^^Because we finally get some heat between Wells and Langdon ;)^^

Hunting In the Dark

Being Part Memoir, Part Practical Guide To Zombi Hunts

By Charles Dickens

14 May.

(We were done for.)

I was done for. I am done for. Kissing Wilkes had been both the most reckless and the most thrilling thing I'd ever done. If Naomi hadn't walked in I would have been at his buttons, wanting to feel his bare skin under my hands as soon as I could get his clothes off. And now I couldn't control my feelings. Was it wrong that I wanted to look at Wilkes shirtless in the moonlight? Or to want to kiss him while I cupped his backside? Or go for a skinny-dip in a pond deep in the woods?

Then I had to tear my thoughts away from that. I was sure his thoughts weren't occupied with me, not in the way mine were. He hadn't resisted the kiss, and to my surprise he'd actually responded. But that in no way confirmed he had any feelings for me.

"Wells, you're distracted," said Naomi, snapping her fingers in front of my face. "Again."

"Sorry." I shook my head. "What were we looking for again?"

"Mr Dickens' hunting book," she said. "I've been to almost every bookshop in the area...I'm certain this one will have it."

"Right." I turned my attention back to the bookshelf in front of me, but I couldn't make myself focus on any of the titles there. My thoughts kept drifting back to Wilkes. How my fingers had felt in his silky-soft hair, how his lips had fit so perfectly against mine, how heat had radiated off him when he'd pressed up against me.

"Wells."

"Sorry." I blinked and looked away.

"What's gotten into you?" Naomi turned to face me. "You haven't been yourself."

"It's..." I twisted my pocket-watch chain around my finger. "If I say it here..."

"Langdon, isn't it?" she said, lowering her voice. "You're thinking about Langdon."

"Yes, but..."

"I understand," she said gently, laying one hand on my arm. "I do. You haven't been allowed to love anyone the way you want, between me, Papa, running our hunting business practically on your own. And now that I've seen that your feelings are genuine, I won't try to stand in your way anymore."

I shook my head. "Naomi, you weren't in the way."

"I was. We both know it. I didn't mean to throw myself so thoughtlessly at him, I just hadn't known...when I walked in on you two..."

"You mean you hadn't confirmed," I said, when she stopped herself.

"No...I mean-yes, I hadn't. But...it's all so confusing, you know, and..."

"I shouldn't have done it," I blurted. "It was too impulsive and rushed him into feelings I was hoping he had. I pushed him too far."

Naomi's brow furrowed. "You're saying these things after your first kiss?"

"I know, I just..." I fisted one hand in my hair, whirling back to the shelf. I spotted the book right away — Hunting In the Dark, C. Dickens — staring me in the face. I pulled it off the shelf and thrust it into Naomi's hands. "Here. I just need some air."

Then I turned on my heel and left the shop, without another word or a look back.

—

That night, as we sat by the fire, Naomi reading the Dickens book and me staring at a blank journal page and trying to figure out what to put on it, she brought it up again.

"Wells, I know you don't want to talk about what happened today, but—"

"No, I don't," I said, maybe a little too sharply.

"I was going to say..." She set Dickens down on her lap and scrubbed a hand through her damp loosened hair. "I think you were very brave, to do that when you were not sure of his feelings in return."

"Are you sure? Not just foolish?" I certainly felt like a fool.

"No. Maybe a little. But I've always known you to be brave, Wells. And it was no different this time...and sometimes you must take risks to find your happiness."

"Not if I ruin it for someone else," I said, thinking of her and Marjorie, who both seemed to have feelings for a boy who could never return them.

"I'll find my own, I promise." Naomi's smile was small and sad. "I only have to move past how I feel about Langdon."

"Naomi—"

"Wells. You must not worry about me. Please. For both our sakes. You know I love you. But sometimes you can be so stubborn." She sat back against the pillows and traced the patterns on the book cover. "One day I hope we will both find someone who makes us as happy as Mama made Papa."

I said nothing, but I knew she was right. About every word of it, to my irritation.

