Archie shifted restlessly upon Horatio’s wide bed, his head aching from lying down. They were two weeks into their journey and the Caribbean air still stifled; he lay with nothing but the sheet over his dressing gown and would not even have bothered with that were it not for a silly need to cover his scar with an extra layer of cloth.

Retribution’s bell rang the afternoon watch. Archie hoped that meant Horatio would want his cot back for a nap – he had not napped since the first dogwatch yesterday. These days Archie found he could sleep ten or twelve hours at a time, yet considering how little Horatio occupied this bed for that purpose Archie felt as though he were sleeping for both of them.

The burden of command weighs heavy, Bush had told him once, and Archie could see that weight upon Horatio. A newly commissioned ship presented particular difficulties, especially after a third of her crew had been killed on the Minotaur’s decks and when there were prisoners to be put to work in their place. But a short-handed ship was not all that kept Horatio awake at night. Archie frowned;, knowing exactly how much time Horatio spent mulling over his poor heath and worse, his ruined future.

He heard footsteps and then the sound of Horatio latching shut the great cabin door. Archie’s blood stirred, so oppressively bored lying abed that even a few brief words were something to anticipate. Sighing loudly from without, Horatio stepped into view and slammed his hat down on the wide desk. He had his back to him, but Archie could see the tension in Horatio’s body as he leaned forward with his palms on the wood, drawing in a breath to calm himself.

“What’s the matter?” Archie called out to him.

Horatio straightened, letting out another great huff. “Damned carpenter’s incompetent, not a damn midshipman can call noon, and this damned paper work is hardly diminishing.” He shrugged out of his coat and flung it down atop his hat. “I’ll never tackle a word of it toiling with this rabble.”

Archie shook his head. It was not the carpenter or the midshipmen troubling Horatio, but whatever it was he likely would not share it. “Perhaps a nap would leave you better equipped to withstand them. I could read in the meantime.”

Loosening his stock, Horatio moved into the smaller doorway, his voice low though not precisely gentle. “There’s no need, Archie. Go back to sleep.” He barked it like an order.

“I’ve slept enough.” Archie threw the sheet back, tired of sweating under it. “I could see to the ship’s books. I am qualified to command this vessel in your stead, after all – at least I used to be.”

Horatio’s mouth firmed, unamused by the reminder. “In your state, you’re scarcely fit to dress yourself.”

Archie scowled. He could dress himself. Well perhaps he could not climb the rigging or lift a barrel of gunpowder, but he could dress himself. Horatio left off, however, coming into the sleeping cabin and securing the door. He said nothing, only unbuttoned his waistcoat and trousers, stripping them off along with the rest of his clothing and tossing them into a pile on the floor. Archie stared at him, shocked to see Horatio treat his uniform so haphazardly. He could remember a time when Horatio would fuss and preen and brush the thing to excess.

But Horatio was in a hurry to be naked now, and once he tugged his stockings off he threw himself onto the bed with a loud sigh. Sitting up, Archie watched him. He looked so tired with the shadows under his eyes and yet irresistibly sensuous stretching out his long limbs and rolling his dark head to one side, working the stiffness from his neck.

Smiling, Archie sank down beside him. Horatio’s big eyes opened then and he immediately rolled toward him, dropping his head onto Archie’s chest and rubbing his cheek there like a cat. “How are you, Archie?” he looked up and asked, gentler now.

“Better,” Archie murmured, petting Horatio’s clean-shaven cheek. His doe eyes were so melting that Archie could not resist kissing the end of his long nose. Horatio grinned and then flopped onto his back again, shamelessly sprawling his long arms and legs, unaware of how glorious he was with his smooth chest and slender, snowy thighs.

He closed his eyes again, and Archie thought Horatio might fall asleep if left alone. But by the creases in his forehead and the muscle twitching in his jaw Archie could see there was something amiss.

“Are you all right?” Archie asked quietly, touching Horatio’s shoulder.

Horatio blinked and nodded. “Just tired, Archie.”

Tired of what? And what would Horatio do during his next voyage without anyone to look after him? Archie frowned, but did not want to think on that now. He sat up and crawled over to Horatio, teasing him instead. “Captain Hornblower . . . undone by paper work and incompetent crewmen. Henceforth, his career might as well be termed one long continuous watch.”

Rolling his head back, Horatio chuckled. “Stop that.” He reached up and took Archie by the shoulders and then cupped his face in both hands, kissing him under the pretense of stopping his mouth. But Horatio’s hands would not let go and his mouth instantly yielded, inviting Archie’s tongue inside. Archie obliged, anchoring his palms beside Horatio’s shoulders and sliding one leg over Horatio’s hip so that he was on hands and knees above him. He pushed his tongue in slowly, tasting the inside of Horatio’s upper lip and then tickling at his tongue. Horatio seemed to grow hotter underneath him, groaning quietly against Archie’s mouth.

Horatio’s hands moved down then, sliding past Archie’s shoulders, over his ribs and hips, all the way down to his knees. Archie shivered when they moved back up, trailing lightly over the backs of his thighs under his nightshirt and then gently cupping his arse. He drew back for breath, his arms burning from the effort of holding himself up, but that did not stop him from sinking into Horatio’s wet mouth again. For his part, Horatio must have been too exhausted for inhibitions; he slid a hand down from Archie’s hip, grasping between his legs and hurriedly coaxing Archie to a full erection.

Archie stilled, embarrassment bubbling up beneath the building arousal. He knew what Horatio wanted – he loved nothing more than to lie back and be taken – but did not think his weakened body had the stamina to please Horatio just yet. The other night, Archie had tried to please him with his mouth, but had grown too dizzy to keep it up very long. Both of them had guiltily, awkwardly apologized and had ended up simply touching one another while trying not to leave a mess.

But Archie did not want awkwardness now; he wanted Horatio to fall into a deep, sated sleep. Sitting back, he snatched the salve from the little desk, gently coating Horatio’s warm prick with a handful of the stuff. Horatio’s eyes squeezed shut at the touch and then opened wide in understanding.

“Well don’t hurt yourself,” he said, breathing hard.

“I won’t,” Archie promised. But Horatio took the jar from him anyway, reaching around and carefully preparing Archie with the salve. His touch was so feather-light that Archie shivered again, but then he relaxed utterly, wanting Horatio inside him. Horatio kept his hands under him, steadying Archie as he took hold of Horatio’s cock and slid onto him. It was as though he were melting, sinking down against Horatio’s hips – Horatio was so hot inside him. Archie dropped his head back, soaking up Horatio’s low groan and letting Horatio’s hands support him as he began to move.

The rocking of the ship did most of the work. Archie had only to balance on his hands, push a little with his knees, and let their bodies gently collide. He stared down at Horatio on the pillow. His head was turned to one side, swept up in a rush of pleasure. Archie loved looking at him, the way his lips parted and his features strained and then relaxed by turns. The pleasure was like a wave rolling back and forth between them, and then it took them both just as Archie began to grow too dizzy. His body tightened and then let go in shudders, spilling his seed onto Horatio’s smooth belly just as Horatio arched up and thrashed his head back with a thick, choked groan.

Gripping him by the hips, Horatio kept Archie where he was until he softened inside Archie’s body, his features relaxing in truth this time. But even then, Archie did not want to move; Horatio felt warm inside him and he wished Horatio would grow hard again so they could have another go. Both of them were too tired for that though, and Archie saw bright flecks before his eyes, feeling that he could not get enough air into his lungs to stop his head from spinning. His limbs were burning. He had to lie down.

Climbing off Horatio, Archie dropped carefully to the pillow, twisting so that he could comfortably curl up against Horatio’s shoulder. Horatio’s arms came around him, drawing him closer so that their chests where pressed together. Archie could feel Horatio’s heart still beating fast, his breathing rough in his ear.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Horatio said, his cheek in Archie’s hair. “You don’t look well.”

Archie frowned, feeling weak and thin, but insisted, “I’m all right. I only need water.”

“I’ll get it.” Horatio tried to sit up, but Archie stopped him with a hand on his chest. At the moment, Horatio needed rest more than he.

“I’ve got to piss too,” he lied.

“I’ll do it for you.”

Archie laughed; Horatio wasn’t making sense, groggy already. He waited a minute until Horatio’s arms loosened and then slipped out of the bed, tugging the sheet up over Horatio’s bare form and leaving him to sleep in peace. Archie really did want water, but could wait for that. Instead, he took Horatio’s jacket from the desk, shaking it out and draping it over the back of the chair. It would never do for Horatio to walk the quarterdeck wrinkled, and once awake Horatio would only find the state of his jacket yet another thing to fret over.

There were more important worries, such as the ship’s books, to attend to, lest the old Purser think to get away with a few tricks under a young captain. Archie roved through the records with a critical eye, not so good at figures as Horatio but not a dunce either. He went through every page and every line, certain Horatio had been too tired to bother. In fact, Archie could scarcely imagine Horatio selecting a crew in Kingston, other than Matthews and Styles who must have volunteered after Renown’s people had been divided and replaced. Pellew must have arranged the rest. Horatio did not even seem to recall leaving Kingston and did not want to talk about it.

Archie was so absorbed in the books that he did not hear the footsteps on the planks. He glanced up from the desk to see Horatio in the doorway in his shirt and trousers now, staring at him. Something overwhelming burned in his eyes. He looked like he would weep.

After a moment, Horatio cleared his throat and in a thick voice asked, “Archie, what’s this?”

“Oh.” Archie smoothed one page with his hand. “Just making certain your purser isn’t as incompetent as the Carpenter. Look here, Horatio.” He pointed to an entry from January, when Retribution had first gathered supplies. “These numbers don’t add up. There’s –“

Crossing the cabin, Horatio pried Archie’s hand from the page and closed the book. “Nevermind the Purser or the books.” His eyes were stern.

Archie frowned, thinking that Horatio did not want him poking about in the ship’s business. An acid reply formed on his tongue, but Horatio went on.

“And nevermind this.” He touched the jacket Archie had hung on back of the chair. “You’re not the steward. Now come, Archie.”

Before Archie could ask where they were going, Horatio slid an arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees. Archie huffed as Horatio hefted him up against his shoulder, ready to demand that Horatio put him down. His friend’s stern dark gaze forbade it, and despite the strain in Horatio’s features, Archie felt light and frail in his arms as Horatio marched solemnly back into the sleeping cabin.

“Here’s where you belong,” Horatio scolded, and then let out a woof of breath after depositing Archie on the bed. Archie scowled at him, but Horatio’s expression brooked no nonsense, very much the captain in command. “You must rest, or you’ll never get better.”

Archie snorted; he was better – better than he had been a month ago anyway. Better than dead, or near to it. But he could not deny that he was only half recovered and that the smallest illness could finish him now in his state.

“I only wanted . . .” Archie trailed off, but Horatio seemed to understand.

“Archie . . .”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing a hand through Archie’s hair and then along one shoulder, his dark eyes intent but gentle. Archie seized his hand, not to push it away but simply to hold it against his cheek. He liked Horatio’s hands, long and fine like an artist’s. Horatio sighed, his gaze turning even more tender, that fixed, absorbed look when Horatio forgot even his duty and saw only him. Archie blinked, finding he had to look away; Horatio had not looked at him that way since Kingston. Archie did not think he would ever forget the weight of those eyes then, watching him die.

The moment passed. Horatio tugged his hand free. “How are you feeling, Archie? The truth now.”

Shifting uncomfortably on the pillow, Archie made a face. For more than a month now he had been telling everyone that he was all right. But he had been frightened for Horatio. He had been in terrible, terrible pain. And he had been lonely until a fortnight ago. Archie saw no reason to burden Horatio with that, however; the man’s guilt was extreme as it was.

“Tired,” he said simply, and then touched a hand to his side. “It still hurts a little.”

“Here.” Horatio rose and went into the great cabin, returning with a small bottle. Laudanum. “It’s only a little, Archie. I thought you might need it. You must rest,” he said again.

Archie frowned at the stuff; it made him light-headed and clumsy, but that was better than the burning under his ribs. It was not as though he had a choice, besides; Horatio slid a hand behind his head, bringing the vial up for him to drink. Archie did not fight, but swallowed the bitter stuff and let Horatio wipe his mouth with a corner of the sheet. If Horatio wished to assuage his guilt by fussing then let him.

“There now.” Horatio set the vial down. “That wasn’t so bad, eh, Archie? Now what about this?” He retrieved the jar of salve from under the sheet. Archie snorted, supposing it was time they used it for its proper purpose today. The Surgeon had advised him to keep his scars moist.

He lay quiet as Horatio lifted his nightshirt up, spreading a dollop over the red marks on his side. Again, Horatio’s touch was deliciously gentle. Archie closed his eyes, willing to concede for once that he did not mind being taken care of. He squirmed a little at the ticklish sensation of being touched there, but Horatio did not tease; Archie may have lain nearly naked before him, but for Horatio, this was medical necessity not an erotic game. He was frustratingly good at separating the two.

“I’ve got to be on deck now,” Horatio said when he finished, putting the salve aside, smoothing Archie’s nightshirt down, and then drawing up the sheet. “Go to sleep. You’re sick. There’s nothing to worry over now.”

He squeezed Archie’s hand again and then kissed it. Archie smiled only briefly; there was too much to worry over – what would happen to Horatio after Portsmouth, for starters. Horatio’s hand slid from his. Archie wanted to tug it back. But he could not; Horatio had his duty and he had no right to keep him from it.

**

Archie let go of the memory, a fond smile lingering about his lips. He could still feel Horatio’s hand in his hair and the lingering Indies’ heat, dulling his senses to the bitter January cold that had settled into his bones. He would have been warmer with Horatio curled beside him, but caution did not allow them to stay cloistered for long and Horatio only slept at the opposite end of the house. Two years ago Archie had feared whole oceans would have separated them by now.

He took in his quiet bedchamber. The fire had died and very little moonlight seeped in through the closed drapes, and it was so cold that Archie half expected ice to form on the polished floorboards, yet even in the dark the place had a cozy feel. Even Horatio seemed to think so. Archie had never thought Horatio could feel at home anywhere but aboard ship, but his friend had grown fond of curling up with Archie on the chaise before the fire and then crawling into Archie’s wide bed, taking and giving pleasure beneath the blankets. He was even happy to have visitors downstairs – even Archie’s father, who talked more than Horatio was ordinarily comfortable with.

They saw quite a lot of the Earl these days, much more than Archie had seen of him before joining the Service. Archie wondered if his father’s presence did not comfort Horatio, as a former officer full of venom toward the institution he had served. That venom had grown potent after Archie and Horatio had returned from Scotland last year, when Henry Wellard had come up to London for Christmas with unhappy news.

Captain Hammond had been mixed up in some inane Irish rebellion with Bonaparte’s hand on the puppet strings. Pellew had given Bracegirdle a mission to carry a French major to Brest – with Mr. Bush as a first lieutenant of all people – and Henry had told of seeing Hammond blow his brains out firsthand. For his part, Pellew had advised a cover-up of the bastard’s treason on the grounds that Irishmen comprised too great a portion of England’s navy to risk dividing loyalties.

The good Earl had raved for more than an hour at the news. Why should the Admiralty shield a guilty man and crucify an innocent? Politics be damned; and even if his son were guilty, siding with the enemy still outweighed assaulting one’s Captain as far as treason went. Cassilis had even threatened taking that argument to Pellew personally, but Archie doubted he had. In any case, the news had put a strain upon Archie; he wondered whether Pellew might have preferred Horatio for that mission and how Horatio’s conscience would have fared against such a cover-up – sensible in and of itself but absurd considering Hammond’s calls for blood in Kingston. That night, Archie had taken Horatio to his bed more thankful than ever that he had left the Navy.

Horatio heard the news with dispassion. If anything, Archie suspected the Navy’s latest compromise had only rooted Horatio’s convictions deeper in his heart. He had been quiet that day, what little regard he had left for Pellew no doubt crumbling.

A knock sounded on the door, but Archie could not bring himself to leave the warm cocoon of blankets to answer it; his side ached from the cold and his body felt stiff. After a moment, the door creaked open, admitting the tall figure of Horatio draped in a cozy dark wool robe, stockings and soft leather bedslippers on his feet. He crossed the room almost soundlessly, a candle in one hand. In the yellow light, his eyes seemed huge, his soft skin ethereal alabaster. Archie could remember when the Caribbean sun had turned his friend golden, but Horatio spent most of his time indoors these days.

Pausing at the edge of the bed and setting his candle down, Horatio toed off his slippers and unfastened his robe, letting it slide to the floor before tugging the blankets back and climbing in. A cold draft washed over Archie’s body; he gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. But Horatio drew the covers up quickly enough and slid his arms around him from behind. The chill of Horatio’s hand cut through Archie’s nightshirt; he jumped, as though a block of ice had dropped upon his chest.

Horatio snatched his hand away. “I feared you were asleep.”

“It’s too cold to sleep.” Archie shook his head against the pillow, and then with a grin added, “Alone, that is.”

“Indeed,” Horatio murmured against his ear, reaching for him again. He pulled Archie flush against his chest this time, throwing one leg over his hip and curling around him like a vine. “You’re warm.” He buried his face in Archie’s neck, the tip of his long nose so cold that Archie shivered.

It was just like those days at sea, when Horatio – always cold – would come down off watch and nestle with him in his hammock. Archie would hold him and fitfully massage him until Horatio stopped shaking, and then they would pleasure one another very quietly just to keep warm. Archie smiled at those memories, taking up one of Horatio’s icy hands and tucking it under his chin. Horatio thrust the other between his thighs, where Archie kept it nice and warm.

They lay like that for a moment, until Horatio apparently had not grown warm enough. He slid onto Archie’s body, gentle but heavy against his aching side. Archie could not hold back a groan, shifting Horatio’s weight just a little and earning a worried look for his trouble.

“It’s my wound,” he murmured after a moment. “It’s keeping me awake.”

Sympathy creased Horatio’s features in the candlelight. “The weather’s grown so damned cold. Put some heat on it; it’s the same with my shoulder.”

“Aye, aye, Dr. Hornblower,” Archie nodded. Sometimes he forgot that Horatio had been shot in the shoulder long ago – he had not been there when it had happened – but he did not want to speak of wounds now, particularly that one. Instead, he ran his hands up Horatio’s back under the blankets. He was still chilled, but his weight felt good against Archie’s body now. He slid his heels up on the mattress, cradling Horatio between his thighs and rubbing warmth into his skin through the linen of his nightshirt.

Leaning over him on his elbows, Horatio smiled at the touch, but through an expression that was purely thoughtful. “You realize it’s been two years,” he said in his quiet, solemn way, pushing a hand tenderly through Archie’s hair.

Looking up into the burning intensity of Horatio’s dark gaze, Archie swallowed, remembering that January Friday all too well. He was still very sorry to have put Horatio through that grief for nothing, never failing to underestimate what it had taken for his awkward friend to sit at his bedside and say goodbye. For a moment, he feared Horatio would offer another apology – or worse, weep – but his friend did not seem to want to dwell on Kingston anymore; he curled a hand under Archie’s jaw, leaning down and kissing his mouth.

Forgetting the cold, Archie tangled a hand up into Horatio’s hair, pulling him closer. But Horatio needed no encouragement, either in a hurry to get warm or spurred to desperation by the memory of grief. He sought Archie’s mouth with a sudden hunger, pushing his tongue inside – hot compared to the rest of him – rubbing his body against Archie’s all the while, creating waves of warmth sweeping all the way down into Archie’s toes. His fingers tightened in Horatio’s curls, loving it when Horatio was passionate.

A chilly hand slid down to Archie’s hip, gathering the hem of his nightshirt and hastily raking it up. Horatio’s own gown had ridden up already, and when he ground their bodies together flesh to flesh this time, Archie squirmed, giggling despite himself. “Good God, even your prick is cold!” He rubbed up playfully against the half-hard flesh pushing into his belly.

Horatio chuckled, sliding his mouth under Archie’s ear and nuzzling there, sucking the skin so sensuously that Archie felt flutters in his belly, knowing well how wonderful that sweet velvet mouth felt all over his body. “I’d best put it somewhere warm, then,” Horatio whispered, tracing the bow of Archie’s upper lip with a teasing finger and then pushing the tip between Archie’s lips to demonstrate his intentions.

A sharp stab of anticipation pierced straight into Archie’s belly. He quivered, tightening his lips around the tip of that fine, long finger, tasting the salt of Horatio’s skin, watching Horatio’s eyes brighten with arousal all the while. Horatio drew his hand away, brushing Archie’s cheek. “My love,” he murmured softly, his expression tender.

Archie said nothing, his throat dry. He drew Horatio closer in his arms and arched his head back, baring his neck for his lover’s adoring mouth. Horatio traced the line of his jaw with kisses and then moved down his throat, his tongue lapping at the hollow there before dragging his lips across the curve of one shoulder. Archie cried out softly, his body beginning to tingle, begging more intense pleasure. But he stroked Horatio’s curls patiently, russet in the candlelight, enjoying the warm weight of Horatio’s body nestled between his legs, pressing down on his aroused flesh.

Shifting to one side, Horatio took Archie’s mouth again, slower this time, dipping his tongue inside and then withdrawing, playing a little game of chase. He stretched across to snatch the oil from the bedside table, and then gently folded Archie’s leg up against his chest. Horatio’s fingertips dragged leisurely down the back of his thigh, reaching the warm place he wanted and smearing oil there, slipping one fingertip gently inside, opening him up. Archie shuddered at how sweet and intimate it felt to be known in this way, loving how gentle Horatio could be. He liked it best when Horatio would kiss down his body and then coax him with his tongue, but Archie did not need that now.

Leaving off kissing, Horatio rose up on all fours above him. Archie settled his legs against Horatio’s back and his hands on his shoulders, lying back and looking up at Horatio above him in the candlelight. Want glazed his lover’s deep dark eyes and he needed no invitation to take; he pushed his way inside, just a little at first – enough for Archie to toss his head back and groan at how warm and smooth he felt, how good. His body relaxed and Horatio pushed in all the way, sinking down against Archie’s chest as Archie wrapped his arms and legs around him. Horatio’s own arms slipped under Archie’s shoulders, pulling their bodies closer as his hips rolled into Archie’s.

