"The decent man and the lover holds back even when he could obtain what he wishes. To win this silent consent is to make use of all the violence permitted in love. To read it in the eyes, to see it in the ways in spite of the mouth's denial, that is the art of he who knows how to love. If he then completes his happiness, he is not brutal, he is decent. He does not insult chasteness; he respects it; he serves it." ― Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Louis rarely entered the room that had once belonged to his brother. It was the source of his greatest joy as a child and later his greatest sorrow. When James was too ill to go outside they would play chess in bed all day and catalogue the new stamps in his collection. His middle brothers, George and Edward, would leave James behind to go riding but there was no place Louis would rather be than by James' side.

Louis was standing near the curtains where the killer would have stood when he set the room ablaze. Harry was in bed, where James was when the villain took his life.

The young Duke was so shy he undressed beneath the sheets.

Louis, poised to take the boy's innocence, suddenly felt like a villain himself.

He climbed into bed beside Harry, who shifted out of his breeches and undergarment blushing fiercely. Louis did the same. Why was Louis undressing beneath the sheets? Why was he blushing? He wasn't a virgin, far from it. Harry's innocence was contagious.

Harry looked at him, furrowed his little brow, and said with the utmost seriousness: "I'm in the nude."

"As am I," Louis replied, trying to be equally as serious.

They were so close the heat from Harry's skin burned against his own beneath the bed sheet. He was dizzy at the thought of the tenderness between the young Duke's thighs so near. All he had to do was reach over and touch.

He stopped himself.

The sweetest pleasures in this world were given not taken.

He waited for the boy to come to him. Harry peered at him shyly through a veil of long lashes. His red lips were a painting, his curls a sculpture. It seemed impossible that this cherub harbored any earthly desires. Then Louis felt a soft hand on his thigh.

The bed sheet was thin as paper but now felt like an iron gate between them.

Harry must have been thinking the same thing because he said, "No one has ever seen me. Not even my valet. He averts his eyes when he undresses me."

How could anyone look away? However pure his valet's intentions, what man could resist resting his eyes on a boy so beautiful? Perhaps this was the source of Harry's beauty. Like primrose, Harry bloomed under the cover of darkness.

Louis did not pull down the sheet to expose him but widened his own thighs. This invitation proved irresistible to Harry whose greatest pleasure on Earth was tempting Louis to the brink of madness with his caress.

Those long nimble fingers that moments ago brought music to life on the piano now brought Louis to life beneath the bed sheet. He lay still, resisting the urge to thrust against the young Duke's gentle hand. Unlike his piano playing, Harry's strokes had no rhythm. What was so maddening about his caress was that it was pure affection, without pretense.

"It's warm," he remarked. Red lips parted, Harry was breathing heavily as though he were the one being touched and Louis' pleasure merely an extension of his own.

Paradoxically, the closer they came to making love the further away it felt. Louis did not know how much longer he could remain a gentleman.

"May I kiss it?" Harry asked.

May I. He was so precious. Louis could hardly bear how precious he was! He nodded into the lace pillow, unable to even form the words, "you may."

Harry lifted the sheet off Louis' body.

The young Duke's eyes flashed with excitement. He leaned down, curls falling forward on his brow. Louis assumed Harry understood what this act entailed, but he didn't. He kissed it. No less sweetly than he kissed Louis on the lips.

Louis moaned, the kiss lingering between his legs.

Seeing Louis lay bare in both body and feeling gave Harry courage. Bravely he sat up and slipped the sheet off his own long limbs.

"This is what I look like." His ears turned pink anxiously awaiting Louis' response.

Louis didn't know how to respond. He had scarcely been exposed to Harry's wrists and ankles and couldn't quite believe his eyes. Harry's body, on the cusp of manhood, was smooth and pale, the muscles of his chest and limbs a faint sketch: here was the promise of a man with the softness of a boy. Louis' gaze fell to the most delicate part of him, which was fully roused and aching like his own.

Louis wanted to mount.

He reached out and stroked Harry's taut, hairless belly. The young Duke's naked body, which had never before been stroked, jolted at the sensation. How could he teach this body to yield to him, Louis wondered? It was one thing to rouse a boy it was quite another to make him surrender.

He picked up Harry's hand, kissed it and then placed it against his cheek. Come to me, darling, this touch said, there's nothing to fear. Remember how I kissed your hand after you pierced me with your arrow? I am as weak for you now as I was then.

Harry rested his cheek on the Duke's shoulder.

Ah, so tenderness was the key to unlocking his deepest desire.