"Juliette!" Father barked from upstairs. "Come here!"

"I should go see..." She began to rise.

"I'll come," I said. I tossed the empty journal aside. "I'm not getting a thing done."

One side of her mouth tugged upward, just slightly. Then we tramped upstairs, where Naomi knocked gently on Father's door.

"Papa?"

The door whipped open and I had to yank Naomi out of the way as his rapier came thrusting through the crack, missing her by barely a hair.

"Father!" I pushed the door open, finding our father stark naked in the middle of the room, brandishing his rapier at both of us. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Ghosts," he rasped, his eyes widening. "Don't you see them?"

"No, Papa," Naomi said, pulling the blanket from the foot of his bed. "Where are your clothes, anyhow?"

"The ghosts, Juliette. They're all around us." He swung around, forcing me to duck, aiming the rapier at Naomi. "There's one behind you."

"Papa—"

With a sudden roar, he lunged at her. She screamed in surprise and terror, once again narrowly missing his weapon as she dodged – probably only by virtue of her own hunter reflexes. I snatched the blanket from her and tackled him, wrapping it around him and trapping his arms to his sides. We landed with a crash on the floor, where he struggled and snarled beneath me.

"Father!" I shouted, catching his head between my hands. "Stop!"

His eyes narrowed at me. "You."

With that he hocked a gob of spit in my face. I wasn't fast enough this time and some of it flew into my eyes, blinding me for a moment. Father surged up underneath me and knocked me backwards, his body wriggling out from my hold. Then his feet were thundering down the stairs, and just dimly I heard the front door bang open.

"Wells!" Naomi was kneeling next to me, her brimming eyes full of worry. "Are you all right? Did your head hit anything?"

"No," I groaned, propping myself up. "But never mind my head. Is Father...?"

"Wandering the streets naked?" She finished for me, and I nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid he is."

I picked myself up off the floor. The last time this happened, he'd been found hammering at a stranger's door, demanding to see the head of the hunter's guild. I had a feeling we would find him doing something similar this time. We just had to track him down before he got too far.

—

15 May.

By midnight, we still hadn't found him. We'd had to take valuable time to wrestle ourselves into our hunting gear, but hadn't bothered with a hackney. We'd just picked a direction and began searching.

"Who did he think you were, do you suppose?" Naomi asked me, as we huddled in a mews somewhere in Kentish Town. She hadn't braided her hair, and bright strands of it still showed under the hood of her cloak. It was one of those she began to wind around her finger, over and over.

"One of the Sellings, I'd bet," I said, tugging at straps of my gear. It was too tight to be worn over anything but an undershirt, but I hadn't had any time to change, which meant I'd had to strap it on over my shirt and waistcoat.

"He must have been deep in a hallucination, then," Naomi said sadly. "He isn't usually that violent."

"Yes, I'm almost positive he was."

A dark lumbering shape passed us on the cross-street, and just by its shuffling gait I could tell it was a zombi. Fortunately I'd come prepared this time — I'd brought my sabre, and Naomi a small reserve of gunpowder we reserved for this purpose. But I didn't think we'd have to fight one until I saw Father come wandering out of the shadow of the tenement building opposite us. His body was streaked with something brown, across his chest and abdomen, and he'd cut his thigh too, the blood dripping thick and dark down his leg. I heard Naomi stifle a sob.

"Augustus!" Father shouted. "Come out here and face me like a man! I know what you did!"

I cringed. It was late enough that mostly everyone had gone to bed, but his voice bounced off the walls and echoed up to the roofs — loud enough to wake them again.

"Augustus!" Father howled.

I saw the zombi pause at the street corner, then turn its head. Its blank eyes roamed the street, searching, until it found Father. Its nose lifted, scenting the air — I was fairly sure it smelled his blood.

I saw Father lose his footing off the pavement and fall hard on the cobbles, straight into a dirty puddle of refuse that had collected in a pothole. The zombi came shambling back towards Father, but he didn't seem to notice it.