He went slowly at first, gliding up and back against the magnificent spot inside Archie’s body in deep measured strokes so the pleasure would resonate to the fullest. Both of them soon began to sweat, filling the air with only their ragged breathing and Horatio’s rough, “Oh God.” Archie felt himself melting – no, boiling over – with the way Horatio stared down at him, watching the pleasure sweep over his face. And as the pace of Horatio’s lovemaking increased and became more erratic, that pleasure thrummed in a melody of sensation inside Archie’s body, some notes deep and echoing, others sharp and piercing.

Archie clung to Horatio all the while, who squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Archie’s neck, his breath coming in rapid puffs to match the rhythm of his body. “Horatio . . .” Archie called softly, his head twisted to one side, cheek crushing Horatio’s pretty curls. Horatio’s body moved more urgently, until the pleasure swelled up into a great wave, breaking and dissolving in a burst of liquid on hot skin.

They lay panting when it was over, Archie on his back, stretching out his legs with Horatio’s dead weight on his chest. But after a few moments, Horatio recovered himself, lifting his head and looking down into Archie’s eyes again. Something unguarded and tender welled up between them and, giving into it, Archie petted Horatio’s smooth, flushed cheek, smiling at the contented light softening his velvet eyes.

“Horatio, you know you’re the only one I’ve let do this,” he said quietly, watching those curved dark brows climb as satiation gave way to surprise. Horatio seemed to think he’d had scores of male lovers, and Archie supposed he had not made any real effort to refute that.

But Horatio did not miss what was meant in the word “let” and pulled Archie close into his arms with a new sense of possession, something Archie had been afraid of long ago. “An honor and a privilege,” Horatio murmured, his voice hoarse. A scowl flitted across his features for the past, but he let the matter go. “I didn’t think I’d ever get warm.” He hugged Archie tighter, rubbing hot palms over Archie’s still heaving chest.

Archie snorted. “It’ll be colder in Scotland.” He settled against Horatio’s body, tucking his head between his friend’s shoulder and neck, not really wanting to think on Scotland though the prospect of returning there was hardly unpleasant. But he only wanted this moment now; he and Horatio never had enough time to curl up together after making love. They were always in a hurry to dress and avoid discovery. Archie had almost begun to miss shore leave, when as two poor officers they had the perfect alibi for sharing the same bed and would lie close all night.

Yet Horatio’s thoughts had already skipped ahead to the future. Archie did not look up at him, but he could feel Horatio’s expression growing thoughtful, calculating. “How long do you think it will take to complete the castle, Archie?”

Pulling the blankets up to his chin, Archie shook his head. His grandfather may have bankrupted the family commissioning Culzean Castle, but there was still half of it to build and Archie’s father wanted him to oversee the process and take Fiona away from her husband while he was at it. “Two years or more. It’s just as well; it will give the Admiralty time to forget me.”

He felt Horatio nod; they had already agreed that was a fine idea, and part of the reason his father was sending him. “We’ll be living in Glasgow?” That’s what? 50 miles from Edinburgh?”

“Yes,” Archie answered slowly, wondering what Horatio would want there. “Why?”

Pushing the covers back, Horatio let him go and sat up. Archie rolled onto his back, finding Horatio’s expression suddenly serious. “I – I’ve been thinking, of . . . of studying medicine.”

“Medicine?” Archie parroted before he could think better of it. Horatio had mentioned pursuing such a career before, though Archie had thought those remarks nothing more than contrite rambling that the great Horatio Hornblower had been unable to heal his wound personally.

“You don’t think . . .?” Horatio trailed off, his features sinking. Archie blinked and only then did he realize how childishly hopeful Horatio had appeared a bare moment before, that he had been looking to him for encouragement or approval.

Archie rushed to pat his knee. He had not meant to throw cold water on Horatio’s hopes. He was only not quite sure he could honestly imagine Horatio as a physician. “No, no,” Archie quickly said. “I only thought that had you an interest in medicine you would have followed after your father and never bothered with the Navy in the first place.”

Horatio’s eyes narrowed, not following the logic, but then he slowly shook his head. Suddenly, before he even opened his mouth, all the ghosts of Kingston were once again present in the room.

“I suppose I’ve changed. I used to think a man could not do his duty to the fullest unless he led men into battle. But I’ve come to learn that there are many forms of service, Archie, and that it doesn’t matter a damn whether a man’s service is lauded or not. I’d rather serve my country with a clear conscience than be handed tainted honors.” His hand was flapping nervously. “Take Clive, for example. Had he been half the man he should have been hundreds of lives might never have been endangered and you might have been saved at once. Think about it. His duty was as vital as any captain’s, perhaps more so.”

He was rambling. Archie continued to stare at him, attempting to follow Horatio’s reasoning. After a moment, cold fear settled inside Archie’s chest, a sickly, sinking feeling. He wet his lips and then finally said., “You want a way back to sea.” He had anticipated something like this, that Horatio would grow bored ashore eventually.

Horatio blinked as though that had not occurred to him, dropping his hand into his lap. “No. There are hospitals in London – I’ve grown to like London, Archie.” His eyes brightened, and then all of a sudden he seemed to comprehend the fear clutching at Archie’s heart. He reached over and patted Archie’s shoulder. “I don’t mean to tear us apart. I’ve thought it out; by the time your work in Scotland is done, I’ll be ready to complete my studies here in London. I wouldn’t part with you for the world.” He took up Archie’s hand and squeezed it, his voice soft and disarming, innocent.

Archie nodded, feeling silly for panicking over their love affair when the important thing was that Horatio had at last chosen a path for himself and might finally put the past behind him. He ought to have shown more faith in Horatio’s affections for him. What was more, Archie supposed – now that he thought about it – that while Hornblower the stoic officer might not display much of a bedside manner, Horatio the man was caring and compassionate. He had seen enough blood by now not to be bothered by it and was a creature of tremendous patience, not to mention that Horatio was so adept at fussing over him that he may as well put that skill to good use.

“I think any man would be fortunate to be in your hands, Horatio,” Archie answered at last, recalling all the times Horatio had fed him and helped him to walk in Spain or salved and washed his wounds on the way home from Kingston. He had shown more reserved kindness to other men, sat with them or brought them food. And while it was true that Horatio’s fine mind was suited for mathematics and maneuvering out of crisis, his conscience was not suited for war – not death, anyway. Archie remembered their first experience of battle years ago, when Horatio had ran below with a wounded man while he had hacked at Frenchmen in a frenzy of something close to joy. No, Horatio was not suited for death, yet the physician’s work was always ethical, even to his enemies. Perhaps if Horatio could use his fine mind to improvise clever, life-saving surgeries he might find peace and even satisfaction in the work.

Lying down beside him again, Horatio stretched his long legs, folding his arms behind his head and heaving a sigh. “No more Admiralty, no more compromises, only my best efforts, Archie, and a long life together.”

Archie smiled, curling up against Horatio’s shoulder. He would be happy to finally see Horatio at peace and to keep their home together here in London. “I’ll grow bored in Glasgow, certainly,” Archie said, rubbing a hand over Horatio’s chest through his nightshirt. “I could ride up to Edinburgh and distract you when you’re not on holiday, or we could meet halfway. You’ll have to learn to ride, of course.” He smirked at the idea; Horatio was able to ride around the park with him now, but still mistrusted horses something terrible.

Riding seemed far from Horatio’s mind, however; he wrapped an arm around Archie’s shoulders and with a mischievous light in his large eyes murmured, “And spend the night in some cheap inn with clapboard walls and pox-ridden tarts downstairs, just like when we were mids?”

“Well, yes, but . . .” Archie paused. They had not been lovers when they had both been mids – neither of them had been ready to come to terms with their own feelings. “Only better.” He cradled Horatio’s cheek in one hand, stretching up and kissing his full, beautiful mouth.

Threading a hand in his hair, Horatio drew him closer, his mouth moving slowly and deeply against Archie’s, so warm that Archie hardly felt the cold seeping in above the pushed-down bedcovers. After a moment, Horatio pulled back, and peering at Archie with those huge eyes – hungry for affection and approval – asked, “Could the son of an earl love a physician, Archie?”

Archie smiled, warmth swelling in his chest where panic had clung a few moments before. He took in the sight of Horatio on the pillow, his luxurious curls, his smooth pale skin, and most of all his ripe red lips. “The son of an earl could love a stable boy if he had your face, Horatio.”

Horatio beamed, loving and needing praise of any sort. Without a word, he ran a hand down Archie’s body, seizing his prick and gently stroking him, ready for another turn. He nudged Archie’s chin back with his long nose, kissing his way down one side of Archie’s neck. Archie was ready to roll Horatio onto his back when he heard a noise from the kitchen below – the cook preparing breakfast. Horatio pulled away from him and sat up with a scowl.

“Damn her.” He sat still for a moment catching his breath. Horatio loathed being interrupted. “I trust she’s making my coffee.” He grumbled another few words and then climbed out of bed, retrieving his robe. “I should go, Archie. Your sister’s coming. I’ll send Angélie up with your breakfast.”

Archie said nothing as Horatio crept from the room before either servant could notice him there – that was their life together, creeping about, and today Horatio was in a special hurry to be dressed and ready to escort Ophelia to her sister’s. For his part, Archie decided to lie in bed a trifle longer and think on what Horatio had said.

Part II

Did Cassilis’ retainers make a sport of sending men on wild goose chases or was this evidence of a grudge? Neither the Earl nor the Countess were at home – they had gone to visit that rascal the Duke of Clarence – and Admiral Pellew had been rather briskly instructed to take his business to the Earl’s steward instead.

Like a fool, he had sent away the coachman who had brought him from the city proper upon arriving at Cassilis’ estate. A wise man never cut off his path of retreat, yet Pellew had anticipated a lengthy visit. The butler had offered him use of the Earl’s coach to convey him to this steward at the edge of the property, but out of stubbornness Pellew had refused, in no mood for hollow courtesies; Cassilis knew to expect him and should have postponed his visit to the cursed, meddling Duke.

Nonetheless, Pellew supposed avoiding the Earl was a mercy. Perhaps it was cowardly to find it so, but no matter; no man was above cowardice and Cassilis could be difficultt. As a mid, the man had been exuberant and agreeable, and as a captain Pellew recalled him as imperious but efficient, yet misfortune in American seemed to have embittered Cassilis to the world at large. What was more, the man had a nasty habit of keeping up with the Naval Gazette and upon their last meeting in the summer had been full of contempt for any accolade given a man of Admiral Sir Edward Pellew’s squadron.

His latest vitriolic crusade concerned his son’s honor – or the family honor, more like. After a dozen refusals to hear him out, Cassilis had come rallying one last time, threatening to publicize sensitive information capable of raising real hell. Pellew grunted, slamming his boot down with extra force upon a twig in the frost-covered field. The Devil take the man. Hornblower’s outrage at Kennedy’s circumstances might have been pinned on naiveté and youthful affection, but an Earl and a former fighting captain ought to better understand the political mire of the situation aboard Renown as well as the mess with Captain Hammond and the Irish. In the scheme of things a junior lieutenant’s honor – or his life for that matter – were unfortunately expendable.

Still, Cassilis had persisted, claiming that Pellew lacked the bollocks to deflect Hammond’s scapegoat hunt and had instead sacrificed his son rather than getting to the bottom of the matter. The Lords of the Admiralty were weak-bellied fools, Cassilis had decreed, and would rather tarnish a family’s honor than lose face by admitting they had put a madman enabled by an incompetent drunkard at the head of eight hundred men.

That was rubbish. No one had dragged Kennedy into that courtroom or put those damning words in his mouth. Nothing but practicality and devotion had led Kennedy to do as he had, despite what Cassilis believed – that Pellew was in cahoots with both Clive and Hammond, or some other ridiculous thing. A live man was simply worth more than what they had all believed was a dead one – Kennedy obviously knew it – and Hornblower had distinguished himself as a brilliant and valuable officer. For a man like him, Pellew was loath to admit he would have traded ten Kennedys, at least until Hornblower had thrown his future away.

The fact remained that Cassilis seemed to take his handing down of Kennedy’s conviction, as well as the cover-up of Hammond’s treachery, as a personal betrayal. Pellew narrowed his eyes all over again. What was he to have done? Allow division to fester among the Navy for the sake of an old acquaintance? An Admiral could not afford sentimentality. Cassilis had no call to accuse him of favoritism on Hornblower’s behalf either; Hammond had been the same man burning to put the noose around Hornblower’s neck after all. And though the Earl had expressed no wish to harm Hornblower in Kennedy’s place, who did he think stood to be hurt by the re-evaluation of that trial?

A man so dear to me as one of my very own. His own words from Kingston came back. Damned idiot boy and his impenetrable conscience. Pellew had thought Hornblower’s voluntary return to prison years ago the greatest abuse of pride he had seen, yet Hornblower’s outburst in Portsmouth had topped that blunder tenfold. All but post-captain and he had cast aside years of careful patronage out of devotion to a friend. So much for the boy’s vaunted reason.

Pellew shook his head. There was nothing to be done for the whole mess now. Hornblower had made his choice and God willing he was happy with it. He had made his own choice and now it was time to put this matter aside for good.

The winter sun hardly lent any warmth, not enough to melt the light snow upon the ground, but after the exertion of a mile’s walk the chill came as a relief. The walk gave him nothing to look at but grass blighted by winter cold and barren trees, but Pellew hardly required diversion; this was a mission like any other and therefore not intended to be pleasant.

A moderately sized two-level cottage loomed up, with an oak and what looked like apple trees shading the back windows. A coach waited at the front the gate, but Pellew did not it or the sigils on the doors any mind; a steward was likely to have business even at this hour. Neatly groomed pine trees ran along the sides of the house, providing the sort of privacy Pellew required at the moment. He stepped behind them, taking out his handkerchief and dabbing at his face. He would be damned if the Earl’s steward saw him sweating and out of sorts. Indeed he was not a young lion anymore, but he was not so decrepit as to be undone by a walk in the snow.

Noise from the house stopped him short. Pellew stuffed his handkerchief away, keeping behind the barrier of the trees. He had no wish to be caught primping like a woman. However, simple curiosity had him peeking through the branches to see who came forth.

A tall dark-haired figure made his way down the front steps. Pellew’s chest tightened. It was disconcerting to see Hornblower in civilian dress; his lean figure and straight back seemed designed for fastidiously-pressed uniforms and his curls and his large eyes to gleam from beneath an officers’ hat trimmed in gold lace. Then again, it was strange to see the boy at all; after his departure in Portsmouth it seemed that Hornblower had simply vanished beyond recall. It was not possible to call Hornblower drab, yet he looked so unjustly common in his brown coat. But he was laughing, a thing Pellew had rarely seen him do.

He had a dark-haired girl on his arm, a tiny thing – the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She had to crane her neck to tilt her impish face up at him.

“He’s absurdly handsome, Mr. Hornblower.” She seemed to be protesting, swishing her skirts with one hand as she walked in long strides to keep up with him. “Even Fiona thinks so.”

Hornblower looked down at her with a familiarly solemn and critical expression, the same he showed while sizing up enemy ships or maps of unfamiliar territory. “But is he a gentleman, Lady Ophelia? Would he . . .slay a dragon for you?” He flourished his free hand.

Pellew frowned. The girl’s relationship to Hornblower was none of his business, yet he could not keep from assessing the situation by habit. The girl could not be Hornblower’s intended if she spoke of another admirer, yet the two were alone and Hornblower seemed comfortable with her on his arm – the boy had always been awkward around women that Pellew had seen. If she was “lady” than she might be the Earl’s daughter, though the coach was not marked with Kennedy sigils. Whatever the case, Hornblower must have been attached to the Kennedy family somehow. Damn Cassilis for claiming him.

The girl cast her eyes to the ground. “A ruffian in the street perhaps,” she conceded after a thoughtful pause, before looking up at Hornblower again, hugging his elbow with both arms and leaning close with a smile. “Would you slay a ruffian for me, Mr. Hornblower?”

Rolling his eyes, Hornblower answered her dryly, doing his best to ignore that her bosom was pressed to his forearm. “Would you have me dispatch him with a sword or a pistol, my lady?”

She ignored his bland tone, or else was not bright enough to catch his lack of enthusiasm, and shook her head. “A sword is more gallant, but a pistol has a certain efficiency, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” Hornblower concurred politely, as though he would declare himself unqualified to have a true opinion. Pellew shook his head; Hornblower’s modesty remained unchanged. But then, with more conviction, Hornblower added, “Your brother would prefer the sword.”

Did he mean Kennedy? If she were the Earl’s daughter than Kennedy would be her brother. Hornblower seemed to think the world of Kennedy after what the man had done for him in Kingston. Indeed Kennedy had acted sensibly, but that hardly merited Hornblower disregarding his abilities to remain with Kennedy’s family. Of course, Hornblower’s tremendous modesty would prevent him seeing any ability in himself to waste and he would therefore fail to see the travesty of his resignation. What a shame Kennedy had not proven useful in that regard.

The pair reached the carriage, where Pellew supposed a chaperone waited inside. Hornblower handed the girl up like a proper gentleman and then climbed in beside her, knocking on the roof to signal the driver to be off. Hooves clattered and the carriage rolled away, so very like that scene in Portsmouth years ago. Once again Hornblower seemed to vanish beyond recall.

It occurred to Pellew then that he had been eavesdropping and that he might have stepped out, explained his presence, and had a word with the boy. He would have liked to learn what Hornblower did with himself these days. His father was dead – Pellew recalled Hornblower receiving the news aboard the Indie – and Hornblower had no other family. The Kennedys must have been the only place he had to turn.

But there was no sense in mourning chances past. Pellew had a mission before him after all. He walked around the trees and passed through the still open gate, taking the path Hornblower had come down up to the door.

A young woman answered the bell, her hair a mass of black curls held back in a cap and her skin fair as milk. She eyed him up and down, curtsied, and in a thick French accent said, “Monsieur?” Her brows arched at his uniform, apparently as surprised to see an admiral as he was a Frenchwoman.

“The Earl’s steward, if you please, miss,” Pellew answered calmly. In truth he was tired of dealing with servants and wanted to get this business over with. Silently, he cursed Cassilis again.

She nodded and motioned him in, leading him toward the stairs. Pellew noted that the house was fine but not overly so. It was small, but gleamed with gilt here and there. Perhaps Cassilis’ mother had lived here and had scattered heirlooms about. Pellew had no chance to note anything particular beyond the bright Oriental rug in the parlor before following the maid to the upper floor.

They came to a closed door that could only be the steward’s study. The girl knocked while Pellew stood back, fighting the urge to wring his hands. He should not be so unsettled; It was Cassilis who held a grudge against him, not the steward. All the same, he had to endure whatever came his way here with as much grit as an officer would a broadside on the quarterdeck.

“Monsieur?” The girl knocked again. “An Admiral is here to see you.”

“Come,” a voice from within answered. For a brief moment, Pellew realized avoidance was possible. He could hand over what he had come to give to the French girl and turn away. The written words would speak for themselves. But it was too late; the girl opened the door and ushered him inside.

Pellew immediately scowled at how warm the room was, the air almost thick. Here he had walked two miles in the snow while this fool sat toasty with the hearth ablaze. Heat spread easily through such a small space. Sunlight poured in the through the small window, adding an extra bit of warmth, but Pellew dismissed the temperature altogether upon turning his eye to the steward himself.

The man sat in his shirtsleeves, scratching away with a quill with his boots crossed on the desk. He must have been overwarm; the top buttons of his shirt were undone and his hair – bright gold where the sunlight hit him – pushed back from his face. Pellew drew in a breath despite himself.

Kennedy.

He was the last man Pellew had expected to face today. Like Hornblower, he simply thought of Kennedy as having disappeared to some Elysium where those unbound to the sea or Whitehall lived out their lives. Still, Pellew hoped this was the last surprise for the day. He was growing too old for such things.

Setting his quill down, Kennedy looked up, his expression almost fierce. He blinked and something that Pellew took for relief softened his features. But of course it would be relief; a visit from an admiral would be alarming for an undead mutineer. Kennedy brushed his muscular thigh to smooth a wrinkle above his boot and then rose to his feet.

“Cap . . . Admiral Pellew sir.” He offered his hand.

The slip filled Pellew with embarrassment for taking the younger man’s hand as stiffly as he would a stranger’s, reminding him that Kennedy had once been one of his officers, accustomed to addressing him and thinking of him as his captain. Captain and lieutenant should have a warm reunion after so long, but when the door closed, leaving them alone, Pellew felt trapped and at a loss. Despite having spent four years as his commanding officer, Pellew realized he knew only three things firsthand of Lieutenant Archie Kennedy: he liked to read, his marksmanship was exemplary, and he had acted with real balls on Hornblower's behalf in Kingston.

Kingston. Pellew recalled that particular Friday unnervingly well. He recalled his own fear that Hornblower would utter the words to damn himself that day and the intensity of his own prayers for a miracle before Hornblower could re-enter the courtroom.

His miracle had come in the form of Lieutenant Kennedy. Kennedy’s almost inhuman strength in dragging himself forward had made it easy to convict him – one did not spit at God’s providence. Pellew recalled the sweat on Kennedy’s face and the determination shining out of his eyes. He had glowed then, so ethereally golden that in that desperate moment it had been easy to believe him a heavenly savior in recognizable form come down to spare Hornblower and not a man for whom there would be monstrous consequences.

That delusion had faded when it came time to officially render the verdict. The justifications had begun then. Still, Pellew had felt that, though he knew little of Kennedy, they had understood one another perfectly in that courtroom. Kennedy held Hornblower as dearly as he and clearly valued nothing so much that he would not sacrifice it to save him.

How strange. Pellew had always viewed Kennedy as something of a pitiful creature, not lacking or incapable by nature but pitifully damaged and unsuited for the hardships aboard a man o’ war. There were rumors concerning what had happened to him aboard he and Hornblower’s first ship, and his stint in prison had no doubt taken a harsh toll on him. Pellew had once told Hornblower he judged men on their actions, not heresay, but with Kennedy he had never been able to do so. Simpson. Prison. Looking at Kennedy was an uncomfortable reminder of all the worst that could befall a man. Disgrace was not the least of those things, despite how little it had seemed to matter to Kennedy, given the determination with which he had sought it.

