Dropping a few coins into the coachman’s palm, Horatio Hornblower started up the birch-lined path with what felt like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He paused, attempting to square his shoulders and face the duty at hand with the grit expected of a gentleman, but his efforts seemed in vain; his steps dragged, and his body longed to curve in on itself like a rating cowering from the lash.

Horatio bit his lip, his belly tight with self-loathing. If Archie could walk to court with his insides tearing open, ready to damn himself in the eyes of the world, then surely Horatio Hornblower could muster the courage to face a lone woman.

Archie had of course insisted he not go alone – eager to contradict the news of his death with his own body – but caution won out in the end; Lady Fiona must be forewarned that Archie’s existence remained strictly clandestine, lest she jeopardize his safety by celebrating his survival too flagrantly in her joy. Caution was only the half of it, however. He had vowed to make this visit months ago, to carry the truth of Archie’s death to his family and grant them the opportunity to fight the charge blackening his name. The course of his life would have been contingent upon their decision – whether he hanged, resigned quietly, or remained in the Navy in hopes that the rank of Admiral would grant him power enough to right the injustice in the future.

Walking al one now, he almost felt as though Archie were dead – his survival hardly erased the true calamity, as Cassilis and his brood were sure to agree. Horatio scowled; how did you tell a father – an earl of a line five hundred years old – that his son had given up honor and glory for an undeserving, insignificant commoner?

He would not face Archie’s father yet, thank God, though the Earl’s eldest daughter hardly seemed any less daunting. She loved Archie best, after all. Perhaps Archie should have come to curb her anger and ensure that she heard him out at least. The thought only increased Horatio’s shame. He deserved no such shield.

Clearing his throat, he took in his surroundings once before approaching the door. The house was not so large as Lady Fiona’s previous residence – she had remarried since he and Archie’s transfer from the Indie and was now a Baroness, a curious step down after the Marquess had died in a hunting accident – yet she lived well now, in a two-story manor house with a fountain in the front and a great many trees. Probably she had a great many servants inside as well, with strong arms to toss out lowborn fools who brought shame to her father.

A plump girl in a lace-trimmed apron and cap answered when he rang the bell. The girl could not possibly have known him, but Horatio thought he imagined disdain in her features as she waited for him to explain his purpose here. He cleared his throat again, clasping his hands behind his back, attempting once again to muster dignity.

“Good day, ma’am. I am Ca – Horatio Hornblower, here to see the Baroness.”

The girl eyed his plain-clothed form from head to foot, no doubt determining that he was no one of import. Nonetheless, she nodded; perhaps she had heard his name spoken in the house – or cursed, rather, given how he had fared in Kingston in comparison to Archie.

He was ushered into the parlor and left alone while the girl darted upstairs to fetch her mistress. As the moments stretched, Horatio went from pacing with his hands behind his back trying to appreciate one painting or another on the high walls, to sitting stiffly on the carved cherry sofa, wringing his hands in his lap. He despised waiting, and suddenly wished he had a gun to stand behind, something to provide him a fighting chance against the broadside to come. Yet staring out at the large, open house, Horatio allowed himself to at least be glad that Archie was safe elsewhere. Who knew what manner of man Baron Ward was or whether he could be trusted.

“Captain Hornblower, would it please you to come upstairs?”

Horatio turned to see Lady Fiona on the balcony, holding her green silk skirts in one hand, the other on the rail as if she feared losing her balance. The posture seemed odd, for all he had expected an irate tigress to come charging down the stairs, not a creature so out of sorts. The Baroness was a handsome woman, he supposed, though she did not resemble Archie at all with her auburn hair, brown eyes, and slender build. She possessed none of Archie’s humor either, but had a grave, authoritative manner difficult to bear at times. There was no authority in her demeanor now; Horatio could see that he had caught her off guard, and the unpredictability of her mood made him all the more reluctant to approach her.

Delaying would be a gross discourtesy, however, and so Horatio forced himself to rise and ascend the winding staircase to meet her. When he reached the top, the Baroness let go the rail and her skirts in order to give him both hands.

“It is good of you to come.” She intoned with obvious difficulty. But of course pleasantries should be difficult when she could not sacrifice decorum by castigating him in the open. As if reading the thought, she released his hands and said, “Come, we will go in the study.”

Horatio found he had no choice but to follow.

She led him to a large room at the end of the hall, bitterly cold as though it had not been used in years. The wide desk against the far wall lay bare save for a few papers, and a faint coat of dust lay upon the books on the shelves. There was an oriental rug and a painting of a forest behind the desk, and what looked to be a tiger pelt thrown onto the window seat. The Baron had been to India, Horatio conjectured. He thought to ask if Lady Fiona had accompanied him, but did not think her in a mood to talk of trifles.

He stood silent while the serving girl raised a fire in the cold hearth, while Lady Fiona arranged her skirts in the tall-backed chair. When she straightened, her hand passed over what Horatio realized was the Naval Gazette. A knot tightened in his middle. All at once he felt like a green boy again, like that day years ago when he had first faced Pellew, without proper words to explain that his pride had made a mess of things, that another man had paid far too great a price finishing what he had begun. Clayton was no Archie, true, but his death had begged the same question; how was he to abide an existence bought with the blood and honor of his friends? Horatio glanced down at himself, his plain clothes only serving to exemplify his worthlessness.

“I know why you’re here.” The Baroness spoke at last after the serving girl departed, closing the door. Her hand still lay on the folded Gazette. “I took it from my father,” she explained, tapping it once. “I must congratulate you on your promotion, sir.”

Touching the thin brown wool of his new coat, Horatio shook his head. At least the garment was lighter, without the bullion upon his shoulder. “It was hardly deserved, my lady, and came at too dear a cost.”

She wet her lips, a habit invoking the image of Archie all too well, though hers were painted, rich and red. “I - I suppose he would have been proud of you. You were there when . . . ?” Her voice shook, and she trailed off.

“Of course.” Little good he had done, too awkward to comfort Archie with the right words and too paralyzed to touch him. Dear God, the pain . . . . Horatio wished for Archie now, warm and breathing softly in his arms.

“I always knew the life was dangerous,” the Baroness went on, “but one can not prepare for this sort of news.” Horatio made to say that he understood, but she must have misread something in his face, silencing him with a wave of her hand. “Oh, I don’t pretend my loss is so great as yours – not seeing him everyday as you had – but I cannot believe. I don’t want to believe . . .”

Tears suddenly wet her eyes, rendering her the portrait of livid grief, yet Horatio felt despicably satisfied with her words. No sister could know Archie better than he – his secrets, his demons, and the sweet vigor he put into making love – and therefore could never feel Archie’s loss as he had. He was pleased she recognized the fact.

But such thoughts should shame a gentleman, and the fact remained that Archie was not lost after all. The reality of his survival cut through the cloud of remembered grief, bringing back to mind Horatio’s purpose here. He forced himself to touch the Baroness’ hand, brushing the filthy Gazette that by rights should be red with shame for all the lies it told. “Madam . . .”

She shied away from his touch as though he had scalded her, startled out of her own thoughts. Her hands retreated to her lap and she looked up at him, letting out a fraught tumble of words. “They told Father that Archie pushed his captain down a hatchway. Father doesn’t believe it. He says Archie would never put his book down long enough to do such a thing. I don’t want to believe it either, but I know – knew – Archie. He was his own man, not the king’s. Dear God, what a bitter end!” She buried her face in her hands.

Horatio had to admit surprise at the Earl’s doubt. He had been prepared to argue Archie’s innocence, defend his honor as he had with Pellew. Of course, the Earl doubted Archie’s guilt for the wrong reasons – Archie had hardly been indolent these past years; not even a pistol ball could keep him in bed. What was more, Cassilis’ faith in his son’s honor was only likely to inflame his wrath once he learned why Archie had done as he had in Kingston.

Shying away from that thought in the fashion of a true coward, Horatio forced himself to focus on the woman before him. Her distress unnerved him, the tears on her cheeks. Such open emotion unsettled his stomach and made him want to creep from the room. He could not do so, of course; Archie would not forgive him. Instead, he swallowed hard, hoping calm on his part would encourage her to compose herself.

“Madam, your brother did his duty,” he said. “Had Sawyer been left in command we would have found ourselves at the bottom of the sea long before we ever reached Kingston. He –”

Lady Fiona was not a stupid woman, but emotion prevented her from allowing him to finish. “It is true, then? He did do it.” Her features sank. “A mutineer and a traitor . . .”

“Hardly the case, madam,” Horatio protested more firmly than he meant to, and then reminded himself that he was a commoner addressing his betters. “The Admiralty required a scapegoat – someone to provide a means of explaining Sawyer’s instability. That fall into the hold was as good a reason as any; the only thing left for the tribunal was to create a culprit.”

Understanding flashed across her features, followed by restrained shock. Her mouth tightened. “Father will be furious if he ever learns. He’ll come down on the Admiralty like the Devil, I promise you.” Horatio ducked his head to hide a grimace. Why bother with the Admiralty when striking out at him would be so much easier? “They haven’t hanged him, have they?”

The mere thought sickened him. They could have, and he would have been expected to watch. Admiral Pellew would have watched. Not yet, he almost answered. His fingers ached for the reassuring feel of Archie’s warm flesh again, wanting this interview to end. But the fact remained that the Baroness’ question led directly into what he had come to say.

“No, my lady. A former shipmate managed to smuggle him out of Kingston. The charge still stands, however.”

The news wrought a sigh of relief from her painted mouth, yet the anger in her eyes remained. “God have mercy on the cur who convicted him,” she spat. “I suppose I’ve been a bit selfish, thinking only of what I shall do without him. That sounds absurd, I understand, given how rarely I saw him, but I always looked forward to his letters. He spoke so richly of the world at large. I . . . “ She waved a hand again. “Oh, forgive me for being so overwrought; it was less than a week ago that I heard. I know the last thing you officers wish to abide is a woman’s weeping. ‘Oh ho, shipmates! A tot of rum and it’ll all be forgotten.’” She laughed hollowly and shook her head again. “It isn’t like that for us, sir. You leave holes in our hearts when you run off to die.”

Horatio grimaced, trying to imagine having loyalties ashore. Such ties doubtlessly made matters tedious, having to do your duty while thinking of others so far away. Perhaps therein lay the reason Archie had never been able to commit to the Navy with his whole heart, though men with wives and children were expected to do so. Admiral Pellew had a wife and children, and yet seemed to view his loyalty to Archie as sheer youthful folly.

But to have heard the news only days ago . . . . Horatio supposed he had not shown the Baroness enough patience, and like Pellew had been cruelly cold to her grief, but he was simply unused to others loving Archie as he did, and never imagined anyone might *share* his pain. “I hardly blame you for being sentimental, my lady, “ he managed more gently. “I have resigned my commission over the matter.”

“What?” Her painted brows climbed. “Sweet Jesu! My brother claimed you had seawater in your blood and navigated the stars in your dreams. What will you do now?”

“That remains to be seen.” Horatio glanced down to hide any uncertainty in his features. That uncertainty grew each time the question was put to him. But the Baroness thankfully did not press the matter as Archie had, allowing him to look up and go on. “For my part, accepting the Admiralty’s promotion would only have sanctioned the slander they have done to my dear friend. They meant to name me post-Captain.”

“Yes.” Lady Fiona returned her attention to the Gazette. “It is all here. You had a successful engagement with a French privateer in the Indies.”

He nodded. “In which your brother played a life-saving part. My lady, Archie is alive.”

The barely contained grief vanished, hardening into something more akin to what he had expected to face here. “You presume to toy with me, sir?” Her voice cracked like a whip though the cold, quiet air.

Horatio straightened, swallowing hard. Her anger was almost as disconcerting as her tears. There was no telling how a woman might react when sentiment was involved. “I had no such intention, my lady. He’s with a friend in the city.” The ire in her expression deepened, and he found himself rushing to explain. “I believed it prudent to warn you that there are certain limitations to his existence.”

The Baroness scowled at him. “Is it like that myth? You’ve been told his shade follows after you so long as you do not look back?” Mockingly, she searched the room with glaring eyes.

Eurydice, Horatio shook his head, thinking first of Bracegirdle’s ship and then rolling his eyes at the odd parallel. He supposed, curious as it was, losing Archie would leave him a bit like Orpheus, immune to the love of others and overflowing grief from every pore. Archie’s precarious status was hardly anything to mock, however, although he could understand her incredulity, remembering when he had removed the privateer’s mask from Archie’s face, certain madness had taken hold of him.

“Not as such, madam,” he said quietly, though like in the myth one misstep would see Archie snatched away for good. “We arrived in the city only last night. He’s staying with a trusted friend. He wished to accompany me here. However, I thought – ”

“You thought to protect him,” Lady Fiona finished for him with no small amount of scorn. “He needs no shield here, Mr. Hornblower. Bring me my brother.”

He dared not disobey the command; in fact, he was eager to obey it if it meant he could escape the house. “Yes, madam.” He bowed stiffly. “At once, madam.” And with another small nod, he moved for the door, wondering if his relief was cowardly that the family wrath might be held at bay for a little while yet.

**

He and Archie had visited Katherine Cobham many times at the theatre over the years, but had not found themselves in her home until the previous night. Seeking her out had been the result of a minor argument – Archie had been ready to present himself to the Baroness straightaway, despite the ungodly hour, while Horatio had insisted such a move might be ill timed. Privately, he had preferred to first secure a refuge should things go badly with Archie’s family, and Archie had no objection to seeking out familiar company. Edrington had first sprung to mind – a staunch friend of Archie’s father and a man who had always made them welcome in his home – but after thinking it over Katherine Cobham had seemed far less conspicuous a choice.

They’d had no intentions of imposing on her for the night, of course, but she had insisted, adamant that she owed her “Mr. Haitch” a favor, and Archie had seemed to want to stay. She had used her earnings from the stage to purchase a small cottage in one of London’s quieter areas, and sagely pointed out that no minions of the Admiralty would likely look there. Her hospitality allowed Horatio ease for an evening at least; Miss Cobham had proven herself trustworthy long ago.

As he stepped down from the Baroness’ fine coach, he was struck again by the actress’ surprisingly simple tastes. She had planted rose bushes and lavender in the yard, their pleasant fragrance the property’s only real luxory. The sound of merry chatter from the open front window added to the quaint air of the place, and when Horatio came closer he realized the voices belonged to Archie and Miss Cobham. He permitted himself a smile at the carefree quality of their conversation..

The housekeeper let him in, directing him into the kitchen where he found Archie seated at the breakfast table, nursing a cup of coffee over a plate scattered with crumbs. Miss Cobham sat corner to him, breaking into an amused smile when Horatio came into view.

“Back already, Mr. H?” She set her own cup down. “I take it the Baroness didn’t throw you to her hunting dogs after all.”

Or skin him like her husband’s tiger, Horatio thought with a grimace and then cleared his throat. “No, ma’am. She was most hospitable.”

“As I said she would be.” Archie chimed in with a light-hearted yet unmistakable smugness. He was certainly in high spirits this morning, and hungry too, picking a few large crumbs from his plate and swallowing them down with the rest of his coffee. For all his blue blood, Archie oft displayed the decorum of a little boy.

Miss Cobham grinned at him, and then turned back to Horatio. “You haven’t been feeding him enough on that ship of yours, Mr. H. The poor lad’s already eaten three pastries and two apples. After all he’s had last night I wonder where he stuffs it all.”

The scolding was good-natured, but Horatio could not help but look Archie over critically. He was indeed thinner than his former persona, though no longer the gaunt creature Horatio had tended on the voyage home. Illness and infection still remained a minute danger, however, and Horatio could not allow himself to forget it.

Archie must have seen the worry in his face, for he attempted to deflect it with a smile before affecting a pout for their hostess. “He’s been rushing me through dinner of late,” he said sullenly.

Despite himself, Horatio frowned at him. “I’m sure you can understand why, Archie.” The danger of recognition was ever-present; he would thank Archie not to mock it.

“It’s all right, Mr. H,” Miss Cobham interjected, understanding perfectly, “no one will know him. We were debating stuffing him in a dress and having him masquerade as your intended.”

Horatio flushed crimson, mortified down to the pit of his stomach that she would think of them in that way. He felt angry and exposed that Archie might have given her that impression. But Archie did not appear amused beyond the ordinary, and Miss Cobham took one look at his own scandalized expression and giggled mightily, just as she had when she had threatened to trade his dispatches for a good room.

Swallowing hard, Horatio collected himself, blushing anew at his own damnable thick headedness when it came to teasing. There was humor in the idea, he supposed, if one did not honestly know that he and Archie were lovers or the terrible debasement Archie had suffered in the past. But Archie did not seem to be thinking on those things.