"Why isn't he moving?" Naomi's voice broke. "He's just lying there..."

Then, suddenly, Father was up, running straight at the zombi with the same roar he'd used to catch me off-guard. He leaped on it and for a moment all I saw was his pale backside and sprawling legs. Then the zombi recovered, throwing Father back into the street with a congested-sounding snarl. It was up on its feet and after him in seconds.

"Now!" I hissed at Naomi, drawing my sabre from my belt. When there was no response, I had to raise my voice. "Naomi!"

"I'm coming!" I heard her voice crack, a grating of metal, and a breathless, sobbing curse. Then she emerged with her own weapon drawn. She had blood on her hand, but in the dark I couldn't see where it was coming from.

A moan from the zombi drew my attention back to it. Father was dragging himself across the ground, his ankle very clearly broken. The zombi was giving a slow lumbering chase, catching up quickly and stepping heavily on Father's ankle. He let out a wail of pain.

"No you don't," I snarled. I leaped out of the shadows and straight at the zombi, very clearly interested in the blubbering human trapped under its feet. It raised an arm, probably to dig its claws into Father's skin, and I swung my sabre at it. The blade sliced clean through, spurting black blood on me and on Father. The arm went flopping onto the street, hand opening and closing.

The zombi turned from Father to me, and I kicked it in the solar plexus. Its body bent double, then snapped upright immediately. It opened its mouth and let out a breath that smelled like rotting flesh, and I had to try very hard not to gag.

"Naomi!" I called. "A little help?"

The zombi's other arm came at me and I chopped it off at the elbow. One of its claws just barely missed my ear as I ducked. It took a step towards me, unbalanced now that its arms were gone. Behind it I could see Naomi helping Father into the shadows. So at least he'd escaped being bait tonight.

It kept coming, backing me towards the wall of the tenement behind me. I held my sabre out in front of me and it snapped at it, probably sensing what I could do with it.

Then, the heel of my boot caught on a loose cobble and I went pitching to the ground. My sabre went flying from my hand, clanging across the street. The zombi towered over me, its breaths coming faster now that it had me trapped.

Naomi was suddenly there behind it, running at it with the same kind of barbaric howl I used. She swung the sabre — my sabre — towards its neck. It turned, just barely catching sight of her before the blade severed its head from its body. The head went rolling into the puddle, and the body crumpled to its knees. Naomi stood watching it, breathing hard, her pale cheeks streaked with tears.

"That was brilliant," I said, picking myself up and wincing at my skinned elbow. But that was the worst of my injuries. "Good job."

"I'm not doing that again," she said, her voice cracking. She dropped the sabre with a clang.

"Naomi." I jogged to catch her, where Father was hidden in the mews. I caught her arm and she stopped in her tracks. "Wait."

"I hate this killing, Wells," she whispered, not looking at me. Tears coursed down her cheeks. "I can't do it."

I let her go, stunned. For all this talk of being the only female hunter, I knew she didn't do it by choice. And she'd said many times that she couldn't do it, and yet she did. But this time, it sounded as if she meant it.

"I'll help you dispose of it," she said, swiping at her face. "But then I'm done."

"Naomi—"

"Don't try to convince me otherwise, Wells." I heard a hard, sharp edge in her voice. "I just can't do it."

I didn't have anything to say to argue. There was no argument. Just like that, my sister had dissolved our partnership.

—

It took hours to clean Father up. For one thing, he was still deep in his delusions, grabbing at the air and sometimes catching something, most times my waistcoat front or a hank of Naomi's hair. For another, he was refusing to cooperate. He wouldn't sit still, squirming away from us and calling us demonic captors. At one point he seized my shirtfront and yanked me against him, his eyes burning with fury and terror.

"Where is Augustus? When will you let me see him?"

But finally, just as dawn was breaking, his hallucination seemed to ebb away. He sagged in the chair we'd had to tie him in, his jaw going slack. Naomi left the room to fetch a blanket to cover him, and once we were out of earshot in the dining room, she covered her face and slumped down into the nearest chair.