Kennedy showed none of that presently, only watched him from the other side of the desk, waiting for him to speak. The man had an unnerving way of looking him in the eye, just as he had in court. Pellew cleared his throat, the most obvious and courteous words coming to mind only now.

“You’re in better health than when I last saw you, sir.” He had in fact not seen Kennedy in the hospital in Kingston, not even after the surgery to confirm that he was alive, but what Bracegirdle had described of Kennedy’s waking that Sunday afterward made it plain the man was lucky to live. Pellew had never expected him to survive the operation, let alone the homeward voyage.

Wetting his lips, Kennedy looked down at himself and then shook his head. “I did not expect you’d taken notice, sir, but it took long enough.”

Pellew blinked, uneasy again. It was as if Kennedy were deliberately making plain that he knew Pellew had not seen him in the hospital. That was ridiculous. He could never imagine Kennedy desiring a visit from him – Hornblower, yes, but not Kennedy; he would have better appreciated Matthews or Styles. That it would have been courteous to visit only occurred to Pellew suddenly. In fact he could not think of why he had not, or why Hammond or Collins had never mentioned Kennedy serving under him.

“A wise man overlooks nothing.” Pellew said as good-naturedly as he could, despite how he wanted to speak his purpose here and go. The events in Kingston were beginning to make less sense the more that he thought on them. He was tired of thinking on them. But if he could withstand flattering fools at Whitehall then he could pass a few moments with Hornblower’s strange friend.

“Even Horatio scarcely recognized me at first,” Kennedy added after a moment with a small smile that could be called fond. He showed no compunction whatsoever for using Hornblower’s Christian name.

“Yet in your incapacitation you found the strength to get your hands around that Frenchman’s throat?”

Bracegirdle had described Kennedy as half mad during Eurydice’s capture, demanding a sword though he could scarcely lift one at the time. Such a scene had been difficult to imagine at first, but looking at him now Pellew could remember Kennedy as a boy. He had chosen him for a boarding party on a whim – Kennedy’s first experience of battle – and could remember being pleased that the boy had conducted himself with bravery, not to mention exuberance; if memory served, the boy had bounded right up to Hornblower sword in hand, happily stained in French blood.

Considering that Pellew had seen countless boys and officers tremble and cower from the enemy’s guns, he supposed some pattern of courage might have begun there. A man who showed no fear under fire might not fear facing an entire courtroom and confessing to a high crime to save his friend, that man might also not fear throttling an enemy endangering that friend’s life. Kennedy had saved Hornblower’s crew in the process, and perhaps Bracegirdle’s, but Pellew suspected that had mere been a consequence, not an aim.

“I believe desperation may substitute strength in some instances, sir,” Kennedy was saying. “But I thank you for your silence in Kingston.”

His silence? Pellew blinked, the words returning him to the present. How blunt to be thanked only for that and not Kennedy’s life. True, Bracegirdle had put forth the idea of calling a physician, and true Pellew had been reluctant, but once again it was as though Kennedy wanted it known that he knew exactly how little Pellew had done for him. It was devilish of him; Pellew had appeased his conscious with the fact that Kennedy was alive and now the man quite calmly robbed him of that absolution.

“Not at all, sir,” he answered curtly. “Mr. Bracegirdle seems to think highly of you.”

Kennedy made a face at that, apparently uneasy with others thinking highly of him, or perhaps unaccustomed to it living in Hornblower’s shadow as he had. Or perhaps that was not what Kennedy wanted to hear. Whatever the case, his displeasure passed and he looked abashed for the first time, realizing they were both standing. He was a well-mannered lad, if nothing else; sinking back down in his chair, he motioned for Pellew to take the armchair by the door.

The younger man was about to speak when the maid knocked again, entering with coffee at Kennedy’s word. Pellew took the cup, glad for the small distraction of drinking from it and setting it neatly down on the little table beside him – a man always felt better with something to drink, even if it were a bit early for spirits. Kennedy sipped from his own cup and then gave him a genuine smile from across the desk.

“Horatio wouldn’t stand for a house lacking in a decent supply of coffee.”

Pellew only nodded at this offhand bit of information, puzzled as to why it seemed so inappropriately intimate a thing to share. No doubt Hornblower visited Kennedy often then if their friendship had in fact remained intact. Pellew supposed he could not imagine otherwise.

Letting the remark pass, Kennedy seemed more at east in his chair. “What can I do for you?” He set his cup down beside the papers on the desk, stacked with surprising efficiency. Pellew had never thought of Kennedy as neat and well organized, though he supposed Kennedy had never given him cause to believe otherwise.

Yet Kennedy had given him an opening to at last approach what he had come to do. Whether it was because the younger man sensed his discomfort and had done it out of mercy or simply wished to be done with him as well was beside the point. With his free hand, Pellew absently touched the document inside his jacket, clearing his throat.

“Your father was not pleased with your conviction in Kingston,” he began at length. What father would be? Who wished to learn that their son had been branded with a high crime? The aristocracy were a proud lot to boot. It was surprising Cassilis had not challenged him to a duel over the matter; it would be like the man Clearing his throat a second time, Pellew went on. “You’ve relayed to him and the Earl of Edrington your account of what happened aboard Renown?”

It was Kennedy’s turn to be taken aback. Clearly this was the last subject he expected to approach today. Pellew frowned. What other purpose could Kennedy have possibly assigned to this visit? Something concerning Hornblower no doubt. .

“Yes, everything,” Kennedy answered after gathering his wits. “Well, almost everything – Kingston, you see?” He lowered his voice. “He would never approve.”

Hornblower, he meant. Pellew nodded with that feeling of understanding again. It left him somewhat bold. “If we have no other common ground, Mr. Kennedy, I know we both believe Hornblower did not deserve to hang that day. He is both a talented and admirable officer.”

He was prepared for Kennedy agree, to let that agreement stand as a truce, but he was not prepared for Kennedy to look down with that small, dreamy smile playing about his lips. “He doth teach the torches to burn bright,” he said softly.

Indeed, Pellew scarcely restrained himself from nodding, warming unwisely inside. How very odd to be estranged from the one person who loved Hornblower as dearly as he did.

“I trust he finds life ashore agreeable,” he heard himself saying in an unexpectedly unguarded tone. In truth, it hurt his pride to ask it. He had been the hero who had sunk two ships-of-the-line, everything the mids aspired to be, and yet he had to ask after his protégé via this possible catamite, this former prisoner of war, this man who for so long he had considered beneath Hornblower’s attention. But Pride was a sin; Pellew wondered if being humbled so were not fitting.

Kennedy evidently possessed the grace not to flaunt the fact that he had Hornblower’s regard while Pellew did not. He simply snorted, as if he would pretend that Hornblower were not worth such concern. “He’s reconciled his conscience now. God forbid we detour him from that.”

There went any chance of persuading Hornblower to return to sea, not that such a thing could be arranged easily. All the same, Hornblower’s conscience was not an easy obstacle to get around. Pellew had learned that in Portsmouth. He pushed that wound away and returned to the matter at hand.

“Your father, with the backing of the Earl of Edrington and the Duke of Clarence, offered considerable brides and threats to have the case re- evaluated by several admirals.” It took all of Pellew’s effort to relay this patiently. Cassilis had been less than civil on the matter. “He is convinced that fever led you into that courtroom and believes the fault for matters on that ship lay with none other than Dr. Clive for failing to remove Sawyer from command. You do understand the considerate effort of re-evaluating such a trial?” He met Kennedy’s eye. The boy could not be blamed for his father’s behavior, but he had to pin his indignation upon someone.

Kennedy nodded unsteadily, his lids fluttering as though suddenly nervous, though Pellew did not think nervousness had anything to do with his wide eyes now. Clearly Kennedy was not and had never been afraid of him or any other officer.

“It – it wasn’t what I wanted.” It was strange to hear him stammer; Kennedy was so clear spoken, almost haughty with his aristocratic accent. But now he straightened and leaned forward with both palms on the desk, both his expression and his words urgent. “If I were declared innocent, sir, the guilt would only be heaped upon Horatio and that would destroy the purpose of my being in this predicament in the first place.” Pellew nodded his approval. Good man. It was always comforting to know one was not dealing with a fool. Settling back again, Kennedy looked down “He didn’t come raving to you about Hammond as he promised, did he?” He sounded almost apologetic. Pellew almost pitied him, having to grow up with a pariah like Cassilis for a father.

“He threatened to expose Hammond’s treachery in order to demonstrate that the verdict in Kingston was invalid considering that a traitor had had a hand in it. With a third of Navy comprised of Irishmen it would have been a scandal.” Pellew frowned. How dare the man trap him with such an ultimatum – risk dividing the Navy or see Hornblower hang. “In any case,” he went on. “I believe these may by of interest to you sir.” Taking the documents from inside his jacket, Pellew handed them over to Kennedy.

The younger man unfolded them, his eyes carefully scanning the print. “My service record,” he announced in confusion. Pellew nodded, but waited for Kennedy to continue reading. As expected, Kennedy’s expression blankened. “I’ve been . . . Sir?” He looked up, taken aback.

The light in Kennedy’s eyes made Pellew look away, busying himself with straightening a wrinkle in his coat. If the younger man were so quick to call him on his inattention before than surely Kennedy did not think he had secured his acquittal single-handedly.

“The Earl’s bribes and threats went far, I must say,” he told Kennedy in a tight voice. It shamed him this time to admit that he’d had as little to do with the lad’s acquittal as he had with his rescue in Kingston, but it was better for Kennedy to know that his father loved him than to hold false gratitude for a captain he had never given a whit for.

Kennedy’s expression soured as he continued to read. “Still dead in Kingston, am I?” He shook his head, but for all his cynicism did not seem particularly bothered by it. Bracegirdle had mentioned Kennedy’s desire to put aside the whole mess and live in peace. Perhaps on that account Kennedy even preferred his new identity and had no interest in reclaiming his rightful one.

“A necessary caution, Mr. Kennedy,” Pellew explained. There was still the danger the Admiralty would not be pleased that he had aided a man who at the time had been a criminal, and in case his efforts to overturn the verdict failed, the Earl apparently did not want his son’s life endangered by making his existence known. “Though when all of this has been laid to rest you will find it safe to reappear as yourself.” God willing that would be after Sir Edward Pellew died. He had no desire to be the center of a scandal. Let those curious think Archie Kennedy had returned from Kingston without high-ranking help, as a pirate or stowaway or whatever other wild fancy society liked to entertain.

But Kennedy was still studying his records, something wistful sweeping over his features. “It hardly seems worth the trouble to salvage such an uninspiring career, doesn’t it?” he said with a sigh

He was as modest as Hornblower. Pellew had always thought him haughty and cocky. Yet his modesty was of a different brand than Hornblower’s – born of pride and deep-rooted self-hatred. Kennedy’s was more matter-of- fact, as though he found humor in his own shortcomings.

“I would not scoff, Mr. Kennedy. There are many who lieutenants who never serve aboard a ship of the line.”

Pellew felt odd saying it. Kennedy had never looked to him for assurance before nor had Pellew ever thought to give it. Their interactions had been limited to the giving and accepting of orders. He had never bothered to ponder the younger man’s state of mind, that his lack of motivation might have stemmed from something that could be alleviated somehow. Pellew remembered that boarding party again, a brave young boy with a sword. Kennedy had never made any effort to advance himself. Pellew had held that against him as a lack of concern for his duty, laziness even. He had promoted him to acting lieutenant out of necessity, but it was Hornblower who had all but forced him to study for his examination. The other officers had joined in because Kennedy was likeable no doubt. Kennedy had not failed his exam as Hornblower had, indicating intelligence and a good head under pressure, but still he had lacked focus.

“I suppose “commander of the dung cart” is the best than can be said for me,” Kennedy said softly, as though speaking to himself.

There went that cynical self-depreciation again. He had courage, but courage was nothing in an officer without conviction. Was there something in Kennedy he might have nurtured? Pellew had always thought it more merciful not to call attention to the boy’s troubles – a man’s demons were a private thing – but should he have offered encouragement, paid Kennedy particular mind for the sake of the ship if nothing else? Was it not a captain’s duty to know his officers? Pellew sighed. Where Hornblower had been the sum of all his hopes Kennedy had been the sum of his failures.

“I don’t suppose my head was made for laurels.” Kennedy finished.

“Nor do I believe it made for thorns.” Pellew forced himself to look up and say it.

Kennedy shook off the subject of his blemished career. Obviously, he did not know how to be complimented. “Who will wear them now? Not . . . not Horatio.” Again, he faltered.

No. God forbid it at the cost of all else. That fear was what had entangled Pellew in this mess in the first place. “Doctor Clive,“ he answered plainly. “It is believed you were not in your right mind and that feverish paranoia led you to confess in order to save your shipmates. You wrote the report aboard Renown. You know very well what it described. Clive’s drunkenness, his drugging of the captain, and –“

The sound of boots mounting the stairs stopped them. Pellew scowled. He disliked interruptions, particularly when they involved the Earl’s fool business. The footsteps approached the door and a voice impatiently called, “Mr. Carlyle! Mr. Carlyle, a word with you!”

Something swirled in Pellew’s belly. He knew that voice, had heard it not long ago outside. For two years now it had echoed in his mind, sometimes calling orders from the quarterdeck, sometimes scorning him for an amoral collaborator. Hornblower was drawing near. God help him, the boy was right outside the door.

Kennedy was as calm as Pellew was tied up into knots, in fact, the younger man even seemed exasperated. “Your pardon, sir.” He got up and moved around the desk, opening the door.

Pellew’s heart sped foolishly, thinking that Hornblower would glimpse him in that moment. But Kennedy was too quick and evidently too smart; he slipped out of the room and closed the door again, leaning his back against it before Hornblower apparently approached.

“Horatio?” He sounded perfectly good-natured, almost sing-songing Hornblower’s name, but Pellew had the feeling he was ill at ease.

Hornblower lowered his voice, as though leaning very close to him. “I’ve forgotten to inform you . . .” He paused. Pellew could almost see his keen dark eyes flicking about. “What are you hiding?”

Kennedy only attempted to pacify him. “I’ve nothing to hide, Horatio.” His tone was falsely sweet. Hornblower indulged him and played along.

“My dear Mr. Carlyle, you’re hiding something. Has your father returned? I . . .”

Pellew stopped listening, caught off guard by Hornblower’s overtly affectionate tone. It was hardly unusual to address another man as “my dear” yet Pellew had never expected the reserved Hornblower to be so fond. His eyes had always been fond, staring long into Kennedy’s to the point of indignity on more than one occasion. With no family and no shipmates, Kennedy was likely all Hornblower had left in the world.

The thought faded when the door opened. Pellew went still, his eyes trained on Hornblower as he pushed past Kennedy, ready to make his apologies to the Earl no doubt. Yet when Hornblower’s eyes fell upon him he straightened as though a sword were held to the small of his back, growing taller, his eyes growing wider, angry dark pools threatening to swallow Pellew up.

It was ridiculous that an admiral’s heart should pound apprehensively at the sight of a flustered boy whose mouth worked like a fish’s to gulp down whatever outrage or shock had taken hold of him, but Pellew could not help it when that boy had once looked to him with innocent and admiring eyes, seeking answers and approval.

At last Hornblower found his tongue. “Admiral Pellew, sir.” His voice was rough and cold like frost on stone.

“Mr. Hornblower . . .” Pellew returned a little more warmly. Warmth did not avail him, however. Hornblower regarded him from behind an invisible wall. Warmth did not melt stone; stone must be chiseled away. It was Kennedy who broke the silence, snatching up his service record from the desk. “Look, Horatio.” He held it up for Hornblower to see in the way one would hold up a piece of meat to pacify a snarling animal, or a toy to quiet a bawling child.

Hornblower did no more than glance at it, his affection for Kennedy frozen over as well. “Some other time, perhaps. I won’t be home until later. Pardon me.” He ducked his head and turned out of the room with his shoulders squared and his hands clenched at his sides.

When he was gone, Pellew allowed himself to breathe again, his mind churning with a new understand of Kennedy and Hornblower’s circumstance. They lived here together, Kennedy as his father’s steward and Hornblower as who knew what. Again, it was not unusual for men to live together, but Pellew found it unpleasantly surprising all the same.

Only mildly ruffled, Kennedy returned to his chair. ”You were saying, sir . . .?” he prompted.

Blinking away the image of Hornblower retreating from him a second time, Pellew forced himself to return to the present, belatedly surprised that Kennedy had remained in the room with him instead of trotting off after his friend.

“Dr. Clive,” he managed after a moment. “He’s been relieved of his position. It was decided that his recollection of declaring the Captain unfit could not be trusted on account of his drunkenness. In short, there are no need for scapegoats now that the man at fault has been held accountable.”

Kennedy’s mouth tightened. “Why wasn’t this decided in court in the first place?” He almost snapped.

Pellew knew the answer, but did not care to admit to it. Sentimentality was a weakness in a high officer, yet nothing more than that had consumed him in Kingston. He had been so caught up in the fear that Hammond’s scapegoat hunt would put a noose around Hornblower’s neck that he had not paid sufficient mind to the senselessness of the larger picture. He knew it. Kennedy knew it. There was no need to speak further on the matter.

“What will you do with yourself now, Mr. Kennedy?” Pellew asked instead.

This, Kennedy found all too easy to answer. “Horatio and I will be off to Scotland soon. My father has business for me there. I also have a mind to own a theatre when we return, or perhaps to dabble in politics if I might. I often find it difficult to keep silent on how this world is often lacking in justice.”

Now that was something Pellew had not expected. How odd to discover that a man who had shared your ship all these years also shared two passions dear to your heart. It was about as odd as discovering that one of your officers had never liked you and had hidden it all these years, as Kennedy had.

“There is courage in standing for something, Mr. Kennedy,” he said. “No doubt you’ll do well.”

Kennedy’s smile became a little less forced, and after the younger man had attempted to step between him and Hornblower Pellew realized that he no longer felt so awkward in this room with him. Politics. Now there was something he could caution Kennedy about. Neither of them had touched their coffee beyond a sip. Perhaps they could manage enough polite conversation until their cups were empty.

~

Dinner might have been savory that night were it not for the silence hanging over the table, broken only by the mindless scrape, scrape of Horatio’s fork pushing his peas and carrots into separate piles. Once or twice Archie had attempted to ask after his sisters or nieces and nephews, but his questions had only earned him terse answers and slight irritation for interrupting Horatio’s brooding. Archie had given up quickly enough, seeing that Horatio was in no mood to talk. He let his friend push his plate away and retreat to his rooms upstairs.

Horatio had every right to stew. Pellew’s motives remained sketchy at best. His own father’s motives were not even clear. The Earl might love him in his own way, as a son, but Archie could not be convinced this holy hell his father had raised had to do with anything other than pride and family honor. Pride. Now there was something his father and Horatio had in common. No doubt having his long-time idol see him as a lowly tutor had been humiliating for Horatio. Archie wondered if that had prompted him to flee as much as Horatio’s usual skittishness for confrontation.

Still, Archie wished as he often did that Horatio would do something other than brood. Shouting or swearing would be more tolerable. But there was no sense in wishing for the moon and Archie had his own worries.

He had bathed and then spent a dull hour reading, vexed that his Marlowe lacked the usual fascination. Archie did not like to admit that he had been waiting for Horatio to come in and say goodnight or that he had hoped Horatio’s chilly behavior at dinner had only been on account of a wish that their maid not overhear – Horatio always did soften considerably in private. But after it became clear that Horatio had no intention of sitting by the fire with him tonight, Archie began to grow anxious.

It was not as though he expected Horatio to come to his bed. They were as careful about secrecy as they had been aboard ship and Angélie and the cook were still moving about downstairs. But his body still remembered the warm, lazy pleasure they had shared this morning. Horatio had been so at ease then, so resolved with his decision that for the first time since their transfer to Renown everything seemed to fall into place. Now Archie could not help but wonder how his acquittal might change that.

Archie supposed, as much as Horatio would scold him for it, that he still feared Horatio’s resignation had been out of guilt and obligation. Horatio had his principles, of course, and above everything was far safer away from the Navy, yet Archie could not shake the notion of Horatio pining for the sea and the orderliness of shipboard life, no matter how Horatio had denied that his desire to become a Naval physician had been a step back in that direction. An acquittal would lift Horatio’s guilt – Archie’s life was officially no longer a ruin – and he might find that the Navy had lived up to his ethical standards after all.

Not, not the Navy – even Horatio would see that. It had only been his father ranting and raving as he had always done, making threats and getting his way with the best of them. Pellew had only been pushed into a corner and Archie would be flattering himself to believe otherwise. In fact, he ought to thank God it had been Pellew his father had pushed, or else Horatio might be in danger all over again.

Poor Horatio. Pellew’s visit had unsettled him. Archie shook his head and put his book down. He ought to go wish him goodnight at least if Horatio would not come to him. Getting up from the chaise where Horatio often curled up with him, Archie smoothed his robe and slipped out of his warm bedchamber into the hall.

The door lay open, a sign that Horatio might have been awaiting him. Archie found him sitting at the foot of the bed in his nightclothes, one of his books discarded on the blankets as though he had thrown it down in irritation at his inability to concentrate. His hair was damp from the bath and his expression harsh as though he had been brooding for a long while.

“Horatio . . .” Archie called from the doorway. The hearth blazed, but Archie pulled his robe tighter around him nonetheless. Horatio’s heavy moods did not trouble him – he was well accustomed to them by now – but he supposed he would not be at ease until he learned what his acquittal meant for the both of them.

Oblivious to his troubles, Horatio looked up, pushing his book further away as though anyone could believe he had been reading it. “Close the door.”

Wetting his lips, Archie did as he asked, securing the lock just in case. He crossed the small room and crawled up behind Horatio on the bed, folding his legs under him. “Are you angry at me?” There was no point in asking – Horatio would only deny it as though being angry with Archie were beneath his honor – yet his curt behavior at dinner and his subsequent aloofness suggested nothing else.