Harry had never been held as a child, so instead of kissing and caressing him, Louis closed his arms around the boy and simply held him. "I care for you."

Harry held him back tightly. "I care for you too."

This simple act of kindness awoke a hunger in him that was unmatched in any of Louis' former lovers. He had been starved of affection his entire life and now craved the deepest form of affection one man could share with another.

He pressed the vial of oil into Louis' palm, then breathed a kiss onto Louis' lips and lay down, his chest flushed, his length resting hard against him. It was pink and pretty as every other part of him. Louis was desperate to take it in his mouth but he didn't dare touch it. He would save this pleasure for last.

Louis poured a generous amount of oil into his palm and then stroked it onto himself.

Watching this, Harry was seized by the urge to spread for the Duke. He turned over onto his belly and with one knee bent, parted his thighs.

Louis had never had a boy present himself so beautifully. "Oh Harry." It was so beautiful in fact that he lost whatever remained of his sanity and buried his face in Harry's virgin flesh.

Harry let out a frantic cry, not understanding what was happening but wanting it to keep happening all the same.

Dizzily, Louis' tongue lapped at that tiny pulsing point in which he was to enter. Harry mewed in anticipation, desperate for him to mount. But Louis wanted to hold onto this moment a little longer, savor the boy's innocence against his lips.

When the young Duke was sufficiently supple and yielding, and Louis could wait no longer, he straddled him and kissed the back of his head. A farewell to his virginity and the boy he once was.

"It's going to hurt, dearest one. Forgive me."

Harry gave him a determined nod, desire outweighing his fear.

Heavy and oiled, Louis began to breach the boy. Harry was so tiny here Louis almost felt guilty about how good it was going to feel. Almost.

Tenderly he pushed himself inside.

Harry drew a sharp breath while pleasure tore through Louis' body with the force of a Spartan army.

What cruel irony that one of life's greatest pleasures was the source of its greatest pains.

Harry muffled a sob with the lace pillow. He was trying to be brave. Louis had never been more grateful for a gift then the one Harry was giving him in this moment.

He smoothed a hand down the white plane of Harry's back to ease his pain. That's it, take all of me, darling. Slowly, the young Duke's body enveloped Louis in its velvety heat.

Louis lay on top of him and began to move with the shallowest of thrusts. The tenor of Harry's cries changed from lilting to low, on the precipice of pleasure. Louis couldn't help himself, he indulged and went deeper.

The candle on the sideboard wavered and Louis prayed it didn't go out. The sight of himself inside Harry was so glorious he wanted to witness every second of it and commit it to memory.

Harry looked over his shoulder and caught Louis in his green, half-lidded gaze, his lips wet and open in awe.

"It's deep," he mewed.

Louis crushed a kiss against these wanting lips, thrusting deeper still.

Harry cried out again and Louis nuzzled the nape of his neck to soothe him.

They continued this dance of wanting and thrusting and soothing, Harry tentatively finding pleasure in these deeper thrusts, while still too shy to say so, only hinting at it so Louis might guess.

Louis guessed.

However, Louis was so absorbed by the song of Harry's cries that he hadn't noticed his own or how close he was to release. He stopped and caught his breath, dabbing the sweat from his neck and brow. He needed to compose himself.

Propped up on one elbow, Harry turned with his backside tantalizingly exposed. "Spill inside of me."

Where did he learn to say such a thing!

This was certainly a welcome change from the surgical mask and fear of germs.

Then the boy got on all fours and arched his back beckoning Louis to reenter him. Demanding. Lovemaking brought out the aristocrat in him.

Oh, Louis would serve his young master. For the first time he did not hold back in any way. He gripped Harry's hips and plunged into him. Hard. "Is this what you long for, your grace?"

Harry's knees buckled. Shakily he got back up and struck a sinful pose, fully aware of his beauty and its effect on Louis. "You long to spill inside me."

The cheek of it! Louis wrestled him onto his back and pinned his wrists to the bed. "You're quite sure of yourself," he panted, "aren't you?"

"Am I?" he said innocently.

Louis hooked Harry's leg over his shoulder and nipped his inner thigh. Harry was not prepared for this sensation and gasped.

"Not as sure as I am."

Then Louis' breath grazed the tender manhood that he had planned to savor for a moment exactly such as this. Harry wriggled beneath him, the tenor of his cries reaching a fever pitch. There were many things Louis could have done, many things he wanted to do, but Harry was so tender, so sensitive that in the end all he needed to do was kiss it and Harry unraveled, pulsing and spilling all over his own small chest.