"Naomi—"

"Stop." She dropped her hands and looked up at me. Tears still ran down her face, and her lip was raw from her biting on it. "Please."

"I just want to know if...there's anything I can do."

"No," she said softly. "No. You can't."

"Did he hurt you?" I asked. "Father, I mean."

She shook her head. "What are we going to do, Wells? He'll get himself killed if he does that again."

I pulled out the chair next to her and collapsed into it. "I don't know."

"Will we have to tie him to his bed?" She raked her hand through her hair. "Sedate him? Lock his door and hide the key?"

"He'd find a way to escape those too."

"It killed me to see him that way," she whispered. "So...angry. Afraid."

I nodded in agreement. "And he won't remember a thing when he wakes up."

"He knew who I was, for just a moment," she said then, dropping her eyes to her lap. Her hair fell forward and hid her face. "While you were away in Bath, he...he said my name. Just once. It was the first time I'd ever heard it."

"He did?" That surprised me. Father seemed to not have any recollection of who Naomi was, although somewhere in his mind he must have known. After all, the ghost-madness hadn't touched him yet when she was born. But maybe he was mistaking her for our mother because he still grieved for her, every day, even seventeen years on.

"Yes." She swiped at her face, and her shoulders slumped. "He asked 'Where is your mother, Naomi?' Like he thought she'd...just popped downstairs for a moment. It broke my heart, Wells."

"What did you say?" I knew Naomi had taken our father's delusions in her stride, never once correcting him when he called her by our mother's name. But it hurt her, and I saw her pain every time he said it.

"I couldn't tell him the truth," she whispered raggedly, wiping furiously at her face. "I told him...she'd be back in a moment."

"Oh, Naomi..."

She covered her face and began to sob, and I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close. I wished happiness for her, something to take away this pain that ground on her constantly. Mine was no longer hidden, and thoughts of Wilkes soothed it like a balm. But I didn't know how to help her, and that was what hurt most.

—

I gave Father a heavy dose of laudanum mixed with valerian once we'd gotten him cleaned up, dressed, and into bed. He was out almost instantly, which gave Naomi the freedom to get some well-deserved rest of her own. I held her to my chest for a long time, telling her she didn't have to beat herself up so much and that I respected her decision to break off our partnership.

"You're so good to me, Wells," she whispered. "So good."

I couldn't say the same for me. The sky was turning grey when I stepped outside, and the mist was just lifting from the ground. I kept thinking, as I walked, about what had happened. Not last night, but between Wilkes and me. I'd had some sense he returned my feelings, especially when he'd said it in Bath. But he hadn't seemed sure, and I hadn't pushed it — not until I'd kissed him.

I clenched my fists in the pockets of my coat as I thought of it again, and how much I'd wanted more. How much I'd wanted to tear our clothes off and go at it then and there. But Wilkes would never do that. He would take it painfully slow—which may have been safer. I didn't want safe. I wanted hard, fast, skin, tongues, teeth.

That was how I saw the beginnings of the duel on the Heath. There were two pairs of them, one standing next to a tree and the other out in the opening. Curiosity nagged at me, and I found myself crossing the dew-wet grass towards them. As I got closer, I recognised the men — boys, all Institute by the look of them — facing off across a distance of at least twenty paces. The boy under the tree was Cornelius Selling, with a second boy I'd never seen before. The one out in the open was tall and fair-haired, his skin so pale he seemed to glow in the grey dawn light: Tobin Seaton, one of Wilkes's mates. And his second was a skinny, dark-haired boy, Wilkes's other mate Isham.

"Cornelius!" I called, before I could stop myself.

His head whipped around, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of me. "Hudson. What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, gesturing to their formation. "What are you doing, duelling like it's the bloody Napoleonic era?"

"He insulted my family," Cornelius snapped, jerking his chin at Seaton. "Called them rich and entitled and needed to be taken down a rung or two."

It was true, they did. Now that I knew the Sellings had history with my family as well, this was just as much my fight as anyone else's here. But I wouldn't resort to this.