Horatio lowered his head as though ashamed of it. As well he should be. Archie grimaced; it was not as though he had invited Pellew behind Horatio’s back. “Forgive me,” Horatio said, sincerely enough. “Seeing him again. I . . .” He gestured absently and then turned to look at Archie over his shoulder, his big eyes filled with hurt. “Why did you agree to see him, Archie?”

“What was I to do?” How many times had Horatio chided him for not showing his superiors proper respect, regardless of whether he liked them or not? That was even beside the point. “He kept silent in Kingston. That’s worth a cup of coffee, isn’t it?” One would think a man as cautious and righteous as Horatio would agree.

But Horatio could only continue to look at him with his large eyes, accusing him of disloyalty and other similarly ridiculous things. “You seemed especially hospitable,” he huffed.

“Horatio . . .” Archie did his best to remain patient and not grind his teeth as he wanted to. How dare Horatio carry on like a jealous lover. It was not as though he had caught them embracing.

Evidently, Horatio began to see that he was being preposterous. He sighed and turned around all the way, his voice softening. “You weren’t there when he came to me in Kingston. You’ve no idea how pleased he was with the verdict. He had no time for my misgivings. All he could do was hand me my damned promotion over the bed where my dearest friend had died.”

Biting his lip, Archie touched a hand to his side by habit. No, he had not been there. He had been elsewhere recovering from a gruesome surgery that he remembered too much of without knowing at the time where he was or why. But where he had been when Pellew had come with Horatio’s promotion was not the point.

“Of course he was happy. You very nearly hanged. He could not bear the thought of your death anymore than I could.”

The words changed nothing, but then of course they would not; loving Horatio Hornblower was almost a vice in Horatio’s mind, given that he saw nothing in himself worth loving. Archie shook his head. Horatio’s sense of honor was a precious thing, yet at times it put him so far above others that he remained out of touch with the world. With all the death and bloodshed at sea a navy man could not stop and grieve for every horror. There came a time when the loss of your own shipmates meant nothing. One could only afford to concern himself with his friends lest he go mad. Pellew had no love for him and therefore could not grieve. It was as simple as that.

His mind traveled with that thought and Archie found himself fussing with the tie of his robe. The truth was that he was no better than Pellew when Horatio came under threat. “Do you remember Clayton?” Silly question. Horatio’s conscience would never allow him to forget the first man who had sacrificed for him.

Horatio blinked. It was not a name he heard easily, nor was Bunting’s, Hunter’s or Mariette’s. Archie sometimes wondered at this morbid list Horatio seemed to carry with him. .“Of course.” Horatio glanced down, discomfited all over again.

Leaving his robe alone, Archie curled both hands into the blankets. “I couldn’t mourn with you. You’ve never held it against me.”

He had not even tried to mourn, too busy rejoicing that Simpson had been shot and that he might finally get off the rattrap that was Justinian and go to war like a real man. It had been selfish of him to think only of his own escape, but after none of the others – Clayton least of all – had lifted a finger against Simpson in his defense he felt no remorse for his selfishness. He did not feel it even now.

“I’d always assumed you had reason for resenting him,” Horatio replied, eager to absolve him of any wrongdoing. It was true. Clayton had been confederate to the deeds that had dishonored him, but that was irrelevant. Archie would have done the same either way.

“The point is that I persuaded him to take your place in that duel. I handed him a flask of gin and I sacrificed him, because even then I could not bear letting you die.” Toward the others, he had felt only hollow dispassion whenever misfortune befell them. Every mid could have flung himself overboard and he would not have cared a whit, or so he had told himself. But with Horatio it had been different. Archie had fairly panicked when Horatio had announced his challenge to Simpson. In an instant he had realized how bleak the ship would seem with Horatio gone and that he was actually capable of mourning one of his shipmates. That had surprised Archie the most. He had never thought he could care for any of them after they had. . . . “I felt nothing, in the end,” Archie swallowed and went on, finding those times difficult to speak of even after all these years. “Do you think less of me?”

“No.” Horatio was quick to say it and then change the subject. “It’s not the same. All those years on the Indie I thought I did not dare aspire to be half the man he was. What is he now but a collaborator with corruption? He did nothing for us in Kingston.”

So that was it? Above all else, in his pride Horatio could not bear that his idol had turned out to be no more than an ordinary man who chose loyalty over conscience? Archie snorted. God knew there were more legitimate bones to pick with Pellew than a failure to live up to Horatio’s expectations.

Archie leaned close and rested his chin on Horatio’s shoulder. He was so very dear yet blind to the obvious at times. “Perhaps he is not so brilliant as you and failed to see a way out.” Pellew was no dunce, clearly, yet a gap in intelligence remained between Horatio and ordinary men. Horatio had the ability to think quickly on the spot with a plethora of ingenious solutions at his disposal. Pellew’s falling in with Hammond and provoking Buckland were despicable, but perhaps an independent path out of the whole mess had simply not presented itself to him as it would have to Horatio.

Horatio’s expression hardened in the firelight, but he did not draw away. “He found Hammond’s desire for a scapegoat amendable.”

Ah, the familiar argument. They had been over this too many times. Archie sighed and straightened. “I’m not so proud as you. I’d rather you live than see my name in the Chronicle.” What man would be vain enough to let his friend die for a bit of recognition that mattered nothing in the scheme of things? Where was Horatio’s conscience in understanding the practicality of what he had done in Kingston? But of course a man could not account it practical if he did not believe himself worth saving. That was what it came down to.

“You’ve done the same.” Archie pressed on before Horatio could argue. “The cutting-out of the Papillon . . . You struck me with the tiller because if you did not, the Frogs would have killed your men. The principle is the same, Horatio. You compromised yourself and chose necessity over conscience.”

Horatio’s expression grew even grimmer. He liked being reminded of that night even less than he liked being reminded of Clayton. “Not in cold blood, if you’re calling me a hypocrite.” He was honestly insulted now.

Again, Archie sighed. “I’m not.” Horatio argued like a Papist, as though repentance erased the sin. Not that Horatio had committed a sin; what had happened that night had been no one’s fault but his own. “I’m merely putting to you that there are times when honor may be selfish and may do greater damage than dishonor.” Was that not what had made the trial foolish in the first place, ruining living men to save the reputation of a dead one? Had Horatio not said that a man should not live with shame so a dead man could die with honor? Justice was honor and that was strictly where Pellew’s folly lay, not in failing to let Horatio hang and make Archie Kennedy his own Captain Sawyer.

Clearly at a loss, Horatio turned away again. “Why this sudden desire to defend him?” He sounded pressed for patience. But Horatio never did like to have his precious honorable notions called into question.

“I pity him,” Archie answered simply. If Horatio thought his view of Pellew had changed beyond that he was wrong. Pellew was an old man long away from the quarterdeck, away from the comfortable, isolated world of rules and order, a man without the courage to uphold his own moral boundaries in a corrupt society, a man who wanted a hero to remind him of who he used to be. In many ways, Pellew was what Horatio would become had he remained in the Navy, a man Archie could neither respect nor admire and who would only hate a practical fool like himself for seeing through him and failing to be impressed by an outdated reputation that only ensnared the young and naïve. And when even the naïve saw through him . . . .

“Pity him?” Horatio fixed him with a look, as though Archie had suggested giving supplies to the enemy.

Archie nodded. “He loves you and can see nothing else. You’ve crushed him.” He was not a fool. He knew that Pellew had involved himself in his case for Horatio’s sake. Even after Horatio had spurned him the man remained loyal. How Horatio could miss Pellew’s esteem was beyond him. Even in the beginning Pellew’s favoritism had shown, giving Horatio command of a prize his status then had not warranted, and in Kingston Pellew had visited with Horatio a long time in his cell while Archie had not even been certain the man had remembered him.

“Archie . . .” Horatio turned to stare at him as though he were being ridiculous, because the idea of loving Horatio Hornblower was in itself ridiculous. Sighing, Archie brought his hands to Horatio’s shoulders, rubbing gently. Perhaps if he wore Horatio down with affection he would turn his mind to better things and make him forget this matter altogether.

“You do drive men beyond their wits, Horatio.” Archie smiled as he said it, though Horatio did not see. He was too busy mulling over the possibility of Pellew loving him. Such revelations always hit him like a broadside out of the fog. But after a moment, Horatio shook his head dismissively.

“Archie, if this were true then why follow Hammond’s lead in Kingston? And Hammond’s treason in Brest – why would Admiral Pellew cover for a man who meant to hang me if he loved me as you say? I’d say Hammond has him wrapped around his finger far more than I.”

The look on his face was stubbornly decisive, as though a man’s love could be treated like a potential theorem, discredited out of hand on account of inconsistencies. Horatio seemed to want to discredit it, that would of course be easier than accepting it or bearing the guilt for failing to return the affection in kind.

Archie’s hands continued working over Horatio’s shoulders. The poor thing sat there so rigidly his body must ache with the effort. God knew Horatio was a strange one. He craved affection and admiration desperately and yet was quick to disregard any he received for no other reason than that he did not know how to respond. Archie supposed it was a miracle the two of them had ever made it into bed, yet he knew that he never spoke of the dept of his affection for Horatio aloud because he did not care for Horatio’s puzzled looks or to have that affections treated like a weakness.

“I was merely offering an explanation for his behavior in regards to me. No one would expect you to forgive the other things if your conscience cannot abide it.”

So much for soothing him; Horatio tensed all over again under Archie’s hands. Even the blood seemed to drain from his face as he stared at Archie over his shoulder, something between anger and disbelief glaring out from his eyes.

“Are you suggesting he is envious of your place in . . . that he wanted you out of the way because of some designs upon me?”

It would have been easier to deny it – Horatio’s harsh tone certainly cautioned that he do so – but Archie would be a liar to say that he had not harbored suspicions over the years. Still, he made an effort to be delicate. “I’m not saying he wants to bugger you, or that he would know if he did.” Many men so inclined were quite happy to shut away those desires, but Archie doubted there were very many navy men who did not know what it was to fumble with their shipmates in the dark, captain and rating alike.

Horatio was unwilling to be so realistic. He yanked himself out of Archie’s hold, whirling on him. “Archie, that’s filthy; he’s the closet thing I’ve had to a father!”

The words hung between them a moment, until Horatio flushed and looked down, more abashed at having said such a thing than the fact that he had actually shouted. Horatio had never spoken of Pellew as anything but an idol before, but Archie supposed it followed; the two had spent a great deal of time together aboard the Indie and Horatio had been so estranged from his natural father he may as well have been an orphan.

Still, Archie refused to be perturbed by Horatio’s outburst. He simply wrapped his arms around Horatio’s shoulders and leaned against his back. “It’s damnably easy to fall in love with you, Horatio, in whatever way.”

“Archie . . .” No doubt Horatio thought he was being mocked. That was just as well. Horatio would be a great pig if he saw in himself what others did.

“You haven’t asked his reason for coming.” Archie changed the subject, putting his cheek against Horatio’s. His lover did not push him away but was not exactly responsive either. Archie frowned, half hoping all this talk of Kingston and his supposed death would make Horatio eager to have him as it usually did, as it had this morning. But the thought of Pellew fancying him obviously curdled any desires Horatio might have tonight.

“It doesn’t matter. It changes nothing,” Horatio muttered without looking at him, staring into the fire instead. The poor thing must have thought Pellew had come to tempt him back to sea. Perhaps that had been one of Pellew’s motives in cooperating, whether it would work was the question.

“I hope not,” Archie answered quietly, hoping for the tenth time that Horatio had meant what he had said this morning, that he had no wish to go back to sea. No doubt Pellew would find a berth for him as a physician aboard his flagship.

Horatio continued to stare into the fire, not so rigid now but still puzzling over all that Archie had said. “You think I’m being unreasonable.” He neither asked nor accused. No doubt he was scrabbling for some way to take the blame onto himself for Pellew’s actions. Horatio could not bear not being at fault somehow; it meant that matters were far out of his hands and he could not abide being powerless.

Archie swallowed. “No. But you can’t keep stewing in rage.” Pellew deserved Horatio’s anger for cooperating with Hammond, but he did not deserve scorn for loving Horatio or failing to live up to his expectations, and Horatio owed it to himself to see the truth.

“He’s changed,” Horatio protested, looking away from the fire at last. Archie only shook his head, dropping a hand down to caress Horatio’s thigh through his nightclothes.

“Perhaps you’d rather not think of him now.” He bent his head and planted a kiss along the side of Horatio’s warm neck.

Horatio bit his lip as though the caresses pained him, or as though he were trying to resist whatever pleasure they gave. After a moment, he shook his head and edged away. “I think I’d prefer to sleep.”

Archie frowned. Was this a punishment for daring to suggest that Horatio’s precious Sir Edward could be so perverse as to desire him? All the same, he let Horatio go. Perhaps Horatio was honestly tired and if he wanted to sleep that was all right. Archie was tired too. “Goodnight, Horatio,” he said, getting up from the bed.

“Goodnight.”

Crossing the hall, Archie retreated to his own bedchamber, closing the door behind him. Pellew’s papers lay on the bureau where Horatio would have easily seen them had he come to him. But he would see them soon enough. For the time being Archie tucked the papers into the top drawer and then shed his robe and slippers to climb into bed.

Strange, he should have been elated, absolved of a high crime and free to reveal himself to the world again when he chose. He could visit old friends, speak with former shipmates instead of ducking behind corners whenever he happened to pass them in the street, and he could even see for himself what that child Katherine Cobham had once mentioned looked like after all. But inside, he did not feel any different. In fact, he felt empty and mildly vexed at his meddling father, and above everything he did not like feel like sleeping.

Part III

Horatio paid no mind as act after act of Antony and Cleopatra droned on upon the bright stage before him. He had small patience for drama in a good mood, but in his current state the flowery lines and overlong soliloquies were nothing short of a distracting annoyance. Even Miss Cobham as Cleopatra failed to hold his attention.

Beside him, Archie leaned forward in his chair with his head tilted, on edge for the outcome as though he did not know the lines by heart. Or perhaps it was not the play at all that had him so riveted, but rather one performer or another with whom he had slept long ago. Horatio pushed back the thought. Archie’s liaisons were both in the past and none of his concern. Archie’s newfound desire to purchase a theatre of his own had nothing to do with them in any case.

Petty jealousy was not what troubled Horatio, however. His eyes strayed to the far side of the side boxes where an all too familiar figure sat near the top, the last man he wanted to see. Once again Horatio cursed Archie for dragging him to Drury Lane this evening. The weather had caused him enough grief without having to sit trapped under a pair of dark eyes that spent more time watching him than the play. Pellew was alone, a fact that made his presence all the more encroaching. Horatio would have felt better had his wife been with him. He scowled; they should have left the moment they spied Pellew through the doors, damn what Archie wanted. He had seen this play a hundred times already.

Horatio recognized the unfairness of his silent sourness toward Archie tonight. But how could he help himself when the bitter betrayal of Archie meeting with Pellew behind his back still gnawed at him? It was Archie’s home, of course. Horatio had no call to remark upon what company he entertained, but why could Archie not have demanded Pellew’s purpose and then sent him on his way? What sane man would sip coffee with the one who had cheerfully sacrificed him?

No doubt Archie and Pellew agreed on one thing; Horatio Hornblower was better off at sea. With England at war again, what other purpose could Pellew have for turning up? If Pellew was immoral enough to let Archie take the fall in Kingston then surely manipulating him into luring Horatio back to sea was not beyond the man. The galling thing was that it seemed to work, given Archie’s pity and defense of Pellew’s actions yesterday. Ordinarily, Archie would be too smart to manipulate, but even after two years Archie, like Pellew, still seemed to believe Horatio’s life lay in ruin and that the Navy was something he longed for. Horatio doubted Archie would ever understand the half of it. Pellew, on the other hand, had refused to try. The man had given his objections even less attention that he had his grief. If Horatio Hornblower was not willing to be his great man than the Admiral had no need of him.

Archie could call that blind love if he wished, but this was not one of his plays. Whatever affection Pellew bore him had turned out to be as hollow as the man’s honor. Love was caring for Archie in prison or welcoming a son back into the family despite his state of disgrace, as Cassilis had done. Even Cassilis had enough respect for his and Archie’s friendship not to disregard him. Besides, if Pellew had loved him once, he certainly did not after Portsmouth. Horatio frowned. He had always known he would disappoint the man; it was only a matter of time before the mask cracked. Pellew clearly had no patience for what lay beneath.

Still, the weight of Pellew’s eyes, filled with memories and knowledge of him as a boy, from across the crowded theatre knotted Horatio’s stomach. Remembering what Archie had said, Horatio found himself embarrassed of their acquaintance and bristling with mistrust. He felt deceived somehow, that Pellew had only posed as a fatherly figure while using Horatio’s admiration and respect to feed some perverse fancy without his knowing. He felt that he had somehow encouraged the man.

Horatio rubbed at his forehead tiredly. How had it come to this? Aboard the Indie he never would have thought to hold Pellew under suspicion and would have challenged any man who called his captain’s honor into question. The man had been his mentor in duty and conscience, had consoled him after that disaster in Muzillac, and had even disobeyed orders to save them then just as Archie had done in Santo Domingo. Yet Pellew had proven his claim to a sense of responsibility to all his men a lie. Horatio’s chest tightened. Surely Pellew had not come back then out of the same desperation that had led Archie into that fort. Horatio flicked a glance at his distracted lover. Did Archie not realize what an unsettling seed he had planted? Horatio refused to give the idea credence in any case. Pellew’s presence tonight should not even trouble him. Probably the Admiral only wished to see Kitty Cobham’s performance as much as he and Archie did, assuming he had learned of her true identity.

None of it mattered. He was done with being what Pellew wanted. Such a thing was not possible for him anyway; he was a sodomite living with his male lover. Any reasonable man would say that such creatures were too weak to be great men. Horatio wished there were some way to tell Pellew as much without endangering Archie; surely the Admiral would want nothing to do with him then and would leave him in peace.

Wild applause broke through his thoughts. At last, the play was over. Horatio opened his eyes to find the crowd on their feet in the pit below, littering the stage with paper and flowers while they howled their approval with the indignity of apes. Archie grinned beside him but thankfully did not otherwise draw attention to himself, rising without a word after the curtain fell a final time and leading the way through the press of people down the stairs to the exit. Horatio followed without looking to see if Pellew was behind them.

Outside, the icy January air cleared Horatio’s head instantly. Rain beat down on the street before them, giving it the appearance of a shallow dark river mirroring the streetlamps in rippling yellow pools. Horatio tugged his coat closer around him, wondering for the hundredth time why Archie had chosen such a dreary evening for an excursion. But the weather did not seem to disturb the bustle of the city; coaches rolled by and women trudged through the puddles holding their skirts up while they laughed and chattered just as they would on any other day. Yet they all seemed to have meat on their bones and were not perpetually averse to the cold as he was.

“Thank God the coach stand isn’t far,” Horatio grumbled, yanking his hat further down onto his brow. He wished the crowd filing out of the theatre would move faster before they both got drenched waiting for the mass to clear out of their way.

Archie snorted, licking the rain from his lips. He slipped his fingers around Horatio’s upper arm and pushed them forward between a man and two women yapping merrily in their path as though it were a spring day. Horatio cringed. They should have invited Lady Fiona and her husband; if only for the use of a private carriage that would have seen them out of here all the faster.

“I think I fancy a drink,” Archie breathed through clenched teeth as he dragged Horatio along, clearly trying to keep from shivering too. “For that matter, perhaps we ought to find a dry inn for the night instead.”

Horatio rolled his eyes. “This isn’t shore leave, Archie.” He would as soon climb into a dry coach and be on their way home where a fire and a warm bath awaited them. What was the use of a home otherwise?

“I suppose not.” Archie muttered under his breath. Damn it, how did he find the energy to sulk while soaked and shaking? Horatio shook his head and quickened his steps as much as he could with several people ahead of them. They were already away from the theatre now, but still the street was crowded. Surely Archie would be more sanguine in a few moments when they were out of the weather and away from these dawdling idiots.

But Archie abruptly stopped at the corner just under the streetlamp, content to dawdle with the rest of them, glancing over his shoulder. Horatio turned to him, ready to snap that they were not getting any dryer. A useless venture, he realized, when Archie turned back around, his mouth quirked up into a smirk.

“Admiral Pellew’s not back there. Do you suppose he recognized Miss Cobham?” He started to chuckle, but Horatio could see he was less amused than he sounded and perhaps concerned for their friend.

“It wouldn’t matter if he did,” Horatio muttered. Kitty Cobham might have deceived them long ago in Gibraltar to gain passage home, but there was nothing Pellew could do about that now.

They tried to continue on, but yet another cluster of slow-moving ditherers stopped suddenly in front of them square in the middle of a puddle, splashing water onto Horatio’s boots that soaked through into his stockings.

“Watch where you’re going, damn you!” he snapped and then seized Archie’s sleeve with his free hand. “This way.” He yanked Archie around the corner where an alley ran at their immediate right. It was eerily dark away from the streetlamps and they would have to walk the longer way around to a get coach, but at least it would be faster without anyone in their way.

They had to move slower in the blackness. Rain dripped under the collar of Horatio’s cloak, sliding down his back, but Horatio was too busy clenching his jaw against the cold to bother swearing. Ahead of them, he could make out the shape of a man coupling with a whore against the wall of a dirty building opposite the theatre. Even if he could scarcely see what they were doing, the sounds were disgustingly obvious, enough to make him wish he had not gone this way after all. But those prurient noises were soon dwarfed by the sound of a scuffle coming from around the theatre building, a man’s growling voice followed by a string of curses.

Beside him, Archie halted for a better listen. Even in the dark, Horatio could feel his expression tensing as he made sense of the racket. “Sounds like old Pellew. I wonder why he came out the back way, though there’s only one reason really.” He chuckled half-heartedly.

Horatio frowned, supposing Archie had ample experience slipping out of the theatre’s back door. Had Pellew stayed for the same reason? Likely not, as the play had only ended a few moments ago, unless Pellew had been refused and that was the cause of the noise behind the theatre now. Whatever the case, no doubt the fools who had decided to molest Sir Edward Pellew would soon be sorry.

