Chapter 9. Secret Conversations

The evening at the Exington Manor ended in disaster. Vivienne"s sudden departure and the little scene they caused became the hot gossip of the evening. Everyone wanted to know what had happened between them. So Benedict left before the nosy friends and neighbors cornered him for answers and walked back to the Blackmoor Manor alone.

Outside, the evening chill sobered him up, leaving a bitter aftertaste from their quarrel. He replayed what had happened over and over, wishing he could take it all back.

When he got home, Benedict went straight to his bedroom, collapsing onto the bed fully clothed and instantly falling asleep.

The next morning, he decided to skip breakfast to avoid any questions from his family. Benedict spent the morning reading and finishing some paperwork, and at noon, asked Maria to prepare an early lunch for him and bring it to his room.

However, when he sat at his table, about to have a quiet meal, somebody knocked on the door. Benedict tensed.

"Come in," he said, expecting his mother or grandfather.

Instead, Percy entered. He wore a well-ironed white shirt and brown pants, looking suspiciously relaxed. Benedict studied him intently, waiting for Percy to speak, but Percy gave a curt nod and slowly crossed the room to gaze out the window.

Benedict coughed. "Is there something you need, Perce?"

Percy turned to him, arms crossed over his chest.

"So?" he said, prompting Benedict to speak first.

"So what?" Benedict replied.

"What happened last night?" For once, Percy"s tone held no sarcasm or teasing, just a straightforward question.

"Nothing," Benedict said. He was not in the mood to discuss it.

"It didn"t seem like nothing." Percy"s voice remained soft, even warm. "Everyone noticed Miss LaFleur"s abrupt departure," he continued cautiously. "Did you two quarrel?"

Benedict sighed. Then shrugged. "Something like that."

"About what?"

"I said some stupid things," Benedict admitted bitterly. "Then I asked her to dance with me and said some more stupid things."

Percy"s eyebrows arched. "That does sound rather stupid." He gave Benedict a sympathetic glance before adding, "I knew Thornby was lying when he claimed you made unwanted advances towards her. That"s a lie, correct?"

"Of course," Benedict said with an eye roll. "Damn Thornby."

"I told him to keep his mouth shut," Percy smirked.

Benedict looked at him with genuine surprise. "Thanks."

Percy just shrugged.

Benedict sighed again, rubbing his eyes. "If you"re worried about your engagement with Beatrice, Perce, I"ll speak to Grandfather so you can marry before me. It"s a dumb tradition anyway." He turned back to his plate, attempting to hint that the conversation was over.

But Percy didn"t leave. "It"s not about that," he said. "I genuinely like Miss LaFleur. And you"re far more agreeable when she"s around."

Benedict rolled his eyes again. "I"m only "agreeable" because we promised Grandfather we"d behave."

Percy snorted. They fell silent for a few moments.

"Why would you want to marry at all?" Benedict asked.

Percy chuckled, and it struck Benedict as the first genuine laugh he"d heard from his brother in ages. "You really don"t understand, do you? I just enjoy being with Beatrice. And I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

"I see what you mean," Benedict said softly.

"Do you intend to marry Miss LaFleur?"

Benedict felt a twinge of pain. "It"s…not possible."

Percy frowned, studying his face. "Why not?"

"It's a long story. And why does it matter to you? She and I are done, which means you"ll inherit the estate."

"I don"t care about the estate," Percy said wearily. "I just want to be with Beatrice."

Benedict watched him, expecting more. When nothing followed, he blinked in surprise at Percy"s unexpected honesty.

A weighted silence stretched between them.

"Why won"t you just apologize to her?" Percy said finally, arms crossed.

Benedict turned away, gazing out the window. "Because…I"m broken."

***

Throughout the entire day, Benedict remained in his room, his unease growing with each hour over the implications of Lord Exington"s ball. Now, sober and clear-headed, he knew it was absurd to suspect Victor had told Exington about their secret. But if not him, then who? Lady Hawthorne knew Vivienne lied about her background. She could have uncovered the truth and told it to Exington to humiliate Benedict. Yet something still didn"t add up.

Benedict wondered what people said about him now. How much did they already know?

But what bothered him the most were thoughts of Victor. Images of Vivienne dancing and laughing with Exington invaded his mind, again and again, jealousy blinding him. And then Benedict remembered the despair and anger with which she had looked at him…

That day, he went to sleep earlier than usual but woke up in the middle of the night and lay awake until dawn, thinking. He could scarcely believe his nearly perfect life was over. He had let down his grandfather, disgraced himself before God knows how many, and lost the only person he truly cared for.