"Why don't you solve it like civilised gentlemen of the Institute?" I said.

"Yes, because that's worked so well in the past," said Cornelius acidly. "I've no complaints about that yellow-belly Wilkes, long as he keeps my sister in her place. It's these two that need to be taught a lesson."

I felt my fists curl at Cornelius's insult. Wilkes was not a coward. In fact, I'd seen more bravery from him than I'd ever seen in Cornelius in all the years I'd known him.

"Mate, get out of the way!" Seaton called, hands cupped around his mouth. "Crossfire and all that!"

"You're not doing this!" I called back. "Both of you, put down your arms, now!"

Cornelius reached into his belt and pulled out a pistol. Seaton, opposite him, did the same.

"No!" I marched up to Cornelius, seized the front of his waistcoat, and backed him against the tree trunk behind him. "You cannot do this. I won't let you do this. You can destroy yourself, but you will not destroy Wilkes. Or your sister's chance at happiness. And I guarantee you that if you go through with this, you'll do both."

"And you're going to stop me?" Cornelius sneered. Then he leaned in to hiss in my face. "Queer?"

I told myself not to lose my temper. Not to waste a good punch on him. But I let go of him and took a step back, only so I could curl my fist and hit him squarely in the jaw. His head snapped backward and the pistol dropped from his hand. I came at him again, landing on his cheek this time. He had barely recovered from the first hit, and stumbled backwards.

"All right! All right!" He put his hands up in surrender when I had him pinned to the tree by his neck, my fist drawn back for a final blow. "I won't do it! I'm calling it off!"

"You'd better tell him that," I said, jerking my chin at Seaton. "Go on. Tell him."

"It's off!" he called to Seaton. "Duel's off!"

I heard grumbling from Seaton's direction, but no protests. As soon as I was sure that the two of them were gone, I let go of Cornelius.

"You disgust me," I growled. "You let your sister go to the sacrificial slab every time your egotistical father and uncle want to feel powerful. You let her endure that pain over and over without a thought of how it affects her. You allow your entire family to participate in a ritual which should not even be happening. You deserve to be taken down a few rungs."

"I suppose that's your authority?" he sneered.

"No. But I know you'll keep doing it, Cornelius. I know you'll let your sister suffer. And one day that will come back to haunt you."

"Is that a threat, Hudson?" he shouted after me as I turned and walked away. "Hudson! Are you threatening me?"

"Wait and find out!" I shouted back without missing a stride. My knuckles throbbed, but I didn't mind it. They'd been used to hit Cornelius Selling's bigoted face. In my opinion, that was a good cause.

—

Somehow I ended up outside the Wilkes house, even though I hardly remembered walking all the way here. But I knew I'd been thinking about him, and how punching Cornelius Selling had me feeling as tall as a god.

One of the upper windows lit up with a soft glow, and I saw a shadow moving around behind the curtains. It wasn't big enough to be Wilkes's father, which meant it had to be him. Something about this felt wrong and right at the same time, and with that thought in mind I picked up a pebble from the street and tossed it at the glass.

The shadow stopped moving. I threw another one, and then the curtains twitched open. Wilkes's face appeared, and I waved at him. His eyebrows went up in surprise, and his mouth said Wells? with no sound.

Then the curtains fell back into place and the light disappeared. I waited for just a moment before the front door opened and Wilkes was motioning me inside quickly.

"I wanted to—" I started, but Wilkes's hand covered my mouth.

"Shh. Father's a very light sleeper in the mornings." He glanced upstairs. "Go to the kitchen. He won't hear us in there."

Then he was backing away and nodding down the hall. I was still short of breath from his proximity a second ago, and it took me another moment to get going.

"Wells," he whisper-hissed. "You're staring."

"Sorry." I shook my head and turned away, towards the hall. I'd taken note of his state of dress: half-buttoned shirt, tousled hair, stockinged feet. This wasn't the Wilkes I usually saw, all dressed up in his best clothes.

