Nico stared at him for an astonished moment, then the laugh exploded out of him. He lay over Titus, shaking and spluttering, and Titus found himself laughing too, for the absurdity and the joy, and the very fact that he could laugh about this.
“You continually amaze me,” Nico said, once he had a grip on himself. “And I would indeed like to sample your prowess, but perhaps not tonight. Here.”
He propped himself up on an elbow, straddling Titus, his strong thighs gripping Titus’s leaner ones, and his hand slid between them. Circling Titus’s prick, pressing his own to it, kissing Titus’s neck as he did it so pleasure squirmed up and down his body.
“Oh, yes,” Titus whispered. “Oh, this, Nico.”
Nico’s prick was so warm and hard against his, ridged flesh rubbing deliciously. Nico’s hand was tight, his mouth devouring, the whole bare length of his hot, heavy, perfect body kissing Titus’s skin, and Titus arched helplessly into him, squirming, thrashing, spending in a glorious confusion of feelings.
He flopped back. Nico gave a long sigh and flopped over him, and Titus wrapped an arm over his shoulders. “Do you think you can stay?”
“Nobody will be lighting the morning fire in this weather. When does eve come?”
That was a bewildering question. “It’s already dark? It’s about midnight.”
Nico stilled a second, then shook himself. “Of course it is. I am confused, and half asleep. I will remove myself beforePerreau brings your tea, but it would not be a disaster if I did not.”
“Really?”
“You can trust Perreau’s discretion. Don’t forget, the laws are different in France.”
“They are?”
“Bien sûr: Thank the code of Napoleon. Love is not criminal for men, any more than it is here for women. It is not a thing one advertises in the street, but the state does not insert itself into a citizen’s private affairs as here.”
“I didn’t know,” Titus said. “Really? No law? One could simply… go about one’s life?” To live without fear, not to have someone like Henry attempt to use his—their—nature against him. He felt suddenly, desperately bleak, that old Christmas Day sensation of watching Augustus receive gifts and wondering,Why not me?
“You could move.” Nico snuggled closer. “I could take you to France. You could learn the language and leave this miserable land behind.”
Titus felt a pulse of alarm. “Are you thinking of going back?”
“I have no plans. It depends on, oh, a variety of factors.” Nico yawned abruptly. He was a handsome, sophisticated, highly competent man, and he yawned like a kitten. It was adorable. “Let us sleep, mon coeur, or I will never wake in time. Good night.”
“Good night.” Titus kissed the top of his head. Nico made a small, pleased noise.
He proved as good at going to sleep as everything else, and was breathing softly within a few minutes. Titus lay awake, luxuriating in Nico’s warm body and thinking of phrases likeA variety of factorsandI could take you to Francelong into the night.
Chapter Sixteen
By the time Titus woke, rather late, the next morning, Nico had already slipped out. It was for the best, although if Perreau really didn’t care about his master sharing his bed with men… That seemed extraordinary, but Nico would not have said it lightly. Titus tried to imagine living without hiding, if only in his own house.
His head was full of dreams. He selected his blue-and-silver waistcoat because it always made Nico smile in a slightly smug manner, and went down to breakfast with a quiver of hopeful anticipation. Nico was there already, and he did indeed give that satisfied smile, and Titus thought, yes. This was joy.
Nico insisted they should visit Mr. Hawkes without loss of time, to see if he still had the purple material. He did, and Titus ordered a new waistcoat in it and then, in a fit of daring, bought a banyan, a silk robe de chambre embroidered with bright, impossible flowers. It was unnecessary, far too expensive, positively garish for a quiet, sober, unremarkable man. It was a wearable work of art and he loved it.
The whole day felt like that: an explosion of colour towhich he could hardly believe he was entitled. They drifted through shops examining fabrics, and lunched together, and strolled over to Pall Mall, not quite hand in hand but shoulder to shoulder, so Titus could show Nico Mr. Angerstein’s exquisite collection of paintings and drawings, including a lovely Rembrandt, works by Velasquez and Vandyck, and Hogarth’s sequenceMarriage a-la-mode.
It was a lovely sunny day, so the exhibition rooms were almost empty except for an elderly man who sat on a chair, contemplating the Raphael drawings. Nico stopped in front of a dramatic composition in which a large black eagle soared into the sky clutching a naked youth with prominent and rather lumpy buttocks. It was, in fairness, attention-grabbing.
He contemplated it for a moment, and turned to Titus with a quizzical look. “This depicts what, precisely?”
Titus had noticed that, for an aristocrat, Nico’s classical education was rather poor. “It’s anAbduction of Ganymede by Jupiter.” He might have ventured a risqué remark about what Jupiter was abducting Ganymede for, except for the old man in the room. “By Titian, although—hmph.” He peered at the canvas. “That’s odd.”
“What is?”
“Well, Titian painted, what, three hundred years ago? But the colour here, in the sky, looks awfully like Prussian blue, and that wasn’t invented until the last century.”
Nico’s brows went up. “You mean it is a forgery?”