He decided to go into the city that evening and visit The Shiny Clam. He would try to speak with Victor and, at the very least, offer him an apology.

Feeling drained the next morning, he skipped breakfast again, hoping to avoid his mother and grandfather. Yet soon after, Lilibeth sought him out in his rooms. She knocked, her head peeking inside.

"May I come in, dear?"

"Yes," Benedict replied. He sat by the window, reading the day's newspaper though his eyes kept drifting, unable to concentrate.

Lilibeth entered, closing the door behind her. Benedict lifted his gaze to meet hers.

"Please, have a seat," he said, sensing that there was an unavoidable conversation looming over them.

"Thank you, dear." Lilibeth took the seat across from him. "Your grandfather and I are concerned about you."

Benedict folded the newspaper and placed it on the window sill, waiting for her to continue.

"There are rumors you and Miss LaFleur had…a falling out."

Benedict sighed. "Is that all they say?"

"Is there something else we should know?" His mother"s voice held a tinge of anxiety.

"No," Benedict said, feeling a surge of an exhilarating relief.

Lilibeth cleared her throat. "We wanted to invite Miss LaFleur, her chaperone, and her father to stay with us for the remainder of their trip. We hoped to get to know her father a little so you would have a chance to ask for his permission to marry."

Benedict looked up at her. "That"s impossible," he said flatly.

"I know, you don"t want to rush things—" Lilibeth started, but Benedict cut her off.

"That"s not it."

His mother sighed, anxiety clear in her voice, "We have reasons to believe Miss LaFleur might soon receive a marriage proposal from someone else."

Benedict felt his stomach twist. Not that Vivienne could marry, but for some reason, it was agonizing for him even to hear that.

"From whom?" Benedict frowned. "Lord Exington?"

Lilibeth shook her head. "No. William Thornby."

It took Benedict a few moments to process her words.

"Thornby?" he repeated, dumbfounded.

"Indeed." His mother confirmed. "Turns out, he, too, hired Lady Hawthorne to find him a match, and she decided Miss LaFleur might be the best candidate for him."

"Are you serious?" Benedict scoffed. "This is just her way of getting back at me. She wants me to marry Emily Ashcroft so she can profit." And she wants to humiliate Victor, but that he didn't say out loud.

"You are too unfair to Lady Hawthorne, dear," said Lilibeth. "Anyway, Thornby told one of his friends that he shall propose to Vivienne at his masquerade."

"Masquerade?" Benedict frowned.

"Yes, dear. It's two weeks from now. Have you forgotten? He set a date a while ago. We are all invited."

"I forgot. Anyway, he will just embarrass himself," Benedict said with a shrug. "She will never agree to marry him. In fact, I'm sure she won"t even attend."

"I do hope that"s true," Lilibeth said. She went towards the exit but then paused at the door and looked at Benedict over her shoulder. "And I do hope you make things right with Miss LaFleur, dear."

***

That evening, Benedict dined in his room. Afterwards, as the rest of the family prepared for bed, he left the manor to go to the city. He didn't care if his family would find out about it. The nagging pain in his chest was so unbearable, he had to do something. Anything.

This time his valet, John, was aware of the trip and ensured a carriage awaited him. Before letting John in on his plan, Benedict had contemplated simply riding a horse but decided against it. After all, he didn't want to risk losing Lucky a second time.

In the back of his mind, Benedict wondered what the coachman might think when he saw the sort of establishment his master visited. But he needed to speak with Victor, so he pushed the thought aside.

When the carriage approached The Shiny Clam, Benedict noticed a crowd gathered outside. He ordered the coachman to stop and instructed him to wait there, then exited the carriage. Benedict made his way towards the crowd. As he neared, he observed drag queens in varying states of undress—some in full drag, others wearing bodysuits or corseted dresses but without any wigs or makeup. On the streets, they looked strange and out of place, but their peculiar looks didn't bother Benedict anymore.

They shouted in evident agitation, crouched around something—someone—on the ground.

A sense of unease gripped Benedict as he pushed into the crowd. His heart stopped when he saw Victor lying in the center, eyes barely open, face bruised and bloodied, as drag queens gave him water, trying to rouse him.

