5. Dancing

'Hannibal, will not you tell me what happened?'

Motionless, Hannibal continued to stare out of the window at the rain-soaked lawn. 'With regard to what?'

'With regard to you know perfectly well what,' replied Margot admonishingly. 'The man with whom you grew up, yet have refused even to speak of for the last year.'

'There is nothing to tell.'

'You mean there is nothing you wish to tell.'

Soft footsteps behind him signalled Margot's approach, and the next moment a gentle hand was laid on his shoulder. 'I would like to be of help if I can. I remember when first we met, you spoke quite fondly of Mr Brown.'

'Of the boy I had known,’ corrected Hannibal. ‘Not the man he had become. Why do you think you and he never met?’

'Did not he start at Oxford as you and Mason finished?'

‘Even so.' Hannibal laughed shortly. ‘Had I not been opposed, he was far too busy gallivanting in London to pay Ravenstag any heed, until –'

'Until? Hannibal?'

Fists clenched tightly behind his back, Hannibal bit out, 'I do not wish to discuss this further, Margot.'

Margot drew back her hand with a sigh and came to stand beside him. 'You stare out of this window every day. What is it that you see? Or is it what you do not see?' She turned earnest green eyes on him. 'What are you looking for, Hannibal?'

What am I looking for?

Certainly not a cavorting, recalcitrant, maddening boy with messy dark curls and mocking blue eyes. Not the boy he had sworn to forget, alarmed by feelings which had seemed only to grow stronger with each exasperating encounter; sticking grimly to his purpose on that final day despite the tightness in his chest when in the garden he had turned Will away - 'If you have no objection, I would like very much to hear more of your travels in Italy' - and later, as he had pretended to read and had felt Will's accusing stare burning through to the back of his skull. Not the boy whose departure he had watched from an upper window, standing there long after the carriage had passed out of sight. And most assuredly not the boy whom he had chanced upon in the village making eyes at the one person – the one person – whom Hannibal loathed in all the world, who had stood beside Will with a look of triumph on his sneering face. Designing. Covetous. The sight so nauseating, Hannibal had felt himself pale from it; had retreated rather than follow his first instinct - a primal urge to jump from his horse and beat Matthew Brown until the pavement was stained red.

'I also miss them,' said Margot softly.

'Miss whom?' he enquired tightly, for such indulgence was not to be borne.

'But we shall see them at the ball in only a few days,' continued Margot, as if Hannibal had not spoken.

Poised to turn on his heel and leave Margot to her pointless fantasising, Hannibal hesitated as an unpleasant thought occurred.

'May I ask if you issued a general invitation to the officers of the regiment?'

'We did,' replied Margot calmly. 'It is the accepted practice, Hannibal. But you need not fear. Mr Brown has declined to attend; we received his note this morning.'

That, at least, was something. He would not have put it past Matthew Brown to have had the temerity to show his face, and Hannibal felt a little of the strain of the past few days dissipate. Still, Margot's marked partiality for Miss Graham was an ever-increasing concern; and as it seemed that Hannibal's own conflicted feelings were becoming obvious to his friends, he was now convinced that quitting Muskrat Hall would be the best solution all round. At any other time, that might have proven difficult to accomplish; but Mischa's letters had of late taken on a melancholic tone, and she had hinted more than once that she would be glad of company with Christmas almost upon them. This, Hannibal thought, might just be enough to prise Margot from the clutch of this damnable neighbourhood – and himself from the grip of his relentless preoccupation with Will Graham.

***

After a further three days of unrelenting rain, the morning of the ball dawned bright and cold. Restless and in need of diversion, Hannibal ate a sparing breakfast before venturing into the grounds with Ripper. In no mood to deal either with Mason's taunts or Margot's questions, he walked until the sun was high, enjoying what would in all likelihood be one of the last fine days before winter set in.

