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“You’re sweating. Quite profusely I might add.”
Harley steeled himself. He couldn’t help but feel a certain sting. He brought his fingers to his forehead. They came away slick. Dear God, it was embarrassing. He cleared his throat. “It certainly appears so. I could have sworn I —”
“Allow me to walk you out.”
Harley balked. He tried to maintain his cool and the blasé air he was failing at exuding. First his mother wanted to walk him out, and now Theodore. That was twice in one day. “It’s quite all right. I’m perfectly comfortable on the couch. Conversing with you.”
Theodore quickly licked his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. There was a tiny cigarette burn on the elbow of his coat. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed it. “You really cannot be here.”
Harley stubbed the remainder of the Duke into the ashtray on the round table in front of him. He was adamant not to move until he received answers. “And why is that? I want to take you to a party. Next week Friday.”
Panic seared Theodore’s eyes and for a terrible moment he looked as though he was about to cry. He opened his mouth to say something, didn’t, then licked his lips again. His eyes darted to the window. “No, Harley…My fiancé is on her way with her brother as we speak.”
Harley went cold. Of all the ways the conversation had played out in his mind before arriving at the Quick residence, not one of those scenarios could have prepared him for what he’d just heard. A fiancé? A woman? It was impossible. There was no chance anything stumbling out of Theodore’s mouth was true. It was all fiction! “I beg your pardon?”
Theodore sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. “My fiancé,” he said, more assertive this time. “A little Dutch girl. Her father made more than his share of coin selling and trading tulip bulbs in Arnham. My parents are elated.”
“The Netherlands?”
“That’s where Arnham is located, yes.”
Harley brought an entire hand to his forehead. It was still wet, but from a cold sweat. Realisation began to sink its talons into his brain. “And that’s why you severed contact.”
Theodore made his way over to the couch and gingerly sat down, still keeping his distance from Harley. “I’m afraid so. Please understand, I didn’t do this to spite you.”
Harley turned from Theodore. He couldn’t look at him. “It feels that way, Teddy.”
“Don’t…Don’t call me that.” Theodore inched closer and placed a hand on Harley’s shoulder. It sent a shiver through his skin. “You’re wrong. You —”
“Just say it!” Harley spat, forcing himself to glare at Theodore.
“I can’t…”
“Say what is bothering you about me.” He leaned in and dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “You can’t possibly hurt me more than you already have.”
“You frighten me, all right?” Theodore blurted. He removed his hand from Harley’s shoulder and curled it into a fist. He thumped the hideous floral patterns. “We frighten me. To my core, Harls. How is anything between us normal? We’re not sane. What we’ve done is sick! I’m scared…I…”
Harley didn’t want to hear anything more. He grabbed Theodore’s panic-stricken face and pulled the boy into a kiss. It was desperate and messy. Urgent and frantic. “You are mine,” Harley breathed into Theodore’s mouth through hungry teeth.
“Yes,” Theodore gasped in response, but as though he were reclaiming his senses once again, he pushed Harley away and stood up from the couch. He readjusted his pants. “What is wrong with us, Harls?” he said, his face and neck a blotched crimson.
Harley remained on the couch, breathing heavily, unable to move. Then, his anger took hold and he exploded. “Spare me, Teddy. And don’t you dare tell me not to call you that again. Don’t you even think of it!” Straightening himself, Harley rose from the couch and headed for the sitting room door, pushing past Theodore.
“Harls…” Theodore’s voice sounded weak, defeated even. It always did when he was about to cry. Good.
Enraged, Harley yanked open the door and strode out into the passageway. It was cooler there and quiet. Every other Quick in the house seemed to be out for the day, which was rather strange considering they were about to receive guests, according to Theodore. Not even the chambermaids or the solemn Thibault were present.
Harley turned back one last time. It broke his heart to see Theodore in such a state, especially knowing that this was the last time the two would ever speak. In the past, whenever they would quarrel, the words Harley used against Theodore would always taste like venom in his own mouth. But Theodore hadn’t only broken his heart in the sitting room. He had obliterated it.
Harley clenched his jaw, and through ground teeth hissed, “I’d congratulate you and offer my well-wishes on your engagement to the Dutch tulip heiress, but I’ve seen first-hand the calibre of women you attract, and if my observations are anything to go by then your future wife probably leaves much to be desired in the appearance department.” The expression on Theodore’s face implied he’d been slapped. Harley continued. “And you have a hole in your coat, you gib-faced beard-splitter. Good day.”
With that, Harley stormed down the passageway, not even prepared to wait for Thibault to open the front door for him as he left.
It was only much later, when Harley was far from the strange Roman abode and Russik street that he lit a Duke, and burst into tears.
Chapter Seven
There was a saying that had passed from mouth to thin-lipped mouth of Lightfoot’s instructors at the October House during his training days. Disguise yourself unto others so that you may even become a disguise unto yourself. While other rookies had struggled to make do with the few utensils at their disposal during examinations, Lightfoot could literally blend into walls with the application of mere performance make-up and cheap body paint. He possessed an unparalleled talent for the skill, able to grow a decade older or become better looking than he already considered himself to be before one’s surprised eyes.
