying exactly that. "And?"

"He accepted it."

"I see."

Roy touched Louis' cheek. "You're not cross, are you?"

He wasn't angry but he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. He and Roy had been lovers since their first year at Eton. Louis seduced Frederick at the opera when they were just fifteen. He understood why they loved each other because he loved them both.

No, it was more than jealousy. It was fear, fear of change, fear of giving his heart to just one person.

Roy put the cigar out on the standing ashtray and a thick curl of smoke rose to the ceiling. "You know you're always welcome in our bed... You and young Harry." He winked.

Louis jumped on his back and wrestled him to the ground laughing.

After his meeting with Roy he still wasn't able to go to Harry. He convened in the parlor room with the rest of the club to confirm Roy's appointment.

He watched out the window as Harry rode by at gallop on his stallion. Those long legs would soon be wrapped around him...

Six hours.

In the dining room, Eleanor pinched Harry's pale cheek and urged him to take her place by Louis' side as she took a seat next to Lady Finnes whose husband was in bed, ill.

He wasn't eating.

Louis squeezed his thigh beneath the table. This was agony! He wanted to reassure him that there was nothing to worry about but he was unable to steal away even a minute to speak with him privately.

Louis leaned over. "Eat. You'll need your strength."

Harry jumped.

Why did Louis say that? Could he not come up with a gentler phrase? Egad! The boy was trembling!

Teddy entered the dining room and directed the footmen carrying platters of roast pork. His pocket watch was fixed and Louis could have sworn the infernal thing was now twice as loud. As his valet walked around the table all Louis could hear was its incessant ticking circling he and Harry like a fly. Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.

As dinner ended and his guests rose from the table he felt Harry place a hand on top of his. "Will you sit with me this evening? Before we..."

But Louis was already being whisked away by Lord Beardsley to the drawing room for brandies.

"You owe me a drink and an explanation, Duke!"

He stroked Harry's hand with his thumb. "Five hours," was all he managed to say.

Harry was too vexed to sit in the drawing room and instead wandered off with Frederick. God only knew what abominable things the Viscount was teaching him.

When Louis finally did have a spare moment to comfort him, the boy was nowhere to be found.

Then he remembered how Harry fussed over the note Louis had left with the stamps. He took a piece of stationary and a pen from his bureau. He decided to write him another note and sneak it into his room so that Harry would find it when he was preparing for bed.

See you soon, dearest one.

Yes, the phrase Harry loved so much would be the perfect antidote to his worries.

He dashed upstairs and opened the door to Harry's bedchamber. Harry would not be sleeping in his bed that night so there was no use slipping it under his pillow as he did with the stamps. Where would Harry find it that his valet wouldn't?

Louis then remembered how Harry smelled so sweetly of rosewater the night he came to Louis' bedchamber. Louis would slip the note beneath the bottle.

Harry's perfume was not resting on top of the vanity. It must have been inside one of the drawers.

Louis pulled on the gold leaf handle. There was Harry's rosewater among a pile of letters sticking out of a leather folder. Curious that Harry would have received so much post after such a short stay.

Louis held the candle closer.

These letters were not addressed to Harry.

They were addressed to Louis' barrister.

These letters were from Louis.

His hands were shaking so badly wax spilled from the candle onto the stationary. Why was Harry in possession of his private correspondence? And then he noticed the initials on the leather folder that contained them.

Clarence.

It all came rushing to him at once, like sour wine spilling over a goblet and staining everything it touched. That's what they had been meeting about every day in the library. His cousin was trying to incriminate him and Harry was... helping him.

He took back the letters before slamming the drawer shut and accidentally dropped the note on the vanity.

Louis stumbled out of the room. He felt dizzy. Sick.

How could he have been so blind? Harry wasn't in love with him. Born in the sterile halls of Somerset, he was as cold as the mother and father who raised him. He wasn't a victim of his parents, he was his parents. What was Louis to him? An intellectual curiosity? An insect he could pin behind a plate of glass alongside the rest of his collections?

He arrived at the door of his bedchamber where William was waiting for him as he did nearly every night.

The footman, youngest of his rank, would wait there for hours, until dawn if he had to, in case Louis was in need of anything before bed. Even after Louis had rejected him, tossed him aside like he was nothing, William was still fiercely devoted to him.

A pup with the will of a hound.

"Your grace, what's wrong? What's happened?" He stood, dark eyes gleaming with worry.

Louis had planned to be alone, to tell no one, but the pain was such a heavy burden it fell uncontrollably from his lips.

"He betrayed me," Louis choked and pressed the letters against William's chest.

William knew who he was because there was only one he who possessed Louis' heart, one he with the ability to break it.

He looked at the letters with shock. William hated Harry but even he didn't think the Duke was capable of such a thing.

"He doesn't love me." Tears fell from Louis' eyes before he had the wherewithal to stop them.

He felt William's soft breath on his cheeks as he kissed his tears away. "I love you."

Louis let himself be kissed.

Daringly, the boy wrapped his arms around his neck and held him tight. "I love you," he said again.

It felt good.

The grandfather clock chimed downstairs and Louis' head snapped around at the sound.

One hour.

"Shall I leave you?" William whispered.

Louis touched a dark curl that had fallen over the boy's eye.

"No, join me in my bedchamber tonight."

Now William was near tears. "Me?"

"You."

Louis grabbed him by the hips and hungrily filled the poor boy's mouth with his tongue. William cried out between gasps of pleasure. They tumbled into Louis' bedchamber kissing frantically.

"Tell me again," Louis hissed as he fumbled with the buttons on William's uniform.

"I love you!"

"Again," Louis breathed furiously.

William dropped to his knees and hugged Louis' waist. "I love you!"

Louis hooked a hand 'round the back of the boy's neck. "Again!"

"I worship you! I adore you! Take me! Make me yours!"

Each word flowed through Louis like a dose of opium numbing his pain. The young footman began to unfasten his breeches and Louis felt euphoric.

A/N: One hour until Harry knocks on Louis' bedroom door...

The next chapter will also be told in both POVs.

How do you think it will all go down?

I'm SO excited to get to this part of the story. I know everyone probably hates me right now but I LIVE FOR ANGST.

If you were Louis, would you have given Harry the benefit of the doubt?

Do you completely side with Harry or can you see where Louis is coming from?

(I know y'all are gonna turn on Louis. I'm here to defend my son.)