13. Falling Deeper

Steered in front of the looking-glass, Will stared uncomfortably at his grainy reflection.

‘It is so – bright.’

‘Precisely,’ commented Mrs Crawford with satisfaction, smoothing down the rich material hugging Will’s slender shoulders.

‘I feel ridiculous.’

But Mrs Crawford was not to be put off as she fussed around him, straightening a cuff here and a hem there. ‘Nonsense. You are a vibrant young man and you should dress as such. There will be time enough for starched sobriety.’

‘Give up the fight, Will,’ advised Mr Crawford, checking his watch before slipping it back into the silk pocket of his waistcoat and pulling on his gloves. ‘You know your aunt when she has a mind to do something. She will not be dissuaded.’

‘And what is it exactly that you are trying to do?’

Suspicious, Will twisted to face her, only to be set firmly back in place. Elegant in shimmering grey silk, Mrs Crawford shot him a withering look through the glass.

‘Will Graham, I declare I have never heard such a fuss over a simple red coat!’

‘And gold waistcoat,’ he countered, scowling at himself once more.

‘And such a perfect fit! You see, my dear?’ Turning to Mr Crawford. ‘It is perfectly possible to find a decent tailor outside Savile Row.’

‘So it seems,’ he replied, adding dryly. ‘And perhaps, if we leave within the next five minutes, we may arrive at Ravenstag while there are still guests enough to appreciate it.’

‘Oh, tush. We have plenty of time. Now, Will,’ as she stepped back to survey him. ‘Fetch your gloves and we shall go.’

It was with mixed feelings that Will scooped his gloves from the windowsill. A warm evening breeze drifted through the open casement, stirring the arrangement of scarlet roses sitting in a squat vase on the sill. A few fat petals fell and Will picked one up, rubbing it absently between finger and thumb. Within the hour, they would be back at Ravenstag. Within the hour, he would see Hannibal again.

‘Will?’

‘Yes.’ He pressed the petal to his lips in an almost-kiss before dropping it and donning his gloves. ‘I am ready.’

***

‘How very ill Mr Graham looked yesterday,’ sneered Mason from his sprawl across the Chesterfield, glass dangling precariously from outstretched fingers. ‘I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as he is since the winter.’

‘Never,’ echoed Mrs Cordell, seated primly on the sofa opposite. ‘Why, he was as ruddy as a field hand!’

Recalling the glowing beauty of Will’s complexion, Hannibal opened his mouth to issue a sharp retort, but Margot pre-empted him.

‘Strange,’ she laughed. ‘I was just thinking how well he looked. So full of health and vigour.’ Hiding a smile behind her ivory fan, a perfect match for the colour of her silk gown, she added, ‘Whereas you, my dear sister, and you, brother, have grown quite wan and pale. A little outdoor exercise would do neither of you any harm.’

‘For my own part,’ continued Mason, a glower the only response to his sister’s challenge, ‘I require more of refinement and symmetry in a person’s features if I am to regard them as at all handsome.’ And he cast a sly look at Hannibal. ‘I am sure that you agree, Hannibal. After all, it was you, was not it, who declared once that Will Graham ‘has hardly a good feature in his face’?’

Anger spiked hot and stinging, directed as much against himself as Mason, and for a moment Hannibal did not trust himself to speak. He managed, however, to reply with cold civility, ‘It was. How I could have been so obtuse is beyond me. However, that was only when I first knew him, for it is many months since I have considered him as one of the handsomest people of my acquaintance.’

In the periphery of his vision, Mischa grinned. Margot cast him a look of surprised delight, while a flustered Mrs Cordell nudged her husband into wakefulness. Mason, mouth opening and closing like a floundering fish, was positively florid, and seemed on the brink of retaliating when, propitiously, Stammets appeared in the doorway.

‘The first guests are arriving, sir.’

***

Handing off their outer garments in the entrance hall, Will and the Crawfords were directed by a liveried servant into the main part of the house, wherein the cream of high society mingled; acquaintances nodding graciously as they passed one another, friends exchanging delighted greetings, strangers waiting to be introduced by the Master of Ceremonies.

Against the stately backdrop of the Painted Hall, its occupants presented a beautiful palette: pastel shades broken by the occasional splash of bold colour; the finest silks, satins, velvets and lace. Who was Alpha and who Omega was almost impossible to tell, most natural scents having been masked by rich perfumery which clung sticky to the air.