“With those shoulders?” Horatio made himself reply. “I should think I would prefer a woman who is small and delicate.”

Archie did laugh at that, amused no doubt that he could utter such a thing with a straight face, given how he felt about women. “I see now why you starve me, then.” His friend quipped softly.

Arching her fine dark brows as though something had occurred to her suddenly, Miss Cobham laid a hand on Archie’s arm. “Speaking of small and delicate, Mr. K. I happened to catch a glimpse of the lady you used to see at the theatre. She was a quite a beauty, Mr. H.” She titled her head to study his reaction. Horatio bit his lip, suddenly wishing to be away from here, once again feeling angry and exposed that she might see the jealousy inside him. “Now she has a lovely lad clinging to her skirt who doesn’t look a thing like that husband of hers,” she went on. “Bugger fidelity, I suppose, unless the lad explains why she married the old goat in such a hurry.”

Archie’s mouth tightened with something that might have been jealousy of his own. He had only briefly mentioned this girl years ago, in the vague way he glossed over all his past liaisons, but Horatio knew she had wounded him at least a little, and felt a small surge of irritation that Miss Cobham should remind him.

“Wondrous strange,” was all Archie said, picking at the crumbs on his plate.

Horatio cleared his throat. The future would be difficult enough without growing melancholy over the past. “I regret we must take our leave, ma’am. It would be ill-advised to keep the Baroness waiting.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. H.” She dismissed her theatre gossip as though it were nothing. Perhaps for her it was not – a gentleman was not supposed to grow jealous over a friend’s past lovers. Perhaps, given their unnatural relationship, he and Archie had been wicked in coming here at all. Surely she would not be so liberal with her hospitality if she knew. Yet she rose and smiled sweetly at him as though reading his mind. “Do come again, sirs. I never do see enough of handsome young gentlemen.”

Rising as well, Archie chuckled. “A pity you never sailed on Renown, then. One can see as much of Horatio as ever could be wished when he fancies a bath on the maindeck.”

Miss Cobham’s brows climbed again, and Horatio could not help but roll his eyes at Archie for mentioning such a thing in front of a woman. “If you please, Mr. Kennedy,” he prompted sternly.

“Of course,” Archie nodded, turning to their hostess. “Miss Cobham, It was infinitely kind of you to have us.” He bent and kissed her face twice.

“Oh, stuff!” She pushed him away with almost girlish modesty, smiling all the while. “I was merely returning a favor, Mr. K. Besides, an actress’ life is supposed to filled with rakish men of ill-repute bearing fearsome battle scars.” Her fingers brushed Archie’s side through his open coat.

Horatio had to laugh at that as he stepped forward to deliver his own courtesies. He could not quite bring himself to kiss her cheek and settled for her hand instead. “Good day, Miss Cobham. We shall not forget your kindness.”

He and Archie did not speak until they climbed safely inside the carriage. Sitting no more than a few inches away on the upholstered bench, Horatio studied his friend; Archie’s blue eyes were wide from the coffee, yet his features had a markedly pensive cast that made Horatio frown.

“Archie, all you all right?” He reached to cover Archie’s hand with his own on the seat.

Archie blinked, and then said too quickly, “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I thought you might be pining for your lady friend.”

He knew he should not have said it, and deserved the glare Archie shot in his direction. “No more than you are for your sloop,” Archie snapped in return.

“Archie . . .” Horatio covered the window and wrapped an arm around his friend. Archie did not resist, but slid closer, leaning his head against Horatio’s shoulder. The weight of his body felt deliciously warm, wringing a sigh of relief from Horatio’s lips, and more than that stirred a strange urgency in his flesh that was ill placed and too spontaneous for a short carriage ride.

Yet Horatio wanted Archie now, and thought shamefully of lowering him onto the coach’s bench, letting his hands and lips explore such familiar yet tantalizing territory in ways that would make Archie moan softly under him and writhe for more. He imagined Archie’s hands on him, too, as well as the intoxicating press of his naked flesh against him and those strong thighs clenching his own thin body, quivering as Horatio entered him and moved perfectly against the center of his pleasure.

Flushing crimson at the onset of such lechery, Horatio struggled to curb those thoughts, finding them overindulgent. He thought of Archie and his old sweetheart instead, stunned when an image of Archie lying with a woman flitted directly to mind. The burn in his cheeks deepened with the painful awareness that his mind likely conceived of the act all wrong; he had never even seen a woman in her natural state, and though he might account Lady Fiona or Miss Cobham handsome, his stomach clenched at the notion of running his hands over their skin or putting himself between their legs in the fashion that made children. It was strange to think that every man he knew, even Archie, could delight in such an experience.

“Archie,” Horatio ventured more timidly than he would have liked, but the swirling mystery of the concept would not let go of him. “I can’t imagine what it must feel like with a woman.”

Lifting his head from his shoulder, Archie peered up at him. “Have you grown curious after all?” He did not sound pleased.

That displeasure only served to magnify the grueling awkwardness of the issue, leaving Horatio uncomfortably aware of the gap in experience between them. Mariette had kissed him twice, in France, but that hardly counted for carnal knowledge. There was a time, long ago, when Archie might have advised him to gain such knowledge first hand; he could sense Archie fearing that was what he wanted now, and rushed to assure him otherwise.

“Only in theory, Archie,” Horatio said gently. Surely Archie could not begrudge him pondering the allure of the supposedly fairer sex having faced Miss Cobham and the Baroness in one morning after two years of near isolation from their kind.

Doubts soothed, Archie nodded, and then paused to think for a moment. “In that case, imagine something between me putting my mouth here,” he squeezed gently between Horatio’s legs, “and having me properly.”

Horatio had to marvel at such a tactful explanation, grateful that Archie did not laugh at him, but did not find himself quite at ease. “Do you miss it?” he asked quietly, unable to deny that the question gnawed at him occasionally.

Archie made a face. “About as much as I miss glazed pears – it’s not worth changing everything to have back again, and it doesn’t compare to the delicacy before me.” He lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips across Horatio’s mouth.

It was a heady thing to say considering all that had befallen him, and a warm wave of tenderness surged inside Horatio’s heart to hear it. He drew Archie a little closer, lifting his chin and taking his mouth. His tongue traced along those wonderfully soft lips, licking up sticky pastry sugar from one corner before nudging inside, taking his time in tasting him. Caution did not often allow them such pleasures save as a precursor to making love, and taking Archie was very much on his mind now. Horatio thought of what Archie had said about women, doubting that anything could feel even nearly as wonderful as Archie’s warm, wet mouth or the blissful heat of his strong, snug body.

“What’s this?” Archie rasped playfully when he pulled away for air, flushed and bright-eyed in the dimness. “Growing bold in your old age, Mr. Hornblower?”

Ducking his head to hide the color in his cheeks, Horatio grinned ruefully. “I thought you might like –”

“You thought I might like?” Archie reached between his legs again with a sudden huff of irritation, fondling undeniably hard flesh. “It appears you are the one who needs to scratch an itch.”

“Archie, I don’t act to sate my own filthy desires.” He shoved Archie’s hand away.

“Well, what’s wrong with that, Horatio?”

Frowning at the confusion in Archie’s voice, Horatio turned to study the covered window. He sensed the error of his words, but the fact remained that after all Archie had done for him it would be monstrous to clamor for fulfillment every time the urge struck him. Whatever satisfied Archie was enough for him.

Yet he disliked the silence between them now, and reached over to squeeze Archie’s small hand. “I only want to make you happy, Archie,” Horatio said absently as the carriage rolled along and his desire slid away. He should never have let it take hold of him here; abandoning caution of any sort was more dangerous than ever now.

With that thought, he fell silent, giving over to brooding as they drew ever nearer to the Baroness’ house. Yet he did not release Archie’s hand all the while, sensing that his friend was vexed with him and dreading to admit that he was almost afraid to let go.

~

Lady Fiona appeared not to have left her husband’s study during Horatio’s absence. They found her scratching busily at a letter, the expression on her face more serene than the one she had worn earlier. Horatio instantly frowned to see it, hoping to God she had not trumpeted the news to every relative who could be reached by post – such indiscretion could mean death for Archie. But she laid her quill down the instant she saw them, suddenly alight with emotion.

“Archie! It is indeed you,” she laughed, rising to embrace him.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” Archie muttered as he went into her arms. He sounded almost repentant, yet clung to her with genuine relief, crushing stray tendrils of her pinned auburn hair against his broad shoulder. Tears gathered in her eyes again, and Horatio wondered if he should withdraw before those tears could fall. Surely a moment such as this begged privacy. Standing there, he felt disconcertingly like old Mr. Hunter watching he and Archie in that cell in Spain. Horatio frowned, awaiting some signal from Archie as to what he should do, but his friend seemed to have forgotten him for the woman in his arms.

At last, the Baroness drew back, taking Archie’s hands. “We were all so devastated,” she said. “Mother wouldn’t eat without urging, and Father . . . he was so silent. Ophelia could scarcely compose herself, and David mulled around the house for a time. Only Robert doesn’t know. They said you were shot and that you are a traitor.” She whispered the last bit.

Horatio’s frown deepened, wondering if the family’s great grief was for Archie’s death or for the shame his confession had brought to them. Perhaps Archie pondered the same, for his mouth tightened.

“They managed to dig the bullet out in time,” he answered, carefully deflecting the matter of treason. Or perhaps his sour expression was for the memory of the surgery. Horatio swallowed a sickly lump in his throat to imagine it, almost glad for Archie’s sake that he had not been there; he might never have allowed a stranger to dig into Archie’s body with filthy instruments. Damn it; if he could have done the job himself he would have.

“Oh, Archie,” the Baroness fussed, reaching a fond hand up to pet his cropped hair, almost coppery at the root in the faint light where the sun had not yet bleached it. Horatio felt an odd discomfort watching her do such a thing, thinking on how he liked to run his fingers through that soft gold silk whenever Archie laid his head upon his chest. It seemed indecent and presumptuous for her to mimic the gesture in front of him.

Archie’s expression had not softened all the while. “You must be careful, Fiona,” he stressed in a low voice. “You can’t let anyone hear you call me that. I take it Horatio has explained to you the conditions of my survival?” She nodded. “They’ve taken to calling me Maurice Carlyle. It has a ring to it, I suppose.”

Again, she nodded. “I understand. It’s all the same.”

“I don’t suppose Father would agree with you.”

Releasing her brother’s hands, the Baroness busied herself with straightening her skirts. Horatio sensed the tension in the gesture, and in Archie’s question, realizing that Archie was not so cavalier about facing his father as he pretended and that the Baroness knew it.

“Father won’t return until the morrow,” she said softly, perhaps to put his mind at ease for the time being, “but he won’t be pleased to hear he’s missed you. I won’t delay in sending word to him. He and Mother have gone to visit his friend the Duke of Clarence. The Earl of Edrington has accompanied them.”

He and Archie exchanged a glance at the mention of their friend. Edrington was both fond of Archie and capable of considerable diplomacy; surely he would dissuade Cassilis from anything rash.

Archie must have shared the thought, for he told his sister, “Edrington is of course to be trusted.”

“Of course. I shall observe every caution in sending word,” she assured them, looking to Horatio this time. He swallowed, wondering what had shown in his features to warrant her sudden attention. “Do you see what Father brought me?” She padded over to the window, brushing her fingers over that damned tiger pelt. “He slew the beast himself when he visited India last year. He said it should serve as a reminder to my new husband of what will become of him should he make me unhappy – that was after Father threatened to take a cat to him.”

Horatio could not determine whether she was vexed or amused, but he gritted his teeth nonetheless, dreading to imagine what Cassilis would make of him once he learned the truth. The former Captain Kennedy would likely see him swing from whatever sufficed as a yardarm before the morrow’s end.

“The two of you must be tired.” Lady Fiona dismissed the matter of her father. “You may have the guest rooms – work out the particulars for yourselves. Or shall I have servants sling you up a hammock and bring your grog ration at the appropriate hour, Mr. Hornblower?”

She said it with a smile, but Horatio could not help but wonder if she meant to mock his newfound lowly station. Even Archie seemed to treat him as though he had very little purpose in the world other than commanding on the quarterdeck. But perhaps a member of the aristocracy could not fathom how a lowborn man could make something of himself outside of the Navy, where a man might rise on merit instead of birthright. God knew what a sham that claim had proven to be.

“I would be honored by any accommodations you choose to offer, madam,” he answered mildly.

“Indeed,” the Baroness smirked and then turned to Archie again. “You’ll join us for dinner? There is only Emmaline and I – and the children who likely don’t recall you. My husband has taken advantage of the Peace and gone to the continent. I’m sure the two of you have much to tell.”

“I suppose we do,” Archie agreed, flashing a grin in Horatio’s direction, though what the smile meant, Horatio did not know. He only knew that dinner seemed a vexing obstacle between now and whatever reprieve he and Archie might later find in private.

~

“Tired?” Horatio asked later that night after the servants carried their bath away. Dinner had been interminable, consisting of one question after another from Lady Fiona’s stepdaughter. He could not comprehend how Archie had the patience to answer them all, spinning such colorful tales as his new identity demanded. In any case, Horatio was relieved to be out of his clothes and shoes, away from the noise and chatter.

Archie nodded from where he sat on the edge of the wide bed. With the servants coming and going he had spoken very little since retiring to their rooms, but Horatio was certain his friend had talked himself out for the night.

“I was just thinking about my father,” he said, looking down at his hands in his lap. The expression on his face was not a happy one, but how could it be? Cassilis had been a fearsome frigate captain in his youth – not even Archie could face such a man with a light heart. Yet Horatio wished Archie did not look as though they would be court-martialed all over again on the morrow.

“Nervous?” Horatio sank down on the bed at Archie’s side.

Archie frowned and shook his head. “No – at least not in the way you think.”

“Archie . . .” He rubbed a hand over Archie’s back, wishing he would not clamp down so well on whatever fears occupied his mind. The touch prompted Archie to look up at him, and Horatio suffered a pang of worry to see the distress in his blue eyes. “You scarcely speak of your father, Archie. Is there something you haven’t told me?”

God knew Archie had kept enough pain inside for his sake. Horatio shuddered to imagine that Archie might have been putting on a brave face all along to spare him worry while privately dreading his father’s reception; it would be very like Archie to do so. Yet the Baroness hardly seemed afraid of her father, and Edrington certainly could not love a tyrant.

“No, no, Horatio, it’s just . . .” Archie sighed and trailed off.

Unsure of what else to do, Horatio moved closer, encircling Archie in one arm. “Whatever happens, Archie, we’ll manage somehow.”

“I know.” Archie settled against his shoulder, as warm as he had been in the carriage, yet the feel of his body was even more tantalizing now with only the thin linen nightshirt between Horatio’s fingertips and his skin. Horatio squeezed his eyes shut; surely it would be unwise to give into such temptation here. “But it isn’t that,” Archie went on. “It’s me. I’ve been . . . remiss where my family is concerned.”

The remark surprised him; Horatio rolled his eyes at such needless contrition. “Archie, don’t be ridiculous. In your circumstances no one had right to expect more of you than your duty.” Damn it, Archie could not take care of everyone – he had been enough of a burden to Archie as it was.

“Since you put it that way . . .”

“Hmm,” was all Horatio muttered in return, tightening his arm around Archie’s shoulders. Soft hair tickled his cheek, and Horatio could not resist resting his own cheek there against Archie’s forehead, delighting in the warm proximity of his sturdy body after the long hours of strained formalities and conversations. His free hand came up, idly caressing the handsome square line of Archie’s jaw, prepared to beg a kiss when Archie’s fingers covered his, pulling back to look at him.

“Horatio, there is one thing,” he said, caressing the thin, bony hand he held. A frown distorted his shapely pink mouth, and he looked so hesitant that Horatio almost reached for him again.

“What’s that, Archie?”

Archie wet his lips. “My father will never understand why I’ve done as I have,” he explained softly, drawing Horatio’s hand into his lap. “It’s best he does not. There’s no need for him to know my confession was for your benefit.”

Horatio blinked in surprise that Archie should say such a thing, unable to deny feeling wounded that he should treat their friendship as something to be hidden. “Archie, there’s no need to shield me from your father’s wrath if that’s what I deserve.” He tried to pull his hand away, but Archie’s grip was too strong, almost urgent.

“This isn’t a time for you to atone for your existence, Horatio!” he snapped. Horatio opened his mouth to protest that he was only being fair, but Archie went on before he could. “It’s all the same, I tell you. We should never have been put in that position in the first place. Don’t you understand?” He squeezed Horatio’s hand tight.