“Well damn it, we’ll go back this way.” He wanted no trouble for himself. God knew how quarrels could get out of hand. Surely Archie would agree. But Horatio turned and only got three steps before Archie snapped at him.

“Horatio, we can’t keep prancing back and forth. I’m soaking wet for God’s sake.”

They were both soaking wet, Horatio wanted to remind him, but thought better of it. He also wanted to remind Archie that the distance to the coach stand remained the same whether they turned and went back the way they had come or crossed the alley and continued as they were.

Before they could argue in the street, the sound of a pistol shot rang through the air followed by two pairs of fleeing feet. Horatio froze, suddenly uneasier than he wished to be. He leaned back against the building, forgetting the rain and the lewd moans of the man with the harlot. Pellew must have frightened the knaves off, or perhaps . . . . Horatio swallowed, realizing that he was waiting to hear the Admiral’s footsteps as well.

Those footsteps came softly, almost by stealth under the hiss of the rain, and when Horatio heard them he was ready to account the Admiral unscathed and continue on. But before he could, a faint cough reached his ears. The shape of a man appeared around the corner, slightly hunched and dragging his steps. Horatio knew who it was though it was too dark to see the figure’s face. His chest tightened and he glanced back the way he and Archie had come, a weak sensation in his belly. He felt cornered, and despite himself stepped back closer to the wall as though that could prevent Admiral Pellew from seeing him.

Horatio blinked, ashamed of himself. This man had been his Captain and he once been proud to serve under him. Hiding from him was ridiculous, not to mention craven. Yet that was not enough to shake the discomfort and let him move from the wall.

Soaked now and strangely trapped, Horatio knew there was no escape as there had been yesterday morning. He wondered instead if he might utter a polite greeting and turn away with the weather and the late hour as an excuse. But Admiral Pellew was still hunched forward. Horatio could make out the outline of his hand pressed to his shoulder in the darkness. A pang of sympathy stung him; he knew how a wound there could burn. He had been shot in the shoulder once, in that duel with Simpson when Pellew had saved his life. Remembering that, Horatio’s anger softened. He wet his lips to say something, but Archie spoke before he could.

“Are you hurt, sir?”

Pellew made an angry sound in his throat, almost a growl. “Damned rascals should know better than to assault a man of His Majesty’s navy.”

“I think you’ve frightened them off,” Archie ventured, glancing around the corner where all lay silent now.

“Not before one of the bastards got his knife in me.” Pellew sounded hoarse, clearly in pain. His steps continued to drag as he moved the few feet to lean against the corner of the building. Even his breathing was ragged.

“Horatio . . .” Archie turned to him, touching his sleeve where Pellew would not see. Horatio swallowed, knowing Archie’s mind; Pellew was injured and they had to assist him because there was no one else to do so. Horatio stiffened, resisting the idea of being so close and putting his hands on the Admiral, but he supposed that if he could save a monster like Simpson from drowning then he could do as he must now.

Stepping around Archie, Horatio cleared his throat and faced Pellew in the dimness. “Perhaps you ought to sit down, sir.” They were the first words that came to mind, practical enough though cold. Lying down would better help the bleeding, but he could not very well ask an admiral to lie down on the wet ground, filthy with dirt and God knew what else.

Admiral Pellew slid down without compunction, however, not so proud that he could not sit in the filth. Drawing a breath, Horatio knelt down with him in the wet blackness, followed by Archie, the rain dripping down into their faces. Horatio could not read Archie’s thoughts, though they were likely less reluctant and more humane than his own. But for his part, the moment felt surreal. He wished he and Pellew were strangers, that he was simply a man assisting another, as he would if he ever gained a position in the Naval hospital as he wanted. He even glanced around for someone to take the task from him.

Frowning, Horatio reminded himself that there was no one else, that Archie would not do it. Horatio shook his head. A capital doctor he would make if he could not put his misgivings aside in order to render aid. A physician was even expected to give aid to the enemy. That was the easiest way to think of this, a trial to test his aptitude for the career he had in mind.

He could see very little in the dim light, but a dark stain had spread over one side of Pellew’s coat. Horatio had seen wounds before. He had seen men hacked apart or blown to bits, leaving pools of blood behind. He had seen the surgeons’ work too, Hepplewhite’s and even Clive’s. This was nothing in comparison and it was certainly nothing compared to the ghastly sight of Archie under the morning sunlight covered in his own blood beneath his jacket.

Shying away from that image, Horatio resolved to calm himself, turning to Archie beside him. “Give me a handkerchief. I’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

Nodding, Archie fumbled inside his coat for the bit of white linen and handed it over. Taking it, Horatio crumpled it into a ball without looking, shoving it against that dark stain upon Pellew’s left shoulder. He could not see where the blood stemmed from exactly, could only grope blindly over Pellew’s chest until he felt the wetness directly on his own hands. Pellew’s heart beat fast under his coat, and when Horatio pressed down with his palms the Admiral let out a long, ragged breath.

“Forgive me.” Horatio bit his lip, strangely embarrassed of those simple words. The task at hand was unnerving enough without having to speak. Having his hands on the Admiral felt improper and almost indecent, considering. With Archie it would never have felt that way; he was so used to tending him even in fun and caressing him freely. But Horatio supposed dwelling on Pellew and his speculative desires was not helping matters.

Shaking his head, Horatio reached inside his sopped coat for his own handkerchief – the other had already soaked through. He was aware of the rushing rain, of Archie silent at his shoulder, of Pellew’s pained breathing, and of the older man’s dark eyes still upon him. The silence between them was almost as awkward as speaking. Seeming to feel likewise, Pellew drew a breath and broke it.

“You never told me Her Grace was an actress.”

Horatio gritted his teeth at the quietly scolding tone, wanting to snap that such information was not nearly so important as Archie remaining alive in Kingston. How dare the man chide him for keeping secrets. Besides, the truth had been better kept between he and Archie. Informing his captain had never occurred to him.

“I discovered her identity too late,” Horatio answered. It was not a lie, though it no longer mattered. At the moment, he even felt childishly proud for having kept the secret.

Pellew left it at that, or perhaps he was too weak to talk anymore; his breathing was still rough, though less erratic. The wound was not deep, though it burned no doubt. In any case, the bleeding seemed to have stopped – Horatio felt no new wetness on his fingers through the linen. Heaving a sigh, he took his hands away, leaning back and breathing a little raggedly himself from the effort of pressing down so hard. Silence stretched for another long moment, until Archie broke it this time.

“Someone will have to sew that up. There’s got to be a doctor round here somewhere. I’ve friends at the theatre. They might run out and fetch you one for my sake. Miss Cobham might even hold your hand in the meantime.” He chuckled to himself.

Unamused, Horatio stared at him. For *his* sake? What had Pellew ever done for Archie but disregard him and sacrifice him in Kingston? But Archie was right; Pellew did require a doctor, and the cold and rain were not doing any of them any good.

“Any man might hope,” Pellew grunted, attempting to push himself to his feet.

Taking pity on him, Archie slung the Admiral’s arm around his broad shoulders, steadying him and leaving Horatio to take the other side. Realizing there was no way to decline, Horatio swallowed and placed his arm around the older man’s back, allowing Pellew to settle his free arm around his own shoulders. Not being very strong, Horatio was not of much help, of course, but at least he served to balance the man while Archie steered him around the corner.

It was not a long walk, thank God, but the press of Pellew’s body against his side and the rise and fall of his breathing under Horatio’s hand made even the short walk to the theatre’s back door dreadful. Horatio noted that he was being ridiculous and even half mad about such a simple thing, that Archie did not seem bothered by Pellew’s proximity, but still Horatio found himself counting the steps to the door where he could let go once they were inside. Again, Pellew must have sensed his discomfort; he turned to Archie as though Horatio were not even there.

“Are you well acquainted with Miss Cobham and the theatre, Mr. Kennedy?”

Archie laughed all too merrily. “I used to linger backstage hoping she would notice me. She never did, of course, but the other girls seemed to think it her loss. A man can’t be more fortunate than to have Helen of Troy and Juliet in one night.”

Horatio rolled his eyes that Archie could be so inconsiderate in front of him. He listened to his friend babble on about women for another half a minute before shutting the words out. But then he thought it odd that Archie, who was usually vague on such matters whenever Horatio asked, seemed overwilling to speak of women now. Perhaps he was only spinning tales to deflect any suspicion Pellew might have of the two of them.

At last they reached the little door. Horatio let out a breath; Pellew was growing heavy. A dark-haired woman answered Archie’s knock, the paint only half washed from her face. Horatio waited for Archie to smile and charm her into sending them Miss Cobham so that he and Archie might turn Pellew over to her and be on their way.

Charm was not required, apparently. Miss Cobham must have heard the door, for she peeked her head around a corner, spied them, and rushed over, holding her skirts in both fists. Another dark-haired woman scurried behind her, the laces of Miss Cobham’s dress between her teeth. She went back to fastening them when Miss Cobham halted before the three of them. Horatio averted his eyes from where the neckline still slipped from Kitty’s shoulders. She should have waited until the girl finished before coming out, but feminine modesty had never been one of Miss Cobham’s concerns.

Her eyes went round when she spied the blood upon Pellew’s jacket. “What’s happened?” she breathed out, letting go of her skirts. Finished with the laces, the girl behind her straightened her neckline at last, and it was only when Horatio looked up again that he realized she had played Iras on stage tonight. Her name was Miriam and Archie was fond of her. Pellew’s presence must have unnerved Archie more than Horatio had guessed if he had not wanted to linger backstage and visit her.

Out the corner of his eye, Horatio saw Archie’s mouth turn up in a smirk, but did his best to ignore it. Archie should know this mess was not funny. “The Admiral got into trouble in the alley,” Horatio said.

Miss Cobham’s mouth tightened as if to say she knew that. The smirk left Archie’s face and he stepped up to explain. “He needs a doctor. We hoped you’d tell us –“

Kitty did not wait for him to finish. “Of course! Come in, gentlemen.” She stepped back so they could move inside the door, out of the rain, and then turned to the younger actress. “You have a doctor friend, don’t you, dear? He brought you flowers for your last performance. Or was it for something else?” She winked at the girl.

Failing to blush, Miriam clasped her hands behind her back, pushing her bosom out. “I’ll never tell. But you’d best send me along if you want to trouble him this time of night, unless you’ve got gold, sir.” She looked to Pellew.

Archie did not give Pellew the chance to answer. He looked impatient, as well he should be. “All right. I’ll go with you. It isn’t far, is it?”

She shook her head. “His apartment’s only a few buildings down.”

“Good. Well, we’ll be back in no time, then. Come on.” He let go of Pellew, only for Miss Cobham to take his place, supporting the Admiral by the arm. Horatio watched in a small panic as Archie and Miriam hurried out the door. Archie could not leave him here with Pellew and these strangers; he had no place in the back of a theatre and nothing to say to the Admiral besides. But Archie had already gone, dashing out with that girl in the dark.

“I hope you don’t mind a lady’s dressing room, Sir Edward,” Miss Cobham was saying, leading them around the corner toward an open doorway, inside which Horatio spied costumes on hangers and a large vanity table. “You’ve got to lie down. Shame on you for staying on your feet.”

The older man gave her a level look, leaning more heavily on Horatio now since Miss Cobham could not support most of his weight as Archie had. “I hardly expect these gentlemen to carry me, your Gr . . . Miss Cobham,” he cleared his throat and corrected himself.

“Kitty, Sir Edward,” she protested. “Now this way. We’ve got to get that nasty coat off you.”

They squeezed through the door, at which point Horatio let go, letting Pellew make it to the long red chaise backed up against the far wall with only Kitty’s help. He backed further away from the room after they seemed to forget him in the difficulty of the task, clearing his throat to get Miss Cobham’s attention.

“I’m positive you’ll thank me to stay out of the way,” Horatio said, turning away before she could protest and call him back to Pellew’s side. Kitty knew of his resignation, but she did not know that he and Pellew had not parted on fond terms and no doubt expected him to fret as she had seen him do with Archie in Spain. Pretending would be easier than offering an explanation, but Horatio did not have a heart to pretend now. In fact, he would rather have gone out into the rain again to fetch that doctor as a means of escape. He would rather have gone home, but that was not possible until Archie returned.

The men and women of the theatre cast him strange looks as they hustled around him, but Horatio paid them no mind and instead pushed his way through the curtain and settled onto one of the benches in the empty pit. He was still soaked and shivering, but he hardly noticed anymore, too busy feeling knotted up, alone, and unreasonably hurt that Archie had left him here even for a short while to walk in the rain for a man who had scarcely noticed him aboard his own ship. No doubt even Archie thought he would want to stay by Pellew’s side. No doubt Archie expected that of him. Perhaps that was a part of what troubled him; he was numb where the worry should have been. Even a minor wound could lead to a deadly infection. But at times it was as though he had exhausted his capacity for panic and grief two years ago with Archie and could no longer feel those things for another, or was afraid to. In that regard, he had failed Archie, who expected nothing less than goodness from him.

Horatio leaned his head miserably against the back of the chair, sick to death of the expectations and assumptions of others. He wanted to shout to the performers backstage that they need not look at him as some sort of intruder to their little world; he had played roles as well as they – the stoic officer and the righteous gentleman – to hide the confused boy beneath who had felt like an orphan from his youth and who loved another man with all his heart. But instead of wanting to hide, he was tired of others failing to see through him. He wanted to shout to the empty theatre that he did not want to be lured back to sea or to be the good man tonight. All he wanted was to sit listening to the rain and watch the empty stage until he could go home, and then he wanted a new life that could not be tainted with ambition, status, or moral corruption. Closing his eyes, Horatio drew a deep breath, suddenly angrier than he wished to be.

~

Half an hour later, the sight of Archie approaching through the curtain returned Horatio to his senses. He blinked, unaware that he had sat staring blankly at the wall with his fingers curled into the wood beneath him for so long.

Archie was beyond soaked now, his cloak dripping a trail of water behind him that someone would not be pleased to mop up. His cheeks were pink from the cold and when he plucked off his hat Horatio saw that his hair was drenched, dripping in riverlets inside his clothes. Horatio scowled; Archie should not have risked catching his death for a man who had cheerfully sacrificed him. But Archie did not complain about how cold or wet he was; he simply removed his cloak and set it with his hat at the edge of the stage before sinking down beside Horatio.

“Are you all right?” Archie wrapped an arm around his shoulders and peered at him with concerned blue eyes, gentle and soft-spoken now that they were alone.

Horatio averted his eyes, looking down at his own feet in silence for a moment. There was very little he could conceal from Archie, but he did not have the words to explain the tumult of emotion inside him and therefore dismissed the question.

“I should have gone instead.” He frowned at the water spots on Archie’s clothes and then up into his cold-reddened face. “Look at you.” Archie’s hair clung like a tawny net to the back of his neck. Horatio wished someone would bring a towel so that he might dry it.

Shaking his head, Archie slipped his fingers through Horatio’s wet curls and grinned. “You’re cold enough. I thought you’d prefer to stay where it was dry.”

“Oh.” Horatio looked away again, this time out of guilt. Here he had thought Archie had intended him to stay with Pellew against his wishes. Archie only tightened his arm and drew Horatio against him, wet clothes and all, bringing his other hand up to press Horatio’s head against his shoulder.

Closing his eyes, Horatio permitted himself to relax against Archie’s body, feeling suddenly that his troubles were understood and that Archie would never scorn them or put demands on him. His head ached and his eyes stung; he had not been made for sentimental burdens and wanted to sob weakly that he refused to go back to sea or endure anymore of Pellew’s cutting dissappointment. He wanted Archie to protect him somehow but was too ashamed to say it. Slipping his fingers under Archie’s arm, Horatio clung to his friend’s wet cloak to say it wordlessly. But when he felt Archie’s lips on his forehead in answer Horatio tensed, forcing himself to pull away.

“Not here,” he muttered, smoothing his clothes and trying to sit up in a respectable fashion. This may be the theatre, where liaisons between men were hardly a rare thing, but it was foolish to abandon discretion. Horatio sighed, supposing that he had been foolish the entire night. If he had, he was too tired to care at the moment.

Sitting up as well, Archie only looked at him. “We can go once we know he’ll be all right. He’ll want to speak to you.”

Again, that odd trapped feeling settled over him. Horatio curled his hands into his cloak, fighting the childish urge to snap that he did not want to see Pellew. But Archie would laugh at him if he did that. “I wouldn’t know what to say,” he confessed instead, staring over at the curtain separating them from whatever was going on back there with the Admiral.

In truth, Horatio found it difficult to face the man after his outburst in Portsmouth. He did not regret what he had done, but that he had exposed so much of his beliefs and his principles only to have them scorned by one he had once thought the paragon of honor. Horatio grimaced in memory; he could not abide scorn, and he could not abide a man who honestly thought his life the poorer for tossing aside such meaningless things as rank and a ship. His rift with Pellew had left a small void inside him; Horatio could not bear the man believing him in the wrong and he could not bear that he had been wrong about Pellew. Archie had stretched that void yesterday with his suggestion that Pellew’s fatherly affection – a thing Horatio had lacked for most of his life – had only been something perverse. Horatio was afraid that any words between him and Pellew now might deepen that void unbearably.

Archie was looking at him again. Horatio could feel it. He blinked and looked back, finding Archie’s face solemn under his wet waves of gold hair. “You could say goodbye,” he said gently, “if that’s what you want.”

The word unnerved Horatio, too final. Even in Kingston he had not said it. He found himself remembering that day now, the wait until he was allowed to see Archie and the fear that Archie would not last long enough. He remembered mulling over what to say, pushing back a festering knot of emotion. What did you say? Not “thank you” when you did not mean it. This was entirely different – he had not wanted to go to Archie then because that would mean facing the reality of the situation that Archie was going away – yet inside, that knot of emotion felt the same though Horatio could not figure why.

“I suppose I could,” was all he said and then changed the subject. “How’s your friend?”

The question lightened Archie’s mood. “She’s well. I’ve told her my plans and she’s willing to work for me. It seems the old man who runs things here confines her to minor roles because she won’t lift up her skirts for him. Now that’s a swine, Horatio. And you’re worried about Pellew.”

Horatio blinked, not expecting that Archie would call him on it aloud. The manager was indeed a swine to treat any woman so, but he supposed Archie had it right; a captain so-inclined did indeed possess the authority to withhold advancement from young boys who did not give into his lechery. Pellew had certainly never done such a thing, quite the contrary, and therefore Horatio realized that it was unjust of him to doubt that aspect of the Admiral’s character. The very idea of Pellew coveting him still unsettled Horatio, however, and taking advantage of their solitude he leaned closer to Archie.

“What you said yesterday. Is it true, do you suppose?”

Archie did not even bother to give it thought; he simply rolled his eyes. “Horatio, I can’t presume.” Frowning at the exasperation in his voice, Horatio straightened. But eventually Archie drew a breath, softening. “Does Horatio Hornblower find himself so low or so high that any man who desires him must be a pervert? I said it was only a thought. But you are beautiful.” Reaching over, he ran the tip of his finger along Horatio’s jaw.

Horatio shook off the touch. His disgust was not born of conceit – it had been a deep relief to learn that Archie returned his affection – such attention was simply improper and unreasonable from Pellew. Horatio turned to stare at Archie again. “Why would he love me and not you?”

Archie’s mouth twitched. He looked as though he wanted to laugh but was disarmed by the question. Instead, he simply reached over and touched Horatio’s hand. “Well, why love me and not him, Horatio?”

Horatio’s eyes narrowed. He wanted to snap that the answer was obvious and that Archie should know it. His feelings for the two men had always been greatly different. Pellew he had idolized and taken example from, and until Kingston had believed he would never survive disappointing him. With Archie, he felt so many things: relief, passion, comfort, a connection like a sixth sense that he had never shared with anyone else, not to mention freedom from judgment or scorn – God knew there was a lot to scorn in him. Things had changed, Horatio supposed; he had come to idolize Archie’s resilience, and his actions in Kingston and aboard the Minotaur had set a higher standard of courage and selfishness than Horatio could ever hope to achieve. Pellew had done the opposite, and therefore no longer seemed to have a place in Horatio’s heart – a heart that prized courage and honor above all else.

Still, Horatio wondered at himself. He wondered, had Pellew expressed amorous desires long ago, if he would have ended up the man’s lover even for a short time out of simple relief at having his inclinations accepted. Horatio supposed it did not matter; he would have fallen for Archie eventually. Pellew had a wife and family, besides; they would never have had the same completeness together.

He was spared from having to explain all this to Archie by the soft sound of footsteps and rustling cloth. Looking up, Horatio saw Miriam coming toward them, smiling and practically bouncing as she deposited herself beside Horatio.

“Arch – Mr. Carlyle’s – going to let me play Beatrice!” she beamed, pressing against Horatio’s shoulder to look over at Archie.. “Aren’t you?” Horatio wished she would pull her neckline up; the view of her pale breasts was indecent.

“Certainly,” Archie promised her. “But what of the Admiral?”

“Oh, yes, him.” Her smile did not quite fade. “The doctor will be finished with him soon. He was asking for Mr. Hornblower, Kitty said. I think she’ll take him home for the night.” She dropped her voice to whisper it.

Ignoring the remark, Horatio stiffened; Archie had been right about Pellew wishing to see him. He supposed he could not refuse, despite his qualms; if he meant to say goodbye then he must say it now lest Pellew come to their home again with his foolish, stubborn hopes. Archie or Miss Cobham could not say it for him; no one could respect a coward, lest of all Admiral Pellew, who had once claimed that he disliked men who let others fight their battles for them. Yet inside, Horatio still resisted, still wished as he had in Kingston that he could flee and deny that any of this was happening. But there was no sense in wishing, and so he cleared his throat and rose to his feet, nervously smoothing his cloak.

“Best go now and get on with it,” he announced, and then glanced to Miriam whom he had unwittingly shoved aside to stand up. “If you’ll excuse me.”