A flurry of preparations were underway by his return mid-afternoon, and Hannibal retreated to his chamber, issuing a stern order that he was not to be disturbed until absolutely necessary. Though he fully intended to use the time to catch up on his correspondence, in the event he accomplished very little, preoccupied by thoughts of Will and the prospect of their meeting again that evening. This continued inability to suppress his feelings was both frustrating and bewildering, and he was almost relieved when evening came and with it, the distraction of employment.

He had decided upon a black double-breasted coat and breeches for the ball, opting for a starched white waistcoat and simply-tied neck cloth beneath. Such excess of finery as Mason had chosen to peacock in, daring a coat of dark red with gold buckles on his shoes, was not at all to Hannibal's taste for an evening such as this. As it was, the local gentry would be vying for the attentions of their rich new Alpha neighbours; no need to give them cause for encouragement. Margot, he allowed, suited well her gown of orange silk. But he would have been more content were not her eyes sparkling with anticipation, the cause of which was plain enough to all.

Once dressed and at liberty to roam, he left Mason and Margot to the tedious task of greeting the steady stream of guests, and sought an upper room from which he was granted an excellent view of the drive. The Grahams were among the last to arrive, and the first to alight from their carriage was Will.

For long moments all Hannibal could do was stare, for never before had he seen the boy so coiffed and smartly-dressed, even at the Red Dragon assembly. An attempt had been made to tame that wild hair, though it was clear even from a distance that the artful arrangement of curls into a high quiff was doomed to disarrangement as soon as any vigorous activity was undertaken. Atop beige breeches sat snug a high-waisted velvet coat of blue-grey, neatly-tied neck cloth and white waistcoat peeking out at top and bottom. Evidently much care had been taken to present Will at his most becoming, and as his siblings alighted it became clear that this was true of them all. Cotton and muslin has been replaced by satin and lace; hair piled high was ornamented by ribbons and beads; and while Hannibal acknowledged that Miss Graham in particular looked most pleasing in a long gown of cream satin, hair upswept with short curls framing her face, his overriding impression of the Graham children and their parents as they walked up the torch-lit driveway was that of a pair of traders intent on exhibiting their goods.

'To market, to market,' he muttered darkly, and swung away from the window with a grim shake of his head.

***

Until Will entered the drawing room at Muskrat Hall and looked in vain for Mr Brown among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a doubt of his being present had never occurred.

'There is Randall,' cried Abigail eagerly. 'He will know where Mr Brown is to be found.' And she crossed the crowded room with bullish Alpha determination to solicit the officer.

Will followed at a slower pace and was just in time to hear the vexing news.

'Sadly, our dear Brown was obliged to go to town yesterday on business, and he is not yet returned,' said Mr Randall, adding with a significant smile, 'I must say, however, that I do not imagine his business would have called him away at this particular time had he not wished to avoid a certain gentleman.'

'You mean Mr Lecter,' said Will in disgust.

Mr Randall shrugged, but his expression said all, and not for the first time Will wondered with frustration how it was possible that all Hannibal Lecter's friends could have been so wilfully deceived in him. Bitten by sharp displeasure, he was set to question Mr Randall further when he was addressed from behind by an irritatingly familiar voice.

'Cousin Will?'

What now?

'Yes, Mr Franklyn?' As he turned reluctantly.

With one eye out for Beverly, Will failed at first to realise the significance of his cousin's materialisation, until the hand extended to him provided an unwelcome reminder of how, the previous evening, he had been pressed to accept Mr Franklyn's solicitation of the first two dances.

The first two. A full hour spent dancing with this buffoon!

What mortification then followed, as Mr Franklyn tripped and giggled and missed countless cues. Will grew more and more discomfited with every step, and at the end of the second dance he could feel only gratitude that social convention prevented his cousin from asking him for a third.

Mercifully released, and finally spotting Beverly across the room, Will hurried to her side to acquaint her with the news of Mr Brown's absence and the reason for it.

'Is Mr Brown really the sort to be frightened away by someone of a higher social rank?' asked Beverly sceptically. 'If indeed he has been wronged by Mr Lecter, why not confront him and have done with it?'

'Because of his respect for the late Mr Lecter,' returned Will crossly. 'Really, Beverly, you might be more sympathetic.'