Guests drifted up and down a connecting corridor, and thence also went Will and the Crawfords. At its end, they found themselves in a large ballroom glittering with candelabra, tiny flames catching and reflecting the spangled lights of an enormous crystal chandelier. On a low platform at the far end, musicians played a stately refrain for the long row of dancers progressing down the centre.

Mr Crawford’s eyes brightened at the sight of a sideboard groaning with full-to-the-brim cups of punch. ‘Well, my dear, shall we partake of some refreshment before we join the throng?’

‘Gladly.’ Mrs Crawford turned to Will. ‘But I would not wish to leave you alone, Will. Do you see anyone you know?’

‘Not yet.’ Will touched her hand reassuringly. ‘But I can shift for myself, Aunt.’

‘That will not be necessary.’ A delightful Omegan scent of meadow grass and wildflowers, undiluted by artifice, heralded Miss Lecter’s appearance at Will’s side. A vision of delicate loveliness, she smiled shyly. ‘It is good to see you again.’

‘And you, Miss Lecter.’ Will grinned. ‘Tell me, is Ripper secured safely for the night or might we expect an upset at any moment?’

‘Never fear.’ She giggled. ‘Hannibal insisted on locking him away himself. I am sure he anticipates a great escape at some point in the evening. He has already checked on him thrice!’

‘Mischa, my dear!’

A tall, lean, sharp-eyed gentleman with silver-streaked blonde hair strode through the throng towards them, arms outstretched. And with a cry of delight, Miss Lecter ran into his embrace.

‘Uncle Robert! When did you arrive?’

‘This very instant.’ Holding her away from him, the older man beamed, eyes creasing attractively at the outer corners. ‘How wonderful it is to see you looking so well. Now tell me, where is that nephew of mine?’

‘Ah, here you are at last. Your timekeeping, as always, leaves much to be desired, Uncle.’

Will looked past the embracing couple and forgot for a moment how to breathe.

Hannibal.

He struck a dashing figure in a black, velvet-trimmed coat, grey silk paisley-patterned waistcoat accentuating his powerful musculature. He was handsome, vital... and the look in his eyes as he stared back at Will sent a pleasurable tremor through him.

‘Yes, yes. But how are you, my boy?’

Hannibal came forward then, and Will was granted a momentary reprieve from his fluttering feelings as his host’s attention flicked back to his uncle and sister.

‘Looking forward to hearing of your latest travels, Uncle. Where was it this time? Lake Garda?’

‘Yes, and next week I leave for Paris. You know how I cannot bear to be idle.’

‘I do.’

The two exchanged warm smiles before Hannibal turned apologetically to their small audience.

‘But I am being remiss. Uncle, allow me to introduce Mr and Mrs Crawford and their nephew, Mr Graham. My uncle, Mr Robert Lecter.’

As the usual courtesies were observed, and easy conversation struck up, Will found his gaze drifting back continually to Hannibal. Each time, those hooded eyes caught his own. And each time, they lingered longer.

The dance ended, and Will found that his heart was hammering in anticipation of an invitation to partner in the next. Anticipation grew to certainty as Mr and Mrs Crawford took their places in the set, and a smart young officer stepped up to request the pleasure of Miss Lecter’s company.

But as Will prepared to be surprised, Hannibal hailed an elderly gentleman who was walking by, and launched immediately into lengthy introductions between the two older men.

Disappointment stabbed, and instantly Will chastised himself for such a selfish reaction. Hannibal was, after all, the host of this gathering.

Besides, what right have you to feel slighted? You are friends now, nothing more.

His glance alighted on Miss Verger, who stood by the doorway conversing with a young, dark-haired woman. She looked up and smiled, and with a murmured excuse Will bowed to the company and walked across to join them.

‘Mr Graham, how fine you look,’ exclaimed Miss Lecter upon his approach. ‘This is my good friend, Miss Elizabeth LeBeau. I have been telling her of the time we spent in Hertfordshire last winter.’

There it was again, the wistfulness of tone that spoke of feelings far from forgotten.

‘I look forward to the day we are all together once more,’ was Will’s gentle response.

And a sigh broke from Miss Verger’s lips. ‘As do I.’

A tug of awareness drew Will’s gaze back to the group he had left. Hannibal was watching him, expression enigmatic. Cheeks heating, and desperately in need of distraction, Will turned to Miss Verger’s friend.