She nodded. It was Archie who caught his sleeve, looking up at him with the same quietly supportive look he had always given whenever Pellew summoned Horatio to his cabin to discuss something difficult. “I’ve something to tell you,” he said, “his reason for coming yesterday.”

Horatio grimaced, supposing Pellew had a posting in mind for him or something similar Archie felt obligated to share, something Horatio had no patience for. “It can wait,” he replied. He had meant what he had said yesterday; Pellew’s motives or any offers he might have changed nothing. Besides, Horatio wanted to make his break with Pellew before he lost his nerve, tired of lingering.

Agreeing on later, Archie released his sleeve. Horatio made his way behind the stage again, leaving Archie to Miriam and her chatter about the roles she would play and perhaps the roles Archie would write for her. It was quiet beyond the curtain. The place was neat and many of the actors seemed to have gone elsewhere. Unconcerned with their activities, Horatio strode up to Miss Cobham’s dressing room door. It lay open and the doctor was already stepping out, wiping his hands on a towel. Horatio frowned; the rain had washed the blood from his own hands almost instantly.

Kitty rose from her vanity stool when she saw him, and with only a small nod in his direction she followed the doctor, leaving Horatio to Pellew. Her expression said that she knew more of matters between the two of them than she had when they had come in.

After she had gone, Horatio stood in the center of her dressing room for a long time, his mind a tumble of recollections. He had so many memories of waiting nervously before Pellew’s desk, afraid to interrupt while the man sat conducting the business of a captain with intelligence and dignity. Each summons to the Indie’s great cabin had been tinged with dread that he would be dressed down or found wanting somehow, or worse that he and Archie’s affair had been discovered – even then, Horatio could not bring himself to believe that a man so just as Sir Edward Pellew would hang them for their intimacy. Now he wondered if Pellew would have been all too glad to hang Archie. Surely Archie would have rushed to bear the blame. The infuriating thought brought the anguish in Kingston back to mind, the sight of Archie in that bed with blood soaking through his bandages, dying and disgraced because Pellew had convicted him. That pain and the old dread mixed together now, and Horatio swallowed hard, his mind blank of words.

“Sir,” was all he could choke out, realizing that he was standing at attention as though he had come to give a report. “Mr. Kennedy said you wished to see me, sir.”

Admiral Pellew studied him at length from where he lay upon Kitty’s crimson, curved-back chaise. His shirt hung half open, a sizeable red stain upon the snowy cloth over his left shoulder. No doubt the doctor had administered something for the pain, yet Pellew’s eyes remained sharp, dark and penetrating.

“Indeed, Mr. Hornblower. Sit, if you please, sir.”

The words had the sound of an order, and accustomed to such from him, Horatio sank down onto the vanity stool drawn up beside the chaise, folding his hands in his lap.

Silent for a long moment, Pellew continued to regard him with perhaps all the pity and scorn Horatio had feared. Yet uncertainty showed in his expression as well. Horatio wondered if words eluded him too now; he had been relatively silent in the alley. Strange, Horatio had never imagined that Pellew, who had always given such rousing speeches and whose orders snapped quick as lightening from the quarterdeck, could lack for words. But at last Pellew dropped his gaze, frowning down at the red smear upon his own shirt.

“Mr. Kennedy is forgiving,” he said with care, a look in his eye that Horatio did not understand. Horatio then wondered, if Pellew wished to express gratitude that Archie had braved the rain to fetch him a doctor, why he did not summon Archie instead. But Horatio supposed Pellew’s failure to do so should not surprise him by now.

“Indeed,” Horatio replied stiffly. “He does endeavor to be a gentleman, sir.” Archie had also endeavored to be a good officer aboard the Indie despite the hell he had endured, for all Pellew had noticed it.

As if sensing the thought, or at least the anger, Pellew’s features tightened, but he kept his tone matter-of-fact. “I’ve always thought you learn everything there is to know about a man once you experience his mercy.”

Horatio lowered his head to hide whatever affection might show in his face. He had first known Archie’s mercy in Spain, in the form of forgiveness for sending Archie there and then in the form of blissful physical fulfillment of the secret longing gnawing away at him. Horatio had never understood why Archie loved him so well, he had always thought himself unworthy, but Archie was able to see inside him and believed whatever he found at the root to be good. In Pellew, Archie had claimed to see something worth pitying – this great unrequited love he had dreamed up – but Horatio supposed pity and mercy were not so far apart. For his own part, Horatio could not find pity, only anger and bruised faith.

“I believe I’m well acquainted with it,” he answered quietly.

With a nod, Pellew put the matter aside. “You’ve been missed in Portsmouth, Mr. Hornblower.” He sounded fond, but still the words rang with an unmistakable scolding. Horatio’s mouth firmed; he was not here to be persuaded. His choice two years ago had been a final one.

“I’ve been in Scotland, sir, and intend to remain there for some time with Mr. Kennedy.”

Pellew made a sound in his throat to mark his displeasure. “Hardly a place for a man who once put duty above all else.”

Horatio straightened, impatience flaring to the surface. If Pellew was well enough despite his wound to hound him over his resignation than there was no need for Horatio to swallow his anger now. Their differences had already been hashed out, and Pellew no longer had power over him; it was not as though holding him in contempt were mutiny.

“I put honor above all else, sir. You know what my honor means to me. Conscience is the difference between a man and an animal.” Horatio stared hard at Pellew as he said it. He should not have to remind an admiral of that.

Undaunted, Pellew met his stare with those sharp, dark eyes of his. The man leveled disapproval like a weapon; a weak man could tremble with fear just looking at him, but Horatio had grown tired of being a weak man. “So is pride,” Pellew challenged, “and love.” The word had the ring of an accusation. Horatio’s chest tightened. Did Pellew know of him and Archie? If he did, the Admiral did not go on to say it. “Our country is at war, Mr. Hornblower. We cannot afford to have capable men led astray.”

Horatio’s mouth fell open. Who had been led astray? Not he or Archie. They had done their duty and had nearly hanged for it with no small help from Pellew. Even after utter disgrace, Archie had done his duty aboard the Minotaur and the Admiralty had failed to reward him. The Admiralty had lost sight of their purpose in defending England and instead had turned on their own to cover for their folly, and Pellew had fallen in with them.

“I fear it too late for that, sir.” He was ready to put an end to the conversation and quit the room when Pellew dropped the subject, his eyes softening.

“What’s in Scotland to appease your conscience?”

Caught off guard, Horatio paused a moment, at a loss for words again. He had not expected the Admiral to care a damn for his lowly civilian future. On instinct, he resisted answering, not obliged to divulge such information and fearing how it would be received. But Horatio had thought his plan through and had grown resolute with the ethical practicality of it. In any case, he had already lost the man’s esteem in Portsmouth; there was nothing else to lose in telling him.

“Edinburgh, sir. I thought I should like to study medicine there and perhaps seek a position at one of the Naval hospitals here in London. God knows there are enough men brought back dying due to insufficient care, as Arch – Mr. Kennedy almost did.”

He waited for Pellew and his damned piercing eyes to attempt to dissuade him, but the man’s face remained unreadable even as he reached over and laid his hand over Horatio’s. “Another of your ingenious solutions, Mr. Hornblower?” He sounded fond again, but perhaps it was only pity for what he might consider more naïve delusion. “A compromise between conscience and duty?”

It took a moment for Horatio to realize that Pellew was not mocking him. The older man did not take his hand away. Horatio was surprised, given what Archie had suggested, that the touch did not unnerve him. Instead, he found it strangely disarming.

“It may be, sir,” he conceded, amazed that Pellew could put it so succinctly. But the man had always been wise in his way. Kingston had apparently not robbed Pellew entirely of the quality Horatio had valued so highly in him. “In any case I believe it for the best.”

“You must do as your conscience dictates.”

The bland tone troubled Horatio all over again, taking it to mean that Pellew had simply given up on him. He wanted Pellew to give up, but because Pellew had been wrong in expecting that a promotion could purchase his collusion with corruption, not because Horatio Hornblower was a lost cause beyond reason. On the contrary; there could be no reason without truth. If Admiral Pellew advocated the smothering of truth then how could he claim to be reasonable or in the right?

Sighing, Horatio shook his head. “You think me childish.” He could not keep the hurt from his voice. Yet he did not know why he should be hurt. If they possessed incongruous views of reason, then logically Pellew’s words should bear no sting. Yet he had also cared for the man and admired him. Reason never entered into that.

Pellew blinked, and then sighed too, turning his head away to focus on a blank spot upon the wall. Horatio waited for him to say yes, to repeat what he had said in Portsmouth two years ago. But Pellew did not say it; instead, he turned back to him, drew a breath and tightened his grip on Horatio’s hand, his expression strangely open and almost wounded.

“I think you . . . a good man, Mr. Hornblower.” His voice caught as he said it. Horatio looked down, regretful for having distressed him and swallowing discomfort of his own; he had come expecting argument, not sentimentality. “I would loathe to see you unhappy,” Pellew went on. “Still, you might have been an Admiral in a few years’ time, a hero like Nelson himself. ”

Again, Horatio shook his head. “To what end? To end up a brute like Captain Sawyer so that innocent men might die to preserve my name?” He was tired of hearing about his great future and the hollow things such as the rank he might achieve. What of the wreck he would be or of how he would live with himself after years upon years of compromise and corruption? The sacrifices Clayton and Archie had made were enough for his conscience to bear as it was. Why could Pellew not see that?

But perhaps it was not entirely Pellew’s fault. Perhaps he had shown himself as a cold, ambitious man who cared for nothing but duty. Hammond had accused him of ambition, as had Sawyer. But Horatio had thought Pellew knew him. He did not miss the irony of that mistake; how could Pellew know him when he had wrestled to hide impulses unseemly for an officer for fear of disappointing the man? To think that he had lived in fear of that when his ruse had been so successful! What was more, he certainly could not tell anyone of the love he bore Archie, Pellew least of all. Perhaps Pellew truly had thought a ship could give him happiness, having no wife or any other ties that Pellew knew of. Yet even Archie had confessed to fearing that Horatio might cast him aside for a ship and an epaulette. It had hurt to hear Archie say such a thing.

The latter was a matter for him and Archie. As for the former . . . Horatio could not be brought to believe that he had hidden himself so well. Pellew had seen glimpses of his ethical struggle; he had seen the disgust in Horatio’s face as he had led Bunting through the gauntlet – a penance set him by Pellew for having been too lenient toward the man – and he had seen Horatio weep for the lives lost so senselessly in Muzillac. Pellew had consoled him with talk of duty and then in Kingston had talked him into collusion, treating his qualms as something to be snuffed out. The man had not done so out of malice or cruelty, of course, but as a part of grooming him for command, to harden him for the bloody business of war and spare him the pangs of conscience. But Pellew had to understand, whether or not it was weakness, that throughout the years his conscience had rioted like a mutiny in his mind, that he could not stop it, and that Kingston had left Horatio with no reason to try.

Drawing a breath, Horatio looked over at Pellew, his throat tight as he conveyed those thoughts aloud.

“I fear I was never made for the Service, sir. I loathed the carnage and the punishments far too deeply – Sawyer taught me that and leveled it like a weapon against me.” Horatio paused with the memory. Squeamish, was that not what Sawyer had termed his objection to the cruelty aboard that ship? Strange that a madman had seen right through him when Pellew had not. “And after Kingston, sir,” he went on, “I fear I’ve been too badly hurt. I’m indebted, besides. The least I can do for Mr. Kennedy and my own honor is ensure that I never become like the tyrants from which he saved me.”

He sank back on the stool, not expecting that the truth could be so simply put. He had known it with every questionable hanging or flogging, every battle, and yet had swallowed it down. Now the truth could not weigh him down any longer regardless of how it was received, nor need he dread its discovery or that it might be used against him as a tool of provocation as Sawyer had done. That brought Archie to mind again and his confession regarding Jack Simpson. It had no doubt taken all Archie’s courage to admit a thing like that, but his fits had stopped afterward and he had been able to take pleasure that night perhaps for the first time in years. The two matters were incomparable, of course, though Horatio supposed he was confessing to a weakness, one he feared Pellew would see sooner or later and then transfer his esteem to another. At the same time, it seemed neither reasonable nor productive to keep a man in a position for which he was unsuited. Captain Sawyer had demonstrated that well enough, though due to illness, whereas Pellew had made an exemplary captain but a poor Admiral. Neither case demonstrated weakness; why then should his own?

Admiral Pellew did not seem to hear him with any great surprise or general argument. Instead, he paused on mention of Kingston. “Mr. Kennedy confessed out of his own free will,” he reminded, his gaze growing stern again. “Never deny a dying man that which he believes he must do in order to make peace with this world.”

Horatio refused to accept that. Clayton, he could understand, but how could Archie make peace in that way, knowing . . .? Horatio rubbed one palm miserably over his face, finding his ingratitude far more shaming than his weakness; others had done so much for him and he could not even be thankful.

“I found it cruel,” he heard himself say, surprised that thoughts should become words so easily. But he suddenly possessed a desire to be transparent. “He threw away all he’d strived for only to shackle me to a life I didn’t want at the time. I couldn’t tell him that.”

If he could free himself of one truth, then why not another? It was true, God help him, and those two truths went hand-in-hand though Archie had never asked him to remain in the Navy. Horatio had been angry in the courtroom and angrier afterward, even when he had feared Archie gone from this world. He had felt abandoned, that Archie had not done all he could to stay alive, and when Pellew had accepted Archie’s confession and delivered that promotion he had felt conspired against and betrayed by them both. He had felt the same yesterday, when he had come upon Archie and Pellew scheming over how to lure him back to sea, like a woman pushed into marriage to a man she could not love under the pretense of securing her a good future.

“Not to worry, Mr. Hornblower,” Pellew patted his hand with a sudden, strange gentleness. “The Almighty has shown favor to the both of you, enough to leave that bleak mess in the past.”

“Indeed, sir,” Horatio nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat; the past two years had been peaceful, yet the shadow still touched them at times, now more than ever. “But need it have been so bleak?”

He did not know what he expected Pellew to say. Horatio had already voiced his outrage over Hammond’s scapegoat hunt and Pellew’s failure to inform him that Bracegirdle had smuggled Archie out of Kingston alive. Pellew had given him nothing but unethical political nonsense by way of reasons at the time, and Horatio could not ask now why Pellew had not known about Hammond or why Pellew failed to understand his disgust with the Navy even after that mess with the Irish rebellion had cropped up. They simply did not see eye-to-eye on such things and Horatio could scarcely stomach thinking on them. He could not stomach the fact that the Admiralty lacked the honor to throw out the Kingston verdict even after their inquisitor had turned out to be a traitor, that they would allow criminals to dispense justice. Deep down, Horatio supposed he wanted Pellew to say that he had never had any authority over these matters, that he had been as powerless as the rest of them under orders he found despicable. But Pellew had never said that; he had defended what had been done and scorned Horatio’s opposition to it.

Pellew did not attempt to claim helplessness now, nor did he dole out further excuses; he only drew another sigh and said very quietly, “Not one of us made this world on our own, Mr. Hornblower, yet we all struggle to survive in it and cannot be so easily judged.”

Was this another scolding, or perhaps an apology or admission of guilt? Horatio supposed it was the nearest he would come to anything of the kind. Nothing could change Pellew’s actions in Kingston, but the Admiral was right; Horatio had no call to judge until he himself sat on such a tribunal and could hold up his own conduct as superior. In any case there was no use in clamoring for remorse that was not there.

Horatio sighed, his head aching from mulling the matter over. “I fear we have different views of survival, sir.” That was what it came down to; hanging would be far better than the burdens, the corruption, and the loss. Men like Matthews, Bush, and Pellew might bear such things with resilience, but he had stopped wanting to. God only knew who he would have become in ten years or twenty. He wanted Pellew to love him enough not to wish that upon him.

If Pellew had an answer, Horatio never got the chance to hear it. Laughter bubbled from beyond the door, followed by footsteps, and then voices. He heard Archie, Miriam, and Miss Cobham, and immediately snatched his hand away from Pellew’s, suddenly embarrassed that they were touching and not wanting Archie and the two women to see. Horatio was just in time; the three of them appeared in the doorway in their cloaks and hats.

“Horatio!” Archie called, stepping into the room ahead of the others. Horatio blinked., suddenly reminded of the late hour and the journey home. He had tarried too long and discourteously besides while Miss Cobham likely wished to retire as well and Pellew could not be comfortable there on that chaise. Nodding to Archie, Horatio rose to his feet.

“I fear I must succumb to the hour, sir,” he said, taking his own hat from Archie. His eyes were stinging, but Horatio did not think his distress noticeable to the others and was glad of it, and also glad the ordeal was over. He had said all he needed. If Pellew cared for him then the man would love him doctor or Admiral. In the meantime, there was nothing for Horatio to do but take his leave.

Pellew took in the two of them with another indecipherable expression that Horatio feared might be disapproval or suspicion. But whatever his thoughts, Pellew did not voice them; he simply inclined his head. “Very well. I wish you a goodnight, Mr. Hornblower, Mr. Kennedy. “

“Goodnight, sir,” they both replied, Archie more quietly than he. But Pellew spoke again before Horatio could lead the way from the room.

“Mr. Hornblower . . . “ Horatio paused, his chest tight, fearing that Pellew would say something that might unsettle him before the two women. His dread grew when Pellew hesitated, but the Admiral said, “I wish you . . . peace of mind, sir.” Horatio let out a breath, relieved to hear something so simple. Yet he did not miss the catch in Pellew’s voice, or the things unsaid. But perhaps he ought to be glad that Pellew had chosen not to argue further. Indeed, Pellew’s gaze had already flickered to Archie. “Mr. Kennedy, I hope you will accept my gratitude for your assistance tonight.”

“Of course, sir,” Archie answered. Horatio looked on the exchange with suspicion and surprise, but Archie did not grant him the chance to mull over it or say more. Biting his lip, Horatio let Pellew’s words stand and let Archie lead him from the theatre.

**

He and Archie kept silent for a good few moments after climbing into the coach, both of them occupied with suppressing their own shivers. The rain beat down with as much fury as ever, but inside the hackney Horatio ceased to be bothered by it. Instead, he found it familiar and almost comforting. The dreary weather reminded him of when he and Pellew had last parted two years ago. Indeed, Horatio felt as though that day had played out all over again, this time for the better.

Pure turmoil had weighed him down in Portsmouth – anger, lingering grief, and uncertainty over the future. Horatio supposed he had allowed Pellew to impress upon him a sense of having committed abandonment or betrayal with his resignation. He supposed he had carried that burden ever since. Life ashore had proved too disorienting at first for putting matters into perspective. The muddled anger and the slow-fading terror of nearly losing Archie had been all he had understood of the matter. But the news of Hammond had allowed him to look back with a clearer head, as had his increasing contentment with an existence free of the grimness particular to a ship of war. Every man had his duty, of course, and in that regard the Admiral had been right; he had found a compromise in seeking a medical career.

Pellew had not scorned those plans, and for that Horatio realized his heart was lighter than expected. In Portsmouth, he had claimed that a clear conscience was worth more than any rank, but only now did his conscience truly feel clear. He had freed himself of a shaming secret and made plain that he possessed no intention of abandoning his duty. He had not compromised his honor by forgiving the unforgivable nor had he in fact said goodbye. Peace of mind, Pellew had wished him, and short of revealing the truth of his and Archie’s affair, Horatio thought he had come as close as he ever would to attaining it where the Admiral was concerned. In fact, he wondered if it was Pellew who had bid him goodbye tonight, after Horatio had left him no hope. In that case, any wounded feelings on Pellew’s part would be the man’s own doing.

Sighing, Horatio put the matter aside and looked over at Archie who had flipped up a small corner of the curtain in order to study the buildings as they passed. He must have felt Horatio’s eyes on his back, for he immediately glanced over his shoulder.

“That’s the building, Horatio. I don’t think I’ve pointed it out to you, but I was telling my brother that I’ll take inspiration from its design.” The moonlight shining in seemed to brighten the familiar eagerness in Archie’s expression, but that eagerness vanished after Horatio failed to answer quickly enough. “Oh, forgive me. You were –“

Preoccupied, Archie no doubt meant to say. Horatio shook his head. He’d had enough brooding for the night, though certain things still tugged at him. “No, I . . . I didn’t realize what you meant.” Drawing a breath, Horatio collected himself, not wishing to crush Archie’s optimism toward his own future. He knew how much Archie loved the theatre and how creating one of his own would delight him. Indeed, Archie even tried his hand at writing plays, though he hid them out of bashfulness. “You’ll have to bring me inside one day.” It was too dark to see very much through the small peephole Archie had made while they rolled past.

Letting the curtain fall, Archie wriggled around to face him, leaning back against the side of the coach. Sometimes Horatio marveled at how provocative he could look posed like that, even in sopped clothes. “I fear the world doesn’t perform enough Marlowe. I think I’ll start there.” He said it with honest sadness, and then laughed. “Look at you. You’re bored already.”

Again, Horatio shook his head. He did not share Archie’s passion for drama – Shakespeare or Marlowe; it was all the same to him – but that was not the reason for his silence; he was simply trying to imagine the change in their lives. Perhaps it was foolish, but Horatio almost wished he could skip ahead the necessary years just to see everything fall into place. There were still doubts; overseeing the castle in Culzean was straightforward business, yet Horatio remained poorly informed on Archie’s plans here in London. He knew nothing of acquiring property. Archie was likely to turn to the Earl for that sort of talk.

“Have you a spot in mind?” Silly question. No doubt Archie had already decided upon the fabric to line the seats even.

“Far enough away from the theatre Royal, I think. Ophelia is already singled out which of her gowns she’ll lend, though my mother says she’ll never let her set foot in there if I don’t keep the productions respectable.” Archie shook his head and Horatio mirrored the gesture, recalling Lady Ophelia’s immodest talk of her newest suitor yesterday. Modesty did not seem to run in the family. Still, Horatio regretted that his grim mood over the past two days had driven Archie to taking his enthusiasm home instead. “Mama would prefer the classics, of course – Euripides and the like, “Archie went on, and then paused before pointedly adding, “It seems old Pellew shares a penchant for them as well.”