He joined me a short time later, looking me up and down. "How are you always fully dressed?"

I shrugged. "Early riser?"

"I'd offer you some tea, but seeing that I can't brew any to save my life—"

"I'll make it," I said. I felt nervous, and I didn't know why.

"Oh, would you? Then Father won't be so stroppy at breakfast."

I raised an eyebrow. "Would he be impressed with your sudden tea-making abilities?"

Wilkes took a deep breath and let it out heavily. "I doubt I'll impress Father with anything."

I said nothing about that. Instead I glanced around at the well-appointed kitchen, shiny and gleaming. Nothing like ours. In fact, nothing in this house was like ours. Everything looked newer, cleaner, better-made, and hardly used.

"Where do you keep the tea things?"

Once the tea was steeping, I followed Wilkes back down the hall towards the sitting room. I remembered it from our only other visit here: the red drapes, red furniture, red wallpaper.

Except he wasn't headed there. Just before he reached it he stopped at a door I hadn't noticed before, took out something long and slim from his trouser pocket, and began to pick the lock.

"Wilkes," I whispered. "What are you doing?"

"Shh. Just wait a moment," he whispered back.

The door opened with a click, and he quickly pushed it open and motioned me inside. I stepped through, and once he had followed me he shut the door and near-darkness fell over us. The only light was from the window on the far wall, grey and weak.

"What is this place?" I asked as Wilkes crossed the room to open the curtains over the window. It didn't add much light.

"The library," he said. "Father never really lets me in here, but he won't think to look for me until he's been up for a while."

"You're a late sleeper, then?" I had nothing to relate to. I slept little as a rule, and Naomi was an early riser too. Father was all over the place, but I wouldn't mention that.

"A bit," Wilkes said with a sheepish shrug. Then, after another short silence, he motioned to my hand. "You've been hitting someone?"

"Cornelius Selling. He was about to start a duel with your friend Seaton."

He didn't seem surprised by that. "It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew. Seaton's been itching to take Cornelius in a duel since our first term."

"They certainly seemed eager."

Wilkes rubbed the back of his neck. "It would have been all right. Neither of them can shoot."

"That's exactly what makes it dangerous, Wilkes. One wild shot and you're dead."

Wilkes only shrugged. "Cornelius won't like it, but at least you stopped him from making a fool of himself."

I spluttered, frustrated. "It was more than just reputation. Cornelius looked ready to throttle the pair of them. And me."

"Isn't that always?" Wilkes had his back to me, looking at the bookshelf.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously."

"You know this library was where my mother was killed?" he said, without turning around. "A vampire got in. Attacked her as she was sitting over there reading. She managed to kill it during her dying breaths."

"Wilkes—"

"That's why my father never lets me in here," he said. "Too many memories."

"How long ago was that?"

"Not long enough," he said evasively. "I was old enough to remember it. All these people in our house...coppers, a coroner, even some Guild members, to take the vampire body away."

"That's terrible, Wilkes. I'm sorry, truly. No young boy should have to see that."

"No. But I did."

We didn't speak for a few minutes, and then Wilkes finally looked over his shoulder at me.

"You surprised me this morning, just turning up like that. What was the occasion?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I was just thinking about you, and—"

"You think about me?" His expression turned incredulous. "Often?"

"Since...that kiss, yes. I do." I wanted to look away from him, but I couldn't.

"I think about it too," he said. "I think about it a lot."

"I didn't mean to, Wilkes," I said. "I was being rash and impulsive, and I didn't even think of what your feelings might have been, and if I caused you any confusion, I'm sorry—"

"You didn't. I know now. I know that it's you. I think it has been for a while."

"So..." I tried to order my thoughts, but it was difficult with Wilkes coming towards me with determination on his face. "So then...what does that mean?"

"It means," he said, catching my face and backing me up so far I bumped into the opposite bookshelf behind me, "I want you to do it again."

"You want me to—?" I couldn't breathe with him so close to me. Every single one of my nerves was on fire.