‘Miss LeBeau, would you care to dance the next with me?’

Hannibal had always found the duties of host to be exceedingly tiresome. So many guests to greet, to introduce, to entertain. Refreshments to circulate and entertainments to co-ordinate.

But the moment he had laid eyes on Will, haloed by candlelight, flushed and beautiful, an exotic bird in scarlet and gold plumage...

All else had been forgotten, an inconsequential blur of noise and motion. Beloved relations were suddenly hindrances, when all Hannibal had wished to do was lead Will onto the floor so that he might touch and listen and gaze his fill. How fortuitous that an old acquaintance of his father’s had happened to pass their way, a convenient distraction for his uncle that would leave Hannibal free to solicit Will’s hand – only for the Omega to walk away and solicit the hand of another.

Maddening boy.

His head told him that Miss LeBeau was Betan and therefore no rival for Will’s affections. Omegas bonded only with Alphas. But his heart apparently had ideas of its own. As Haydn segued into Mozart and the lively strains of his Piano Sonata No.5 in G major, Hannibal observed in brooding silence the commencement of the dance. And soon he found himself circling the room with restless steps. Watching. Cataloguing. Will’s gloved hands enfolding his partner’s; Will’s eyes flashing enjoyment; Will’s lips curved in a youthful grin.

Will. Will. Will.

Jealousy swelled potent in his chest. And something else. Possessiveness. Aching and primal. It appalled him and yet he was powerless against its elemental savagery. Powerless against his endless pull towards this fascinating, beautiful boy.

My beautiful boy. Mine.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss LeBeau? I did not quite –’

But it was a lost cause. Even as the amiable lady repeated her comment, Will was oblivious to its sense. Hannibal’s presence – his slow, stalking prowl around the perimeter of the room – had pervaded his consciousness and rendered all else insignificant. He found himself darting coquettish glances at Hannibal between turns, skin warm and humming, senses attuned to the impossibly handsome Alpha. And the more exasperated grew Hannibal’s expression, the more teasing were Will’s looks. Until, inevitably, the dance drew to a close and Hannibal’s thunderous face told of a reckoning to come.

Light-headed with anticipation, Will escorted his bewildered partner back to Miss Verger, who was now part of a large group all enjoying frothing cups of punch. Among them were a merry Mr Crawford and a rather quiet Mrs Crawford. Will touched her arm.

‘Aunt, are you unwell?’

She pressed a hand to her forehead and smiled weakly. ‘I confess, I have felt better. But it is only a headache.’

Immediately, Mr Crawford was all contrition. ‘My dear, you should have told me.’

‘Really, it is nothing.’

But the hesitancy in her voice told a different story. Will exchanged looks of concern with Mr Crawford.

‘Perhaps we should return to the inn.’

‘No, Will,’ Mrs Crawford protested at once. ‘I would not dream of curtailing your evening.’ She turned to her husband, ‘My dear, I wonder if perhaps Will…’

‘Ah, yes. Perhaps Will could remain.’ Mr Crawford frowned. ‘But how is he to return to the inn if we have taken the carriage?’

At this, Miss Lecter, who was standing close by, turned and addressed them, with only a hint of awkward shyness.

‘Pardon me, but Mr Graham would be very welcome to stay here tonight. We always have extra rooms prepared on occasions such as this.’

Will regarded her with gratitude, and after that there was no more hesitation. The butler was summoned to order the carriage, and Miss Lecter insisted on accompanying the Crawfords out.

Despite feeling a certain amount of anxiety for his aunt, the sight of a determined – and in all probability seething – Alpha, making his way towards them through a sea of eager acquaintances reminded Will that he should probably move on. Alas, it was not to be, as another of Miss Lecter’s group lurched into his path and addressed him with an unpleasantly familiar leer.

‘Mr Graham. Are you enjoying yourself?’

Cheeks mottled red, speech slurred, it was clear that the cup which Mr Verger was slopping around was not by any means his first of the evening.

Swallowing his dislike, Will bowed stiffly. ‘I am, thank you.’

‘Yes.’ The leer transformed into a smirk. ‘Doubtless you – and, I daresay, your uncle and aunt – are unused to such grandeur. Ravenstag must seem quite another world.’ He stepped closer, and the sickliness of his scent mixed with an overpowering cologne drew from Will an involuntary grimace. ‘But try not to make yourself uncomfortable, eh? You will be back in your own sphere soon enough.’