With Harry completely undone beneath him, Louis reentered his lax body with ease. Harry's cherub lips and curls appeared at once innocent and sinful splayed out with his sweet nectar on his hairless chest.

Even in his state of euphoria, the boy widened his thighs for Louis to move more deeply inside him, making his body the perfect instrument of pleasure so that they may be in bliss together.

It didn't take long. Louis thrust and spilled deeply, shuddering and shaking, his sweaty brow collapsing in the crook of Harry's neck.

Now it was Harry's turn to soothe him. He stroked the back of Louis' head until he was fully sated and his breathing even. How sweet he was!

Louis drank a kiss from the young Duke's open mouth. These were the aimless kisses of those who were wholly content and longed for nothing else in this world.

Then they began the messy business of untangling their bodies.

They looked down and Louis seed seeped out of Harry onto the lace-trimmed sheets. He took the towel and gently cleaned Harry's chest first and then the rest as best he could. Harry looked away embarrassed but embarrassment was a lovely problem to have given the conflict that plagued them just a day earlier. To think that they might not have forgiven each other! Might not have shared this night!

Louis hastily wiped himself down and fell onto the pillow beside him, utterly exhausted.

Harry had almost returned to himself. He looked at Louis expectantly and said, "I enjoyed that very much."

Louis couldn't help but laugh at his gentility. As though they'd just spent an illuminating evening at the theatre.

"Shall we discuss the parts we liked best? I like your--"

"Shhhhhh." Good Lord, was he planning to write a review? Louis wrapped his arms around the boy and mussed his hair. "Sleep, you minx!"

"I'm not at all tired."

How could he not be tired? Louis was near death!

He assumed they would spend the rest of the evening asleep in each other's arms, but Harry was feeling chatty and took this opportunity and Louis' weakened state to corner him into the conversation he'd been dying to have since the very first second they met: he began to describe his coin collection.

"You see, most collectors mistakenly focus on Ancient Greece and the Romans: Alexander the Great, Augustus. These are popular, not rare mintages. I myself have hundreds, but I digress. What sets my collection apart is its Eastern emphasis..."

He went on and on.

This talk should have bored Louis, but he found himself listening with rapt attention, his heart bursting with fondness. There was nowhere else he would rather be. And as he stared at Harry, he saw not a Duke, but his love for his brother reborn.

Harry put a finger to his lips and in deep thought said, "Actually, I believe I brought a Sassanian coin with me. I can show you what I mean." He got up and tiptoed naked to the chiffonier.

Louis marveled at this. Here was the boy who earlier that night was so shy he undressed beneath the sheets. And now his long, pale limbs and darling bottom, slick with oil and Louis' seed, were proudly on display. He felt himself rouse again as he watched the young Duke flip through his coin album.

Harry examined the mintmark under a magnifying glass to make sure it was the correct coin when Louis came up behind him. He knew he shouldn't indulge in the boy again. They had to ride in the morning. It wasn't right. But he couldn't resist.

"Fascinating," Louis said, kissing his shoulder and placing the coin atop the chiffonier.

Harry's hands chased after the piece of silver until he felt Louis hard against his backside and drew a surprised breath. Then, as though it were an instinct more natural then breathing, he leaned forward and braced himself against the chiffonier to let his lover in.

Since Louis had already indulged twice, what was a third time or a fourth?

It could be an action as simple as Harry walking across the room naked or sighing or twining a curl around his finger and Louis would find himself hard and needing to be inside him again and again and again...

♞

Louis was awoken by a knock on the bedchamber door.

It was barely dawn and they'd had less than an hour's sleep. The clock's porcelain dial, an accomplice in last night's passions, now mocked him.

He slipped on his undergarment and answered the door, careful not to disturb Harry who was asleep naked on top of the sheets, swimming in lace and linen.

He rubbed his eyes and turned the brass knob. It was Harry's valet.

"Good morning, Charles," Louis yawned, taking the silver breakfast tray from his hands. "No need to bring me anything, I'll have a nibble of Harry's toast."

The valet wouldn't let go. His face turned white as paint and the tray rattled in his shaking hands. "You most certainly will not!"

Harry stirred face down on the bed behind him. "I'm sore," he moaned.

Charles dropped the tray and ran to his master's bedside. "What has he done to you? Are you hurt, your grace? I'll fetch a doctor."

Louis was dumbfounded. "Pardon me, can you please clean this mess?"

The valet was hysterical. "You're a monster!"