Swallowing hard, Horatio shook his head. He did not. Archie had done enough lying for his benefit, and if concealing the truth meant Archie would be the sole target of his father’s anger then he did not see how in good conscious Archie could expect him to play along.

“Archie . . .”

His friend cut him off with a shake of his head. “Horatio, you fool, is it really necessary to tell him we’ve been lovers for seven years, or to explain such unpleasantness as Simpson and Spain?” He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “I just don’t want this to be anymore difficult than it already is. There’s no need for martyrs.”

All at once Horatio felt foolish, not to mention selfish. Of course they could not reveal anything that might suggest their attachment ran deeper than what was proper. Apart from the physical, his attachment to Archie seemed so natural that he often failed to comprehend how others could deem it otherwise, yet he had to comprehend that now for Archie’s sake and could not forget it. What was more, he would never in his life wish Archie the anguish and shame of explaining the past to his father.

“I will do whatever you believe prudent, Archie,” he promised at last.

Archie nodded and conveyed his thanks with a light kiss to Horatio’s mouth. Horatio’s lips tingled from the contact and he tensed for more, but Archie pulled back, crawling off the bed to turn the blankets down.

“I’m exhausted,” he said, putting the light out. If he noticed Horatio’s disappointment he gave no sign of it.

“Of course,” Horatio nodded in the dark. He was tired, too, from the rigors of the evening, and felt foolish for even thinking they might indulge under the Baroness’ roof. Horatio scowled at himself; he was a discourteous houseguest at best. “Shall I sleep in the other room?” The bed looked soft and comfortable, but he supposed the couch in the outer room would suffice. He had no right to the comforts of the privileged.

“Silly fool,” Archie shook his head. “She won’t let the servants disturb us. There’s always the chance we might be up to indecent Naval practices.”

Horatio froze. “You think she suspects?”

“I think she’d prefer not to speculate. Now, come on; climb in.”

Not needing to be told twice, Horatio slipped beneath the warm blankets, keeping a cautious distance from Archie’s body as he settled against the pillow, hoping to catch at least a little sleep.

“Thirty-six, damn you, thirty-six!” Horatio growled at the incompetent Bosun. What was so difficult to remember in the number, and why did the man persist in drawing out this hellish business with inattentiveness to orders? And his officers, why did they look at him as though he were the Devil himself? This was discipline; the same procedure carried out each Thursday on every one of His Majesty’s ships. These men should know how to conduct themselves by now. He whirled on all of them. “Hats off, damn your eyes! Have you no respect for the law?”

“Horatio . . .” a voice called from behind him. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, and he seethed inside at the familiarity. Whoever dared compromise their Captain’s dignity here would answer for it later.

Shaking off that restraining hand, Horatio’s eyes fell on one of the Marines assembled below. The fool was preoccupied snickering with a comrade, had been for a good few minutes now. “One more word out of you and I’ll flay the skin off your back, man!” Horatio growled from the quarterdeck rail, before turning back to the Bosun and his mates. “Now seize him up!”

This time, he was obeyed. The man was fastened to the gratings, his back bare in the morning light, and then the lash descended, ripping open pale skin. Blood ran in rivers that grew with each blow – deep, deep red. Everything grew red. Horatio swallowed hard, sick inside.

“One . . . two . . .” He counted along with the others, his voice thin to his own ears.

“Horatio, stop!”

The shout echoed above the crack of the cat, strong and familiar – Archie, his lost Archie. Shame cut through him instantly that Archie should see this, weakening him until he thought his knees would give way though he remained standing. His eyes fell on the figure tied to the gratings below, taking in this little crucifixion and then the line of men who would be next. He knew their faces, but could not meet their eyes. This was what Archie’s sacrifice had bought, the blood of innocents shed at his command.

“Horatio . . .”

Archie had him by the shoulders now, leading him away from the quarterdeck and down into his tiny cabin where he could lie back and shut everything out. But why would Archie do so? He loathed beatings; how could he still show him kindness after what he had witnessed on deck?

Tears stung Horatio’s cheeks. His stomach twisted to feel them; he had not been aware of them before. Dear God, he had not wept in front of the men, had he? No wonder that Marine had snickered. Who could respect a weak captain?

“Horatio,” Archie said again, running a hand through his hair.

His eyes opened, and slowly the blood-red film staining the world a moment ago dulled to pale amber. Horatio found himself in a soft bed staring up at walls nothing like those of Retribution’s sleeping cabin. His body strained instantly toward the arms that held him, head falling onto Archie’s chest. He clung to the sturdy form beneath him, afraid, sick, and angry.

“Archie . . .” he choked, drowsy but breathing hard, his heart pounding like a Marine’s drum inside his chest. “Don’t let go of me.”

“Shh.” Warm hands rubbed gently over his back, smoothing his hair. “I won’t,” Archie promised softly, arms wrapping around Horatio’s body in a protective embrace. “You’re trembling.”

Horatio bit his lip; indeed, it quivered against his teeth, salty from the few tears trickling down his face. He tried to gulp down on the nausea inside him, but it took a small eternity for his heart to slow and his belly to settle, and when at last he managed to speak his voice came thick and weary.

“I dreamed all my friends were in irons, to be flogged for one crime or another – Bush, Wellard, Matthews, Styles – all those who had been loyal to me, Archie.”

Steady fingers cupped his cheek, lifting his face so that Archie could wipe away the wetness there with the back of his free hand. “No one can make you do that now, Horatio,” he said quietly, caressing his cheek with a gentle hand, blue eyes dark in the lamplight.

Nodding absently, Horatio raised his eyes, suddenly hungry for the simple comfort of looking at Archie now that his vision was clear of tears, certain he could gaze upon him forever and never grow tired of the sight – not after Kingston. Archie appeared so calm and golden and patient against the pillow that Horatio felt like a confused Joan of Arc gazing upon one of her saints for the first time. Sighing at his own foolish reverence, he settled back against Archie’s chest, sighing once more when Archie’s arms came around him loosely again, stroking his back in soothing circles. The familiar touch slowed Horatio’s breathing to a normal rate, unraveling the sick tension inside of him.

“Never had a nightmare before,” Horatio muttered, his cheeks reddening belatedly at how childlike he must have looked. Archie had never wept after his nightmares. In fact, he had never really seen Archie weep at all.

“They’ll go away.” Brushing the hair from his forehead, Archie kissed him there. Horatio relaxed further at the comforting press of lips, yet the cruelty of the dream still gripped him.

“I dread the thought of our friends serving under men like Sawyer,” he said. “It shouldn’t be permitted, Archie.” He had feared becoming Sawyer. Surely a destitute life of dead friends and cruel battles would have set him on that path.

“I know.” Archie patted the back of his head gently. “But what can we do?”

Horatio frowned; the question had gnawed at him since leaving Portsmouth. Surely there was some way to take the harsh lessons learned from the Renown debacle and do good in the world.

“Or I fear for the wounded, rotting under the care of men like Clive.” he went on. His fingers brushed the scars on Archie’s side, his chest tightening to consider the long days of infection and agony that Archie might have been spared had Clive been in full possession of his wits and the surgical skills necessary aboard a man-of-war. “I’d have saved you if I could.”

Archie laid a hand over his, lightly stroking Horatio’s skin with fingers calloused still from ropes and weapons – the very last vestige of the officer he had been. “I’d imagine you’d make as good a physician as you are a lover.” Horatio did not have to look up to see the smirk on Archie’s face. His cheek burned furiously against Archie’s warm chest.

“I should hope not for the world’s sake, Archie,” he replied dryly, earning a faint chuckle in response and then another kiss to his brow. Horatio smiled fleetingly – for the kiss more than the laugh – but raised his head in the next moment. “I’m serious, Archie,” he said more sternly, his fingers still playing over the dark mark of that near fatal wound. He had no intention of abandoning his duty to his country, or turning his back on the men who served her, and lately the thought of saving lives without having to take any in turn, of possessing the authority to bar men like Sawyer from holding the lives of other men in their palms, had become more appealing.

But Archie only grinned fondly. “As was I,” he said, though not appearing in any mood to give the notion earnest thought, but who could blame him at this hour?

Still, Horatio had to smile that Archie thought him a good lover, and he glanced away from the ravaged skin under his fingertips up into those warm blue eyes. God, had he really come so close to losing him? At times the very thought tied him up inside.

Archie must have sensed his mind, for he gently pried his hand away and pulled Horatio up into his arms. Strong fingers wound into Horatio’s hair, guiding his mouth down onto Archie’s where he lost himself to the languid pleasure of kissing. His body pressed tight against Archie’s full length, draped over that strong chest and those soft, warm thighs, as though Horatio would seal their flesh together so that no more nightmares could tear him away. Even in his dreams he needed Archie to rescue him; yet Archie had saved him from one long dream, as bleak as could be imagined.

And now he filled Horatio’s body with a dreamlike pleasure of the most wonderful sort. His tongue played lazily between Horatio’s lips, thoroughly arousing him until he hardened against Archie’s lap. Archie tightened his arms then, drawing away from Horatio’s mouth long enough to whisper, “Lie back.”

Horatio did not resist, still drowsy from sleep. He rolled heavily onto his back and let his hands fall to his sides, allowing Archie to open his nightshirt and wriggle it down his shoulders and over his feet. Archie must have grown warm during the night to have discarded his own, muscular and naked about him, too easy to admire. They shared a smile as Archie brought a hand up, tracing Horatio’s throat and the line of his collarbone with admiration of his own.

Arching his head back, Horatio slowly surrendered to the warmth washing over him, staring up at Archie’s pink mouth, transfixed. But then the more alert part of his mind turned to half-hearted misgivings, recalling where they were. “Are you certain we should . . .?”

“Shh,” the pad of one finger rubbed over his lips, sending dull tingles through Horatio’s body. “The door’s locked,” Archie added, his hand moving down Horatio’s chest, tickling at a nipple and grinning when Horatio strained under him. Horatio’s tired mind could only think to cup Archie’s cheek in response, starved for him after the cold of that dream. He suckled Archie’s pretty lips and his damned impertinent tongue until the contact became a wet form of lovemaking in itself.

Archie let it go on until neither of them could breathe, panting when they pulled apart. Horatio’s head dropped back against the pillow, his body prickling with sweat from the dizzying heat between them. He only needed to look down to see how aroused he was, his cock dark in the lamplight, straining hungrily between his bent legs in its shadow of dark curls. His eyes fell closed, and Archie’s mouth descended on his neck, licking and sucking, making a sensuous feast of his flesh. Horatio moaned low under the torture, head spinning, afraid he would wake up from this, too, clutching the blankets in resistance.

That tantalizing hand continued down his body, sweeping the terror away, over his chest, between his thighs, tickling around his arse and then moving up to fondle his balls.

“Archie . . .” Horatio rasped, wetting his dry lips. But Archie only chuckled into his skin, dragging his mouth down to Horatio’s chest, loving him with his tongue. He licked at his nipples until Horatio trembled, and then laved a hot path down his belly, pausing to tease the indentation there. Horatio clutched at Archie’s hair as his head passed lower, sweltering and aflame yet feeling vaguely that he did not deserve such blissful attention, wondering how Archie could always find more to give. It did not matter, Archie did not allow Horatio to protest; hot fingers curled around aching flesh, and then a hot tongue lapped at him, working him slowly into his lover’s soft, willing mouth.

Horatio tossed his head to one side, groaning at the wet glide of Archie’s tongue against his too sensitive flesh. He could not help staring down at himself, flat on his back with Archie kneeling naked between his legs, his pale thighs quivering visibly when Archie’s mouth wrapped tight around him, crushing him with hot silky heat. He had never really watched Archie do this before – he had always closed his eyes – but now the indecent image seemed erotic and inescapable, his own flesh nearly as pink as the mouth sliding over it again and again. Horatio ground his teeth against the sharp, clenching pleasure dragging his body up onto his elbows. His hips strained, the air filled with his own heavy, fractured breathing, his mind adrift in a torrid white river as he came.

Darkness closed around him after his body spent itself, and for a moment Horatio feared Archie had put out the light again. But then Horatio opened his heavy- lidded eyes and saw Archie sitting back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. The fever in Horatio’s cheeks deepened and he smiled apologetically, holding out his arms.

Archie sank comfortably into his embrace, warm and sturdy and soft against Horatio’s chest. Horatio nuzzled fondly into the honey silk of his hair – tinged with apricot in the lamplight – letting his hands roam over Archie’s compact golden body, liking the swells of muscle and sturdy bones. Sighing under those admiring caresses, Archie angled his head up, kissing Horatio’s mouth with lips tasting of the salt of his pleasure.

“Feel better?” he asked quietly, devoid of the usual smugness. He shifted a little so that he could look into Horatio’s face, so intent on lifting his ill mood. Horatio could not help but smile up at him, a thin offering from a bottomless sea of gratitude. Archie was so beautiful, with his perfectly hewn arms and the tawny mat of fuzz over his broad chest. Telling him he was beautiful seemed foolish, however; surely Archie knew it.

“Indeed,” Horatio finally nodded, leaning to take his lover’s mouth again. He felt more than better; he felt like a man rescued from drowning. Archie was too good to him. Frowning a little at the thought, he slid a hand between Archie’s thighs, teasing half-hard flesh with his fingertips in an effort to offer something in turn. “As for you . . . ” God knew that pleasure was the only thing he could offer Archie now.

But Archie pulled his hand away with a tiny, bashful grin. “Might I collect on that offer at a later time, Mr. Hornblower?”

Rolling his eyes at such mocking formality, Horatio let his hand fall onto the blanket. “Of course, but . . . Is something wrong?” He disliked when Archie refused him, it made Archie seem unreachable, distant somehow, and what was more he fancied rolling Archie under him and hearing his name rasped breathlessly from those petal pink lips. A blush crept into Horatio’s cheeks at the idea, but Archie thankfully let it pass without comment.

“No, no. You’ve just been . . . attentive of late, and . . .” His eyelids fluttered and he trailed off.

“Archie.” Horatio had no idea what “attentive” was supposed to mean. He had found Archie in poorer health than Archie would ever admit to aboard that damned privateer, and ensuring that Archie took the necessary amount of rest afterward required stern marshalling. If he had been eager for intimacy, it had only been to please him, and to brand the reality Archie’s survival into his own cold flesh.

Making a face, Archie reached across him to fidget with the edge of the blanket. He licked his lips and then dropped his head back onto Horatio’s chest. “What Miss Cobham said . . . what if . . .? Horatio, what if that child is mine?”

All at once, Horatio felt cold, tightening one arm around Archie’s shoulders as though in danger of losing him all over again. He recounted what he knew of this girl – Archie had confessed to infatuation, and to having her once shortly before his first posting aboard Justinian. Any child of that union would be nine years old now.

“You think that’s what Miss Cobham meant?” The pleasurable daze slipped away, leaving Horatio solemn. Archie liked children; what if he wished to find this girl to do as honor dictated? The thought of sharing Archie with a woman rankled unbearably.

Archie frowned, considering for a moment. “She was quick to marry after I left. She must have loved the man, elsewise I think she would have found me.” Then he took one look at Horatio’s sober expression and snorted. “I was merely wondering, Horatio. I can’t very well saunter into any boy’s life as an undead mutineer, now can I? If he’s mine, that is.”

He must have given the scenario a great deal of thought. Perhaps it had kept him awake tonight and that was why Archie had rescued him from his nightmare so quickly. But the pragmatism with which Archie dismissed the matter did not make the prospect any easier to bear. Horatio’s frown deepened, unable to shake the feeling that if Miss Cobham’s news were true, then Archie would be less his somehow, with a woman keeping a part of him for herself. That was foolish. He ought to feel shamed instead that the ignominy to which he had driven Archie even prevented him from making himself known to what might be his own son. He smoothed Archie’s soft hair and wondered for the thousandth time why Archie did not despise him. His own meager life had cost Archie far too much.

“Jealous fool,” Archie muttered, seeming to sense his fears. He nuzzled at Horatio’s jaw and stroked the opposite cheek with his fingertips. “I’m happy for her. She can have her duke, and I can have you.” His tongue flicked out, playfully licking one corner of Horatio’s mouth.

Despite himself, Horatio laughed a little, covering Archie’s hand with his own and turning toward his mouth. “Indeed,” he murmured, tilting his head down to kiss him, “and I should be honored if you would allow me to have you.”

Once again, Archie drew back from him, his brow pinching. “To be honest, Horatio, I . . . Later; my head aches.”