'Well, he certainly seems to have won your sympathy.' Beverly narrowed her eyes, and Will shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. 'Or is this about more than just sympathy for poor Mr Brown?'

'Certainly not!' snapped Will, groaning as he spied Mr Franklyn moving in their direction. 'Oh, will this interminable evening never end?'

About to launch into a tirade about the appalling awkwardness of his cousin, the words died in Will’s throat as he scented a familiar rich, warm earthiness that set his heart thudding erratically.

'Good evening, Mr Graham.'

Tension stiffened his spine, and he turned slowly to face Hannibal, mouth drying at the impact of the Alpha's stark, severe beauty. Blonde and amber against a canvas of black and white. Mesmerising. Damned infuriatingly so.

'Good evening, Mr Lecter,' he replied icily.

The disdainful gaze of the unquestionably beautiful boy whose chin was tilted at him so haughtily caused Hannibal to suppress a smile. Will was such a fierce bundle of Omega defensiveness, ever ready to fight for what he believed to be right, and completely uncaring of rank. Very few people of Hannibal's acquaintance had ever shown even an ounce of such passion about anything. Was it any wonder, then, that Will enthralled him so? Of course, there could be no future in it; and doubtless, once removed from the boy's intoxicating presence, Hannibal would soon be freed from all thoughts of him. Still, in the meantime...

'Would you do me the honour of dancing the next with me?'

A flare of surprise widened those blue eyes, and Hannibal was anticipating a swift refusal when instead Will said simply, 'Yes.'

Feeling slightly wrong-footed, and already regretting his impulsive offer, Hannibal bowed and walked away. There was just time for a fortifying glass of Madeira, and at that precise moment he felt in great need of one.

'Was I sleepwalking just now, Beverly? Why did not I refuse him?' Will turned frustrated eyes on his amused friend.

'Perhaps you did not wish to.'

'Of course I did. I swore I would never dance with him,' he muttered, scuffing the floor with the toe of his shoe.

Beverly patted his arm and grinned. 'I daresay you will find him very agreeable.'

'Heaven forbid!' scowled Will. 'To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate? Do not wish on me such evil!'

'Hush, here he comes,' cautioned Beverly. And, as Will pulled a sour face, 'Will! For heaven’s sake, think of what you are doing. You should not allow your fancy for Mr Brown to make you appear unpleasant to a man of ten times his consequence!'

But Will was too busy attempting to calm his racing heart to pay Beverly much heed. There was something decidedly unnerving about Hannibal's unsmiling approach as he came forward to claim his dance.

Gesturing for Will to precede him onto the floor, Hannibal was acutely aware that all eyes were on them as they took their places at the top of the set. He was unsure at first whether the surreptitious looks they were receiving from left and right constituted amazement at the honour which Hannibal was bestowing on the partner of his choice. But he sensed quickly that most were regarding Will with covetousness and himself with envy. The knowledge did not surprise him – Will was, after all, the only Omega in the room, and a beauty at that. What did surprise him, greatly, was the surge of protectiveness which he felt towards the dark-haired boy standing opposite, cheeks aflame beneath so much scrutiny.

As the musicians struck up, filling the room with gentle strains coaxed into existence by strings and wind, Hannibal felt his blood thrumming with anticipation. Counting the beats of the first measure, he kept his eyes fastened on Will. The boy's head was downcast in a show of demureness. Yet in a moment, Hannibal would move in to claim his hand, and he wanted to see the expression in Will's eyes when he did.

Look at me, he commanded silently.

And in the heartbeat's pause which signalled the start of the dance, Will looked up.

Hannibal's gaze was intent as he stepped towards him, hand outstretched, and Will endeavoured to conceal the trembling which had seized him from the moment he had realised which dance they were required to perform. Unlike the lively Shrewsbury Lasses and Barley Mow, through which he had been forced to suffer the ridiculous prancing of Mr Franklyn, the English country dance required perfect sympathy and accord between partners. It was, in a word... intimate.