Louis blinked. "Harry, do your servants not understand that they're servants?"

Harry sat up and was, for some bizarre reason, deferential to his valet. "I'm not hurt, Charles! I swear it!"

His valet began to wrap the sheet around him, shielding him from Louis' eyes. "We'll go to your mother and together you can go to the magistrate. We won't let this brute get away with it."

"Can't you see? He's my lover!"

"Don't use that language!" Charles scolded.

Then Louis' valet Teddy walked in. He must have been preparing for the hunt because his hair was standing on end like he'd been tearing it out all morning.

Louis looked up at the heavens. "Teddy, thank goodness! Clean this mess and draw us a hot bath. Tell the club the hunt has been postponed. The Duke of Somerset is unable to ride."

"POSTPONED!" Now Teddy was yelling. Had everyone gone mad?

All of this squabbling was trying Louis' patience. "Out! Both of you!" he ordered. "Send a maid to clean this mess, and prepare us a bath in the lavatory. I'm tired of having to explain myself to you lowborns."

"What do you mean 'prepare us a bath'?" Charles said, scrutinizing Louis through his spectacles. "Surely you don't mean to bathe together!"

Even Harry who had spent the entire night being defiled was scandalized at the suggestion. "Can we do that?"

"We're dukes, we can do whatever we like."

Teddy dragged a protesting Charles out of the room, muttering obscenities under his breath about the abrupt change in schedule.

When the door clicked behind them Harry arched an eyebrow and flung the sheet off his body. "So, a bath. Does that mean we're no longer getting dirty?"

"Don't tempt me, minx!" he said, slipping on a dressing robe. "This is a serious matter. I need you fully recovered by tomorrow morning. If I postpone the hunt another day Teddy will have my head."

"Don't your servants understand that they're servants?" he teased.

Louis tackled him on the bed and Harry laughed.

♞

Both valets were standing stiffly in the bright, tiled lavatory with towels neatly folded over their arms. Steam rose from the claw foot tub. The water, scented with lavender oil, and dotted with the flower as a flourish, was an oasis made for lovers. Louis dipped a hand inside to test the temperature. It was hot and would make Harry's skin flush to the same delicious pink when they made love.

They disrobed and climbed in together, Harry holding Louis' hand for balance.

Charles coughed loudly, noting his disapproval.

Louis glared at him.

Once in the bath, Harry dunked his head and emerged blinking droplets of water off his lashes, purple petals clinging to his dark wet hair. Louis did the same, and water spilled over the side of the cast iron tub onto the travertine floor. The tub was large enough for two but small enough that they had to bend their knees to fit.

Charles picked up a sponge and prepared to wash his master's back like he always did, when Louis snatched it from his hand. "I'll do that."

Harry turned around and nestled between his lover's legs. Louis dismissed the valet with the flick of his wrist.

It looked like Charles might lunge for Louis so Teddy held him back and kept him in line.

"How can you tolerate this?" Charles hissed.

Louis' valet looked through Charles as though he hadn't slept in decades. "I have bigger problems."

Even Harry's bare shoulders aroused Louis, and since their valets couldn't see inside the tub, he pressed himself against the small of Harry's back.

"I can't bear a whole day without it," Harry whispered.

Harry, who had gone his whole life with scarcely an embrace, now couldn't bear the thought of going a single day without Louis inside him! Egad!

"This is cruel," Harry complained with a splash. "Why should I be denied pleasure? I don't even like hunting! It's stupid! Can't I stay back at the manor and wait for you in bed?"

"Will you listen to yourself? You can't miss the hunt. It's ungentlemanly! I will pleasure you in other ways," Louis promised, moving the sponge between his legs.

"Yes, kiss it," Harry agreed.

"You know, Harry, some people do more than just kiss it... Some people put it in their mouths."

Harry tilted his head. "You're lying."

Sweet, sweet boy.

Louis was smiling. Charles was most definitely not.

"I'll show you later," Louis whispered.

They massaged soaps and fine oils into each other's skin. They kissed and laughed, their voices echoing off the white tiled walls. Harry caressed him in the water discreetly, away from the prying eyes of their valets. Though when Louis caressed Harry there was no mistaking it because he would stop laughing and grow quiet and adorably serious. Louis considered bringing the boy to climax right in front of Charles--when Teddy interrupted them.

"Are you clean, your grace?" he asked, pocket watch swinging from his index finger.

They waited for Harry's excitement to subside.