It must have, Horatio thought, for Archie to admit to it. He stroked Archie’s hair in sympathy, cradling his head against his chest. Perhaps he should not have allowed Archie to pleasure him with such weighty matters on his mind as this woman and a reunion with his father. Horatio sighed; he was a greedy fool, knowing only how to take.

Smoothing his hair again, Horatio kissed Archie’s warm forehead repentantly. “Try to sleep,” he said soberly, not about to admit that he himself was afraid to do the same. Indeed, he could not shake the feeling that Judgment Day loomed ahead of them.

**

They rose late the next morning. Horatio had woken shortly before dawn, as had been his habit aboard ship, only to find Archie fast asleep in his corner of the bed. Over the past weeks, he had grown accustomed to leaving Archie abed while he went about the day’s duties, but venturing out into the unfamiliar house seemed far too awkward a thing to do alone. So he stayed with Archie, who took advantage of the bright sunlight streaming in and spent an hour absorbed in his Milton as if discovering it for the first time.

In truth, Horatio was surprised to see Archie at something so solitary as reading here. He had fully expected his friend to be downstairs chattering as he had with Miss Cobham yesterday morning. Archie had seemed so starved for company, and Horatio knew that he and the Baroness still had financial matters to untangle. But Archie had only quietly remarked upon how much his nieces and nephews had grown in his absence before returning to his book.

By the afternoon they were dressed and back with the Baroness in her husband’s study. She had not touched a shilling of the funds Archie had signed over to her in Kingston, and even if she had the sum would have still been impressive. Horatio was surprised to learn how much Archie had saved from the Persephone – a ship he had captured shortly after making lieutenant five years ago – but supposed that with his father’s allowance Archie had been able to put away far more than he in the early days. And there, with merit put aside and their careers reduced to pounds and shillings, Horatio could not help but be envious. He had few funds to speak of.

He worked some figures for them – interest at different percents from different bankers – and as he sat scratching away at numbers he could feel the Baroness’ eyes on him, weighing like scales. He looked up, puzzled by the small smile on her face.

“He’s terribly adept at that,” she told Archie, leaning forward in her husband’s chair. “I’ve yet to see a man handle numbers with such tenderness.” Horatio cleared his throat, his greater height granting him an immodest view of the low neckline of her blue dress. He supposed the cut was the current fashion and also her thick necklace with its blue stones was meant to draw the eye there. Probably the piece had been a gift from her husband, or perhaps her father, and Horatio pondered, perhaps improperly, whether or not Archie had a taste for costly gifts. He had only ever bought Archie books and those seemed to delight him.

Archie snorted at his sister’s remark, but then grinned at Horatio like a proud parent watching his child discover the use of a toy. “Mr. Hornblower finds something terribly erotic in mathematics which you and I seem to be missing.”

A slight blush crept into Horatio’s cheeks for Archie’s sake. He should not say such indecent things in front of a lady, his own sister at that. But before he could do any more than glower the Baroness turned to him again. “I have sons who could no more work numbers than they could a field. I would pay well for you to teach them – while you’re here, of course.”

Horatio straightened, setting the quill down. She was offering employment. He looked to Archie and then back at her, ashamed that his initial impulse was to take offense at such an offer. Such feelings were ridiculous, of course; she would naturally regard him according to his birth instead of his former rank and employ him accordingly. Anyone would. He frowned, last week he had been a commander owed two-hundred pounds a year, and now . . . . Now it would be imprudent to refuse.

Archie must have discerned his reticence, for he took away the quill and paper Horatio had been using and returned to the matter at hand. “It would be simpler if you would sign everything over to Horatio. I’m certain he’ll do what’s best.”

Despite himself, Horatio felt uneasy with the suggestion. Archie’s open display of trust was reassuring, but handling his friend’s money seemed far too presumptuous a thing for him to do even though Archie had suggested it. He would oblige, of course, if Archie wished – turning Lieutenant Kennedy’s accounts directly over to Maurice Carlyle might arouse suspicion – but he resented the entire mess for preventing Archie from doing even the simplest things without fear for his life.

A knock sounded at the door, and all at once the Baroness dismissed both matters in her haste to answer it herself. After exchanging a few muttered words with the butler in the hall, she turned back to them. “Father’s arrived. The two of you stay here and I shall prepare him.” The woman did not leave much room for protest, but slipped out the door and padded softly down the hall.

Archie rose after her, and for a moment Horatio feared he meant to run downstairs as well. But he went over to the window instead, his hand resting idly on Cassilis’ tiger pelt as he stared down at the front of the house.

Seeing the rigid set of his shoulders, Horatio rose to stand behind him. It was strange that Archie could be cavalier on a cliff top, serene on what he believed to be his deathbed, commanding on the quarterdeck of that privateer, and yet anxious now. The threat of the noose had never daunted him aboard Renown, nor had the cost of his confession in Kingston, but then Horatio supposed that in his heart Archie could not be disgraced by a system in which he had long since lost faith, if he had ever had it. What his nervousness now implied about his feelings toward his father, Horatio did not care to guess.

Peering over Archie’s shoulder, he spied a carriage rolling down the slope and approaching the gate. His chest tightened, and he remembered how he had felt in that cell in Kingston when Pellew had come to him, the cutting regret that he had failed to live up to his captain’s expectations. There had been the grim comfort of the noose, and the cold notion in his gut that Archie was already gone, to numb any anger and shame he might have felt had he wanted his life at that time. Archie had no such comfort now; his fear must be terrible.

He considered embracing Archie before anyone could see, pressing him tight against his chest and kissing that golden head too pretty for its crown of thorns, but Archie would never regard such a gesture as anything but pity, and Horatio would never wish to distress him with overwrought displays. Instead, Horatio laid a companionable hand on his shoulder and moved closer.

“Head feeling better?” He tried to sound cheerful, but the words came out forced.

Archie’s little smile appeared equally forced, his nose wrinkling. “For the most part,” he answered.

Horatio did not remove his hand, but stepped closer still. “Archie . . .” He ducked his head and swallowed hard, feeling suddenly foolish. No words could properly convey what he wished to say, yet he tried anyway. “I cannot apologize enough for . . .”

“You apologize every day.”

“Yes, but –“

The sound of footsteps stopped him. Taking his hand away, Horatio retreated a safe distance from his lover. The Baroness had wasted no time. The door swung open, admitting two men, one their old friend the Earl of Edrington and the other Cassilis himself.

The former captain’s tall, broad figure filled the doorway for a moment, casting a long shadow into the sunlit room. Anger radiated from him like heat from a fire, and shying away from it Horatio’s eye darted to the tiger pelt upon the window seat, that one glaring symbol of the man’s ferocity. He swallowed hard, that same petrified feeling in his gut as when Sawyer had caught him asleep on watch.

But Cassilis had no eye for him; he strode straight through the doorway toward his son. With his reddish-blond beard and wild blue eyes he seemed to belong more in furs than in the clothes of this day. Indeed, he charged over to Archie like some half-mad highland warlord ready to draw blood with his teeth.

“So your sister hasn’t been at the laudanum after all,” he growled in a voice that could easily have carried above cannon blasts and high winds. A fighting captain indeed. “You aren’t a spirit, I see, so what it is, then?” He poked Archie’s shoulder. “Did Hell spit you back out or did you think to recreate one of your horseshit plays?”

Horatio’s blood heated, watching the man circle Archie like a lion where his friend stood tight-lipped with his back to the window, almost too pretty to endure such gruffness. . Cassilis had no right to accuse Archie of theatrics and must indeed be a beast if his first impulse was not to embrace his son and thank God he was alive. Horatio had a fleeting thought of his own father, knowing that were he in Archie’s shoes he would never have mustered the courage to return home. The ire in Cassilis’ eyes spat on that courage now. Horatio itched to place his body between Archie and the Earl, but a cool glare from Edrington in the doorway restrained him.

“It’s good to see the two of you well,” Edrington intoned as he latched shut the door. He shot a pointed look at Cassilis, doubtlessly rebuking him for shouting before the room could be secured. The man only glared back and then swung his gaze to Archie again.

“He’s well.” The Earl caught his son’s shoulder in a grip that made Archie wince. Horatio burned to pry his hand away; no one should handle Archie so roughly – it would only remind him of Simpson. But Cassilis relented in the next moment, shoving Archie down into the window seat. “Look at you, boy. You made your mother ill with your little ruse and you don’t feel an ounce of shame, do you? You’d better thank God I’m not an Englishman. If I were I’d cast you out.”

“You would be within your rights to do so,” Archie answered mildly, in that same cool manner he had often used with Sawyer when the man was at his worst.

Cassilis’ features hardened, perhaps angry that mention of the Countess did not give him the leverage he had expected. “What the hell is this fucking insolence to me, boy? You came home with treason on your head not your own weight in prize money.” He continued to glare, as though challenging Archie to answer, but stepped around the desk when Archie did not, lowering himself into the Baron’s tall chair. “What would you do if I did?” he pressed. “Sell in some dark alley what I hope to God you didn’t give away at the theatre for free?”

Horatio gritted his teeth, enraged to his bones that Cassilis would even think such a thing. Archie would never debase himself in that way. Even wounded and disgraced Archie had conducted himself like an officer, caring for Wellard and saving two ships. What would Cassilis say if he learned that he had surrendered his ship to Archie? Would he be so scornful of him then? But all that aside, Horatio found the disdainful remark alarming; he and Archie could never carry on as lovers if the Earl suspected Archie’s inclinations.

Glancing up, Archie met Horatio’s eyes with a grimace. “You are shocking Mr. Hornblower, Father,” he said.

The Earl’s gaze darted to Horatio, blinking as if he had not noticed him before. Pinned under those icy blue eyes, Horatio froze, certain he would cop retribution now for true. But Cassilis only snorted at him dismissively. “He can fire a cannon but he can’t hear that?” Again, he waited for Archie’s reply, but prudent as ever Edrington intervened before Archie could answer.

“Are you guilty of the crime for which you have been convicted, Mr. Kennedy?” He seemed impatient, moving gracefully into the chair Horatio had occupied earlier to work his figures. It seemed odd that such a refined, fastidious gentlemen should befriend such a gruff beast as the former Captain Kennedy.

Edrington’s question hung tense in the air. Three pairs of eyes fixed upon Archie, who wet his lips and stared down at the tops of his boots. Cassilis’ irritation mounted as each second stretched, and finally he could stand it no more.

“What’s the matter, boy? Can’t trust the truth to your own father?” His eyes flashed dangerously, like blue flames. “Why don’t I go and ask Fiona? Perhaps you’ve told her. Now, come on.“ He gestured sharply when Archie remained quiet. “Tell us how you came to play the sacrificial lamb.”

Horatio swallowed down a lump of remorse, knowing that Archie hesitated for his sake, just as he had taken the blame for his sake in Kingston. He would not allow Archie to make any more sacrifices on his behalf if he could help it, and tried to swallow down his own cowardly fears. “Tell him, Archie.”

Wetting his lips again, Archie sighed. “No. I didn’t push him.”

The confession was as quiet as the lie Archie had told to the court, but this time no incredulous uproar answered him. Edrington let out a small sigh of relief and Cassilis simply nodded, while Horatio wished to God that Pellew and Hammond and all the black-hearted men of the Admiralty could hear him. Yet Archie did not seemed pleased for having said it, but turned and gave Horatio an apologetic look, as if it hurt him to have in a small way taken back his “gift”. Horatio shook his head at him; revealing the truth now unfortunately changed nothing and Archie had a right to redeem his father’s respect. God knew he and his own father would never have come this close. Dr. Hornblower had only thanked him to stay out of the way.

“Then who did?” Cassilis prompted, calmer for the moment.

This time, Archie did not hesitate in answering. “None of us. We were – Horatio, Mr. Buckland, Mr. Bush, and I – down in the hold considering our options. The Captain had put us all on continuous watch. He claimed we were conspiring against him and that we didn’t know how to keep order. The hypocrite.” Archie’s mouth twisted. “The crew was drunk, the guns weren’t ready when we saw action the previous day, and Horatio and I intervened in two fights below deck. I’d tried to warn Horatio before, when we received orders to sail for Santo Domingo, but even he wouldn’t listen.” He still sounded bitter over that little quarrel. “It became more apparent, day-by-day, that if Sawyer remained in command we would all die.”

“Damn Sawyer,” Cassilis growled low. Horatio narrowed his eyes to hear a dead man cursed out of hand, wanting to remind the Earl that Sawyer had died in battle after all, and as a leader of men deserved respect. The Earl seemed to glean the thought, for he met Horatio’s eye, shaking his head scornfully. “If he were such a damned hero they would have given him command of a fleet, not a seventy-four sent off to the Indies. Don’t you understand that, boy?”

Horatio swallowed hard. He had not expected Archie’s father to be so contemptuous. But Sawyer had to be worth more than Cassilis believed if the Admiralty had been willing to hang innocent men on his behalf. There were younger admirals, true – Pellew among them – but surely even the Admiralty was not so corrupt as to cover for a man in whom they had little faith to begin with.

He did not dare press this point, of course. Angering Cassilis might only cause Archie grief in the end. “Of course, my lord,” Horatio managed through clenched teeth.

Edrington quirked his brow at the exchange, but concealed his thoughts behind the cool mask of diplomacy. The Major had changed little since they had seen him last, two years ago. Horatio lamented that a fine man such as he had not been permitted to sit on their tribunal. “Mr. Kennedy was saying, gentlemen . . .” His dark eyes flicked in Archie’s direction.

Cassilis blinked, following the Major’s gaze. He seemed an easy man to distract; Horatio wondered how he had conducted himself under fire. Well enough, if the rumors of his tremendous wealth in prize-money were true. “That’s right, boy. Out with it. We’re not getting any younger.”

Drawing a deep breath, Archie obliged. “Sawyer must have known he was losing control. He would try to bait Horatio, you see? I was sure he meant to hang him. He would provoke him through unjust acts – punishing his men, flogging one midshipman under him, giving extra rum. The mind game was sheer devilry. It was almost as though he wanted Horatio to relieve him of command and was determined to punish him for it. We never actually committed mutiny, but the four of us agreed something had to be done. The surgeon was certainly no help.” His features wrinkled at mention of Clive.

“The Surgeon was the crux of the problem, my lord,” Horatio spoke up to elaborate. “The man was dousing the Captain with laudanum and God knows what else. He was himself incapable of carrying out his duties. His devotion to Sawyer left him ill-suited to the situation at hand – he even refused to consider removing the bullet after Archie was shot.”

“You’d be dead if he had, boy,” the Earl told Archie, though surprisingly not ungently. “A bunch of drunken butchers, that’s what the Navy’s surgeons are. But this was the same doctor who tended you in Kingston?”

Archie nodded. “Horatio got him to declare Sawyer unfit when the fool ran us aground in Samana Bay, but Clive took his declaration back under oath. At least he was good for bringing me news of the trial.”

Too much news, Horatio frowned. He still remembered Archie’s eyes, intelligent through the excruciating pain, calculating exactly why Clive had been so determined to wish him luck before the trial reconvened. He still resented being terse with Archie over the matter, but he had only . . . “I did not wish to burden him, considering the state of his health,” he said aloud to no one in particular, finding it necessary to explain why Archie had relied on Clive for news instead of a trusted friend.

Edrington studied him with cool dark eyes, but neither he nor Cassilis reproached Horatio for the neglect. “You claim that none of you ever truly committed the crime of mutiny?” the Major inquired instead.

It was Archie who answered, rolling his eyes. “Fate intervened – as Mr. Bush would say. We only considered how we might declare the Captain unfit. His watchdog discovered that we weren’t on watch and Sawyer turned out the Marines. We ran. He heard me and ordered me to come out. I thought since I was unarmed and alone, I could distract him until the others returned to their places – perhaps convince him we were up to nothing at all. But he really was mad. The man had two loaded pistols aimed at my chest, and yet he backed away from me. The hatchway behind him was open; he took too great a step and started to teeter. I didn’t know Horatio had come up behind me – my eyes were on the pistols. He pulled the trigger, and Horatio grabbed his arm – otherwise he might have shot me. I might have reached out for the same reason, or to catch him – I can’t be certain – but I didn’t push him; the hatchway was far too shallow for the fall to do us any good.”

Horatio stared at him. That was cold reasoning. Archie had never put it like that before. But of course he had not, Horatio chided himself for a fool; they had never spoken of the incident before – they had never had the chance. He did not know why he should be surprised by Archie’s lack of remorse now; Archie had once advised him to let the man die, after all.

“Would you concur with that, Mr. Hornblower?” It was Cassilis who put the question to him this time, leaning back in his chair and listening as intently as any officer on that tribunal in Kingston. Even he seemed surprised by what he heard, but what true captain could imagine such chaos aboard a ship of His Majesty’s navy?

