France, six months before the events previously described.
A cold Parisian evening.
A garden behind one of the city's grand townhouses.
— "You know, I think I'd like to see America next."
— "You couldn't stay still for even a month, could you? It's only been three weeks, and already you're thinking of leaving Paris… and me."
— "Who said anything about leaving you? I fully intend to take you with me. Who else would keep me company through those chilly spring nights?"
— "You know perfectly well I can't afford such a thing. I'm a married man. And no doubt you'll find someone else to keep you warm."
— "Ah, forgive me. I keep forgetting your devotion to family while I spend sleepless nights with you."
— "I'm unsure whether to take that as a compliment or a reproach."
— "Precisely the balance I was aiming for, mon cher. What is it, if not flattery, to say that when I'm with you, I forget the need for sleep and the rest of the world?"
— "And when I'm not with you?"
— "Then I remember I live in an imperfect world, where one must part from one's lovers simply because…"
Silence fell between them.
One of the men reached out and gently placed his hand over the other's.
— "We both knew what this was from the start. An affair — nothing more. You knew it, and so did I. But… I can't help but wish it might last just a little longer."
He kissed his lover under the moonlight, in the quiet garden.
A soft rustle in the bushes shattered the moment.
They pulled away, their eyes darting into the darkness. But nothing stirred again.
— "We grow careless," one whispered.
— "I'll meet you at the usual place. In an hour."
— "Until then."
The glow of lanterns and drunken laughter spilled onto the cobbled streets of Paris.
The man slipped into a narrow passage and gave a discreet nod to the other man waiting there. They walked at a distance from one another, then, five minutes apart, entered a townhouse usually vacant this time of year — often rented by wealthy travelers during the season.
After a while, a candle flickered to life in a second-floor window.
— "I truly must leave early tonight. I cannot risk staying until morning. Julie has grown far too suspicious of late."
— "Julie is a clever woman. And her suspicions, I daresay, are not without cause," the Duke replied with a grin, before sinking his teeth into the laces of his companion's trousers and pulling them down.
The man inhaled sharply, pulled the Duke toward him, and kissed him.
— "Nathan, did you hear me? Only once tonight."
— "I'm not deaf, Louis. But if you expect this to be swift… I cannot promise it. Not when we have only one chance left to savour it."
The sly smile on the Duke's face drove his partner to the brink.
Nathaniel pushed his partner gently down onto the bed, lips trailing lower and lower. Louis moaned softly, eyes closing in anticipation.
— "One must count the seduction of married aristocrats among your many talents. Well, mature married aristocrats, as one might say…"
— "The older I grow, the more I savor the wines that have matured to perfection…" Nathan let out a faint laugh. "Although I think you still have much ahead of you… And I prefer to think of this 'seduction' as a liberation. Helping men discover their true selves — ones long buried beneath the expectations of self-righteous fools," he added with a smile.
— "You have already won me over; there's no need to try and make me younger," Louis laughed. "But in other matters, you are right. Even as a boy, I suspected that not even someone as beautiful as Julie could make me as happy as you did."
— "I think we talk far too much… and do far too little," the Duke said with the same languid smile before sinking his lips into his lover's inner thigh.
Louis's laughter melted into a moan of pleasure as Nathaniel's hands impatiently traced the familiar lines of his body with a hungry firmness, as though starved for this touch for far too long or, perhaps, mourning the parting that would come too soon.
No matter how Nathan longed to cast aside all sorrow and worry, to surrender blindly to the moment's pleasure, it came to him with difficulty. The pain was not born solely of parting with his lover — Louis was not the first from whom the Duke had been inevitably torn away.
"He will not be the last, and you know it," whispered the voice within, as though gripping Nathan's chin and holding him fast, looking him straight in the eyes, refusing to let him dissolve into the moment. It whispered words of hopelessness, savoring its power…
— "Ah, Nathan, please… a bit slower…"
The image before Nathan dissolved. His lips curved faintly, betraying not the slightest intention of obedience to Louis or his inner voice.
—"The sound you make when I hold you like this… It's irresistible," whispered the Duke, his skilled hands continuing to tease his beloved.
With a trembling hand, Louis reached for the jet-black hair of his beloved, as though to halt him and speak some half-formed thought.
The Duke's eyes gleamed; in a swift motion, he took him in, drawing from Louis an involuntary tightening of fingers and the utter loss of whatever words he had meant to say.