Horatio stared in surprise. “You discussed literature with Admiral Pellew?” He could not even recall a time in all Pellew’s many anecdotes and conversations when the man had approached such a subject with him.

“Well that wasn’t what he came to do.” Archie sounded uneasy now, for all he had no doubt intended to turn the conversation back to the events of the evening with his seemingly offhand remark. “But he did wonder what I planned to do with myself.”

A natural question, Horatio supposed, though the idea of Pellew attempting any conversation with Archie at all was difficult to picture. Certainly the two of them had never conversed aboard the Indie. But Pellew’s curiosity had likely only been to learn of him through Archie. “What else did he want to know?” Horatio had every confidence that Archie would never divulge too much, but he did not wish Pellew to know that for the past two years he had earned a living as a tutor. He could not bear to think of Pellew believing him brought low.

Archie tilted his head and paused as though deciding whether or not to answer. “What you’re like in bed, of course,” he said flatly after a moment.

Rolling his eyes, Horatio looked away. He would never grow comfortable with the possibility of Pellew coveting him and did not appreciate Archie making a jest of it. But Archie had been patient with him tonight and his easy cheer was such a comfort now that Horatio dryly indulged him.

“What did you tell him?” He had never thought of himself as any sort of prize bed partner. It was a wonder Archie managed to keep his flirting casual at the theatre.

But the grudging question seemed to amuse Archie. He draped an arm behind Horatio’s shoulders and pressed himself rather suggestively against Horatio’s side, bringing their faces close together. “I told him you’re bashful, but that it was all a ruse. You’re a satyr deep down, I assured him.” Reaching over, he took Horatio’s hand and placed it upon his sturdy thigh.

Horatio blinked, amazed as always at how quickly Archie could turn from conversational to lustful. But Archie’s words embarrassed him and he turned his head so that Archie could not feel the blush heating his cheek.

“I am not – only in your fancies.”

A catlike smile spread over Archie’s lips. “You’ve no idea how right you are.” He rubbed his cool cheek against Horatio’s jaw and shifted, sliding one knee over Horatio’s legs so that he sat facing him, straddling his lap on the narrow seat.

The coach chose that moment to hit a rut in the road. On instinct, Horatio clawed into Archie’s wet garments, yanking him forward against his chest to keep him from tumbling backward. Archie let out a sharp breath, driving Horatio against the back of the coach with his weight and pinning him there with both palms above Horatio’s shoulders for balance.

Horatio looked up at him, aware that Archie had grown excited and of how chilled they both were. He had a sudden desire to tear through the layers of wet clothing until the found the familiar heat of Archie’s body beneath and could burn the confusion of the night away in an animal frenzy. But he wrestled down the urge for the moment, staring stupidly as Archie caught his breath and chuckled above him.

“You’re merry,” Horatio said, loosening his hands so that he could support Archie more comfortably. Archie was heavy across his knees, to be sure, but Horatio was too cold to let him slide back to his own side of the seat.

Shaking his head, Archie shifted his weight to one side and let his hands fall. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

He sounded so sober now that Horatio frowned. He had not meant for Archie to apologize for being merry; Archie’s cheerfulness uplifted him, even if Horatio suspected that something in particular had fueled Archie’s desire tonight. In any case, he knew that Archie was not speaking of the rut in the road..

“Yes, I’m – “ Horatio stopped himself. There were things he wanted to say, leftover thoughts from his conversation with Pellew that would not let him go. The desire to unmask himself was still strong – not that he had ever made much effort to hide himself from Archie unless necessary – and one thing in particular still troubled him. He asked it now. “Archie . . . do you think me . . . weak in nature?”

That was a mild way of phrasing it, especially when he could not get the word “squeamish” from his mind. But if there was anyone who could resolve him on the matter it was Archie, who had overcome what others might call weakness and had shown as much moral and physical courage as a man could hope for. That put him in a far better place to judge than Admiral Pellew, who had so little time for moral objections of any sort these days that his views could only be worth so much.

“No. No, of course not,” Archie answered without a thought, leaning back and looking at him in surprise. “Why would you ask that?”

Horatio lowered his eyes despite himself. “I told Admiral Pellew that I don’t believe the Navy was for me after all. The way it is run in truth, I mean.”

Archie snorted. “Well, who would be meant for it, Horatio? You can’t claim that I am. Renown was always too reminiscent of Justinian for my tastes. I think Indefatigable an exception to the norm.”

True, but Archie had endured the crisis aboard Renown with admirable fortitude. He had done the opposite and supposed he had never properly examined how Sawyer had affected him. Archie had been right; the man had played upon his conscience, provoking him toward mutiny as one would a duel – for many nights aboard that ship Horatio had lain awake seeking to find the line between fragility and the misuse of authority. He had been left riven with self-doubt for his pains. But Sawyer had made clear the same fact Archie stated now; the Navy was worlds different out from under Pellew’s wing. Horatio remembered coveting death aboard Justinian as a means of escape from Simpson, just as he had coveted the noose in Kingston. The more he thought on these things the more he marveled that his resignation would surprise anyone.

“You’re brave enough.” Horatio looked up again after a moment, now tired of the subject though he had brought it up.

“But insubordinate,” Archie finished for him, unashamed of it. “My father always said war was a silly business. He thinks King George and one of those Republicans ought to duel and leave the rest of us out of it. It’s no wonder if you can’t bear it. You didn’t start it, why should you die for it? I’ll tell you, there isn’t any glory in spitting out your own blood on the deck.”

No, Horatio frowned at the memory, there had not been any glory at all, only a sense of feeling ill repaid for the service he had given. He did not believe in a god, but it was as though someone had looked inside him, seen his hollow ambition for promotion and esteem, and then asked him if it was worth the life of his only friend. In that light, his first ship Retribution had been fittingly named. But the other thing . . . He was unsure if Archie should speak so of King George, but was not in a mood to chide him.

“I don’t suppose Pellew would agree with you,” was all he said. “He can’t even see any error on his part in Kingston. He refuses, is more like it.”

“He would,” Archie sighed, locking an arm around Horatio’s shoulders for balance as the coach hit another bump in the road. “A man in his place can’t afford to look too closely at his own life. He’d go mad.”

Horatio stared up at him, surprised that Archie could put it so simply. Perhaps it truly was that simple and he had expended a great deal of anger on a deliberate stubbornness that had nothing to do with him or Archie. Perhaps the tribunal and the Irish cover-up were only two instances in a pattern of political collusion. Archie was right; Pellew could not afford to stop believing in his duty now, and the only way to go on believing was to accept the will of the Admiralty with the intention of serving the greater good. That was honor in Pellew’s eyes and had been in his own eyes before the harsh lesson of Kingston. That did not absolve Pellew, but at least it provided perspective.

A surge of affection warmed Horatio’s heart as he nodded in agreement with Archie’s words. He envied Archie’s ability to read others; Archie brought him such comfort with his easy perceptions, high spirits, and warmth. Sighing, Horatio slid his arms around Archie’s waist, gazing up at him. He adored Archie. Pitifully sentimental as that might be, there was no other word for it.

“What?” Archie grinned back at him, aware of the shift in Horatio’s mood.

For a moment, Horatio did not answer, caught up in studying the lines of Archie’s pretty face. He started to grow warm just looking at him. Indecent little fancies flickered through his mind and Horatio had no desire to hide them. “I’ve always wanted you in a carriage,” he murmured, lifting his hand to brush Archie’s cheek.

Archie let out a surprised breath and then a laugh, shifting to bring their bodies closer. “Want me how?” he returned just as softly, clearly impishly intrigued a notion so daring.

Leaning his head back, Horatio dragged his fingertips along Archie’s warm soft skin until the pad of his thumb traveled over the fleshy part of Archie’s lower lip. “Your mouth for starters,” he confessed in a low voice, pushing his thumb between Archie’s lips and taunting himself with the moist heat inside. “I imagine it when I’m lying in that lonely bed of mine. I often wonder if there’s anything else in the word as soft or hot.”

Warm fingers curled around Horatio’s wrist in response. He could not swear it but he thought he felt Archie’s pulse beat faster, or perhaps it was his own for speaking so boldly. Still, he caught the gleam in Archie’s eyes and smiled that his words could affect him in the same way his caresses did. “Thus giving credence to my notion of you as a randy satyr under all that pride,” Archie teased in return before sucking gently on the tips of Horatio’s fingers and then tickling at them playfully with his tongue.

The sensation was distracting. It grew even more so when Archie dragged his lips over Horatio’s palm, only to settle at a tender place at the base of his wrist. Horatio shifted, his body beginning to tingle with the gentle pressure of Archie’s mouth and his groin beginning to ache for want of it.

“I only love you, Archie,” he breathed out, not offended at being called proud in this wonderfully half-aroused state. If he had been proud or reserved where Archie was concerned then he wanted to make amends for it. He wanted Archie to know that he was cherished.

“I know,” Archie assured him, letting go his hand. In one smooth move, he dropped down to his knees between Horatio’s thighs, leaning closer to nuzzle Horatio’s ear and whisper, “I have amends to make.”

Horatio blinked, enfolding Archie in his arms by habit. ”For what?” There was no need to apologize for anything regarding Pellew tonight, if that was what Archie thought. They both knew he would never have forgiven himself had he turned away in that alley and Horatio was pleased to have spoken his piece to Pellew at last. But that was apparently not what Archie meant. He kissed Horatio’s cheek once and then laid a finger over his lips.

“Shh. Later.”

Archie did not grant him the chance to protest. His mouth began moving down Horatio’s throat, sucking just above his cravat with delicate care as though Horatio were a bit of ripe fruit to savor. Archie did not dare loosen the thing. More the pity, for the faster Horatio’s pulse climbed the more the cloth seemed to strangle him. Arching his head back, he closed his eyes, absently stroking Archie’s hair while that warm, familiar mouth kissed along his jaw and under his chin.

He straightened instantly, however, when Archie’s hand smoothed down his chest and settled at the front of his trousers, his clever fingers seeking out the buttons.

“Not here,” Horatio protested, catching Archie’s hand in his own. They were in a coach for God’s sake; there was always the chance the driver might stop or . . . .

“Shh,” Archie said again, silencing him by pressing their mouths together while he squeezed Horatio through the cloth of his trousers. Horatio’s hips jerked forward despite himself. Caution crumbled under Archie’s determination. He suddenly found himself undeniably hard and hungry, helpless as Archie draw on his mouth while those nimble fingers undid his buttons.

The buttons came undone and Archie had him in hand, squeezing at him and running the pad of his thumb up and down the length of him in a possessive massage. Horatio twisted under the wonderful ache of it, groaning against Archie’s mouth. The idea of taking pleasure here in the coach began to entice him, the way it was outdoors and yet still secluded. It was almost as daring as that first time in Spain, in that prison cell with Hunter asleep on the bunk above them. Horatio’s blood throbbed with the memory and he grew impatient as Archie continued to fondle him.

“For God’s sake give me that mouth of yours,” he half pleaded, half demanded, seizing Archie’s shoulders and pressing him down toward his lap. The small part of his brain that remained reasonable advised that delaying only increased the risk of interruption.

Laughing outright, Archie sank down, grinning up from between Horatio’s thighs, “I wish Admiral Pellew could watch,” he whispered, and then bent his head, closing his hot mouth over the flesh he had so diligently stroked to hardness while Horatio’s head still spun with the shock of Archie’s words.

His hands left Archie’s hair, gripping the edge of the seat to either side of him. The idea of revealing the truth to Pellew became arousing in itself, the freedom he would find in it. Other ideas followed, holding Archie’s hand in public or kissing him where others could see, the simplest things . . . Horatio’s eyes slammed shut. He leaned back as far as he could, his body moving in a rhythm. The sweet wetness of Archie’s mouth was exquisite, but even that was not enough. Horatio knew he would not be satisfied until all the layers of clothing were peeled away and they could be naked, free of all restraints. The very thought threw him over the edge. He flung his head back, fingers curling tight into the seat as he shuddered and spilled over.

He slumped back boneless when the tumult of sensation ebbed, shivering in aftershock as Archie pulled the wet sheath of his mouth away. His flesh tingled, but Horatio ignored it, too busy catching his breath. He felt so close to being weightless, as though he had been unraveled but for one or two threads. He did not quite understand the feeling, nor did he have the presence of mind to try.

Instead, he clung to the giddy aftermath of orgasm, smiling groggily at Archie sliding up onto the seat beside him. Indeed, Horatio looked forward to duly rewarding him for his efforts and hoped that whatever Archie had to show him at home would not take long. But he was getting ahead of himself, considering the slow pace at which the horses dragged them through the mud. In this weather, they would not reach their home for an hour or more. Horatio rubbed his eyes. The night had begun to feel like an odyssey.

There was nothing else to do but settle in Archie’s lap and sigh as his friend’s arms close around him, protectively supporting him as a mother would her child. In the comfort of that embrace, Horatio dearly wished to be Archie’s child so that Archie might call him sweet little names and kiss him and carry him even where the driver could see. He smiled at the thought, drifting off with images of Archie fawning affection on him where others could see.

**

Archie spent the rest of the ride leaning against the side of the coach and trying not to think overmuch on what had passed with Admiral Pellew at the theatre. It had been odd to see Horatio so wary of the man. Pellew had not missed it either, leaning heavily upon Archie’s shoulder on the way from that alley as though just as wary of touching Horatio. Who could ever have imagined Admiral Pellew more at ease in his presence than Horatio’s? But then who could imagine Horatio Hornblower out of the Navy?

He had not mentioned it to Horatio, but he had stepped in to see Pellew after they had returned with the doctor. The man had scowled at his wound, jesting that English steel of any sort was infinitely more treacherous than French steel. There had been only one response to that, that neither held a candle to a Spanish bullet. Pellew had laughed at that, in the way Bowles and Bracegirdle used to laugh when trading stories, and then the Admiral had peered at him and said something unexpected which Archie had been turning over in his mind ever since.

I regret my negligence in failing to visit the infirmary in Kingston.

Pellew had said it just like that, without preamble or elaboration, and for a moment Archie had stared at him, strangely flattered, before mustering the grace to smile and change the subject. He did not need Pellew’s guilt or pity – God knew he received enough of that from Horatio – but it was a relief to at last be thought worth the courtesies one might pay any other sick man. Archie sighed ruefully; his life had forced him to appreciate small kindnesses, however belated.

All the same, somewhere inside Pellew lurked a good man, underneath what the Navy had made of him, and what else was he really but a reflection of Horatio after thirty years in the Service? They were fundamentally alike, with their willful blindness and their posturing about honor. Archie would have found their rift amusing in less drastic circumstances. But Horatio had learned to see differently now and for that Archie was relived.

Horatio had fallen asleep across his lap, his curls crushed in the crook of Archie’s arm where Archie steadied him against the coach’s jolts and lurches. He lay entirely lax despite having to twist and fold his long legs to fit on the seat, his contentment such a rare thing that Archie regretted disturbing him. But a peek through the curtain revealed the little bridge at edge of his father’s land; their home was not far off.

A tingle of dread stirred inside Archie’s chest. Horatio might think the night over, but one matter remained. Horatio would not be pleased with him for keeping it under wraps for so long. Shaking his head, Archie brushed the damp curls from his friend’s face. The important thing for the moment was not to let the coach driver find them like this.

“Horatio?” he called gently, shaking him a little. “Horatio, wake up.”

A groggy smile answered his touch, and then those dark calf eyes opened, blinking several times, disoriented and dazed. After a moment, Horatio seemed to recall where he was; he groaned, shifting onto his back. Color crept instantly into his cheeks as his sleepy velvet eyes found Archie’s face, but he managed to speak despite his drowsiness before Archie could think it due to what they had done earlier.

“I dreamed Admiral Pellew happened upon us in your bedchamber. He commanded us not to stop.”

Archie laughed. Horatio sounded so scandalized. He had to be half asleep still to confess a thing like that aloud, considering his customary embarrassment. Still, Archie could keep from grinning down into Horatio’s big eyes, intrigued by the idea of Horatio confessing to anything erotic, even his silly dreams.

“Well did we?”

The question only deepened the color in Horatio’s cheeks. “Archie . . .” He turned his head away, his familiar inhibitions taking over as his head apparently began to clear. “Well we both know who put the idea in my head in any case.”

That stole the grin from Archie’s lips. He had expressed such a wish earlier, in hot blood, but only because Pellew’s desire to steal his lover away back to sea left him hungry to lay claim to Horatio where the man would know it. Horatio did not understand that and would only snap at him if he teased further.

“Well come on. Sit up,” Archie said instead. “We’re nearly home.”

“Thank God.”

Yanking himself upright, Horatio rubbed at his eyes as though dizzy and then turned, peering at Archie for a long moment, irritation vanishing entirely. There was something on his mind, Archie could see it and feared Horatio might apologize for daring to take pleasure from him, or utter something else equally ridiculous. But Horatio only reached out, cupping Archie’s cheek unexpectedly and soundly kissing him with his warm, full mouth until Archie was dizzy for air.

“What was that for?” Archie wondered with a breathy laugh when Horatio released him. They only ever kissed or touched as a precursor to lovemaking – all a part of preserving appearances – and could not do that now, though the hungry light in Horatio’s eyes said that he wanted to.

There was only time for Horatio to smile in answer, however. The coach pulled up at the gate and a moment later Archie was digging in his pockets to pay the driver his shilling a mile. The rain poured down even harder and the wind whipped it mercilessly into their faces with such force that Archie had to turn and hand Horatio down. The poor fool was shaking so badly with the icy shock of it that Archie wrapped an arm around him to keep him from stumbling in the mud where the earth could not drink the rain fast enough. Horatio gripped him for warmth and they up to the house that way, ducking to keep the rain from their faces, aware of the driver staring at them strangely as the coach rolled away.

“He thinks we’re drunk,” Archie chuckled, holding his hat down on his brow so the wind did not blow if off.

“Were that the case,” Horatio muttered, quaking with cold so badly that his voice shook. “We’d be warmer.”

Archie laughed at that too. They could have been, if Horatio had let him stop in a tavern as he had wanted. But they might never have found Pellew if they had, or worse they might still have found him and who knew what Horatio would have told the man after an hour in his cups.

Old Drysdale the butler must have thought him mad, sniggering at the door in the pouring rain, but he let them in without a word, nodding at Archie’s request for a bath.

The water would take time to heat. They trudged upstairs in the meantime, where Archie was pleased to spy the fire blazing in his bedchamber. He fancied removing his wet clothes and sitting with a blanket before the hearth to calm his shivers – Pellew’s papers could wait until the house was quiet – but Horatio had other ideas, tugged him in the direction of his smaller rooms. It did not cross Archie’s mind to resist.

Once inside the bedroom, Horatio closed the door behind them, pushing Archie back against it. Archie let out a woof of breath at the abruptness of it, staring up in surprise. Everything about Horatio suddenly spoke of urgency; the hunger had deepened in his eyes, color darkened his cheeks, and his breath came fast.

“Horatio . . .?” Archie half wondered, half complained, afraid that Horatio meant to do nothing more than hold him there and stare at him with his huge devouring eyes.

Those long lashes fluttered. Horatio set upon him as though excited by his own name, crushing Archie against the door with all his weight and diving for his mouth. The ferocity of it knocked the breath from Archie’s lungs, his sharp, surprised gasp swallowed by Horatio’s demanding lips. But Archie did not care that he could scarcely breathe, giddy with Horatio’s wildness. Horatio had not attacked him like this since before their transfer to Renown. Archie’s body stirred with the memory of Horatio’s hands upon him in that dirty Portsmouth alley.

Horatio was not drunk out his wits now as he had been then. His hands held Archie’s shoulders with implacable steadiness and he ground their mouths together unrelentingly before finally pushing his slippery tongue inside. The strength left Archie’s knees. He slumped against the door and might have slipped were it not for Horatio’s hard body trapping him against the wood. His hands flailed, caught inside Horatio’s cloak. Somehow, Archie managed to wriggle them free, gripping sopped curls in one fist and sopped cloak in the other.

“What’s come over you?” he rasped when Horatio drew back for air. He could feel the heavy rise and fall of Horatio’s chest against his and the fast rhythm of his heart. It was though Horatio had gone mad with passion.

Horatio did not answer right away, too busy rubbing his hot cheek against Archie’s and attacking the delicate skin beneath his ear. “Cold,” he managed, breathing almost too heavily to get the word out. “The warmest place in the house happens to be inside you.”

Archie wanted to laugh, but the very roughness of the words weakened him. He threw his head back, a shudder passing through his body. Horatio took advantage of his exposed neck, sinking his lips into the delicate skin. Archie shivered at the press of teeth, clenching his fingers against the warm rush sweeping through him under his clothes, arching his body against Horatio’s impatiently. If Horatio required encouragement to behave like this more often than Archie would be damned sure to give it.

But Horatio did not seem to be concerned with encouragement. In fact, he did not seem to require Archie’s permission either, nuzzling his chin and then raising his head to claim Archie’s mouth again, his lips fierce and insistent, driving Archie’s head against the painted wood. One hand left Archie’s shoulder, groping under his cloak to find the buttons of his waistcoat and jacket. Hastily, he slipped them free and then yanked Archie’s shirt from his trousers, shoving his hand up under the cloth.

Chilly fingers brushed across Archie’s belly. He jumped, shivering with the curious eroticism of cold on hot skin. Horatio quivered along with him, so relieved to reach bare flesh that Archie thought he meant to come off then and there. But Horatio was still hard against him, attacking his mouth as his fingers descended upon trouser buttons and then plunged inside the cloth, grabbing Archie by the balls.

Flat against the door, Archie bit Horatio’s lower lip despite himself, nearly shocked by the sharp pleasure spiking through him. He drew back and blinked several times, the room spinning dizzily, like a fantasy. But it was no fantasy; a warm, calloused palm cradled his delicate flesh and Archie throbbed against it. Horatio was staring into his eyes now, his expression wild and desperate as though a shell had cracked and he was eager to crawl out from under the pieces. That dream of his must have been a potent aphrodisiac.

“Come on.” Horatio slipped his other arm around Archie’s back, tugging him forward in the direction of his bed. “I’m going to have you now.”