“Indeed,” Horatio nodded, his recollection of that hellish night clearer than he realized. He thought he had pushed it from his memory after the trial; God knew the court had never pressed him for the particulars of Sawyer’s fall. “I intended to run, but when I saw Archie place himself in harm’s way, I could not in good conscience leave him. Your son displayed the utmost courage in approaching his captain at that time, my lord. However, I was certain Archie was not aware of the open hatchway – the Captain had him at point blank range and I feared he only had eyes for the pistols. I acted only to prevent anyone from being injured, my lord.”

That was not entirely true; he had fairly panicked to see Archie in danger, and a small frantic part still feared he might have pushed the man. Yet he had Cassilis’ attention now. The man had clamped down on his anger, scrutinizing him with hard blue eyes and weighing the significance of each word. “And Sir Edward did not believe this explanation?” He spoke the name with an edge of bitterness.

The pointed question left Horatio suddenly understanding why Archie had fared so well with Sawyer; Cassilis seemed to have the same volatile temperament, intolerance for nonsense, and propensity for accusation. Accusation or no, Horatio dared not lie; defending Pellew was not his duty anymore.

“The Commodore never spoke with Archie, my lord. He only heard my version of events and seemed to believe that I pushed the Captain.” Pellew believed that, and yet was content to let Archie bear the blame. Horatio was glad he did not utter that aloud when Cassilis slammed a strong fist into the desk.

“What?” he roared, scowling over at Archie. “My son lay rotting in the hospital accused of raising all hell and was never presented with the chance to dictate a statement?”

Horatio exchanged a look with his friend. “He was asleep with fever much of the time, my lord. Proving his innocence was left to my insignificant abilities, I’m afraid.”

Cassilis snorted. “I’ll say. Damn Sir Edward, and damn that doctor – he tricked my son into confessing to cover for his own incompetence, I know he did. Damned Sir Edward should have known it, too. He was put on that tribunal to dispense justice, not to act as Black Charlie’s squealing little fuck pig.”

The color drained from Horatio’s cheeks. He never imagined any man would dare describe Sir Edward Pellew in such filthy terminology. But Cassilis dared, and suffered not an ounce of shame for doing so. But could the man really hold Clive responsible? The doctor had committed his share of transgressions, but it would not be honorable to accuse a man of an act done for another’s benefit.

“I have resigned over the matter, my lord,” was all Horatio said, hoping the news would at least assure Cassilis of whose side he was on. He vowed to later ask Archie how his father seemed to know Pellew and Hammond so well.

Cassilis did not seem to give a whit for his loyalties, exploding into anger all over again. “It’s that damned Edward who should resign over the matter, may he burn in hell!” He noted the shock in Horatio’s features. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he growled. “You think you know him because you served under him for five years? Well I can tell you a thing or two about Edward Pellew – on second hand, perhaps I shouldn’t.” He chuckled a little, a rasping sound like a saw on stone, and then cut off when a knock sounded at the door announcing dinner. “We’ll hear more of this later, for now I’m starved. And you, boy.” He turned to Archie. “Get downstairs and eat before you take another fever.”

Nodding, Archie rose after his father and Edrington. He caught Horatio’s eyes with a look Horatio supposed was meant to be reassuring as they filed out of the room and made their way down to the Baroness’ table. Far from reassured, Horatio kept close to Archie’s side all the while, reminding himself that dinner could only be a reprieve. Surely it was only a matter of time before Cassilis wished to take his out anger on someone more immediate than Pellew or Clive.

**

Dinner proved as tedious as the previous night, only much more colorful with Cassilis and the Baroness’ stepdaughter talking enough for all of them. It seemed the Earl was more than willing to indulge her curiosity on naval matters and that the damned woman never ran dry of questions, nor was she shy in asking them. Horatio found her behavior unbecoming and forward; he had always imagined a family table to be much like a captain’s, where one did not speak unless specifically addressed. He would not know, of course – his father had never had the time to eat with him – but saw quite clearly that naval rules of propriety were not observed here.

Archie had only one question, which he asked frowning into his wine cup. “Where is . . . where is the Countess?” He amended himself for Emmaline’s ears, who certainly could not be trusted with the dire secret of Archie’s true identity.

Cassilis scowled from his place at the head of the table. “Were you shot in the liver or in the head, boy? She’ll weep all over herself when she sees you. Not the sort of thing I want to witness.” He took a long swallow of his drink, draining half the glass. Horatio grimaced; it was these remarks that made him wonder why Archie bothered to come home at all.

“I see,” Archie replied, obviously displeased. Horatio shared the sentiment; Archie’s mother was a kind woman, and he would like very much to see her again.

“’I see,’” The Earl mimicked, setting his glass down. “I swear you were raised in a molly house,” he told Archie gruffly, clearly irked by Archie’s dissappointment. Horatio failed to see why. Surely it was not unmanly to miss one’s mother. But then Horatio supposed he would not know that either; his mother had died when he was five and his father had never spoken of her. “Have some more wine, boy,” Cassilis went on. “We aren’t on spirit rations here.”

Archie snorted, but did not hesitate in complying. He topped off his glass and then did the same for Horatio, giving him a small, mysterious smile and a lingering look inappropriate for the table, especially after Cassilis’ latest sally. That look went unnoticed, thank God, and Miss Ward returned to prattling to fill the silence.

“Mr. Hornblower says that Mr. Carlyle was ever so gallant in subduing the captain of that French pirate ship. Have you heard the tale, my lords?” Her dark gaze flicked from Cassilis to Edrington, but not before settling her calf eyes on Archie longer than necessary. “He says Mr. Carlyle marched right up on the quarterdeck before the very crew that captured him and demanded Mr. Hornblower surrender his sword, his ship, and his men on pain of death. He did it in a mask. He must have looked ever so handsome.” Her dreamy smile was enough to turn Horatio’s stomach.

“He was ever so ill,” Horatio corrected her sourly, glaring from across the table. Lady Fiona caught his eye and looked as though she wanted to laugh, but restrained herself. In fact, the woman had been silent throughout the meal.

“Perhaps Mr. Carlyle would be so kind as to regale us.” Edrington spoke up. He had not been as silent, but had spent the time observing cautiously as was his habit.

A shadow of anger passed over Cassilis’ face. “Perhaps he would, and then Hornblower can tell us why the Gazette failed to mention this.”

Horatio nearly choked on his wine, suddenly clammy and ill; he had known this moment would come, that he could not escape the man’s wrath forever. He exchanged another look with Archie, who simply shook his head at his father.

“Perhaps later,” he said, and then went back to his own wine.

The meal ended with Miss Ward excusing herself and Cassilis stepping aside for a word with his daughter. Horatio supposed the man would join Edrington in the drawing room for brandy or something like it, and so took the opportunity to follow after Archie, who rose from the table and moved in the direction of the garden.

“Archie, are you all right?” He caught his friend’s sleeve, stopping him just inside the French doors. Archie turned, cocking his head and peering up at him with eyes bleary from drink.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Horatio swallowed hard; the last thing he wanted was to give offense. “Your father, he seems . . . less than pleased.” That was putting it mildly. Archie had been enduring the Earl with the usual grit, but surely even he feared Cassilis’ anger once the man learned his son had been deprived of the honors due him. “Last night . . . I would never have . . .” he gestured dumbly, ”had I known such trials awaited you.”

For a moment Archie looked as though he would chew something, but he only snorted, dismissing the concern with a shrug. “Ah. Don’t mind him. He’s angry, Horatio.”

“I fail to see why he should direct it at you.”

Archie’s mouth tightened; he put a hand on Horatio’s arm. “It isn’t . . .” He straightened, biting back whatever excuses he had been prepared to make for his father. “My Lord Edrington, I don’t think I’ve expressed what a pleasure it is to see you again.” He bowed with an overdramatic flourish, his cheeks pink from the wine.

Horatio glanced over his shoulder to see the Major stepping up from behind him. “The sentiment is mutual,” he replied with an amused smirk. It faded quickly, however, when he came close enough to speak without being overheard. “Your father expects you to follow.” He cast a sidelong glance at the older man appearing at the foot of the stairs, suddenly stern.

Archie blinked, for a moment at a loss. “Oh. Yes, of course,” was all he said, obviously aware that he could not rightfully refuse. “Later then, Horatio.”

Horatio nodded, an uneasy feeling in his middle. Cassilis must have deemed his input on the Minotaur affair unnecessary after all, or perhaps he wanted Archie away from the protection of his friends. Either way, the interview could not bode well. Horatio made to remind Archie that he need not distort any truths for his sake, but Edrington did not grant him the chance, seizing Archie’s arm before he could turn away.

“The Earl isn’t pleased you didn’t seek him out directly,” he whispered. ”I’ll wager he’s prepared to act on your behalf. A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss, Mr. Kennedy.”

It was Horatio’s turn to be surprised. Duty might demand Archie regard his father with respect, but after that insult at dinner, the man had done little to warrant Archie’s gratitude. Nonetheless, Archie’s cheeks darkened at the remark and he simply nodded, taking his leave.

Horatio watched Archie approach his father just outside of the drawing room. They glanced back in his direction and Cassilis uttered something that Horatio was too far away to hear, but he did not miss the disdain in the man’s features. Inside, Horatio could not help but fear that Cassilis suspected something unnatural between them. The fear of discovery had always been a chilling demon in his heart, though one Horatio rarely gave into. He could not shake it now. Perhaps Cassilis meant to force Archie to marry before gossip could begin. Horatio’s mouth tightened; he should apologize again to Archie for the previous night. He had been selfish in allowing Archie to pleasure him when even the Baroness’ suspicion seemed to hover over them.

He blinked and realized that Edrington had not gone. Nonplussed for what to say, Horatio’s mind tripped back to the Major’s last remark. “What do you mean the Earl is prepared to act on Archie’s behalf?”

Edrington raised that cool brow again. He could be too much like Archie at times, patient but saucy. “Given what we heard this afternoon, Mr. Hornblower, I’m surprised you should ask. It wouldn’t be difficult to make a case for Mr. Kennedy’s innocence – provided those who hear it are reasonably fair-minded.” His mouth twisted on the last bit, evincing as much contempt for that bloodthirsty tribunal as could be hoped for.

“Reexamine the case?” Horatio looked to Edrington in disbelief and then immediately frowned. “That’s the last thing Archie wants.”

“I think we all might agree that our friend undervalues himself.”

“Indeed, but getting him to cooperate would prove difficult.” Lord knew he had tried, all the way from the Indies, only to be regarded with cynicism and Archie’s insistence that he was not worth the trouble.

The Major shook his head. He knew firsthand how stubborn Archie could be, yet did not seem daunted in the least now. “He’s already done all he needs by telling us what he knows. Pride must be answered in this matter, Mr. Hornblower.”

“Pride?” Horatio straightened, struggling to keep his voice low. “Pride be damned. My lord, do you comprehend the danger of bringing news of Archie’s existence before the Admiralty? He’d be hanged. You might have a good case, but the price of failure is too much to risk.” Cassilis might stew at the shame inflicted upon his house, quick to overlook that the real travesty was the disgrace done a good and brave man, but Horatio would be damned before they risked Archie’s life to appease aristocratic vanity.

Edrington remained cool. “Revealing Mr. Kennedy’s existence isn’t precisely necessary, Mr. Hornblower. His statements could always come from you. You have openly left the Navy over the matter.”

Horatio blinked. He had not considered that. For a long time he had hoped to right the injustice done in Kingston, but had been soured on the possibility. “Admiral Pellew has assured me –“

Something that could only be sympathy crossed Edrington’s face. The man laid a hand on his arm. “You need not fear crossing Sir Edward,” he assured gently.

Again, Horatio nodded. He and Pellew might be at odds where honor was concerned, but he had no wish to wage political war against his former captain. “You are fully prepared to join in this venture?” He asked after a moment. It was likely to fail, of course – even he could see that – but he would be much relieved to see the Major lend his prudence to the matter.

“I hardly stand to be hurt by it,” Edrington answered. He must have gleaned the doubt in Horatio’s face, for he pressed his lips together and then said, “Cassilis has influential friends. If he can find willing ears higher ranked than the Admiralty’s, then he might have a chance. Even Admiral Pellew is a friend, Mr. Hornblower.” Horatio found that strange. Given the ire with which Cassilis had regarded Pellew, not to mention Pellew’s disinterest in Archie, one might account the two bitter enemies. “In any case, there isn’t anything to lose, so long as caution is observed. Cassilis would never see a son of his hanged.”

Indeed. Caution was the key. Yet Horatio almost wished he could spirit Archie away in the meantime, fearing Archie would never be safe enough. “I should hope not,” he said at last, ashamed of the part of him that wished he and Archie had never come here. Cassilis seemed far too intemperate to keep such a precarious secret in his own house, let alone in dealings with the Admiralty.

Horatio sighed. Perhaps he was wrong to harbor such misgivings about his lover’s own father, and perhaps he was already a little like Sawyer after all – filled with fear and mistrust. Archie was alive at least, and the softer part of him could not wait until they were alone in their warm bed caressing and smiling at each other. Fear had a way of melting in those moments. He supposed he had only to wait for Archie’s return in order to find peace for the night at least.

**

Archie’s father kept him a long time.

Horatio retired the instant Edrington left him, after agreeing he would make no mention of their conversation to Archie. He had gone up the stairs with a watchful eye, fearful that Miss Ward might be lurking around a corner, waiting to trap him with her tedious conversation. Thankfully, she had retired as well, and the upper floor of the house appeared empty save for a servant, allowing him to slip unnoticed into his rooms.

He thought silence would refresh him after the chatter at dinner, but once Horatio found himself alone he missed the way the dinner’s unwanted conversation detracted from the fears spinning through his overworking mind. This place was certainly no home of his – nowhere he could feel comfortable, unlike his cabin aboard ship or the warm inns where he and Archie often stayed – and all at once he went cold, suddenly realizing that after nearly a decade at sea he simply had nowhere to go. The world ashore had forgotten him. He glanced about the fine bedchamber, feeling like an orphaned pauper in a prince’s castle, indebted beyond comprehension and eternally out of place.

Cassilis certainly had no need of him. Probably he and Edrington had worked out how to exert their influence in overturning the Admiralty’s verdict the instant they had received the ill news. Such things could not be beyond the wealthy and powerful, after all.

Horatio sank down onto the bed, knowing he should be happy that Archie’s honor might be regained by the endeavors of such men. But he was not. Clearing Archie’s name was to be his duty – amends for what Archie had done for him in Kingston. That duty remained sacred to him though he was clearly too lowborn and poor for the task; he found it cruel of Edrington to have even unwittingly flung that salient fact in his face.

Scrubbing tired a palm over his face, Horatio sighed. First Bracegirdle smuggling Archie out of Kingston, then that woman who might have borne Archie a son, and now this . . . . His own miserable existence had never seemed so glaringly unnecessary.

Perhaps even Archie did not want him hanging about either – he had not wanted him last night. He might make a passable bed partner after all these years, but as a social companion he was sorely lacking and would only invite Cassilis’ contempt – which Archie may very well be enduring at this very moment. Perhaps he had made a mistake, and should have accepted Pellew’s promotion in order to free Archie of the burden. What did his conscience matter when he was not powerful enough to take up Archie’s cause?

He thought back on the voyage home and wondered whether Archie had ever felt burdensome. That was ridiculous, of course; Archie had understood the rigors of duty and had patiently awaited his attentions. They would steal at least a little time each day, even if it was only to help Archie salve his wounds and to make do with a few fleeting touches and private words. Archie had been remarkably tolerant of his silly sentimental fussing, allowing Horatio to carry him and dote on him as much as could be managed. He liked doting on Archie, finding a great and guiltless ecstasy in giving.

Horatio missed the quiet moments when Archie would climb onto his lap in that uncomfortable chair in his sleeping cabin, caress his neck with his wet mouth and then whisper that he wanted to be taken – the only way they could make love twined together without disturbing Archie’s wound. Archie would clutch at him, rock against him and gasp, drawing out the molten pleasure for as long as the silence would allow. And when Archie was a little better, he would lie on the edge of the bunk and Horatio would remain on his feet, careful not to rest his weight on him, leaning down and taking Archie in his mouth while he moved inside him, mastering rhythm for once in his life. Archie would laugh that he could manage such a thing, and then wriggle under him only to finally melt. Horatio would grin down at him then, feeling strangely proud of himself.