‘Oh, Mason. That was... almost polite.’

The sighed words, uttered in a voice as smooth and deadly as a blade, caused the fine hairs on Will’s nape to rise. Hannibal stepped forward to stand beside him, so close that their shoulders almost touched. So close that his scent wrapped around Will, banishing in an instant the rancid perfume that had hung over him like a pall.

‘Well, of course, I meant only to –’

‘I think it would behove you to retire early.’

Hannibal’s clipped tones cut through Mr Verger’s stumbling attempt to redeem himself, brooking no opposition. The rest of the group had fallen silent, and Miss Verger stepped forward to take her brother’s arm, soft green eyes conveying a silent apology to Will.

‘What a good idea. To tell the truth, I myself am quite fatigued. Would you escort me to my room, brother dear?’

Mr Verger ground his teeth, glared at the company in general, and finally offered his arm to his sister with a hissed, ‘Of course, Margot, dear.’

Despite his feeling of sympathy for Miss Verger, Will could not help but rejoice at the removal of her poisonous sibling. And as soon as they were gone, he turned to Hannibal with words of thanks on his lips.

‘I – oh.’

The thundercloud was back, and despite himself, Will felt a grin tugging at his lips.

‘Am I to be chastised now?’

‘Are you – ?’ Hannibal’s rumble of vexation was lost as the musicians struck up an exuberant air.

But it was not to be a permanent reprieve. For, a moment later, Will’s hand was seized, and he was pulled without ceremony through the increasingly noisy throng and out into the corridor. To somewhere quiet, he assumed with amusement, where Hannibal could continue to berate him uninterrupted. But as they crossed the threshold of the Painted Hall, Hannibal slipped into the shadowed privacy of the space beneath the cantilevered staircase. And Will was yanked in after him.

The next moment, Will found himself trapped between cold stone and a warm body, hands pinned above his head. A fiery gaze tracked the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

‘What a teasing boy you are,’ growled Hannibal. ‘Is this what you wanted? Hm?’

Will could only stare back at him, heart thumping, mouth dry. ‘Yes.’

‘Why, Will? Tell me. Why have you spent the last hour taunting me so?’ Pressing closer still and closer.

But Will could think only of the hard body against his and the gloved thumb stroking across the fine skin of his imprisoned wrists.

‘You are so different here,’ he breathed, intoxicated by the Alpha’s rich, warm scent. ‘Why are you so different?’

‘I am as I have always been.’

Hannibal lowered his head until their mouths were just touching. And slowly, oh so slowly, he brushed their lips together. When he pulled back, the desire flaming in his eyes drew from Will a moan.

‘But now you see me. And I see you. I see all of you, Will.’

Still, Will’s chin tilted in stubborn challenge. ‘Yet last night you spoke scarcely a word to me.’

‘And so tonight you sought to provoke me?’

‘I sought –’ He licked his lips, tasting Hannibal, and met his gaze with helpless longing. ‘I sought you, in whatever way I could have you.’

At this, Hannibal released him, and with the utmost gentleness passed seeking fingers across Will’s brow, tracing the contours of his face.

‘Perhaps in public I wear too effective a disguise. But here, now, with you, I wish for all pretence to be dropped.’

Here, now, with you...

Aching, wanting, yet all too aware of the obstacles that stood between them, Will hesitated.

‘Hannibal, we agreed to be friends – to begin again.’

‘Yes, we are friends. Yes, we have begun anew.’

Hannibal trailed his fingers downwards, skimming lightly over skin and fine cloth, and Will arched into his touch.

‘But am I to pretend that I do not know how it feels to be close to you? To press slowly within you? To lose myself in you?’

A tiny whine escaped Will’s lips, and his resolve weakened with the darkening of Hannibal’s eyes and touches that lingered ever longer.

‘Say my name,’ murmured Hannibal, once again dipping his head, tongue tracing a path across Will’s lower lip. ‘I want to hear you say it again.’

Rendered reckless by desire, craving to taste again the man - the Alpha - pressed hip to hip against him, Will whimpered, ‘Hannibal.’

And he closed his eyes in pleasure as Hannibal kissed across his cheek, turning his head aside to nuzzle the curls at his temple.

‘And should we be friends and nothing more?’ Feathering kisses against his forehead, Hannibal prompted gently, ‘Is that truly what you wish, Will?’