"Hey, what do you want?" one of the drag queens said sharply as Benedict pushed past her to crouch before Victor. His heart pounding and head spinning, Benedict looked at him, speechless. Victor lifted his head, eyes meeting Benedict"s with fleeting surprise, recognition, and hurt before turning away. Gently, Benedict lifted Victor"s chin, forcing their eyes to lock. Victor flinched at his touch.

"Who did this to you?" Benedict whispered, anger boiling within him.

"One of the bastards trying to shut this place down," a drag queen behind him replied.

"Wasn"t it someone"s mother?" Benedict asked, recalling the story Victor had told him.

"She hired people to rough us up," the drag queen replied grimly. "To scare the owner into closing sooner."

Benedict released Victor"s face, allowing him to look away.

"Did you call the police?" Benedict asked, glancing around for an answer.

"Of course not," a drag queen with a glass of water retorted sharply. "Are you daft?"

Benedict"s gaze lifted to her, and he recognized Night—Victor"s friend who had flirted with him after the show. She was in full drag now, so Benedict didn't recognize her at once.

Benedict looked back at Victor, who propped himself up on an elbow.

"How badly are you hurt?"

"I"m fine," Victor mumbled, still avoiding his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Night continued, her voice laced with anger. From her tone, Benedict guessed Victor had told her about the assembly. He felt a fleeting pang of jealousy, wondering how close Night and Victor truly were.

"I came to talk," Benedict told Victor, ignoring Night"s disgust-filled expression.

"I think you"ve done enough of that," Night said, giving Benedict a cold, lingering glare.

At that moment, a familiar plump figure barreled through the crowd, clutching two towels. It was Charlotte. She slumped to her knees, pressing the towel with ice against Victor"s swollen cheekbone, where a large bruise was already visible. With the other wet towel, she began cleaning the blood from his face.

It took Charlotte a moment to notice Benedict.

"What are you doing here?" she echoed Night"s question, though her tone held curiosity rather than venom.

"I…I came to apologize," Benedict said, Victor"s eyes briefly meeting his.

"No need," Victor said. He took the ice towel from Charlotte and attempted to stand, but faltered. Night caught him by the elbow.

"Easy. Let"s get you to the dressing room," Night said, helping Victor to his feet. As they moved towards the back exit, the rest of the drag queens filed back inside through the main entrance.

Benedict followed Charlotte as she trailed behind Victor and Night.

"We need to take him to a doctor," Benedict said when they entered the long corridor leading to the dressing rooms.

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at him. "Don"t fuss, Fancy Fop. It happens more often than you think."

Benedict"s heart twinged at those words.

"Why don"t you have doormen out front?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Charlotte shrugged. "We had one, but the owner sacked him after deciding to sell the place."

As the four of them entered Victor"s dressing room, Night helped Victor into the chair at the vanity before crouching in front of him.

"Want some more water?" Night asked, her voice low and heavy with concern.

Victor shook his head, gazing into the mirror as he wiped blood from his face. He pressed the towel to his eyebrow, where blood continued trickling down.

"I need someone to perform for me tonight," Victor told Night. "Can you find a substitute?"

"Of course," Night said, patting Victor"s thigh. "Don"t worry about that." Then she looked at Benedict, their eyes locking. "Do you need something?"

"Yes," Benedict said, ignoring Night"s tone. "I need a moment alone with Victor."

"No." Night"s gaze was hostile. "Get out of here, you"re not welcome."

"Night," Victor said, weariness in his voice.

"I"m staying," Night insisted, arms crossed defiantly. "I want to hear what he has to say."

"Oh, I do, too," Charlotte chimed in, patting Benedict on the back. "You"ll be all right."

"Fine," Victor said with a sigh and turned to Benedict, his face expressionless. "So?"

It took Benedict a moment to find the right words under the scrutiny of the three pairs of watchful eyes.

"I know it wasn"t you who told Exington about our arrangement," he said, struggling to find the right words.

"Congratulations," Victor said dryly.

"I was an idiot…And I was jealous. I"m sorry."

They looked at each other in silence, Victor betraying no emotion.

Night shot Benedict a gloating look. "You did your thing. Now leave."

Benedict nodded. He took out a pouch from his pocket and put it on the vanity. "This is the money I owe you."

He saw Charlotte"s and Night"s eyes instantly drawn to the pouch. But Victor didn"t even glance at it.

"I won't play that role anymore," he said flatly.

Benedict"s stomach turned. "That's fine. I don"t need anything in return."

"And I don"t need your charity." Victor picked up the pouch and tossed it back at him.