Shaking off those indecent fancies, Horatio rose and began undressing for bed. It was improper to think of having Archie while he might be in danger now; in fact, after all the trouble he had caused Archie he had no right to have him at all. He tried to think of other things – how a lowborn man might do some good in the world without the hypocrisy of the Admiralty for starters – but found he was too weary for thought now and only wanted sleep. The servants had laid a fire at least and had turned down the blankets; they had also left clean water for washing which Horatio made diligent use of. He dried himself and was in the process of folding his clothes when the door opened.

“Horatio!” Archie called as if he had not seen him in weeks – or slurred rather. His face was flushed and he swayed as he secured the door with unsteady hands, clearly drunk out of his mind. Dear God, Horatio frowned at him. Archie rarely drank to excess; Cassilis must have come down on him harder than Horatio had feared.

Eyes glazed, Archie teetered toward him, and would have stumbled on the edge of the rug had Horatio not caught him so that he careened into his chest instead. “Archie, are you all right?” Horatio steadied him by the shoulders; Archie was heavy and seemed to want to topple again, his brow pinched with the effort of staying on his feet. “What did your father say?”

The question did not seem to register. Archie blinked and looked up with eyes bright and glassy as blue crystal. “I’m sorry, Horatio. My father and I got to telling stories with Edrington and I didn’t realize we were so deep in our cups.” He grinned boyishly, proudly. “You should have been there!”

Clearly Archie was too drunk to recall that his presence had not been requested, but Horatio saw no use in reminding him. “I did not wish to intrude,” was all he said, tightening his hands as Archie continued to sway. This was hardly the outcome Horatio had expected, unless Archie had drowned himself in spirits to forget the worst of whatever Earl had said. Perhaps Cassilis had even ordered that he leave. He stared down at his friend impatiently. “Archie, what –?“

Archie flung his arms around his neck without warning, his grip hard and tugging, yanking their bodies together. Horatio had no chance to steady himself before Archie drove his superior weight into his chest, forcing him backward. He toppled, landing face-up on the bed, staring into Archie’s overbright and suddenly ravenous eyes. All Horatio could do was wriggle upward to balance his heels on the edge of the mattress so that his legs did not hang ridiculously.

“You were doing it again,” Archie accused, smelling strongly of sour wine. He crawled up on all fours between Horatio’s thighs, his fine gilded brows knitted together and his little nose scrunched above the hard, determined line of his pink mouth. The red-gold wisps of hair sweeping across his brow did nothing to soften his fierce expression. Archie stared down at him so hard that Horatio thought his head must ache with the effort.

Horatio swallowed, shifting to free his own hands trapped under him and then stretching his arms helplessly to either side of his own sprawled, naked form. “Doing what?”

Archie squinted, his eyes crinkling at the corners, clearly bothered by the lamplight. “Moping about and being miserable.”

“Archie . . .” Horatio shook his head, gripping his lover’s shoulders in an attempt to gently shove him away. Legitimate worries could hardly be called moping. But if the wine had left Archie oblivious to the more important matters at hand, then Horatio was more than willing to jog his memory.

But Archie would not be budged. He thrust down onto Horatio’s body, buttons and cloth chafing uncomfortably against bare skin. “You can’t be miserable and run back to Pellew. I love you far too much to let you go.” Archie’s hands slid up, seizing two handfuls of Horatio’s hair, tugging so fiercely that he winced.

Still, Horatio grimaced at the mention of Pellew. He was the last man Horatio wished to run to now and wanted to assure Archie of that, to enfold him in his arms and reason him back to his senses. But Archie did not give him the chance. He dove for his mouth, lips grinding hard enough for Horatio to feel his teeth.

Heat sparked through Horatio’s blood, tasting the wine on Archie’s insistent mouth – tart, and sweet, and intoxicating. He wanted to plunge his tongue between his lover’s lips and suck the heady flavor from Archie’s tongue, yet found himself too fraught to do anything but lie there. Archie did not seem to notice, gliding his mouth down across Horatio’s throat, bruising him with savage kisses and then biting the delicate skin of his neck while he ground their hips together. Horatio remained frozen. Archie never attacked him like this. Surely he was not well.

At last, Archie became aware of how still Horatio was beneath him and rolled onto his side. Horatio breathed a small sigh of relief that the onslaught to his vulnerable skin had ceased, but then regretted it when he looked up and saw the hurt in Archie’s dazed blue eyes. He had not meant to hurt Archie, only to learn what had happened tonight.

But far gone under the influence of liquor, the wound did not last long. Archie turned stubbornly back to his quest for pleasure. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been waiting for a chance to be alone.” He reached over and drifted a hand down Horatio’s body, curling warm, impatient fingers around his cock and squeezing once. Horatio pried h

is hand away before Archie’s touch could get the better of his reason. “I was prepared to sleep – which you should do as well, Mr. Kennedy.” The matter of Cassilis would have to wait until the morrow, when Archie was sober again. In the meantime, it was best to let him be.

Archie snorted, though not good-naturedly, his nose wrinkling up again. “Ah, it’s Mr. Kennedy, now is it?” Wriggling his fingers free of Horatio’s grasp, he slipped his warm hands under Horatio’s arms, rubbing his chest almost fitfully. “Don’t tell me you haven’t considered what we might do in this bed. Tell me your fantasies.” One hand slid down to Horatio’s belly, caressing in slow warm circles, tightening the muscles beneath the skin. “You never tell me what you want, or what you like.”

An angry blush crept into Horatio’s flesh and he glared back at Archie in indignation. He was not so base as to lie about boiling in lust and Archie should know it. He valued Archie for his courage and his loyalty, not the pleasure Archie gave him, and would never order him about like some whore. But Archie was drunk and clearly out of his wits; Horatio knew he had to be patient. “You’re alive, Archie. It would be unconscionable to wish for more.”

Archie did not seem to hear him; he wrapped both arms around his chest, squeezing tight and rubbing his cheek against Horatio’s bare shoulder, kissing there in such a frenzied fit of affection that Horatio half expected him to purr.

“I didn’t want to take my eyes off you at dinner.” Archie muttered through nuzzles and brisk kisses. “I couldn’t help thinking how good it is when . . . .” He trailed off, rolling onto his back and dragging Horatio on top of him. “Bugger me, Horatio. Right now.” His fingers dug demandingly into Horatio’s arse, pushing their hips together as he thrust upward, too drunk to comprehend that he was still fully dressed.

He was hard in his trousers; Horatio could feel the length of him against his belly where they were pressed hotly together, and for a moment considered rolling the cloth down and taking Archie thoroughly if for no other reason than to wear him out. But that would be unfair and indefensible.

“Archie, you’re drunk. I won’t take advantage of you.” He tried to sit up, but the muscular arms locked around his hips would not permit it.

“That’s never stopped us before. Come on, H’ratio,” Archie threw his head back and pulled him between his open thighs, “satisfy your sordid lust!”

Sordid? Horatio scowled, managing to free himself this time. “Damn it, Archie, I’m not an animal.” He rolled away to the opposite side of the bed, hurt though he did not know why. A part of him wondered how they could quarrel over something so simple – something they had done a thousand times – but Archie’s goading angered him, the mocking undertone of it. Damn it, Archie had no idea what it was to be the cause of his dearest love’s disgrace, and it unnerved him to see Archie carry on so merrily while he sank deeper and deeper into an ocean of bleak regret.

After a moment, Archie sat up, gripping the bedclothes in an effort to keep steady. Small wonder he did not roll off the bed, so near to the edge of it. “Fine,” he declared crisply, pushing the hair out of his eyes. He looked ridiculous, his legs sprawled inelegantly on the mattress as though someone had dropped him there, still wearing his boots, entirely unlike the graceful, catlike Archie that Horatio knew. “You can be civilized in your deprivation, Mr. Hornblower, and leave us randy heathens to our peace.”

Slurred with liquor, the words lost their familiar haughty edge. “You’re drunk,” Horatio shook his head. There was no point in uttering anything further; Archie would likely not remember any of this tomorrow and none of it would matter. Sleep was all they needed.

Horatio climbed under the blankets without bothering to put the lamp out. He did not know why. He did not bother with his nightshirt either – perhaps because the soft linen bedclothes felt good against his bare skin. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Archie sink into the chaise, bending to unlace his boots. Perhaps he should have helped Archie out of his clothes, but the truth was that he had no patience for this drunken, mocking man who could not tell him what the Earl had said. He wanted his sweet, loving Archie, the man who held him, stroked his hair, and gazed down at him with such innate tenderness that his affection could have been maternal. He wanted to lay his head on Archie’s strong chest and fall blissfully asleep in his lover’s muscular, comforting arms.

But Archie did not reach for him when he came to bed, and Horatio simply let him alone, closing his eyes. He tried to think of other things – the men he had left to the Admiralty’s mercy, Clive’s folly, and Sawyer. He even had a fleeting thought for Bush, and then Buckland, wondering how men like he and Hobbs and Hammond slept at night – men without principle, without conscience. He wondered how Pellew slept, complacent to this wicked world. As poorly as he, Horatio imaged, only for different reasons. Dear God, it seemed all the order and truth he had known had crumbled into ruin.

The sound of rough breathing cut through his thoughts. Horatio turned, partly fearful that the excess of alcohol had brought on one of those fits of long ago. Archie lay with his head to one side, his eyes shut and his lips open, letting out a low sigh. The color to his cheeks had deepened to a feverish blush and sweat glistened faintly on his brow. For a moment Horatio stared transfixed at the rise and fall of Archie’s muscular chest where his shirt and stock hung open – clearly Archie had not been able to get them off in his stupor. He was . . . his hand moved beneath the blanket and his body rolled with it, arching up from the mattress as he threw his head back with a choked moan.

Realizing what Archie was doing, Horatio froze, simultaneously embarrassed and shocked and angry. His whole body burned from head to foot, as though from a blow or an insult as good as one. How could Archie be so vulgar and selfish right there in front of him? Men did such things, of course, but he had always put off pleasure until they could be together and had always assumed Archie did the same. Yet there Archie lay, oblivious to his staring, tossing his head to the opposite side and moaning just the way he did when Horatio gently made love to him or pleasured him with his mouth.

It was too much, combined with that crushing sense of worthlessness, too much to see Archie snatch away the only use he seemed to have anymore.

Yet he watched Archie’s face, watched his teeth sink into his bottom lip – a signal that his pleasure was near its peak – and wanted to reach for him, wrap his arms around Archie’s warm sturdy body and slip his hand between his legs and stroke him until Archie cried his name and clung to him for dear life. His own flesh stirred at the thought and Horatio became angry about that, too. Yet Archie still did not notice him, and Horatio could not stand it anymore, angry at himself for denying Archie, angry at the throbbing between his legs, and angry at Archie for being drunk and throwing his uselessness in his face.

“Damn it, will you stop that,” he snapped. “Or would your rather I leave?”

The sharp question got Archie’s attention. He stopped, sinking limply against the pillows, his bleary eyes moving toward him, taking a long moment to focus. “No, I want you to fuck me,” he snapped back through clenched teeth, jaw set fiercely, angry with him for interrupting.

“Don’t be crude, Archie.”

“Why not?” Archie pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Has your prick suddenly become sacrosanct, Mr. Hornblower? You were hard enough for it in the carriage yesterday afternoon.”

For a moment Horatio felt slandered, ready to protest in his own defense, but slowly he realized that it was true and that he had made a mess of everything being so ill-tempered and contrary. Archie had likely been glad to snatch a few hours away from him this evening.

“That’s not the point, Archie,” Horatio tried to say more calmly, wondering if there was any way to make him understand. Wanting was not the same as deserving.

“Then what is?” Archie sat up all the way, looking to him with slightly wounded, uncomphrending eyes, dark as sapphires. “I only want you, Horatio. We’re not in any danger here.”

Horatio sighed. Earlier, his misgivings had seemed so simple, so honorable, but now he felt foolish explaining them aloud. “I have no right to ask for any more than you’ve already given me. If no one in this house will give me what I deserve than at least I’ll rely upon my own conscience.”

Archie’s features hardened, and if he were not so fed up Horatio thought he would have laughed. “Horatio, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard – even from you.”

“Nevertheless . . .” Horatio dipped his chin stubbornly despite the blush creeping into his cheeks. He hated when Archie scorned him.

Having regained the proper use of his limbs, Archie leaned forward on his hands in a sudden surge of conviction. “You honestly expect to be punished by my father, don’t you? You want to be punished.” He crawled toward him, his voice growing more accusatory by the word. “You even think you deserve to hang – for what, I can’t fathom. Or perhaps you’d rather hang than accept the world as it is and your place in it. Well, I won’t let you hang, but I’ll punish you if that’s what you need for us to get on with our lives.”

“Archie . . .” Horatio shook his head. Archie’s coordination may have returned, but his sanity had yet to follow if he would rave like this.

Bare knees shoved into Horatio’s outstretched arm; he looked up to see Archie kneeling oven him, eyes shining with fresh determination, even fiercer than before.

“No, Horatio, I insist. This demon begs to be satisfied.” His lips drew back in a smile even Horatio identified as falsely sweet. “Come on, I’ll give you what you want.”

Horatio opened his mouth to ask the reason for this mad fit of temper, but Archie seized him with both hands before he could, hefting him over onto his stomach. Puzzled, Horatio remained still as Archie yanked the blankets back, exposing his naked skin to the chilly air of the room, raising gooseflesh that he supposed Archie would soon soothe away. His lover shifted behind him, and Horatio did not protest, hoping Archie would hurry in fetching the necessary oil and put an end to this ludicrous bickering.

For a prolonged moment Horatio waited, certain that Archie’s punishment would be nothing more than the “debasement” of penetration. He waited, but Archie did not lay his warm body over his to kiss and lick his neck and shoulders while his hardness rubbed between Horatio’s closed thighs, teasing them both, nor did Archie’s gentle fingers feather down from his tailbone and then press into him, igniting him like a fuse. Horatio frowned, ready to ask what was wrong when Archie finally returned to him, straddling his hips and pinning him down.

“Now be sure to endure it with the customary grit, Horatio,” Archie said from behind him. “You’d look silly with a gag.”

“Of course,” Horatio muttered into the pillow, resigned to go along with whatever this inebriated nonsense was. Protesting would get him nowhere, given Archie’s current state.

Archie took one of his hands, and again Horatio waited for the soft caress of lips. He received no teasing kisses, however, only the softer caress of silk fabric looping around his wrist. Horatio’s heartbeat climbed when Archie tied a knot and then stretched his arm out and up, affixing the loose ends of what Horatio realized was his cravat to the low, slender bedpost.

This was ridiculous, Horatio scowled, instinctively tugging to test his range of movement, conscious of Archie staring down at him. But Archie did not seem to find it so, his tone perfectly rational, if not mocking. “It’s just like when Eccleston strung you up in the rigging, isn’t it?” he said. “Or perhaps . . .”

The knot loosened, freeing Horatio for a brief moment before Archie seized the other hand and pinned his wrists together above his head, winding the thick strip of silk around them both. Archie tied another knot and this time secured the ends to the carved crest at the center of the headboard.

Faint panic coiled inside Horatio’s belly when Archie climbed off him, leaving him there. He considered his position, lying facedown on the pillow with his legs outstretched, his back and stern cold and exposed. For once in his life he was thankful for his long arms, allowing him to balance his elbows on the pillow so that the absurd posture did not strain his shoulders. But his bonds permitted him no more freedom than that, and all at once Horatio felt trapped, helpless, and embarrassed that Archie should see him like this.

“We can pretend you’re at the gratings!” Archie prattled on. “Just like the average old Tar. That’s it, isn’t it, Horatio? This is all because Pellew never could order the cane taken to your precious hide. You’ve never learned the meaning of shame the hard way and you don’t have the sense to be thankful, do you?”

Anger roughened Archie’s words – anger that should have worried Horatio into demanding his freedom, perhaps – but Archie was correct; he had never suffered a beating as punishment. He had watched others, of course, every Thursday. He had led a man through the gauntlet long ago and had ordered men flogged aboard Retribution. As for his aforementioned spell in the rigging, it had seemed grueling at the time, but Horatio had dismissed it after learning that while he had hung bound in the wind and rain, trying to reason out the fairness of that punishment, Archie had passed the time enduring far worse from Simpson all because of him.

But traveling down the path of that memory, Horatio realized that Archie was wrong about the other thing. He had known shame, if only once. He remembered going below that night, shivering and aching, hurt that Archie had not been there to help him into his hammock, and he remembered wondering if Archie was disgusted with him for allowing Simpson to beat him before the others like that. It had shamed him to be beaten in front of Archie, though at the time he had not understood why – because although Horatio loved him fierce and brave, he had wanted Archie to believe in the power of his protection.

