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“Yes?” Henry said hoarsely.

Christopher was frowning. “That’s not why I’m letting you off,” he said. “It was never bad with you—not once.” He let go of Henry’s sleeve. “I’m not saying it was exactly how I wanted it, but it wasn’t like it was with Skelton or any of the others. I always”—he paused, met Henry’s gaze—“God help me, Henry, but I alwayswantedyou.”

Unbidden, Henry felt tears prickle in his eyes. He swallowed hard.

“Thank you,” he said, thickly. “I’d be wretched if I thought you’d hated it.”

Christopher smiled then, a sweet curve of his mouth that Henry remembered so well, and that had his heart twisting in his chest.

Impulsively he said, “Howdidyou want it with me, Christopher?”

Christopher looked almost comically surprised to be asked. He jerked his head away, lifting his champagne glass to his lips as though afraid Henry might see something betraying.

When he finally lowered the glass, he said, “I suppose, I wanted it to be real.”

“Wasn’t it real?” Henry asked sadly. “It felt real.”

Christopher’s gaze was rueful. “It did, didn’t it? I thought that too.”

“But it wasn’t?”

Christopher shook his head. “When you’re a whore, your answer to every question is yes. Even when youwantto say yes, you are always aware that you can’t say no. It changes everything. It changes the very nature of who you are.”

The heaviness in Henry’s chest felt like grief. He blurted out, “I wish I could be with you without that between us, if only just once.”

Christopher stared at him for a long time, his green gaze searching Henry’s face.

“Do you mean that?” he whispered at last.

Henry nodded. “I do.”

Christopher considered that for what felt like a very long time. Then, finally, he said, “All right then, Henry. Come with me.”

15

Kit

Kit took Henry upstairs, to his private rooms, where he’d lived before he bought the house in Marylebone. He still used his old bedchamber occasionally, when it had been an especially long night, or he needed to be at the club early the next day, or when he wanted a nap before the evening ahead.

Henry was quiet as Kit led him into the bedchamber, watching as Kit used the chamber-stick to light the candles by the bed. The flames glowed weakly, then rallied, burning a little stronger and higher, casting flickering shadows against the wall.

He turned back to face Henry, excitement and fear twisting in his belly. The realisation of how much he wanted this—how much he still wanted Henry—alarmed him. His old feelings were surging up, like a milk pan boiling disastrously over, astonishing him.

Was it really only this afternoon that he’d first seen Henry again? Henry looked so familiar, standing there in the middle of the bedchamber. Almost as though no time had passed at all.

But things had changed—everything was, in fact, quite, quite different.

Now they stood before one another as equals, and Kit had the sudden, heady realisation that he was entirely in charge of this encounter.

“What shall I do with you?” He mused aloud.

Henry’s gaze was steady. He said, “Whatever you want, Christopher. I only want to serve you.”

Kit’s mouth went dry at that assurance, and his cock hardened. “Is that so?” he said breathlessly.

Henry nodded, and as if to make the point as clearly as possible, he sank to his knees on the rug.

The wave of lust that crashed over Kit at that sight was almost overwhelming. He tightened his hands into fists by his sides and said hoarsely, “You look very alluring like that, Henry, but I only want you to do it if you want it too. This is not a punishment.”