Page 76 of Restored

“It wasn’t obvious to me,” Henry said. “Sometimes I wondered, but then we’d part and I’d tell myself I was just another client to you, nobody special.”

Kit gave a harsh laugh. “Christ, Henry. You were probably the most interesting man I’d ever met—you talked to me about things that no one else had before, like I was just as worthy of having opinions as anyone else. And you were affectionate and sweet to me in ways I’d never experienced. Not just in bed, though of course, I loved everything we did in bed—I never had to pretend anything with you.”

Henry stared at him, astonished.

“The real question,” Kit continued, “is whyyoulovedme—a common prostitute with nothing to commend him but a pretty face.”

“Nothing but a pretty face?” Henry repeated incredulously. He got out of his chair and went to his knees before Kit. “Oh, you wereverybeautiful, Kit—you still are—but you were so much more than your appearance.” He took hold of Kit’s right hand in his own and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “You were kind and decent and sweet-natured.” He swallowed hard. “You still are all of those things. These last weeks, you could have put me through the mill—you know I’d have let you do it—but instead you’ve shown me nothing but kindness and understanding.”

Kit’s eyes swam with sudden tears. “You credit me with too much,” he said. “I can assure you, I have entertained plenty of unkind thoughts.”

“You credit yourself too little,” Henry said fiercely. “You always did.” He took hold of Kit’s other hand and bent his head over it, pressing his lips passionately to the knuckles. “Christopher,” he whispered. “Kit.”

His throat closed up so completely, he could say no more, but he felt like he might burst with the words inside him. Passionate, reckless words.

I love you still.

Was that true?

Was he still in love with Christopher Redford? Was it madness to be thinking that way so soon? To be wondering if they could build some kind of life together after all these long years apart, when they’d only just met again?

Henry looked up to find Kit gazing down at him warily.

He wanted to ask Kit if he thought he could ever love him again, but his courage was running out, and then—before he could utter another word—there was a knock at the door.

Kit tugged his hands free and Henry reluctantly rose to his feet.

When Kit bid the person on the other side to enter, a maid peeped her head round the door. “Pardon for interrupting, sir, but Mr. Gardiner's here.”

Kit hesitated for a moment, then he said. “Show him into the drawing room.”

Once the maid had withdrawn, Kit turned to Henry, his expression apologetic. “My neighbour,” he said by way of explanation. “It'll be about the roof repairs, I expect.”

It was such a stupidly prosaic thing to interrupt one of the most important conversations of Henry’s life. Perhaps, though, Kit had welcomed the interruption? Perhaps he did not want Henry grovelling at his feet, invoking the past?

Unsure what to do, Henry stared at Kit helplessly. But then, miraculously, Kit said carefully, “I know it’s only been a few days, but do you want to come to Redford’s tonight?”

“Yes,” Henry said quickly, his tension easing at the knowledge he would see Kit again soon. “What time?”

“I have something I must do this evening, for Clara,” Kit said. “But any time after eleven will be fine.”

Excitement for the evening ahead buoyed Henry’s footsteps all the way back to Curzon Street and carried him through dinner with Marianne and Jeremy, even though Jeremy was unusually subdued, and Marianne was peevish and picky with her food.

“You’re not in the best of moods, my dear, are you?” Henry observed mildly when she snapped at him for the third time.

Alarmingly, tears sprang to Marianne’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said miserably. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I’ve been feeling blue-devilled all day.”

Henry met Jeremy’s helpless gaze.

Leaning over the table, Henry patted Marianne’s hand. “It’s nothing to worry about, my dear,” he said. “Your mother used to get the same way when she was carrying.”

Marianne dabbed at her face with her napkin and gave him a watery smile, which she extended to her husband. “Perhaps I’ll go to bed. I don’t feel like eating just now. Mary can bring me something later if I'm hungry.”

Jeremy stood up. “I’ll help you upstairs, my dear.”

Left to his own devices, Henry finished his dinner and poured himself another glass of wine. His mind drifted, circling back to his conversation with Kit earlier, and the promise of what would follow later tonight.

A quarter hour later, Jeremy returned to the dining room.