Perhaps Hannibal had not realised the order of the dances when he had made the request. Or perhaps this was yet another example of his mind games.

Of course it is. When last you met, he would not even acknowledge your existence. Remember?

Eyes narrowing, Will resolved in that moment to be the cause of much regret to the Alpha for requesting his company, in retribution for these seemingly never-ending manipulations.

If you wish to play, Hannibal, then you must be prepared to pay.

He smiled his sweetest smile and stretched out his hand to Hannibal, noting with glee the Alpha's slight misstep at his abrupt volte-face. But when finally their fingertips brushed, it was Will's turn to falter. Hannibal's palm slid warm and dry against his own, the slight calluses indicative of a seasoned equestrian pleasurably abrasive. But he kept his countenance; and as they turned first one way and then the other, Will held Hannibal's gaze, restraining with difficulty a satisfied smirk at the faint stain of red on those high cheekbones.

Parting only to meet and part again, they moved through the second measure without speaking. But as they clasped hands to begin the third, Will decided that the greater punishment would be to force Hannibal into conversation.

'My aunt taught me the steps to this dance the year I turned fifteen.' With subtle emphasis, he added, 'It was just after they had moved to Cheapside to be closer to my Uncle Crawford's law firm.'

He watched Hannibal closely but the Alpha failed, beyond the infinitesimal lift of a brow, to react to the reference to an address which most would consider decidedly unfashionable.

'I am to join him next year.'

This did at last elicit a response. 'You wish to practice the law?'

'It is a respectable profession for a gentleman's son, is not it?'

'Most assuredly.'

Separated briefly by the demands of the dance, when next they came together Will commented gravely, 'It is your turn to say something now, Mr Lecter.'

'You talk by rule when you are dancing?'

Lifting limpid eyes, Will replied softly, 'Only if the conversation is agreeable to both parties, sir. To be entirely silent for half an hour together would seem odd, do not you think? Yet,' he added with a plaintive sigh, without giving Hannibal a chance to respond, 'it still remains that sometimes one partner is left quite alone to talk to the air.'

Hannibal's expression darkened, and Will knew that he had succeeded in reminding the Alpha of his recent, less than courteous behaviour. Again they parted; and upon reclaiming Will's hand, Hannibal grasped it more tightly than before.

'It was not my intention to cause you grief.'

'Oh, please, do not trouble yourself to apologise.'

Will's gracious smile was as artificial as his saccharine tone, and he tugged his hand away as once again they moved apart.

'I was not apologising. I was stating a fact,' said Hannibal coolly, upon their next turn together.

'I do not doubt it,' replied Will archly. 'I was merely being polite, Mr Lecter. The truth is, I believe that in some ways you and I are just alike. We are each naturally reserved and taciturn, unwilling to speak unless it is to say something that will amaze the whole room.'

'I would think this is no very striking resemblance of your own character,' said Hannibal in clipped tones. 'Clearly, however, you think it a faithful portrait of mine.'

'As a matter of fact I –'

But before Will could confess that he was, for once, being sincere – if a little facetious – in his observations, they were again parted.

Silence fell between them, until after another half measure Hannibal enquired rather stiffly, 'Do you and your sisters often walk into the village?'

'Yes,' said Will shortly, and would have contented himself with that reply had not a demon of mischief prompted him to add, 'When you saw us there the other day, we had just been making a new acquaintance.'

The effect was immediate. Hannibal tensed, eyes filling with contempt, and it was some moments before he again spoke.

'Mr Brown is blessed with happy manners that enable him to make friends easily enough – whether he is equally capable of retaining them is less certain.'

Stung, Will retorted more unguardedly than he had intended. 'From what I have been given to understand, Mr Brown has been unlucky enough to lose your friendship in a way he is likely to suffer from all his life.'

In that moment, Hannibal felt a throb of anger so intense, it was all he could do to keep his countenance. The thought of Matthew Brown whispering poison in Will's ear with impunity was unconscionable, yet there was nothing to be done. He would not break the vow he had made. No matter how much he might wish to...