‘I do not – I do not –’

Coherent thought now almost impossible, Will choked out the words; but when Hannibal started immediately to withdraw, Will curled his fingers into the soft cloth of Hannibal’s coat and held on with stubborn tightness.

‘I do not wish that.’

He felt Hannibal’s smile. Heard the tenderness of it in words whispered against his skin. ‘Then tell me what you do wish.’

‘No.’ Eyes still closed, Will tilted his head to seek Hannibal’s mouth and feed his own words back to him. ‘Tell me what you wish, Hannibal.’

Hands cupped his face and he pushed into them, lips meeting and parting again and again, tongues exploring with fervent passion. Finally they broke for air, foreheads pressed tightly together.

‘Are more words needed?’

Hannibal’s voice was hoarse, and Will reached up to cover one of his hands with his own.

‘They are not.’

Turning his palm, Hannibal grasped Will’s hand and brought it to his lips.

‘If I could, I would take you to my bed this instant.’

At this, Will grinned. ‘You can. You should.’

He was met with a questioning look, half hopeful. ‘Your uncle and aunt?’

‘They are on their way back to the inn – my aunt is feeling unwell. I am sure that it is nothing serious,’ he added hastily. ‘Probably she is fatigued after the activity of the last few days.’

‘I hope that is the case.’ Eyes filled with possessiveness and desire held him in thrall. ‘And you, Will?’

‘Have been invited by your sister to remain here for the night.’

Already in a state of feverish longing, Will was rendered entirely breathless by the smouldering look he received in response.

‘Then I may finally fulfil the promise I made to you in the grotto.’

‘There is not an inch of you that I do not intend to know...’

Now. The word thrummed in Hannibal’s head. Now. Now. No more hesitation. No more misunderstandings or interruptions. This was their time.

‘I am taking you to my bed, Will Graham.’

He felt the shudder of pleasure which jerked through the boy’s slender frame – searched Will’s eyes, darkened to midnight blue with wanton need – and asked anyway.

‘If you want this. Do you want this?’

‘Hannibal –’

‘Because we have been in this situation before.’

A sigh from the boy whose hands crept slowly around his waist, beneath his coat. ‘Hannibal –’

‘And I wish you to know that what happened in Kent will never –’

A swift kiss silenced him abruptly. And against his lips, Will whispered, ‘Hannibal. Please. Stop. Talking.’

The sweetness of his smile removed the sting from his words, and Hannibal gazed back at him with a feeling of utter helplessness.

‘The more time I spend with you, the more you enchant and bewilder me, Will Graham.’ Shaking his head, he offered a wry smile. ‘I am yours to command.’

The hall was empty as they emerged, sounds of music and conversation floating through the empty spaces. And there were no more words as side by side they climbed the stairs, hands almost but not quite touching. When they reached the uppermost landing, Hannibal turned and pulled Will into his arms for a deep, hungry kiss. Seeking fingers slid into his hair and clutched the back of his head, and for long moments they stood locked together, lost in each other. And when the ache became too much, rendering further delay intolerable, Hannibal took Will by the hand and led him down the myriad of corridors that ended at his bedchamber door.

All was darkness within, the candles having not yet been lit; but a small fire burned in the grate, enough to light Hannibal’s way as he strode to the windows and threw wide each floor-length curtain. Will joined him at the second casement, fingering thick folds of material, red brocade patterned in swirls of rich velvet, and cast an amused glance at the identical bedcovers.

‘Stags and snails, Hannibal?’

Unable to resist the lure of the boy whose scent pervaded his room so sweetly, Hannibal curved a hand around Will’s nape and drew him close.

‘That surprises you?’

Wandering hands began to divest Hannibal of his clothing, pulling off his gloves, pushing the coat from his shoulders and loosening his neckcloth.

‘The stags, of course not. But snails?’

‘A favourite of Mischa’s. She kept cochlear gardens as a child.’

Not to be outdone, Hannibal skimmed his fingers across the front of Will’s breeches, in search of the buttons which would release them. He drew in his breath at the tented hardness he encountered, and on impulse dropped to his knees.

‘Oh. Oh, yes.’

Will’s breathless plea emboldened him, and he turned his face into the boy’s stomach, worshipful. Bestowing hot kisses, he groaned aloud at the thick honey scent of Will’s slick.

He looked up then, and spoke in a voice grown hoarse. ‘I wish to see you in the moonlight, Will. I wish to see you bared to me. To touch and to taste. May I?’