"Yes, I do. I want you to kiss me again, Wells."

I reached up to fist my hands in his hair, then pulled him in to crush our mouths together. It was nothing like the first time. I felt Wilkes's body pressing into me with an urgent need, his hands clutching at my waistcoat, suit coat, shirt collar. I let him pull them off, one at a time, and he let me do the same. As his shirt and vest came off, I ran my hands over the planes of his muscles on his shoulders, arms, chest, stomach. His fingers traced the lines of my scars, although he hadn't pulled away long enough to see the ink that covered them. He skimmed his hands down my back and pulled me against him, so our bare torsos touched.

"On the couch," I said against his mouth. "Now."

He backed up, surprised. "Do you really want to...?"

"Just get on the couch, Wilkes." I gave him a push towards it.

He did, sinking down onto it and laying back as I approached him. I climbed on, straddling his hips, and laid my hand in the center of his chest. His heartbeat pounded against my palm.

"Your heart's racing," I said.

He traced a line of ink, from my elbow to my sternum, and then his warm palm was flattening on my chest. "So is yours."

We didn't talk any more after that. Our mouths came together again and we didn't have to. His touch set me on fire, and I wanted him to keep touching me. I held his head between my hands and kissed him deeper and deeper. His own hands flattened on my shoulder blades and pressed me against him as he kissed me back.

Thumping on the stairs pulled us back to reality. I felt Wilkes tense under me, and then he was letting go and wriggling away. He scuttled to the door and listened at it for a moment, then looked back at me.

"It's Father," he whispered. "I'll have to keep him busy while you sneak out."

I wished I didn't have to sneak out. I wanted Trenton Wilkes to know his son didn't conform to the mould he'd tried to force him into, and that began with who he chose to love. Not only that, but someone he'd told him in no uncertain terms to stay away from.

But instead, I said, "All right."

He crossed the room to where his shirt lay tangled on the floor with mine, and I watched him. I'd wanted this, of course — to look at him shirtless, to watch his muscles move under his skin, to know what it felt like to touch it. But I didn't want it like this, stealing quiet moments when we knew we wouldn't be caught.

Wilkes pulled on his vest, then buttoned up his shirt. Then, without looking at me, he crossed back to the door, opened it, and slipped out. I stayed on the couch for a moment longer, then got up to listen at the crack.

"What happened to you, boy?" Wilkes's father said, his tone scolding. "Were you caught in a windstorm?"

"Late night, Father," said Wilkes. "I was revising."

"Well, revising or not, I won't have my son coming to the breakfast table looking like this. Go clean yourself up. Don't make me ask you again."

"Yes, Father."

I heard Wilkes's slow steps coming back, towards the stairs just outside the library door. He began to climb them, but halfway up he noticed me watching and mouthed Wait there at me. Then he was gone.

I dressed quickly again, trying not to think of what it felt like when Wilkes had pulled everything off. The way his hands had run up my chest and then my back, exploring me like a foreign country. The way his lips had moved against mine, covering them completely. And the way I'd felt holding him close to me — like everything that was wrong had righted itself in an instant.

By then he was coming back down the stairs in fresh clothing — dark blue morning coat, grey trousers, black waistcoat and necktie. His hair was combed too, so recently I could see the wet stripes left behind by its teeth.

"I'm going to fetch the tea, Father," he said, probably only looking in on his father. "I'll just be a moment."

Then he was passing by the library door and whispering "Come on" through the crack. I slid through the crack and closed the door silently behind me, then followed him back down the hall into the kitchen. He picked up the teapot, then made some exaggerated noise with the tea settings while nodding at the back door.

I couldn't resist it: I passed him, caught his necktie, and kissed him. He softened against me to return it, just for a minute. Then he was pulling away again, mouthing Go at me.

I slid out the back door, which opened onto a small gravel plot surrounded by a stone wall. Luckily I didn't have to climb it, because there was a gate that put me out into the alley behind the house. I lingered to look back at the house, knowing I was in trouble and not caring. We had done too much now to go back.