Fortunately, the end of another measure provided an opportunity for respite and a chance to rein in his feelings as he once more stood apart from the vexatious Omega, who could now only glower at him from the set opposite. Unfortunately, Sir James Price chose that precise moment to pass by, and stopped upon spying Hannibal.

'Ah, sir, what a pleasure it is to see such a fine example of modern dancing. And my dear Will!' Beaming at him across the set. 'I hope that this shall be the first of many occasions when I shall have the pleasure of seeing you dance together.'

The smile that Will conjured for Sir James was so pained, Hannibal almost laughed aloud, despite the ire which lingered still. Yet a moment later, all traces of humour evaporated as Sir James glanced knowingly at Margot and Miss Graham, partnered a little further down the set, and then winked at Will.

'Perhaps the next shall be a wedding dance, eh?'

For Margot to be the subject of local gossip was not to be borne; and as Sir James moved on, Hannibal turned to Will with censure at the ready. Yet far from appearing triumphant, Will radiated only deep embarrassment. Worry clouded his eyes, teeth sucking in his lower lip in a manner which Hannibal found most distracting. And suddenly, his overriding instinct was to comfort the distressed Omega. As they resumed the dance, he found himself searching for a topic which would relieve the feelings of both.

'During your stay here, you spent much of your time reading. Was there a volume in particular that you enjoyed?'

Will levelled at him a flat look as he stepped nimbly past. 'You wish now to talk of books, Mr Lecter? Dear me. We really do have very little to say to one another.'

Hannibal smiled, too caught up in admiring the boy's graceful movements to be offended. 'But surely, Mr Graham, you would relish the opportunity to eviscerate my literary tastes?'

Will merely arched a brow, and Hannibal felt immediately the need to shake that dismissive hauteur. When next they clasped hands, upon again parting he trailed his fingertips down Will's palm, lingering until, to his satisfaction, a very becoming tinge of red spread across Will's cheeks.

'Come,' he prompted, complacency sweeping away the last traces of annoyance. 'Indulge me. It will, if nothing else, occupy us through the final measure. I recall seeing The Compleat Angler in your hands more than once. Do not you care for novels?'

'I care for interesting reading,' came the swift rejoinder. 'Genre is of little consequence.'

Before Hannibal could respond, the dance ended, and with a curt nod Will walked from the floor. Such rudeness would generally result in no small amount of anger being directed towards its instigator. In this case, however, he could summon only frustration as he watched the boy stalk across the room.

Matthew Brown, this is your doing. And one day, I swear, there will be a reckoning.

The smell of beeswax was heavy in the air, mixing with the sweet aroma of hot port wine, lemon and nutmeg as guests strolled about, sipping Negus from generous goblets. Feeling the need to escape and perhaps take the air for a few minutes, Will was disconcerted to find his path blocked unexpectedly by a ruddy-faced Mr Verger.

'Ah, Mr Graham. A little piggy tells me that you recently made the acquaintance of Matthew Brown – and that by all accounts you find him delightful company!'

'What of it?' Will bristled at the idea that he was the subject of idle gossip. 'Mr Brown is but newly arrived in the neighbourhood and is, as far as I know, well-liked by all who have met him here.'

'Then you know very little,' sneered Mr Verger. 'Matthew Brown is a prancing fool who masquerades as a gentleman when he is, in fact, merely the son of the late Mr Lecter's steward.' Sloshing his drink as he gesticulated, he exclaimed, 'And his coming into the neighbourhood at all is an outrageous impertinence after the infamous way in which he has behaved towards Mr Lecter.'

'You call Mr Brown's behaviour infamous?' Will could scarcely believe the hypocrisy of the charge. 'In what way, pray?'

Mr Verger's brow wrinkled almost comically as he appeared to fight for coherence in his wine-soaked haze. 'I – do not recall the exact details, but I can tell you that Mr Lecter is entirely blameless.' Leaning in, he prodded Will's chest and grinned, showing purple-stained teeth. 'I pity you for the discovery of your favourite's guilt, Mr Graham. But really, considering his origins, one could expect no better.'

