He put down his book when they walked in. “Thank God you’ve taken pity on me,” he said. “I’m thinking of hobbling to the window and throwing myself out into the snow from pure ennui.”
“Alas, I bring ill tidings,” Strange said, throwing himself into an armchair. “I’ve insulted young Harry here, and he’s determined to leave the house since my mind is black as a privy. I do have that phrase right, don’t I, Harry?”
She scowled at him.
“Black as a privy!” Villiers said, his eyes showing some interest. “I agree, I agree. What on earth inspired such a diatribe?”
“There is no need to go into particulars,” Harriet said stiffly.
“I have an uncommonly pretty stable boy,” Strange said, ignoring her. “I’m afraid that I assassinated your protégé’s character by jumping to the conclusion that Harry was interested in an intimate relationship with the boy. To do myself justice, he was kissing him. Such a neophyte as I am, I’ve never seen a man kiss a man, except in France, of course.”
“I kiss men often,” Villiers said. “Just to make them flustered. Remind me to kiss you on our next meeting, Strange.”
“I shall look forward to it,” Strange said.
“You really should forgive him,” Villiers said to Harriet. “The man lives in the country. How does he know how civilized people behave to each other?”
“But he suggested—” Harriet said.
Villiers lifted his hand. “Just so. One abhors to mention these things, dear Harry, but that does not make them disappear. Strange is right to look out for his people, stable boys and all.”
If put that way, Harriet had to agree.
“The proper thing to do in this circumstance,” Villiers continued, “is to tell Strange that if he plays the fool with you again you’ll pummel him so hard that he’ll fart crackers.”
“Fart crackers,” Harriet said, laughing despite herself. “You mean fire-crackers? Right.”
“Like to see you try,” Strange said.
“Please don’t leave tonight,” Villiers added. “I was sadly brought down by the journey here, but this afternoon I felt the first glimmer of hope that I might actually be able to emerge from this damned velvet nest.”
“I thought you liked this suite,” Strange said.
“Inexorably vulgar,” Villiers said. “Blue velvet. Paugh!”
“I am learning so much tonight,” Strange said. “But here’s another little problem for you to solve, Strange. I don’t think you’ve met the Graces. They’re a lovely troupe of young women. If you’d like to paint them, they’re agreeable. If you’d like them to sing or dance or otherwise inspire you, they’re capable of doing that too.”
“Wonderful,” Villiers said. “I’m not up to being inspired, but I grieve at my loss, truly I grieve.”
“At the moment they are rehearsing an inspiring performance of madrigals to be sung while dressed as angels,” Strange said.
“A performance designed for a bishop,” Harriet added.
“Dear me, how lucky the Episcopancy is sometimes,” Villiers said. “Nothing half so thrilling ever comes my way.”
“That’s just it,” Strange said. “One of the Graces, a lovely young thing by the name of Kitty, has offered a private performance to myself and Cope. That is, I believe she meant to offer it just to Harry, but I elbowed my way into the party.”
“Ungracious,” Villiers said. “You are growing more countrified by the moment, Strange. Don’t ever do that if one of the young ladies offers me a private performance. I should be forced to run you through. Miss Kitty agreed to perform for both of you, did she? An enterprising young woman.”
“Exactly,” Strange said. “Now, it occurs to me that perhaps young Harry here is not ready for some of the more exuberant aspects of Kitty’s likely performance.”
“While in Rome, do as the Romans,” Villiers said cheerfully.
Harriet blinked at him. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting that she…
“Cum in Roman, esit as il Romani,” Strange said, in what Harriet presumed to be Latin. And then, disastrously, he turned to Harriet and asked her a question, again in Latin.
Harriet panicked. She didn’t understand a word of it, and yet of course as a young gentleman she ought to. Every gentleman understood Latin.
Villiers smoothly cut into the conversation with a Latin remark of his own. Whatever he said, it seemed to shut up Strange. He nodded sharply. There was an odd, wild light in his eyes that made Harriet a bit nervous, but at least he didn’t keep talking in Latin or expect her to say anything in reply.
Harriet shot Villiers a quick glance. She didn’t dare look pleading in front of Strange, but obviously she had to avoid Kitty somehow. Because it was clear that what Kitty and Strange had in mind—whatever that was exactly—was nothing she wanted to join.
“I have just affirmed to my friend Strange that I certainly want you, young Harry, to come into your manhood,” Villiers said.
“You did,” Strange said. “You did.”
“And yet…”
“Exactly,” Strange said. They smiled at each other.
Villiers’s skin was so white it looked blue. Some might call him haggard due his thinness, and yet somehow his loss of flesh just emphasized his masculinity. He looked like a fierce lion, temporarily caged, beaten and starved, but still deeply dangerous. Wild at the core.
Strange was entirely different: lean but muscled. He had the look of someone who had walked through hell—or a lot of brandy—and come out the other side wiser, tougher, and with his sense of humor intact.
The sardonic lines by the sides of his mouth deepened every time he looked at her and she finally knew the name to put on that emotion: laughter. She was dying to know what they said to each other in Latin, and yet she couldn’t ask.
“Well, Harry,” Villiers said. “Would you like to handle young Kitty alone?” He was daring her. She saw it in his eyes, the spark of delight there in the fact that he was putting her on the spot.
Villiers had told her that men were straightforward and use Anglo-Saxon words. Was fornicate an Anglo-Saxon word? It was the only one that came to mind, and it sounded too pedantic.
She raised her chin. “I’m looking forward to meeting Kitty,” she said. “Privately.” She turned to Strange with a show of deference. “If you’ll forgive me, my lord.”
“Not at all,” Strange said promptly, that strange laughing light in his eyes again. “I think you and Miss Kitty will have a truly delightful time in private, and I would just be in the way.”
“Exactly,” Harriet said.
“Couldn’t I watch?” he asked. “I have a room with a hidden peep-hole.”
She blinked but there was laughter in his voice. She was beginning to tell when he was serious and when he was laughing.
“Stop taking the piss out of my ward,” Villiers said, his voice sounding more tired than it had a moment ago. “The day you need to get pleasure by watching another couple perform is my last visit here.”
Strange laughed. “You never know. I could whisper encouragement to Harry through the arras.”