Benedict caught it before it hit his chest. He blinked.

"Please leave," said Victor.

"Fine," Benedict said quietly. The conversation was over. "Goodbye, then."

He received no reply.

***

The following days were a kaleidoscope of restless nights and meaningless minutes spent alone in his room. The realization that he would never see Victor again suddenly hit Benedict. He lost all appetite and didn't want to speak to anyone.

Benedict sat in his room, attempting to read, but his eyes wandered sightlessly over the words. Everything seemed pointless. Even reading.

John tried to lift his spirits, checking on him from time to time, bringing him meals. The rest of the family gave Benedict his space, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was because they believed he needed solitude or because Exington had finally spread rumors about him, leaving them too embarrassed to face him.

One of those days, during lunch, John entered his room carrying a plate of roasted potatoes garnished with parsley. "You haven"t eaten today, your lordship. I brought your favorite."

"I"m not hungry," Benedict said from the table where he sat, a quill and parchment before him.

"But you need to eat something."

"Perhaps later," Benedict replied absently.

"I"ll leave it here then," John said, setting the plate on the corner of the desk. "Call if you need anything else, your lordship."

"Thank you." As John made to leave, Benedict called out, "John."

"Yes, your lordship?"

"I"ve written a letter to be delivered to someone in the city tonight. Can you ask Billy to take it first thing after lunch?"

"Of course." John nodded, walking back up to him.

Benedict had planned to write to Victor for days, but only today, after dozens of drafts, had he settled on what to say. In the end, he kept it brief:

Dear Victor,

I"m truly sorry and ashamed of my behavior that day. I should have known better than to suspect you.

These past few days have been intolerable for me because I feel that I have lost you.

Yours, Benedict.

P.S. I often think about the night we lost Lucky.

He folded the letter, sealed the envelope with wax, and wrote "To Victor" with The Shiny Clam"s address below.

"Anything else, your lordship?" John asked, taking the envelope.

"That will be all. Thank you."

With a respectful bow, the valet left the room, softly closing the door behind him.

***

To Benedict"s surprise, Billy, the footman who had delivered the letter, came back with a reply. Benedict opened the envelope, reading the message right in front of Billy while trying not to betray any emotion on his face. The letter said:

Dear Mr. Blackmoor,

Thank you.

Any news from your friend Exington?

The one and only, Victor.

Benedict smiled faintly at that line. But then he read the postscript, and a shiver ran down his spine.

P.S. I think about that night, too. The innkeeper promised you a sizable discount the next time.

Benedict froze, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He quickly scribbled a reply:

Dear Victor,

No news from him.

Yours, Benedict

P.S. May I see you tonight?

He sealed the envelope and sent it back with Billy.

Benedict spent the next two anxious hours wandering his room, awaiting the reply. When the footman finally returned, Benedict dismissed him and read the letter.

Dear Mr. Blackmoor,

My working hours end at midnight.

The one and only, Victor

P.S. The place has been sold to some newspaper guy, so the cabaret will be permanently closed starting Monday. I"ve found another job in Salliton and am leaving the city first thing tomorrow.

Benedict felt his entire body tense, his chest gripped by a sudden realization. Victor was leaving. For good.

His legs gave way as he sank onto the bed, his world abruptly shaken. He couldn"t believe it. It couldn"t be true.

Somebody knocked on his door.

"Yes?" Benedict said, trying to sound normal.

He expected Billy, but it was John who peeked his head in. "You have a guest, your lordship."

Benedict stood up. "Who?"

John cleared his throat. "It"s Lady Hawthorne."

Benedict frowned. "Is my mother with her?"

"No, your lordship. She wishes to speak with you privately."

A sense of unease washed over Benedict. He knew nothing good could come of this woman's sudden appearance at Blackmoor. If she sought him out after their unpleasant exchange in the woods, it was either to gloat or to blackmail him.

She waited for him in the Swan Parlor, dressed in a lacey, shiny blue gown and wearing a large pearl necklace. She had her hair pinned up with bright sapphire clips and held a blue purse on her lap.

"Mr. Blackmoor," she smiled, baring her white teeth, though her eyes remained cold and unfriendly.

"Good afternoon," Benedict said, brushing his lips across her outstretched hand before taking a seat opposite her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

She took a languid sip of tea from a porcelain cup on the coffee table. "I want to be completely honest with you, Mr. Blackmoor. I didn"t come here to cause any trouble."

Of course not, Benedict thought, because that"s how these conversations typically start.