Will trembled and smiled, reaching to capture Hannibal’s face between warm palms. ‘Please.’

Yet Will did not submit passively. With his eyes locked on Hannibal’s, he peeled away layer after layer, each revealed sliver of skin bathed in silver. And when at length he stood naked and proud and waiting, framed by the window, Hannibal reflected that never had he gazed upon a sight so fair.

Michelangelo’s David made flesh.

Silently he rose and pulled Will into his arms. Curving his hands beneath Will’s bottom, he lifted the boy, who immediately wrapped supple legs around Hannibal’s waist and slender arms around his neck. Hannibal carried him to the bed and lowered himself onto the edge. Still almost fully dressed, he sat with Will naked astride his lap and nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in. Will dipped his head on a sigh and they kissed, languorously at first and then with more urgency as Hannibal caressed the lithe lines of Will’s body and Will arched against him.

‘I did not think to hold you again.’ Tenderly, Hannibal traced kisses across delicate collarbones. ‘To taste you again.’ He captured a nipple between his lips and suckled. ‘Perfect rosebuds,’ he murmured, moving to its twin. ‘Perfectly delicious.’

‘Do not stop,’ Will gasped. ‘Oh, do not stop.’

But the insistent length nudging Hannibal’s stomach had now his full attention, and with delight he enclosed it, hard and pink and satin-smooth, within the tunnel of his curled fingers. Will grasped his face, tilting it upwards to claim another deep kiss, as Hannibal continued to stroke him to squirming, panting ecstasy. They fell backwards on the bed and rolled onto their sides, facing each other. Hannibal paused to remove his boots, barely managing to do so before clutching hands pulled him down again. More kisses followed, more sweet sighs shared. But it was not enough. Not nearly enough.

‘I will know you,’ he growled, pulling free to skim his fingers down the graceful curve of Will’s neck, across peaked nipples, along the ridges and planes of ribs and hipbones. ‘I will know all of you.’

Seeking between Will’s thighs, he groaned as his fingertips encountered slippery warmth. Will did not speak, but his heart beat frantically beneath Hannibal’s cheek as Hannibal rubbed slow circles around his entrance. It took very little for the sensitive ring of muscle to open up for him, and soon he was lost in delightful slick heat, wishing only to pleasure the writhing Omega. As his fingertips brushed the most sensitive spot deep within, he trailed kisses across Will’s abdomen and finally, greedily, took his beautifully pulsing length into his mouth.

Salty sweet and delicious.

Will’s eyes fluttered closed, red lips parting on a gasp as he shook with the force of his release. And Hannibal drank with utter delight, one hand rubbing across the tautness of Will’s belly.

‘I am s-sorry. Sorry.’ Will gasped out the words, one arm thrown across his eyes.

Hannibal’s knot had filled, throbbing and persistent, but he paid it no mind. Propping himself up on one elbow, he passed a tender hand across Will’s damp curls.

‘Sorry for giving me such pleasure? For allowing me the privilege of knowing you so intimately?’ He took Will’s mouth in a lingering kiss. ‘You are exquisite.’

Dark-fringed eyes peeped at him, startlingly blue against the blush of his cheeks.

‘I wanted you inside me. I wanted to feel that again.’

‘Oh Will, never fear. Before the sun rises, I promise you will feel me so deep inside, you shall remember it for a long time to come.’ On a wicked impulse, Hannibal whispered into his ear, ‘And I always keep my promises.’

A slow smirk spread across Will’s face and he reached for Hannibal again.

As their kisses grew increasingly heated, Hannibal broke off with a reluctant sigh. ‘I should return downstairs before my absence is noted.’ He looked at Will, supine and drowsy and sated, and smiled. ‘You look so comfortable, I hesitate to suggest that you accompany me. But I would not wish to deprive you of supper.’

‘Do not worry on that account. I have little care for eating so late. Besides, I want to stay here, in your bed.’ Rubbing his palms across the coverlet, Will added softly, ‘It smells of you.’

Hannibal groaned. ‘You do not make it easy for me, Will.’

How tempting was the notion to abandon entirely his duties as host. But with a supreme effort, he pulled himself away. At the looking-glass over the mantelpiece he re-tied his neckcloth, with no little difficulty given the scant lighting; then he scooped his coat and boots from the floor and, with a final longing glance at the beautiful Omega sprawled grinning across his bed, backed hastily out of the room.