Archie was more than ready to comply, even if Horatio calmed to his usual gentleness and did not take command of him as Archie wanted. Hearing Horatio say that he needed him was enough, without guilt or pity or prompting.

Footsteps clamored up the stairs before he could wrap his arms around Horatio’s neck. Horatio tensed immediately, releasing him. “Damn.” He stood back and blinked, as though puzzled by what had come over him. Archie’s heart sank, though he knew they would only be overheard if they continued now. Still, he dreaded the apologies that might come once Horatio’s head cleared and that Horatio might never be so fierce with him again, too proud to demand of him and too enamored of restraint. There had been a time when that had allowed him to trust Horatio, and he did love his gentleness, but Archie supposed he wanted Horatio to demand now.

No apologies came. He and Horatio stared at one another through the lingering fog of arousal, silently debating who was fit to face the servants first. Archie finally gestured to his disheveled clothes and snorted a laugh. “At least you’re properly buttoned.

“Indeed,” Horatio sighed, still catching his breath after the frenzy of their tussle, irritation writ all over him at the interruption. But he smoothed his clothes and without a word exited to take the daily bath of his that the servants found so odd. They could not think it odd tonight at least on account of the cold.

Archie sat on the bed for a moment after Horatio had gone, his body still humming with pleasure and arousal. But he should not think of pleasure with his acquittal yet to be mentioned. The news would delight Horatio, and it was high time to stop allowing the man to evade hearing the purpose of Pellew’s visit. Archie supposed he should have been more persistent yesterday, though there was nothing to be done for it now.

Rising, he crossed the hall into his bedchamber where the servants had brought the bath, relieved to find Horatio honestly intent on scrubbing himself rather than staring into the water lost in thought – Archie had feared Horatio’s calm in the carriage had been a ruse. The fire put a reddish tinge to his dark ringlets and a gilded glow to his skin. He was so lovely that Archie had half a mind to kneel behind him and tease him into passion again, but he simply stood smiling appreciatively in the way one admired something precious all their own.

Turning to soap one smooth shoulder, Horatio smiled back at him, one of those shy smiles that he so rarely gave. “We won’t be bothered until the morrow. I made clear that we intend to sleep until noon because I thought . . .” He trailed off with a gesture, but Archie understood. Horatio was keen to stay the night together without further interruption.

Pleased that Horatio still had pleasure on his mind, Archie turned and locked the door. Neither of them were so naïve as to think they could fool their own servants, but discretion had become natural to them. They could not afford to be found in the same bed or to leave damning evidence, and at the very least Archie tried to give the appearance of finding pleasure away from home at the theatre. Horatio, on the other hand, had been successful in that regard without trying; His father seemed to think Horatio was sleeping with Fiona and she certainly did her best to encourage the rumor. Even so, the Earl had sent him Drysdale the butler with a remark that after being caught with the gillie the man was in no position to spill secrets. Archie grimaced. So much for fooling his father.

The thought brought back to mind what he had come to say. Horatio was still smiling, awaiting praise for his pangs. Archie grinned at him lest Horatio mistake his pause for rejection – God knew he loved it when Horatio was forward – and then crossed the room to sit down on the chaise.

“I told you I had something to show you,” he began, worrying the edge of his wet coat. “Did you know my father truly did run off and raise hell to Admiral Pellew?”

Horatio paused in his scrubbing, his features hardening with the gravity of the subject. Clearly he had not expected Archie to bring up Kingston again, but he scarcely paused before answering. “Of course he did. Major Edrington joined in the endeavor. It’s unreasonable to allow that verdict to stand. The whole affair was a sham.”

Archie shook his head, well aware of the Admiralty’s moral shortcomings. The point was that Horatio had never mentioned his father’s appeal or Edrington before. “Then, you knew?”

Horatio blinked at his accusatory tone, but nodded. “Major Edrington approached me when we first arrived in London. He thought my having been involved in the debacle might afford me insight useful into the case.”

He was pleased with himself, in all his righteousness. Damn the man. Archie’s fingers curled tighter into his coat. Had Horatio not listened all the way home from the Indies? “I told you I didn’t want –“

“It wasn’t a matter of what you wanted. It was a matter of what I wanted, and your father.”

Archie’s mouth fell open. How dare Horatio snap at him like an old nanny quelling a tantrum. Had he no regard for his own life? The Admiralty would have been just as pleased to hang Horatio Hornblower as their scapegoat. Perhaps that had been his father’s aim if he suspected their affair. Or perhaps doubting his father was ridiculous and the only secret the Earl knew of in need of keeping was that of his identity. All the same, Archie wanted to get his hands around Horatio’s neck and shake him.

“Why do it? So you can appease your guilt and he his pride? It was my gift to give. You’ve no right to spit on it.”

They must have been over this too many times, for Horatio did not even attempt the patience for his usual answers, but flung his hand so violently that water splashed over onto the floor. “The crime on your head carries a death sentence for god’s sake!”

For a moment, Archie could think of nothing to say. He rose and took one of the towels left by the tub, wiping up the small puddle of droplets Horatio had made as a means of distraction. Without a word, Horatio stepped out of the bath and dried himself, leaving Archie with nothing else to do but yank off his wet clothes while he searched for a suitable answer. He was vexed enough not to let Horatio have the last word.

“As does the crime we commit together,” he said a moment later, sinking down into the hot bath where the chill fell away like ice cracking on the surface of his skin. “An acquittal hardly leaves us in less danger.”

He had never thought of it like that, but now that Archie said it he supposed it was true. The chance of someone recognizing him or of the Admiralty troubling themselves to find him had always seemed abstract compared to the very real danger of someone learning what was between the two of them. There would never be a pardon for sodomy, and therefore the threat of the noose would never cease to be a shadow over their lives..

Horatio did not view it that way of course, for all he claimed to be logical. He knelt down very calmly beside the tub to protest. “It’s not the same. You’ve been ruined by a lie.”

Running the soap over his chest, Archie snorted. The problem with Horatio was that he could not argue well at all. How could his beloved reason stand up when he applied different standards for the two of them?

“You were prepared to do the same, “ Archie pointed out, remembering how deliberately elusive Horatio had been when Archie had asked him how he planned to answer Buckland’s accusation. Had he though to hide his intentions? Archie remembered passing that night in fear. It was the same fear, turned to determination, which had driven him into the courtroom. “You would have made me watch you hang from my window while I rotted.”

He did not expect the memory to hurt still, but it did. Looking away, Archie concentrated on the soap and sponge, affecting not to notice Horatio sliding nearer. “You were dying.” He said it as though it were the most rational explanation for his intentions in the world, one that would stand up to any argument. But Horatio could not leave it at that, he had to put his damned gentle hands on Archie’s shoulders. “It’s all a moot point anyway. Come here.”

“Don’t pity me.” Archie jerked away before Horatio could take the sponge from him. He was not truly angry, but did not want to be soothed and treated like a mad fool. He wanted Horatio to be violent with passion as he had been earlier and he wanted Horatio to shout at him and bring him round to his way of thinking, though what good that would do Archie did not know.

Refusing to give up, Horatio remained where he was, scowling at him. “What else is there to do for a man who can’t see his own worth?”

And how worthy was that? Something so silly as his good name was not worth risking Horatio’s neck. But Archie did not say that; if Horatio had not listened before then he would not do so now. It occurred to Archie that they were not even arguing over the same thing and that it was both infuriating and hypocritical of Horatio to chide him for not knowing his own worth when Horatio was the one teeming with self-hated. Archie was exasperated enough to tell him so.

“This coming from the man who thinks himself perverse for desiring me.”

Horatio winced, but did not deny it. He lowered his head and muttered, “Fair enough.”

Archie watched Horatio for a moment, damning him for being so gracious at the worst moments. It was silly to argue with a man willing to accept his flaws. All the same, Archie supposed he could not understand Horatio’s fixation with his good name anymore than Horatio could understand what had driven him to casting it away in the first place. There was no need to keep harping on the matter anyway.

Climbing out of the bath, Archie dried himself and moved over to the bureau where he kept Pellew’s papers. “You’re right,” he said. “It is a moot point and thank God we’re both still alive.” He took the papers from the drawer and handed them to Horatio before climbing into bed where it was warm.

Tugging the bedclothes up over his bare shoulders, he watched Horatio unfold the pages and scan the familiar details of Lieutenant Kennedy’s rather lacking career. Horatio’s expression immediately grew puzzled and he looked up, eying Archie askance. Archie did not know what Horatio expected – an offer from Pellew most likely – but he gestured impatiently before Horatio could set the papers down.

“Keep reading.”

Nodding, Horatio turned the page. His mouth fell open and his eyes grew large in disbelief at what he read. Then he tossed the papers down, a broad smile sweeping across his face.

“Archie!” Horatio dove for him without warning, knocking Archie flat onto the mattress. “Archie! Archie!” He attacked him in a flurry of excitement, clutching him through the blankets and kissing him giddily everywhere he could reach – his shoulder, his mouth, his face. All Archie could do was clutch at Horatio’s curls, thrilled to be assaulted like this for the second time in one night, hoping that Horatio would forget everything and crawl into bed with him.

It was a foolish hope; not even excitement stopped Horatio’s mind from working. He regained himself and sat up, reaching for the papers again and pulling them into his lap. “Why didn’t you show me before?”

Archie was too breathless to answer right away, winded from the weight of Horatio’s body and his frantic kisses. He had dreaded this question and wanted to say that he had tried several times, but when his head cleared he knew that was not the proper answer. The proper answer was the one Horatio refused to hear.

“I suppose it didn’t mean that much to me,” he said quietly, folding his arms over the bedclothes, cold again.

Horatio’s eyes hardened as though Archie had confessed that he had been guilty of pushing Captain Sawyer all along. But Horatio did not shout this time; his voice had a steel edge to it. “Well it meant something to me. I’d thank you to respect that.”

Me, me, me, was that all Horatio ever thought of? Archie sighed. He had half a mind to hurl the pillow at him. Perhaps the business of his acquittal would not have been so vexing if pride were not at the heart of it. “Well there now. You’re free of your guilt. You can –“

“I can what? “ Horatio cut him off, narrowing his eyes and curling his fingers into the coverlet. “Go back to sea and be Admiral Pellew’s golden boy while I hate myself more by the day? I thought you cared for me more than that.”

The words stung. Horatio was genuinely angry with him now. That stung too, for all Horatio’s coddling could nettle. An angry Horatio would raise walls around himself and pass the night aloof. Archie could not bear it when Horatio withdrew from him. Not quite knowing what to say, Archie fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. He had not feared that Horatio would give into Pellew and run back to sea exactly, only that some part of him might miss it and regret his resignation, that guilt was what kept him ashore. Archie made to say as much, but Horatio went on before he could.

“This was your father’s doing, in any case. I hope you have the sense to thank him. He loves you, Archie.”

Yes, Archie supposed the Earl loved him in his way. He did not think on it often, but if he were honest with himself he would admit that he had taken up his father’s business at Culzean as a penance of his own; his actions in Kingston had brought shame to the family. Yet his father had never blamed him. His father had never blamed Horatio either, but rather Hammond and Clive. That failed to soothe, however.

“I know,” Archie said. “But it’s Admiral Pellew I’m thankful for. His particular weakness has saved you from being convicted in my stead.”

The words only incensed Horatio all over again. “Damn your sacrifices!” He threw the papers at Archie’s chest. “There shouldn’t have been false convictions. That’s the whole point.”

Ah, there was that old naivety. Horatio might as well wish for no Jack Simpsons, prison camps, or wars. But if Horatio knew his father’s plan then he knew about Clive and should be content once he calmed himself. For Archie’s part, he was still unwilling to allow Horatio to treat his confession in Kingston as some sort of foolish error, not when Horatio had no knowledge of the things that weighed on a dying man’s mind. Taking the papers from his chest, Archie set them on the bedside table.

“I was proud of what I did, you see?” He ran his tongue over his lips, an old nervous habit. Why should the honest truth be so difficult to say? “They’d never let me put a ring on your finger. A man’s got to speak his love and devotion before God and man somehow. I couldn’t bear to take that secret to my grave.”

Horatio went still, lowering his head to hide whatever emotion swept over him, or perhaps in his self-hatred he could not bear to look at Archie and see a man who had almost delighted in martyring himself out of love for him – after all, had love not been the real gift Horatio had been slow to accept in Kingston? Archie remembered pitying him then for being too proud and too self-loathing to let himself be loved. No doubt Horatio felt the same about him, resisting the acquittal that Horatio wanted so much –though Archie was simply too honest with himself, not proud. Perhaps they ought to call a truce; he would cease resenting his father’s appeal if Horatio ceased resenting his confession in the first place – both carried the same risk. Archie made to suggest it, but words became impossible when Horatio looked at him again with his deep velvet eyes.

“Speak it to me.” He reached out to rest a hand on Archie’s knee through the bedclothes. “I’m the only one who need hear it.”

A small, fond smile curved Archie’s lips. He reached for Horatio’s hand, catching only his long fingers. “Horatio, I don’t have the words.”

“I sympathize,” Horatio conceded gently. “But love is not a cross, Archie. You can’t keep nailing yourself to it.”

Archie’s mouth tightened; the pot need not preach to the kettle. If not love, then Horatio chose honor as his cross. But perhaps the pot had learned wisdom. It did not matter; Archie was no longer in a mood to quarrel. The Admiralty might have removed the black mark from his name, but no one could take away the peace he had found after returning from the courtroom in Kingston. He had still saved Horatio, their shipmates and everyone else in that room had seen it. Horatio would not forget it and that was what mattered.

“Pellew said I wasn’t made for thorns in any case.” Perhaps Archie should not have mentioned the Admiral, but this time it seemed to do no harm. A small smile even curved Horatio’s lips.

“Well, that’s one less point of contention between us,” he said dryly. He fell silent for a moment, looking away and letting the strain of the night fall away like a cloak. A change had come over his features by the time he looked up again. His smile turned mischievous and he let go Archie’s hand, leaning forward on his palms. “But now that we are safe from interruptions, where was I?”

He began crawling on all fours toward Archie on the wide bed. Archie’s blood heated just watching him; the lines of Horatio’s body were so perfect, his limbs slender and long and his skin smooth, his eyes almost predatory above that wicked smile. He slid right up between Archie’s thighs, taking one hand and then the other and pinning them back on the mattress, gauging Archie’s reaction as one thumb stroked the inside of Archie’s wrist.

Lying flat on his back, Archie smiled up at him, growing aroused simply by the way Horatio looked at him now, demanding that there be no more conversations or interruptions, or protests – as though Archie would make one. Those dark eyes could burn away all the resistance in a man. They certainly had in back in Spain, staring down at him in much the same way. Archie did not know why he thought of that now, with Horatio randy and naked above him, but Archie supposed he had to admit that like Horatio he had done his fair share of trying to shy away from what was offered.

Well past that, Archie flicked his tongue over his lips – not out of nervousness, only to draw Horatio’s attention there since he could not bury his fingers in those thick curls and yank Horatio’s head down as he wanted to.

It worked; Horatio bent and captured his mouth, kissing him hard and hurriedly with his full, cushiony lips with the same ardor he had shown before their earlier interruption. But there something more to Horatio’s passion now; he seemed aware of it yet untroubled. Perhaps Horatio finally felt joy now that Kingston could be put in the past. Perhaps for the first time in four years Horatio could finally come to him in celebration. Archie had waited for that for a long time.

Caught up in the thrill of it, he arched his head back, letting Horatio’s hot mouth wander down his neck. He could feel the heavy rhythm of Horatio’s breathing and sense the heat of him through the blankets. But eventually, Horatio had to release one of Archie’s wrists in order to yank the covers down, baring his aroused body. Horatio drew back for a glance at him, panting and spread out for the taking, before his mouth returned to Archie’s neck, suckling and nibbling and growing fiercer until Archie thought Horatio meant to devour him alive. Shivering with the pleasure of it, Archie dug the fingers of one hand into the back of Horatio’s shoulder, letting out a choked sound that was half a chuckle and half a demand for Horatio to do something.

Horatio must have been equally impatient; he lifted his head far enough to nuzzle under Archie’s hear, his hot, quick breath stinging the tender skin he had been suckling. “Don’t move,” he growled, releasing Archie’s other wrist so that he could fumble through the bedside drawer. “I’m going to have you.”

A sharp jolt of pleasure shot through Archie’s body; Horatio had taken him many times, but had never announced his intentions so commandingly. Horatio was quick about it too; he found what he was looking for and then dropped a hand between Archie’s thighs smearing him with oil and pressing just the tip of one warm finger inside him. Archie jumped, clutching at Horatio’s hair, his lower body sizzling with hat little bit of penetration.

“Yes,” he urged in Horatio’s ear, as fiercely as he had once said no. “Take me.” Horatio heard him, sliding closer and letting Archie’s legs settle against his hips. He pressed his way inside, slowly at first, close to shaking with restraint under Archie’s hands and hissing a breath in pleasure. Archie did not want restraint; he wanted Horatio to brand his need for him into his flesh. “Take me,” he rasped again. “Take me like you’d die without me, just like you said.” His nails dug hard into Horatio’s skin.

Muffling a sharp cry into Archie’s neck, Horatio shuddered and pushed all the way inside him. Archie squeezed his eyes shut; it felt wonderful, the way his body tingled with delicious sensation where Horatio’s hard length gently stretched him

“I would. I would. I wouldn’t survive,” Horatio managed when he caught his breath, the words rough and uneven as he began a rhythm. “I want to shout it at times.”

Archie held onto him, for a moment unable to speak, both for the words and the familiar hot bliss building inside him. But he found his tongue, infused with Horatio’s wickedness tonight. “To Admiral Pellew?” he teased, unable to deny how his blood heated with the idea.

Horatio tensed at the name, but was thankfully too distracted to do anything other than laugh in Archie’s ear. “Mmm,” he grunted after a moment, his hips moving just a little faster.

A smile crept over Archie’s face, and not just for the thick waves of pleasure rolling over him each time Horatio pushed against that wonderful spot inside. He started to wonder if the idea of Pellew knowing excited Horatio as well, remembering how ardently Horatio had responded when Archie had expressed that wish in the carriage and the dream Horatio had confessed to having afterward.

“Or perhaps you want him to see for himself?” He must have been half mad with pleasure to press the issue, but his body throbbed with the idea of Pellew’s stern, perhaps envious eyes watching his precious ever-reserved protégé groaning in Archie’s ear and losing himself in a heaving carnal frenzy. It was that same backward sense of possession that had made pleasing Horatio in the same cell with Hunter so erotic, the secret desire to let it be known that Horatio’s need for him outweighed all danger and reason.

Horatio shuddered, thrusting unevenly with quick, ragged breaths. Archie chuckled, barely able to get the sound out. The idea did arouse him, but of course it would, though they both knew the reality of discovery was no jest; how could a man as deeply masked as Horatio not secretly covet the notion of unburdening himself entirely to the one whose esteem had meant everything to him?

Swallowing hard, Archie did his best in his bleary state to effect the Admiral’s growl. “Mr. Hornblower, I’m disappointed. My very finest officer engaging in unspeakable acts of sodomy with that devilish upstart!”

A sound that might have been a laugh quivered against Archie’s shoulder; Horatio was far too deep in ecstasy to chide him for disrespect. On the contrary, he slipped his hands under Archie’s arms and clung as if in a show of defiance, pressing his open mouth to Archie’s neck before he ground out, “My apologies, sir. I fear I cannot live without him and that my career is forfeit to a life of unabashed iniquity.”

Archie’s head spun with the fact that Horatio was playing along with him. Horatio thrilled in it even, his words thick with emotion as though he truly were confessing them to the Admiral. His body moved faster, until Archie could only weakly clutch his shoulders with sweating fingers. Had he stumbled upon Horatio’s secret fancy at last? Archie grinned, already seeing stars from the pleasure though he wanted more; he wanted to throw Horatio over the edge into complete abandon.

“This demands a most severe punishment,” Archie growled in his Pellew voice, which was difficult to effect when he could scarcely breathe.

Clutching him tighter, Horatio rubbed his face frantically against Archie’s throat, clearly stirred to defiance by Archie’s pretended angry growling. “What I’m having now is worth any price, sir.”

The words sent a quiver through Archie’s body, both the carnal roughness and the heavy emotion in them. He flung his head back, letting Horatio have him. Horatio threw himself into the spirit of it like a man just freed of chains, and all Archie could do was hold onto him so tightly that his fingers hurt, groaning softly with each wave of sensation flooding through him. But when the pleasure reached its peak he knew he would wake the whole house crying out as he wanted. Instead, he bit hard into Horatio’s shoulder, shivering and shuddering as the climax hit him, clutching Horatio for dear life as he shuddered with him.

Archie could not quite tell up from down when it was over, his vision black around the edges. He did not care, lying with Horatio’s panting body draped over his chest, cradling his head with a hand buried in his curls. Eventually, Horatio rolled off him, a blush upon his cheeks. But he said nothing, content to flop against the pillows with a silly grin upon his face.

The daze lifted and Archie gained the strength to move again. Soreness lingered in his limbs when he stretched them, but it was only a pleasant reminder of their coupling tonight and no real concern. He was cold now and suspected that Horatio was too. If he was so fortunate as to have Horatio in his bed tonight then it would only be a waste to let him lie so far away.

Leaning on an elbow, Archie watched his lover for a moment. Horatio lay utterly limp, exhausted from having done most of the work. Archie brushed a curl from his shoulder and then trailed his fingers down his arm. One eye opened and Horatio’s lips parted as though to speak, but Archie shook his head before Horatio could express concern or apologize for having been so wild. What they had done had been a celebration, a thing of freedom. There was no need for guilt or concern anymore.

Pulling the blankets up, Archie settled his arms around Horatio’s chest, rubbing away the gooseflesh there. “Go to sleep,” he murmured, resting his chin against Horatio’s shoulder, pleased when Horatio closed his eyes.

The fire burned, adding warmth, and Archie’s acquittal still lay beside the bed. There was peace, as well as hopes for the future to concentrate upon. It was not a bad way to end such a long rainy night or the terrible Kingston affair. Archie smiled faintly as he closed his own eyes.