"Then why are you here?" he asked dryly.

"I have great respect for you and your family," the matchmaker continued, "which is why I came to reason with you."

She paused, waiting for him to respond, but Benedict sat silently, unmoving, waiting.

"I know the truth about Miss LaFleur." There was a triumph in her voice, the triumph of a chess player about to checkmate their opponent.

"Yes, you already shared your theory during the hunt," Benedict said with cold nonchalance.

"I know who she is," Lady Hawthorne said, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Or rather, who he is."

His entire body tensed, but he ensured his expression remained impassive. "I have no idea what you"re talking about."

"Oh, no need to pretend, Mr. Blackmoor," the matchmaker said matter-of-factly. "I know everything about Victor Rosier."

Benedict blinked. Was that Victor"s real name?

"Who would"ve guessed he"s French after all," Lady Hawthorne said with a hint of surprise in her tone. She twisted her lips. "And from an extremely wealthy aristocratic family, too, although they disinherited him. No wonder, considering his perversions."

She eyed Benedict, waiting for a reaction, but he didn"t move a muscle.

He pondered what he had just heard. Victor from an aristocratic family? Were all the jokes about high society driven by Victor's own family mistreating him?

"What I can"t understand," the matchmaker continued, "is why you agreed to it since you obviously knew she was a man. I"m aware of your situation—your mother told me about your grandfather"s ultimatum when she invited me. Why not just marry any girl? Why risk your reputation? And for what?"

"Is there a point to you being here?" Benedict"s voice remained even. The fear, the panic—suddenly gone. He felt none of it. Just an empty hollowness in his chest.

"I"m a reasonable woman, Mr. Blackmoor." Lady Hawthorne smiled at him, seemingly relieved he didn"t ask her to leave. "If you propose to and marry Emily Ashcroft, I promise not to tell anyone what I know." She paused briefly. "Although, it seems some people are already aware. Mr. Exington, for example, though I doubt he"ll tell anyone. You saw his little play at the assembly, did you not? I even asked what he knew afterwards, but he just laughed it off."

So Exington and Hawthorne had each uncovered the truth independently, Benedict mused.

He crossed his arms. "Let me sum it up for you: you"re blackmailing me to marry Miss Ashcroft?" he said icily. "To get the money from my mother? Or else you"ll tell everyone?"

The matchmaker paused, considering. Then she straightened up. "Yes, that"s about it."

Benedict chuckled and stood up. "Get the hell out of here."

Lady Hawthorne looked offended. She rose, clutching her purse, and spat, "You will regret this, Mr. Blackmoor."

He silently opened the door, watching her leave and knowing full well she would make good on her threat.

***

Thirty minutes past midnight, Benedict took a carriage to The Shiny Clam, instructing the coachman to return to Blackmoor as soon as he dropped him off. Sitting on the porch with a bottle of wine in his hand, he listened to the sounds of music and revelry coming from inside the cabaret.

A quarter of an hour later, Victor emerged, already out of drag and looking…ordinary. His dark hair curled damply, glistening from the water he"d used to smooth it down. Benedict's heart galloped just from looking at him, and he couldn't hold back a smile.

"Hi," Benedict said, rising from the porch and dusting off his trousers.

Victor quirked a brow at the bottle. "Is that wine?"

"Yes." Benedict handed it over, feeling inexplicably awkward. "From our cellar. It's ten years old."

"Sounds expensive," Victor smirked. "Thanks."

An awkward pause stretched between them.

"I have a corkscrew," Benedict said, producing it from his coat pocket. Victor smiled, and Benedict felt lightheaded.

Victor opened the bottle, taking a swig but instantly choking, almost spitting it out. "It"s strong," he explained after recovering. "But it tastes nice."

"Let me try," Benedict said, stretching out his hand. As he brought the bottleneck to his lips and took a sip, the strong, tangy taste filled his mouth. "Not the best wine we"ve had," he admitted.

Victor smirked. "It's still good. Thank you." Then he looked around the alley. "Where"s your horse?"

"I came in a carriage," Benedict said, and Victor arched an eyebrow.

"But you sent it away." There was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "That"s very presumptuous of you, Mr. Blackmoor."

He held Benedict"s gaze, and Benedict felt his face flush.

"I—" he started, but Victor chuckled.

"You can walk me home if you like."

"How far is it?" Benedict asked.

"About an hour on foot."