A heavy, bitter scent rose in unpleasant waves from the slurring Alpha, and Will stepped back. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to defend the man whose very name seemed abhorrent to the Muskrat company, yet whose absence made it impossible for him to defend himself.

'Considering his origins?'

Thinking of all the times he had been confronted with such prejudice against himself, Will felt in that moment a strong urge to knock the glass from his host's hand.

'His guilt and his origins appear to you to be one and the same,' he scorned. 'I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than being the son of a steward.'

Glancing over Will's shoulder, Mr Verger's eyes widened and he laughed uneasily. 'I beg your pardon. Please excuse my interference, Mr Graham. It was – kindly meant.'

As Mr Verger weaved unsteadily away, Will turned to see what had caused him finally to retreat, and scowled ferociously as his eyes connected with Hannibal's. Standing a few yards away with a goblet clenched in his fist, the Alpha looked as grim as Will had ever seen him, and Will wondered how much of the conversation he had overheard. Or perhaps, he thought despairingly, it was the excessively shrill giggling of Abigail and Fredricka – who stood nearby fluttering their lashes at a group of young officers – that had roused Hannibal's ire. Or the ear-piercingly off-key singing of Molly in the outer hall, whom even at that moment was being coaxed loudly from the pianoforte by their father, that the musicians might be allowed to strike up for another dance.

Unable to bear the weight of Hannibal’s censorious gaze a moment longer, Will spun away and headed in the direction of a rear exit. But he was stopped in his tracks by Mr Franklyn and, surprisingly, Beverly.

'Will, I must say you danced divinely just now,' smiled the latter with a wink. 'I wonder what – or who – has inspired such lightness of foot.'

'Ah yes, fair cousin,' beamed Mr Franklyn, mopping beads of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. 'Miss Price and I have been watching with enchantment. And I have discovered to my astonishment that your dancing partner is none other than the nephew of my gracious patroness, Lady Bedelia!'

'Why, yes –'

But before Will could continue, Mr Franklyn bowed to them both and continued with haste towards Hannibal, whose brows rose at the sight of the slightly dishevelled, perspiring man who lumbered towards him.

'Mr Franklyn, you have not yet been introduced,' hissed Will, to no avail as his cousin practically prostrated himself at Hannibal's feet.

'I cannot watch,' he groaned, tugging on Beverly's arm. 'Come, perhaps there is a cellar in which I can hide for the remainder of the evening.'

'It is not as bad as all that,' laughed Beverly. 'To be sure, your cousin lacks certain social graces. But he seems at heart a good person. He speaks most highly of your father. And,' she added slyly, 'of you.'

Grimacing, Will pulled his friend from the room and made a hasty retreat through the outer hall. Mrs Graham stood by the main staircase, surrounded by a gaggle of rapt ladies, and Will understood why when he heard his mother exclaim excitedly, 'And of course, Alana's marriage to Miss Verger will surely throw my younger children into the paths of other rich Alphas!’

'Do something,' pleaded Will, turning agonised eyes on Beverly, 'before I evaporate in a puddle of mortification!'

'My poor Will.’ Beverly chuckled. 'No power on this earth would, I fear, be enough to stop your mother. But one thing I can do for you, and that most gladly.'

'What would that be?' sighed Will, passing a hand across his face, and wishing only for the evening to end.

'Well, do not look now, but Mr Franklyn is on his way back, and he seems intent on claiming your attention. If you hurry, you might escape.' And giving him a shove, she added, 'I shall keep him occupied, I promise.'

It was with huge relief that Will stepped out into the blessed quiet of the garden. Although immediately bitten by the chill, he walked on until enveloped by the first line of trees.

Thinking himself safe, he loosened his neck cloth and rested his forehead against the broad trunk of an oak, exhaling a long sigh of frustration.

'Your cousin is, I warrant, an unusual specimen. But there really was no need for you to flee for the trees, Mr Graham.'