Harry held his breath, dunked one last time and emerged shaking his head like a dog. "All clean!" He looked at Louis and grinned.

They stepped out of the tub. Teddy wrapped a fluffy Turkish towel around Louis' shoulders. Charles placed a towel over Harry in that frigid manner particular to those at Somerset, scarcely touching him.

"You're doing it wrong!" Louis snapped. "It's a wonder he hasn't frozen to death already!" He pushed himself between them to swaddle Harry and hug him until he was warm. Then he kissed his cheek and dressed him in his robe before putting on his own.

"I'll take breakfast in my brother's bedchamber this morning," he told Teddy. "The Duke's bedchamber."

Teddy nodded.

They had the whole day ahead of them with nothing to do but restore Harry to health. He couldn't remember the last time he was so happy.

Harry linked an arm through his on the way to the bedchamber. "What shall we do all day since you refuse to mount me?"

Was this a question or a dare?

"Do you know how to play chess?"

"I happen to be an excellent chess player. Care to make a wager?"

Louis smirked. "Why not. I'm feeling lucky."

♞

William wandered through the halls of the east wing, hoping to run into his master. The night Louis cast William out of his bedchamber he followed the Duke downstairs to the library and overheard the Duke of Somerset confess everything. He heard all about the Duke conspiring with his master's cousin and lying. Now that his master saw him for what he was, surely he could no longer love him.

William memorized everything he planned to say. The proper thing would have been to write it in a letter but he couldn't read or write well enough to prepare such a document. A failed attempt would only embarrass them both. Instead he would ask his master if he was well and then apologize for debasing himself and making his master cross and say that his heart still belonged to him and it always would.

He brought a rag and polish with him. He hoped he could shine his master's boots as a peace offering, making them gleam the way he did that day when they were boys and the Duke so kindly remarked that he could see his reflection in them.

When he walked past his master's bedchamber door he noticed the Duke's valet Teddy inside fishing a chessboard out of the trunk in the corner.

"Where is the Duke? Why aren't you preparing for the hunt?"

"Oh, hello William," he said with a frazzled sigh as he tucked the chessboard beneath his arm. "The hunt has been postponed. The Duke is in his brother's bedchamber."

"Why's that?" William asked.

"He's having breakfast with the Duke of Somerset."

William's heart fell to the pit of his stomach.

"I thought he left yesterday."

"He changed his mind and decided to stay." On his way out the door the valet remembered something. "Make sure Charlotte snuffs out the fire. The maid lit it assuming the Duke would be taking breakfast in his bedchamber. Tell her she needn't light it again until after the hunt... I reckon he'll be staying with the Duke of Somerset for the duration of his visit."

Gutted, William looked at the fire, flames reflected in his glassy black eyes. How could his master go back to the man who betrayed him? William had never betrayed him! He had always been loyal. Look what loyalty brought him.

Then he became angry.

What did the Duke of Somerset do to earn his master's love? Why was he deserving of happiness while William was made to suffer? Born with nothing, he slept like a dog in the kitchen where his mother worked, clawed his way up to pageboy when most bastards would have been turned out on the street, then became footman and later first footman, all before he turned sixteen. It was unheard of. Everyone asked him how he did it. The answer was simple. He worked. Every hour of every day until his fingers bled and he collapsed with exhaustion.

He glanced at the sideboard and spotted the French medical journal. He picked it up. Peppered throughout was the unmistakable penmanship of his master. As he flipped through the pages he remembered what the Duke of Somerset said about the journal. Pages six to eleven of this same volume were the catalyst of the fire that took the Duke's family, and were now in his cousin's possession.

He flipped to these exact pages and one by one, tore them out and threw them into the fire. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. He watched as the paper ignited and curled into ash.

The young maid, Charlotte, entered the room. "I was told to put the fire out," she said.

"Let it burn."

He stormed past her with the journal in his fist and she yelled, "You're needed in the servants hall. Where are you going?"

"To find Sir Clarence."

A/N: Yes, I sprung William's POV on you for the first time without warning. The prolétariat are rising up!

What do you think Clarence's reaction will be to the journal?

The main event in the next chapter will of course be H & L's bedroom chess game (and maybe more...)

Will Louis be able to resist Harry's charms???

Will Teddy finally snap? Will Charles?

The good news is, the fox lives another day!

Pictured above are Apollo and his young boyfriend, Cyparissus (by Claude-Marie-Paul Dubufe, who painted during the Victorian era). Not to be confused with Apollo's other young boyfriend, Hyacinthus. Can Greek mythology let me live?