That shame seemed selfish now; he had been so wrapped up in it that he had never given thought to where Archie had been that night – curled up in some corner of the ship, no doubt, hurting and hating him. It had not occurred to him then to look for Archie, and matters might have turned out differently if he had. He had failed to see, yet had been granted a transfer, a first command, an acting lieutenancy. Men committed lesser transgressions – men who did not let their friends die for them in duels or who did not strike their loved ones and send them to prison – yet those men were brutally beaten and shamed for all to see. And why had Pellew been so disappointed in him? How was accepting the recognition due Archie for the Minotaur’s capture so very different from stealing food from his shipmates in the hold?

Horatio bit his lip. His rewards over the years had been too heavy a burden, coupled with Pellew’s favoritism and most of all Archie’s wondrous and self- sacrificing love. He was now free of the first two, and the latter sustained him.

“Archie . . .” he murmured, though what he wanted Archie to do he did not know. He deserved to be flogged like the common rating for failing to stop Clayton aboard Justinian, and for Archie in Kingston he deserved to hang.

The wine did not seem to dull Archie’s damnable ability to read his thoughts. “We don’t have a cat or a cane, but perhaps . . .” He paused, and then his palm cracked hard against Horatio’s backside. “One!”

Horatio’s body jerked with the suddenness of the blow. His flesh tingled immediately from the imprint of Archie’s hand, and he blushed down to his toes at the sound the blow made, fast and sharp on his naked skin. He tugged at his bonds and thought of the men at the gratings and the man in his dream, of Wellard on Renown. His stomach swirled at the thought of enduring such a thing publicly. Surely the humiliation would have killed him.

“Two!” The next blow landed with equal force, too quickly for the sting of the first to dull. Perhaps he should have laughed – the whole idea was absurd, being flipped over and spanked like a child – but Horatio could not laugh; he could only concentrate on the tingling patch of fire where Archie’s palm had struck. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. What fit of madness had driven Archie to this? Did he hate him, somewhere deep and secret in his heart? He had every right to. “Three!” Archie’s hand cracked down again, the sharp sound and the sharper sting quickening Horatio’s heart to a rapid rate.

“Four! Five! Six! Seven! . . .” Again and again that sound assailed Horatio’s ears, falling into a rhythm like the audible friction of Archie taking him hard. The hot tingling in Horatio’s backside spread between his legs, building with each blow until it grew uncomfortable to lie with his loins trapped between his body and the bed. Horatio bit harder into his bottom lip, pushing his knees into the mattress and raising his posterior just a little to ease the ache.

“Twelve!” Archie reached the full dozen and still Horatio strained, his skin burning, his face hot, and his cock swollen – that was not supposed to happen, he knew, but he ached nonetheless. Grinding his body into the bedclothes only increased the throbbing and chafed the over-sensitive skin. He thought of how Archie had pleasured himself earlier, twisting beneath the blankets, and tried to lower a hand to do the same, nearly growling when the silk would not allow it. Men did not slink below to abuse themselves after punishment, did they? Or was he simply perverse, simply so hungry for Archie’s touch that even this aroused him?

From behind him, he could feel Archie’s eyes on his pink, sweltering skin, taking in his desperation, his arousal, and his helplessness. There was something so angry in his gaze that Horatio swallowed, mortified by the way his own body had betrayed him.

“Archie . . .” He called in a small, weak voice, wanting release now – not so much from his bonds as from the ache between his legs.

Archie crawled over him on all fours, balancing his palms beside Horatio’s shoulders, his body a thick wall of heat mere inches above him. Horatio could almost feel the rhythm of Archie’s breathing, fast and heavy, almost seething. Horatio squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in the pillow, lifting his arse all the way so that Archie could take him from behind.

He thought that would put an end to matters, that Archie would give in and wrap his arms around him, tease his nipples and then satisfy his need while he plunged inside him. But Archie did not give in; he drew back a little, dreadfully silent for a long moment.

“What’s this?” he finally hissed. “That wasn’t enough for you? You won’t be happy until you know what it is to be used like a whore as well?”

Horatio grimaced, wondering how many whores knelt facedown with their arms bound over the heads and their arses bared for the taking. Perhaps he was worse than a whore; without even the grace to blush at the vulgarity of Archie’s angry, accusing words.

“Archie . . .” Why was he so angry? Why did he not take him and get on with it?

Again, Archie fell silent for a long moment. Horatio could hear him breathing rapidly behind him, gasping once before shifting audibly. Archie touched him without warning then, smearing him with oil, and Horatio groaned low in his throat, pushing back against those hot, familiar fingers. But Archie snatched his hand away, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Is this how you’d rather have it, Horatio?” The words were choked as though Archie were hurting somehow. “No pleasure to trouble you?” Archie gripped his hips, leaning down until Horatio could feel his breath at the back of his neck, searing like flames on his skin. “I can tell you that you wouldn’t like it that way.”

Horatio tried to shake his head, to answer. But he wanted Archie to take him; he was always happy whenever Archie took him. They had done that so many times that Horatio’s body quivered with a wave of remembered pleasure even thinking on it now. He spread his knees, wanting nothing more than for Archie to quit his drunken raving and have him.

When Archie did not move, Horatio pushed back against him in the futile hope that one of the hands gripping his hips would drift down and satisfy the ache in his groin at least. But those hands did not move either, firmly anchored to his flesh, fingers digging hard enough to bruise. Horatio gave up and twisted his own hands helplessly in their bonds, ignoring how his shoulders ached with the effort, desperate to reach down and stop the burning if Archie would not do it for him.

But he could not free his hands, and once again he wanted to weep, crouched there with his bum up for the pillaging while his cock thrust neglected at the air. “Archie . . .” He squirmed. Why would Archie not touch him?

The fingers at his hips tightened, nails marking sharply until Archie’s grip nearly hurt. Horatio realized that he wanted to be hurt, that he would let Archie use his body to take out his anger at the world simply to be of use to him. He thrust back and bore down, tugging so fiercely at the silk that his wrists burned.

“Go on and do it,” he finally commanded, almost shouting it. Archie had to, before the fire between his legs drove him mad.

Archie pushed against him, and for a moment Horatio thought he would oblige, but then something seemed to shatter in the room itself and Horatio nearly tore through his lip in frustration as Archie crumpled suddenly onto his back, burying a damp cheek in his skin. The strength drained from the fingers at Horatio’s hips, and Archie slumped off him to one side, soundless in his corner of the bed.

It was at that moment, alone and sweating, that coherency washed over Horatio just as powerfully as climax would have. The burn in his wrists and shoulders complained that his hands were bound, the slight soreness in his backside and the stinging marks at his hips of what Archie had done and not done. He could still feel Archie’s hands gripping his narrow bones for leverage, the heaving breath searing the back of his neck. Half Horatio’s mind was still caught up in the mortifying urgency, the rest of him appalled and petrified.

Is this how you’d rather have it? Archie’s words floated back. The sweat dried on Horatio’s skin, leaving him cold. You’ve never learned shame the hard way.

A thick, hot sensation rolled through Horatio’s belly. He felt shame now, but more than that he felt sick, assailed by a sudden, too intimate understanding – one that had eluded him all these years. He had never intended any of this to happen, and damn it none of it would have had he taken Archie in his arms earlier as he had wanted. Still, he could not fathom how refusing Archie could make his lover this angry.

Gritting his teeth, Horatio gave the silk another determined tug. To his surprise the twisted fabric gave way. A poor knot for a sailor, Horatio scowled, even a drunken one. But that did not matter; he rolled onto his back, rubbing his writs and realizing that he could have freed himself at any time had he tried hard enough.

He turned and found Archie curled away from him on his own pillow. His eyes were closed, cheeks damp with sweat or drunken tears where he lay still and silent, clutching his belly in one hand as if trying not to be sick.

Damn Cassilis and damn Archie’s drinking. This was a fine mess. Horatio considered fetching the chamber pot and letting Archie heave his guts out, but for the sake of Archie’s belly did not dare move the bed.

Instead, he leaned over him on an elbow, watching him. He never quite knew what to do in these moments. If he asked, Archie might’s pride might demand that he go – Lord knew they could not talk about such a thing – but Horatio had no wish to retreat to the outer room restless and worried. Over the years, he had learned a few things in regards to Archie’s troubles; he knew how not to startle him at least.

Edging nearer, Horatio laid a hand against the back of Archie’s shoulder, stroking the warm skin that his bonds had denied him earlier and then straightening the collar of Archie’s open shirt where it had slipped down.

“Archie . . .”

His lover did not seem to hear him, holding his belly and biting his lip white, looking for all the world as though he wanted to die.

“Archie . . .” Horatio ran a hand through his short hair, frowning when Archie’s lids fluttered nervously at the touch.

The wave of sickness seemed to pass and Archie’s eyes cracked open, though not wide enough to look at him. He wet his lips and then made an obvious effort to compose himself with a deep breath, and then muttered hoarsely, “I won’t drink anymore.”

Frowning at Archie’s obvious pain, Horatio continued arranging his collar. “That might be wise.” He could think of nothing else to say.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Archie kept silent for another moment, and then finally asked in that same low voice, “Why did you have to be aroused by it?”

Horatio stopped fussing, cold inside at the notion that Archie’s sickness had not been brought on by memories and wine, but by something he had done. The question embarrassed him as well; his cheeks stung to remember the strange onslaught of a moment ago and his own response to it.

“Well, damn it, it was you,” he ended up saying stupidly, keeping his hand on Archie’s shoulder. Somehow the truth – that he had yearned for Archie since that wonderful night in Portsmouth – seemed improper to confess at the moment.

Archie still did not raise his head or open his eyes. He looked pale, hurt. “You shouldn’t have been. You forget that I can read your mind; you think you deserve to be hurt – you think there’s honor in it. You wouldn’t believe that, if you knew.”

Shame cut through him; Archie knew more of suffering than anyone and had an unfaltering ability to discern Horatio’s thoughts, even sick and feverish in Kingston. Horatio should have known that dwelling on his regrets would agitate Archie as much as speaking them aloud had the previous evening. What was more, Horatio supposed he should be grateful that no one in the house had sought retribution yet and that he and Archie were safe for the time being. As for what had happened a few moments ago, he would as soon pin it on the drink and think no more about it.

“I freed myself, didn’t I?” Horatio showed one hand for proof. “It would take more than a little wine to endanger my trust in you, Archie.”

That got Archie to open his eyes, his mouth pulling into a frown. “Until I want you, that is, then I’m a fool you have to be careful not to take advantage of. You let me hurt you but not please you, because you’re too busy lamenting what a swine you are for letting me last night. Perhaps I’m not wanted, if I sully your honor so.” His voice broke on the last bit.

Now he was raving. Archie could not possibly be in his right mind and say such a thing. “Of course you are. How could you think otherwise?”

Archie snorted. “Perhaps it’s the way you carry on sometimes as though I am dead. I saw your face as you went to martyr yourself to Fiona. I’m sorry to have interrupted your noble mourning with my silly desires.” He closed his eyes again, worrying the edge of the blanket with his fingers.

Horatio rolled back to his side of the bed. He had not realized he had hurt Archie so badly. Had he failed to express his joy that Archie was still with him? He certainly felt joy, but coming here and rehashing the Renown debacle had overshadowed it – he had grieved as much for Archie’s honor as he had his life. Archie could not understand that, of course – wanting nothing more than to put the Kingston mess behind him. Edrington had been right; Archie did not value himself enough, and perhaps this confusion between them now stemmed from the fact that he loved and valued Archie more than Archie ever would value himself and the career and reputation he had lost. Perhaps Archie felt his honor had been tarnished long ago in one of Justinian’s abandoned storerooms.

Horatio did not want to mention Simpson – that was only for Archie to do if he chose – and Archie’s gross underestimation of his own worth was only part of the problem. The rest . . . “I haven’t done a thing to deserve all you’ve done for me,” Horatio blurted out after a pause.

Looking over at Archie after he said it, Horatio expected him to laugh. But Archie did not, only blinked, taken aback, and then rolled over to face him.

“Ah,” he said quietly, his eyes soft when they met Horatio’s at last. God, sometimes it seemed as though there were three men inside him, one angry, one sweet, and the other fearless. “Poor Horatio, you just don’t understand, do you? I used to think you were all that was good in the world and don’t think you’ve disappointed me for a minute. Good God, you’ve put up with me for years without a single word of judgment. So please,” he laid a hand on Horatio’s arm, “will you put to rest this silly notion that you deserve to suffer? No one believes it but you.”

Horatio covered Archie’s hand with his own just for the simple comfort of touching him. Still, he grinned ruefully down at his lover, not quite convinced Cassilis would agree. “I suppose I got whatever I deserved after I sailed from Kingston. I was finally convinced there was a Hell, Archie, and my life was it.”

“You fool.” Archie snatched his hand away and sat up, infuriated all over again. “Did I deserve to be shot? If there’s Hell on earth it’s the burn of the bullet, Horatio. The slow rotting day by day. And if you think I didn’t suffer as much loneliness as you then you’re soundly mistaken, Mr. Hornblower, sir. Would you say I deserved it, Horatio?”

“Of course not!” Horatio dragged himself up against the headboard, biting his lip. He could not seem to say anything right this evening, and he was poor enough at arguing as it was. “Forgive me,” he sighed.

A flush crept into Archie’s cheeks, as if he were embarrassed by his own flash of temper – for all his moods, he was generally slow to lash out. Horatio studied him; he had never realized Archie was so angry inside, but supposed he had every right to be.

“Can we talk about something else?” Archie said after a quiet moment, clearly uncomfortable with Horatio’s scrutiny. He did not like to talk about his troubles.

“Of course.” Horatio pulled the blankets up over his legs, beginning to grow cold. “Your father for starters.”

“Oh.” Archie made a face, though not an angry one. “I doubt he’ll let me out of his sight for awhile. The Admiralty can sod right off, he says. As for you . . . I think you should accept Fiona’s offer. It will keep you from moping about at least half the day and you’re terribly patient, besides.”

Horatio blinked; he had forgotten the Baroness’ offer, and that he had reached a decision when she had made it. “Perhaps that might be best for the time being, Archie.” He sighed again. It would be discourteous to refuse and he would be a fool to scorn any employment at this point. Besides, Archie was right; it would keep him occupied without overly taxing him, and he had done a decent enough job tutoring Archie for his lieutenant’s exam.

“And Father wishes to go hunting now that it’s springtime,” Archie went on. “You might like that, Horatio.”

“Archie, I cannot go along. What sort of an earl takes a man of my station hunting?”

“Horatio,” Archie slid up next to him, all his melancholy drained away, “you forget my father is a Navy man. He keeps all sorts of company, having known so many officers. You’re just that, another officer to him. My father isn’t nearly as bad as you seem to think, Horatio.”

Horatio lowered his eyes. “If I’ve offended the Earl . . .”

“No.” Archie shook his head fiercely, but managed to combat his frustration. He inched over right next to him, laying his head on Horatio’s shoulder, gentle and disarming. Horatio slid an arm around him, running his fingers through Archie’s tawny hair and glancing sideways at the pale cravat that had dropped between the pillows. He supposed whatever had flared between them had been ridiculous at best – though he still did not quite understand what had made Archie act as he had.

Again, Archie seemed to read the thought, angling his head to look up at him with deep blue eyes, gentle as a kitten. “Horatio . . .” he began softly, wetting his lips. “I didn’t mean to be impatient with you. I do love that you aren’t a filthy swine. I merely . . . the way you apologized for last night, and the things you said – being filthy and taking advantage; I suppose I couldn’t stand to hear you talk that way about us when you know nothing about filthy. Forgive me, I . . . Is there something –?”

“Archie,” Horatio cut him off with a shake of his head. ”I’ve said it’s all right – and I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Now must we carry on like this all night?”

Archie bit his lip. “Well, no I . . . Your damned guilt drives me mad enough as it is.” He put a hand on Horatio’s chest, still peering up at him. “Horatio, I’ve seen the worst of men and you’re far from it. I only wish you would believe me.”

“Archie, men have died for me.”

“I know.” Archie smiled a little wickedly, lowering his hand to cover Horatio’s on his knee. “And some of us have died with you and would gladly do so again and again.” Horatio had a mind to tell him not to jest about such things, but he chuckled despite himself, appreciating Archie’s efforts to lift his sour mood.

“Come here.” He pulled Archie against his chest, wrapping him in both arms and leaning back against the bed frame, relieved to have him so close again at last. Archie was deliciously warm and sweet, slipping his arms around his neck and folding perfectly against him. Horatio could not resist running his hands over his broad back through his shirt and kissing his warm temple. ”My darling,” he murmured, nuzzling behind Archie’s ear, swept up in a wave of sentimentality. “My love.”