With weary resignation, Will turned around to face the Alpha who stood only a few feet away. In the darkness, Hannibal's eyes appeared to glitter with strange intensity, and Will had suddenly to concentrate on breathing.

'I was not fleeing,' he replied smartly. 'I was taking the air.'

Hannibal advanced a few steps, and Will realised his predicament as the tree at his back prevented his moving any further away.

'You were escaping. Admit it,' challenged Hannibal softly, gaze lingering on Will’s throat. 'And apparently once again shedding your clothes at the first opportunity.'

There was a hunger in that gaze – banked yet unmistakable – which Will shivered to acknowledge. It astonished him, and he wondered briefly whether Hannibal could be in rut. But no – an Alpha's rut could be brought on only by the presence of an unbonded Omega in heat. And Will's next heat was not due for many months. Was there, he hazarded, another Omega in the neighbourhood of whom he was unaware? The idea was strangely unpalatable.

'Did you follow me just now?'

'Yes.'

The blunt reply set Will's heart thudding again.

'Why? When I wanted to be your friend, you made it very plain that you wished me far away. What has changed?'

'Absolutely nothing,' breathed Hannibal, closing in until they were a mere whisper apart. He planted his hands on either side of the trunk, eyes suddenly earnest on Will's face. 'Do not ask me to explain it. I cannot. But you draw me, Will Graham, as no other ever has.'

Desire coiled sweet and hot at this admission, and Will fought the urge to arch his bared throat and tug the Alpha to him, inviting him to scent and lick. Just the thought of it aroused him in a way he found at once thrilling and frightening. And illuminating.

How long have I wanted him?

It would take so little – their bodies already almost brushing, Hannibal's earthy scent intoxicating Will as no amount of wine could – but so much stood between them; and uppermost on Will’s mind was the troubling charge which Mr Brown had made.

'You told me once that your resentment, once created, was implacable.' Grave blue eyes searched serious amber. 'You are very careful, I hope, in allowing it to be created.'

'I am.'

Hannibal's reply, firm and unhesitating, increased Will's confusion.

'And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?'

'I hope not.'

Will dug his fingers into the bark’s scar-like fissures, staring rapt at lips quirked now in bemusement.

How would they feel pressed to mine?

'What is it that you are asking me, Mr Graham?'

'I am trying to understand you,' he murmured, freezing as Hannibal’s eyes fixed on Will's own lips.

'And what is your success?'

Will breathed a ragged sigh. 'I do not get on at all. You puzzle me exceedingly, and to tell the truth I – am at a loss.'

The barest movement from either and their lips would connect. Sharing breath, sharing warmth. It seemed to Will in that moment that they were suspended in time, and the strange ache within him increased with every beat of his heart.

Please, just kiss me. Please. I do not want to think any more.

Perhaps his expression betrayed him; for in the next instant, Hannibal's eyes darkened and he lifted a hand to brush the backs of his fingers across Will's cheek, before stroking the curls from his forehead with peculiar tenderness.

'I knew that ridiculous quiff would drop,' he smiled.

And, oh, in that instant Will forgot about Matthew Brown and Mason Verger, about differences in birth and fortune, about injured pride and petty bickering. There was only the spongy moss beneath his boots, the rough bark at his back, the cold snap of a clear November night. And Hannibal. Mouth curved softly upwards and body radiating warmth and eyes gentle on Will's face.

Slowly, Will's eyes drifted closed, and he tilted his chin in invitation.

'Hannibal? Devil take you, where have you got to? Hannibal, I say!'

Will's eyes flew open again as Hannibal, cursing, jerked upright. Mr Verger's agitated voice sounded alarmingly close, and it seemed that at any moment he would stumble upon them.

'I should go.’

Desperately embarrassed, Will looked frantically about for the surest escape route. But a hand on his arm stayed him.

'No, wait here,’ instructed Hannibal tersely. 'I shall deal with this.'

Yet despite the disrupted mood, he imparted a final lingering glance which Will felt down to his toes, before turning away and striding back out onto the moon-washed lawn.