Nathaniel seemed to break free from all restraint, racing headlong through the darkness. He felt the heated flesh in his mouth, heard the shameless sounds, and surged forward with ever-growing urgency.
Then he halted, the smirk returning to his lips. Wiping his mouth lightly with the thumb of his right hand, he commanded in a tone that brooked no refusal, "Turn onto your stomach."
Louis, barely recovered from the vivid sensations, yielded willingly. He loved Nathan like this.
The Duke covered his partner's heated body with his own and bit at Louis's neck, making him jolt — his backside brushing against Nathan's aroused flesh.
—"I've changed my mind," Louis murmured languidly. "Don't you dare slow down."
A low, velvety chuckle escaped the Duke's lips — the sort of sound that sent a shiver up the spine.
—"Not for a moment," Nathan answered, as he slicked his fingers with oil.
Louis's breath caught in his throat, his fingers curling into the linen as though to anchor himself. His lips parted in a soundless entreaty to continue and his body yielding entirely to the Duke's unrelenting movements.
Especially in such moments, more than anything in the world, Louis longed to be free, to "do something foolish" and abandon everything, to flee with Nathan to the farthest corners of the earth — be it America or his native England — it mattered not. All that mattered was to be with him, to kiss him each morning and each night, to devote himself entirely to him, both body and mind. Yet Louis was grateful he had not dared to voice such thoughts aloud.
— "Now, turn to face me. I wish to see you without cease."
Nathaniel closed the distance between them with sudden urgency, capturing Louis's lips in a deep, breath-stealing kiss. Louis's muffled moan was swallowed between them, his hands pressing firmly against the Duke's back as though to draw him impossibly closer.
— "I want you on your knees," Nathan murmured, his hand stroking through the curls of his lover's hair.
Louis nodded shyly, rising from the bed before slipping down to the floor, seating himself obediently, waiting for permission to bring his beloved pleasure.
***
— "Well then, I believe I'm dressed. Haven't forgotten anything. Nathan… are you truly leaving for America?"
— "My companion gives me less and less of his time. Soon he'll forget me entirely. I'd rather leave before that happens. I'll purchase a ticket for the ferry in two weeks."
— "Then I wish to see you one last time. A proper farewell."
— "Then be sure to find enough time for it."
They kissed once more.
Louis slipped through the darkened halls, descended to the ground floor, and stepped into the night.
The Duke watched Louis go from the window with a smile. But as soon as Louis vanished from view, the smile melted away.
I'm hungry, Nathan thought, brushing aside the thoughts that weighed upon his heart.
Descending to the first floor, he heard a sound — a movement. He retrieved a revolver, cautious now. But what he found waiting in the corridor brought him to a halt.
Julie. Standing there, still as death.
— "What are you doing here?" he asked, startled. "Why are you creeping about like this? Do you even realise what you're risking? I could have shot you and walked away without consequence. Please… don't treat your life so carelessly—"
— "You will not speak another word, you filthy sodomite!"
The Duke's expression shifted. Outwardly calm, inwardly seething. He placed the revolver on a nearby table, crossed his arms, and waited.
— "I suspected. I knew you were doing something to my poor Louis. But I never imagined… not until tonight… how far it had gone."
— "Julie, if you truly believe it's so simple—"
— "I said not a word!"
With sudden ferocity, she lunged for the revolver and pointed it at him.
— "I am a God-fearing woman. A wife. A mother to two beautiful sons. I have no desire to stain my hands with blood. But do not test me. You will leave Paris. No — France. On the very next steamer. You will never speak to Louis again. You will never return. And if you defy me — I'll turn every whisper about you into truth. I'll see to it that your disgrace reaches every noble house in France, and then England. And beyond. I don't care who comes for your head — but come they will. So. What will it be?"
The Duke's face was stone. His brows furrowed, eyes shadowed with solemn resolve. He hadn't flinched, not even when Julie took the gun and stood there like a statue.
— "As you wish. I'll leave tomorrow. You shall never see me again. Nor will your husband."
Julie broke open the revolver, checking the chambers. Apparently, she feared he might shoot her as she turned away.
But the revolver had been empty all along.
She tossed it to the floor and swept from the house without another word.
The Duke leaned back against the wall and slowly slid down, burying his face in his hands.