Archie’s cheek flared hot against his own. “Stop that!” He pushed feebly at Horatio’s chest.

Horatio smiled a little, petting Archie’s hair. “Why?” If Archie was his love, then why should he deny it?

“Because we’re men, that’s why.” Archie drew back and rolled his eyes at him.

Chuckling at his indignation, Horatio flung his long arms around Archie’s sturdy body, squeezing him against his chest with all his strength. “Thank God, or I wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

A wicked grin rounded Archie’s cheeks, prickliness forgotten. “Well, I know what to do with you.” He wedged a hand between their bodies, curling his warm fingers between Horatio’s legs and tugging gently, “so there’s no need to be so servile.”

Horatio only smiled; Archie’s delicate masculinity would never tolerate hearing how much he loved to tend and please him. “Whose service is perfect freedom, Archie,” he said, breathing a little faster for those tantalizing caresses. Archie continued stroking purposely until Horatio stiffened in his grasp. Understanding what he wanted, Horatio looked down at him uncertainly. “Are you certain you . . .?” What, with the bad memories and a fragile belly; Archie would be ill enough tomorrow without making it worse tonight.

Annoyance flashed briefly in Archie’s eyes, but he quickly reined it in. “Still guilty, I see. What’s to be done about it? Well, perhaps I had the right idea.” He glanced over Horatio’s shoulder. “Might we play a game? In the morning you can remind your precious conscience that it was all my doing.”

He took up the cravat from the pillow, and Horatio stared at it a moment, thinking back on his “punishment” and wondering what Archie could possibly do with the thing if his earlier excitement had upset him so. But he nodded, having no real objections to whatever Archie wished to do with him.

Without instructing him to move at all, Archie pushed the pillows out of the way so that Horatio could lean against the headboard. He then took the strip of silk and wound it around Horatio’s wrists, securing his hands behind his back.

Tugging once to test his bonds, Horatio grinned in slight embarrassment to discover that Archie had tied a better knot this time. At least his position was not so absurd as the last, and he would be able to see whatever Archie would be doing. Still, Horatio felt silly trapped like this under Archie’s gaze.

Seeing his discomfort, Archie crawled up between his sprawled legs, smoothing his hands down Horatio’s shoulders. “Now,” he coaxed, warm and comforting. “What do you want?”

Horatio blinked. He had expected Archie to resume breaking him of his supposed thirst for punishment, not pose questions. “I don’t understand.”

“Horatio, I did ask you earlier . . .”

The impatience in Archie’s voice made Horatio want to fidget. Archie had indeed asked earlier, slurring drunkenly and groping at him like a . . . a randy sailor to a shy maiden. He had thought the question forgotten in the muddle, but apparently it had been part and parcel of Archie’s frustration all along. Horatio curled his fingers into the sheets, unfairly exasperated. His modesty should be no concern of Archie’s; he always did his best to please him.

“Horatio. . .” Archie persisted, kneeling there between his legs. Horatio scowled; his hands were bound and he had no escape.

Giving in, Horatio leaned down toward Archie’s mouth – the first thing he always wanted – but Archie drew back, tapping a finger to Horatio’s lips and smiling devilishly, as if having this sort of power pleased him. “You have to say it – that’s the game.” Archie’s hand crept down, rubbing over his chest in a way that helped Horatio breathe easier. “Your wish is my command,” he said softly, before withdrawing his touch.

Frowning at the deprivation, Horatio glanced down at his own bony, naked body. It was a weak body, really, set aflame by Archie’s tiniest caresses. Sometimes it could be stirred by even less than that – an impish smile from across the deck, or Archie’s rough commands to his gun division in battle. So many things seemed to trigger Horatio’s lust now that he thought back on it, and he’d had Archie in so many ways – slowly and thoroughly when they were both clean from the bath, crying out softly in Horatio’s arms, and quick and hushed after the frenzy of battle, still smelling of powder and blood.

Horatio smiled to remember it all, so caught up in those memories that he had forgotten Archie was there with him, facing him on the bed. Perhaps Archie was right; he was too caught in the past. It was not as though the future, as intangible a thing as it seemed, could not hold equally pleasant memories.

“Anything, Archie,” he finally said. It was all more than he thought a solitary fool such as himself could ever delight in anyway.

That was clearly not the answer Archie wanted; he sighed loudly and sat back on his heels. “I could always return to my book . . .” He stretched a hand toward the table beside the bed where Milton lay to steal Archie away like another lover, like that woman who had in all likelihood borne his child.

Horatio jerked forward to stop him, but the silk around his wrists prevented him from reaching out. He huffed in frustration, staring at Archie and scowling. “All right, kiss me – if you please,” he added after a pause.

A warm hand curled under his jaw, and Horatio closed his eyes in anticipation. Archie engaged his mouth gently this time, nothing like the savage grinding of earlier, still tasting of wine, exquisitely so. Horatio opened his mouth for Archie’s tongue, groaning when it filled him, slippery and hot between his lips, toying with him until he thought his head would burst from sheer delight of it.

They parted a moment to breathe, and filled with warmth Horatio dropped his head back without opening his eyes. But he quickly remembered the rules of the game and whispered, “A bit lower, my love.”

Just like that, he was obliged. Archie’s mouth slid down his neck, hot and wet and gently feasting. Horatio’s heartbeat quickened, his pulse thrumming in his ears and pounding mightily between his legs. He shifted on his bound hands, wanting to yank them free and slide a hand through Archie’s hair, to urge him on and on, but he had the feeling that asking to be freed would circumvent Archie’s intentions somehow.

After a moment, Archie stopped, looking up at Horatio with bright, arresting eyes, intense with affection, his lips red from use and his cheeks flushed. Dear God, his beauty was heart-wrenching. “What now?” he asked gamely. “You’re the strategist.”

Horatio’s color rose, shamed by the eagerness in Archie’s eyes to have considered asking for his freedom. Archie was only being generous as usual; he had to be without a doubt the most patient and attentive lover in the world.

“Well I didn’t say stop.”

Archie huffed and frowned. “Horatio, that’s cheating. What happened to your conscience?”

The flush to Horatio’s cheeks deepened. He had not meant to sound irritable. If this was a punishment then he should rein in his own discomfort and accept it with the grit expected of a man. He supposed Archie had chosen a fitting punishment, knowing well how self-conscious and modest he could be.

“Ha-hm, forgive me. Please . . . please touch me, Archie.”

He felt ridiculous saying it, though he did not know why – they had engaged in every manner of intimate activity several times over these past years. But more than that, he had always been honored by what Archie chose to give him, out of trust, and this business of ordering Archie about seemed to cheapen that somehow.

But he forgot that when Archie’s hand came to his chest, stroking the smooth skin just over his heart and then scratching gently there for a too brief moment.

“Here?” Archie swept his hand to one side, rubbing the pad of one finger into a nipple.

Horatio sucked in a breath, sharp pangs shooting through his lower body. He arched his back, twisting in his confines. “Yes. There,” he choked out, leaning back as he shuddered a little. Heat scorched his cheeks to speak out like this, and he wondered at how he could order men to kill and die but blush scarlet with his own lover. It was absurd. How did Archie find the time to be patient with his awkwardness?

Archie’s clever fingers moved to the other nipple, this time pinching gently. Horatio quivered with the acute sensation, grunting at the sharp twinge of pleasure between his legs. He stretched back further, spreading his knees, straining a little in his bonds when Archie’s hand did not move down as he wanted.

“Well lower,” he prompted, the command roughened by his own ragged breathing. He groaned again when the pressure left his sensitive nipple, and then shivered bodily when Archie’s fingertips scratched at his taut belly. The pleasure was too sharp; Horatio feared he would spill over at any minute and embarrass himself. He did not stop to think on why he could not, on what he was holding out for.

“Here?” Archie continued to tease, dipping one fingertip into his navel. Horatio’s body rippled and curled, his head falling back all the way against the wood. He pushed his hips up toward Archie’s hand, numb but for the inferno in his lap, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing hard.

“Yes – no! You know what I meant.” Why did Archie have to make this so difficult?

Archie chuckled, his hand drifting straight down, seizing Horatio’s cock in a hot, strong grip. Gripping the sheets to steady himself, Horatio bit hard into his lip, breathing rapidly through his nose, his body threatening once again to burst. Slowly, he let out his breath as Archie began to stroke him, up and down, the long relieved sigh turning into a moan when Archie gently squeezed the head and smeared the liquid there.

“Like that?” Archie murmured, looking directly into his eyes.

Horatio bit into his lip again, cheeks burning at the concentration in Archie’s eyes. He felt his every response measured, his every twitch and moan, and felt unfairly irritated, mortified and uneasy, feared that Archie enjoyed humiliating him somehow. Why did they have to play this game? They had been perfectly satisfied these seven years.

As if sensing his irritation, Archie brought his free hand to Horatio’s cheek again, soothing him with his fingertips. “Horatio, it’s all right,” he said, and then closed his eyes. Horatio nearly cried when Archie pressed their mouths together, caressing his lips as his hand continued to move between Horatio’s legs.

He tasted so good that Horatio itched to pull Archie closer, but he could not. All he could do was lap up the flavor of him from his own lips when Archie pulled away, staring at him. He was bright-eyed and flushed and strong-looking in the lamplight, his chest glistening with gold, his thighs powerful under the hem of his shirt and his cock erect between them. Horatio frowned; it was hardly fair that Archie had denied his hands the wonderful feel of his body, much less deprived his eyes of the sight of him.

“Take off your shirt, Archie. I want to look at you,” he blurted out in frustration, surprised at how quickly the thought made its way to his tongue. His thoughts never seemed to do that before, but Archie had always seemed to rob him of his self-control.

Again, Archie chuckled, leaning back and gathering his shirt up. Horatio’s throat dried, watching the play of muscle of Archie’s chest and arms as he tugged the linen up over his head, baring pink nipples and his eager cock in its bed of golden curls. Archie was not ashamed of any of it, throwing the shirt aside, but Horatio felt better somehow knowing his friend was as aroused as he.

“Come here,” Horatio said, remembering that the burden of command, as it were, still rested on him, and that he would never feel that splendid body against his own tonight unless he asked.

Smiling, Archie climbed into his lap, splaying his strong thighs across Horatio’s hips. His arms slid around Horatio’s neck, the most tip of his cock poking into Horatio’s stomach. Horatio groaned, but he could move his body at least, and pushing hard into the mattress he did just that, grinding his hips up into Archie’s warmth. Archie clung to him, panting in his ear as if starved for the contact, rubbing his body back against Horatio’s, nuzzling his hot cheek against Horatio’s face and neck, alive and aroused and untempered in his lust.

“Now what?” Archie panted, unbearably hot where a thin layer of sweat sealed their chests together. Horatio flexed his fingers with the urge to stroke that supple skin, feeling a little like Tantalus in his river – famished but unable to reach. “Horatio?”

All at once Horatio tensed. Archie was warm and naked and eager to please him, wrapped around him, but still Horatio wrestled with conscience and dignity. Then he wondered why he toiled under the burden of dignity anymore. He was not a hero laboring under his captain’s expectations, the captain of his own ship, a mutineer charged with defending his wounded friends or a prisoner burdened with the duty to escape. He was only a man, a man with a hard cock and an aroused lover. He had everything now, and all that stood between him and his idle fantasies were his own modesty and pride. Horatio swallowed; he had no right to pride after Archie had rolled him over and spanked him like a child, after he had wept in Archie’s arms last night.

Color still stung his cheeks, but he impatiently said, “I want . . . well, put me inside you, damn it.”

Archie tensed against him, and for a moment Horatio feared his lover would slap him for such a bold request. But he did not; he squeezed him tight and kissed his cheek with a raspy, “aye, aye, sir!” before wrapping an arm tight around Horatio’s neck and tipping them both to rummage through the bedclothes for the oil.

He found the bottle and quickly uncapped it, pouring a little into his palm. Horatio frowned, considering his own bound hands and then Archie. ”Let me help,” he said, tugging at the silk around his wrists. “You can restrain me again once –“

“Be quiet,” Archie shook his head. He leaned up and smothered Horatio’s mouth with his own, kissing him and kissing him, driving Horatio’s head into the cherry wood as he smeared a thick handful of oil over Horatio’s cock, coating every inch of him. He would not leave Horatio’s mouth alone, pushing his tongue inside and wriggling closer, gripping Horatio tight so that he could slide down onto him.

Horatio watched his face, watched Archie’s features scrunch and his pink lips part with a faint whimper; he had hurt himself. “Archie . . .” He made to stop him, but the shadow soon passed. Archie thrust his body down with a determined grunt, encasing Horatio’s cock in the starkest tightness and heat. Christ, had he always been so hot? Or had the wine burned him up inside?

Archie moved gently at first, groaning when he ignited his own pleasure, thighs quivering against Horatio’s hips. The pace quickened as Archie’s ecstasy began to overtake him; he rubbed against Horatio’s neck, rocking over him in abandon. Horatio slammed his eyes shut, groaning too at the aching pressure of each little tug and squeeze, thrusting up into Archie’s body as fiercely as his hindered position would allow.

His head rolled to one side, eyes falling open, transfixed as he had been last night on the way their bodies moved together – Archie straddled over his lap and he bucking back against him, into him. He gazed at Archie’s golden skin, flushed and damp, at how powerful he was, and found himself suddenly ravenous. Horatio stretched forward, uncaring whether it hurt or not, lapping at Archie’s neck and shoulder, daring to bite once or twice. Archie shivered against his chest in response, heart tripping madly, hips moving faster. Horatio could scarcely stand it, wanting to clutch Archie to him with all his might and grind against him until they were both miles beyond their senses.

“Archie, for God’s sake,” he growled. “Untie me.”

It took a moment for Archie to hear him, but he slipped a hand down, loosening the knot at last. Horatio flexed his fingers for a bare moment and then crushed Archie in his arms, strong and warm and golden. He considered tossing Archie onto his back and thrusting until Archie wept with pleasure, but this felt so good Horatio did not want to move. He wrapped his arms tight around Archie’s hips and leaned back, squeezing his eyes shut and letting Archie work them both into a frenzy.

The climax came hard and sudden, breaking Horatio apart from the inside. The shell that remained felt lighter somehow. Hot liquid spurted against his chest a moment later, and then Archie fell on top of him like a pile of bricks, heavy and immobile. He gasped frantically, unable to catch his breath until Horatio rubbed his sweaty back to calm him. Then he was quiet, opening his eyes a fraction after a long while.

“Hello, Archie,” Horatio smiled down at him, brushing the hair away from his damp forehead.

Archie grinned back at him, star-eyed and scarcely coherent, but after swallowing once or twice gathered his wits to speak. “Forget all about me, did you?”

“Not quite.” Horatio stroked Archie’s flushed, pretty cheek, though he supposed he had been deep in abandon a moment ago.

“Hmm. I like your hands.” Archie announced suddenly, grabbing one and rubbing his face against it like a cat, tickling the palm with his tongue. “I’ve missed them.”

Horatio could help but chuckle to see Archie so childlike and silly. “As they’ve missed you,” he answered dryly, but then feeling a bit silly himself added, “Now that your side is healed, I sometimes want to pretend I’ve discovered you alive all over again.”

Archie’s face lit up and he let Horatio’s hand fall. “Well it’s about damned time you said you were happy about it.”

Remorse gnawed at him, but Horatio was too tired to give into it. “For now let us pretend we’re very sleepy, Archie. It’s late.” There were other things he might like to pretend, seeing as how his life would lack regular excitement now. He wondered somewhat frivolously if Archie had kept that French captain’s mask. That was silly, of course; he would never muster the courage to ask to play such games.

Archie nodded at the prospect of sleep, clearly exhausted as well.. ”And tomorrow? You’ll accept Fiona’s offer and join us hunting?”

“Indeed.” Employment would take one great worry from his mind, and perhaps it would also do him good to get out. He was certainly lucky to be presented with both opportunities after only a week out of the Service. “I’m grateful to your family, Archie. It was most wise of your father to accept your word as truth today.”

“Ha,” Archie laughed quietly. “He made certain we grew up with no delusions about the world and the people in it. He wasn’t all correct, of course.” Archie kissed his cheek. “Good night, Horatio.”

“Good night, Archie.” Horatio let him to slide away to his side of the bed, feeling the heaviness of sleep tug at his own body already. No gnawing thoughts would keep him awake tonight, he knew, with tomorrow settled as well as the foreseeable future. He sighed and settled into the pillow, light-headed and feeling that at least a part his life had begun resolve itself. ~