Kit’s heart thudded in his chest as he remembered that first night and the young god who had done nothing to disguise his interest in Kit. He’d felt powerful that night, in a way he never had before. The patrons of the Lily usually liked to exercise their power over the men they bought, issuing commands, relishing the eager obedience of the whores. But Henry had looked at Kit with something like wonder in his eyes. It had made Kit feel like a person—a man—in a way he never had before.
“The negotiation was a joke,” Henry said ruefully. “The madam gave me a list of demands and I agreed to them all. I just wanted you as soon as I could get you. And then, once I had you, everything you did was so perfect. It never”—he broke off for a moment before continuing—“it never occurred to me to ask for anything different. You would say, shall I suck you? or would you like to fuck me now? and whatever it was, it would always sound like a wonderful notion.”
Yes, Kit recognised the truth of those words. He had gently managed Henry when they’d been together. At the time, he’d thought Henry was indulging him in allowing it, like a favourite pet. Now he wondered if Henry had just preferred being somewhat passive.
“After Caroline died, and I left London—and you—there was a long time when I did not so much as touch another man. Years. At first, there were too many other things to worry about, and I was not inclined anyway. But later, when my desires began to reassert themselves, I tried to suppress them. I told myself I would not return to my old ways. But”—here, his voice cracked—“they would not be suppressed, Kit. The more I tried, the more urgently they loomed in my mind. The more I denied myself, the more tormented I became. I almost lost my mind, I think. One night I considered—” He broke off and turned to look at Kit with despair in his grey gaze.
“Henry—” Kit leaned forward, laying his hand on Henry’s thigh, needing some kind of physical connection with him. Thinking of Henry enduring such pain was intolerable.
Henry covered Kit’s hand with his own. “It was a terrible night,” he said. “But I survived it and it was only in that moment of despair that I was able to see the truth.”
“The truth?”
Henry smiled sadly. “That, for better or worse, this is part of me. That I could not continue ignoring that and live.”
Kit swallowed against the lump that had lodged in his throat.
Henry absently stroked Kit’s hand. “I wrote to an old friend who gave me an introduction to a place in Trowbridge where I could go. It was not a brothel—just a place where one could meet other men and find some relief. Temporary companionship.”
Kit nodded his understanding. The thought of Henry being reduced to brief, furtive encounters devoid of any affection, made his heart ache. Henry was not like that.
Henry frowned. “I’m taking a very long time to get to the point, aren’t I?” he said.
“That’s all right,” Kit said softly. “I’m more than happy to listen.”
Henry took a deep breath and let it out. “I suppose what I’m trying to say, Kit, is that I very much wanted this. That, until now, I’ve not really had so much choice about what I did in the bedchamber. I denied myself for so very long. And when I wasn’t doing that, I took what I could get, what I was offered, what others guessed I wanted. I’ve not been very good at saying—or even knowing—what I wanted.”
Kit watched him, saying nothing, but his heart ached for Henry.
“And then,” Henry said, his voice almost wondering, “I found you again, and you said those things to me about putting me on my knees and making me take your cock.” He stopped. Met Kit’s gaze fully. “I wanted that. And when I got down on my knees for you last week, it felt like the only place I ever wanted to be. Serving you like that.” He let out a long, shaky breath. “When I got home after, I could think of nothing else. Only that and coming back here to ask for more. For this.”
They stared at one another, and Kit could not look away.
“So, you see,” Henry said softly, “I did not offer myself up to you as some kind of penance. If anything, I was taking from you, again. Taking my own selfish pleasure; fulfilling my own desires. You have nothing to feel guilty about.” He sighed. “Does that answer your question?”
It answered a great deal more than that single question, Kit thought, but he didn’t say so. Only nodded, and leaned closer to kiss Henry’s cheek.
“I’m glad—” he began, then stopped. I’m glad you didn’t do whatever it was you were considering that night, when you were in despair. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud though. Instead, he whispered, “I’m glad you came tonight.”
Henry turned his head a little, so their lips brushed and their eyes met. “I’m glad too,” he whispered, and in that moment, it felt to Kit as though all the years since the end of their long-ago love affair had dissolved to nothing. The man beside him was the same Henry he had fallen in love with, and this was how they’d sat together so many times before, in a nest of tangled sheets, staring into one another’s eyes, sharing the very air that they breathed.
“May I say something?” Henry whispered.
“Of course,” Kit said.
“You’ll stop me if I offend you?”
Kit laughed softly. “Yes.”
Henry paused, then he said, “When I call you Christopher, I’m certainly not thinking of you as an agreeable whore.”
Kit stared him, shocked into silence.
“I’m thinking of someone rather wonderful,” Henry said. “Someone I admired from the first moment I saw him.” He paused, then added, “Earlier you said you were naive when I first met you. I wouldn’t say so. I would say you were kind and decent and generous. You were entitled to expect the same from others—from me—and the fact you didn’t get that doesn’t point to any defect in you, Kit. I hate that you’d think that.”
Kit’s throat closed, unexpected emotion gripping him.
“I’ll call you Kit,” Henry said gently. “I’ll call you anything you want. I just want you to know that there was nothing wrong with you when you were Christopher.”
To his shame, Kit felt the hot prickle of tears behind his eyes and he pulled back, turning his head so that Henry couldn’t look at him as he calmed himself.
Henry sat quietly, but Kit could feel the man watching him, waiting.
When he felt he had himself back under control, Kit said, “Last week, after you left, I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened all those years ago.”
“Me either,” Henry said softly.
“I want you to know,” Kit said slowly, “that I forgive you, Henry, For not coming to see me before you left town. For sending Parkinson instead.”
Henry looked anguished. “But I shouldn’t have trusted him. I should have—”
“You saying that is like me calling myself naive,” Kit interrupted. “You trusted a man you had no reason to be suspicious of—you are not to blame for his betrayal, Henry.”
“I should have come anyway,” Henry said. “I should have told you myself.”