Benedict nodded, and they started walking away from the cabaret, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestone street. The cool night air enveloped them, carrying the faint scent of chimney smoke. Then Benedict realized, "Wait, why did we stay at that sketchy inn last time if you live nearby?"

"The weather is nice tonight," Victor explained, levelling Benedict a look. There was a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

For a while, they walked in silence, the only sounds being the rattle of an occasional carriage and the distant barking of a dog. The street was dimly lit by flickering streetlamps, casting long shadows across their path.

Finally, Benedict decided to ask what had bothered him all day. "So, you"re leaving?"

Victor didn"t look at him, just nodded and said, "Yes." His voice was quiet, almost lost in the night air.

Benedict felt the nagging pain in his chest return, a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed hard before speaking. "I have the money," he managed. "You could still buy out the cabaret."

Victor shook his head. "It"s not possible. The owner already signed the papers." His breath misted in the air as he spoke.

"I see," Benedict said, feeling a strange emptiness in his chest. The words seemed to hang heavily between them.

Victor took another deep pull from the bottle before passing it to Benedict. The glass was cool against his palm. He gulped down the dark liquid, feeling its warmth spreading through his body.

"Does alcohol help you muster the courage?" Victor's voice echoed in his mind.

"How are things at Blackmoor?" Victor asked, changing the subject. Benedict blinked, coming back to reality, and turned to look at him.

"I had a visitor today," Benedict said. Buildings loomed tall and dark above them on either side of the street. "Lady Hawthorne."

Victor stiffened, his steps slowing as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. His coat flapped in the breeze, and he hunched his shoulders against the sudden chill. "What did she want?"

Benedict took in the tense lines of Victor's face. "She blackmailed me. She knows about you. About the whole charade."

Victor frowned, his brow furrowing. "Did Exington tell her?"

Benedict shook his head. "I don"t think so. But she might have hired someone to dig up dirt on you." He paused, his footsteps slowing. "She told me about your family. That they"re French and wealthy and that they had disowned you."

Victor crossed his arms defensively, his jaw clenched.

"Are you really French?" Benedict asked, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Victor nodded, giving him a sidelong glance. "Partly. It was easy for me to come up with the story about the English grandmother because it"s true." He was silent for a few moments, then said quietly, "So, what does she really want from you? Hawthorne."

The chill night air nipped at their faces as they turned a corner and walked along the quiet, dimly lit alley. Benedict shrugged, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. "She wants me to marry Emily Ashcroft. Otherwise, she"s threatened to tell everyone about me. About us."

Victor"s pace slowed even further, his steps heavy. He took a deep breath, the air misting in front of his face. When he spoke, his voice was carefully neutral, almost disinterested. "Are you going to do it?"

"No." Benedict shook his head, then hesitated. "I don"t know." He looked up at the night sky, the stars obscured by wisps of clouds, then glanced back at Victor.

Victor nodded, his face unreadable in the dim light, his eyes searching. "And you think Hawthorne will keep quiet?"

Benedict met his gaze before looking away. "I hope so," he said quietly. "But there"s no guarantee unless I pay her off." He kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the alley.

"Will you?" Victor asked, his voice tight. "Pay her off?"

Benedict sighed heavily, his breath clouding in the cold air, and then repeated, "I don"t know."

Victor lived in a modern two-story building with his own entrance. Benedict had never lived in places like this—it was the residence of a city dweller, small but cozy compared to the Blackmoor Manor.

There was a living room adjoined with a kitchen on the first floor. Benedict examined them from the threshold, shifting from one foot to the other. He wondered if he should leave or not, hovering in the doorway. Victor removed his coat and tossed it onto the sofa, then lit a candlestick and looked back at Benedict as though just remembering that he was there. "Come in and close the door, you're letting the warmth out."

Benedict nodded and stepped inside, feeling a little dizzy and warm from the wine. Victor went over to the hearth, taking a couple of minutes to light a fire before putting a kettle over it.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"No," Benedict said, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Then please sit, you"re making me nervous."

Benedict took a seat on the sofa, his heart pounding. Just to distract himself, he asked, "How did your family find out about you…being queer?"

Victor gave him a quick look before answering. "They caught me with a lord"s son when we were sixteen."

"What happened next?"

"They gave me an ultimatum," Victor smirked. "Not quite like yours, but similar. Either get married or be disinherited."

"And you chose the latter?"

"Yes," Victor said with a sad smile on his lips. "I was in love. I thought he felt the same, but when my family gave him money to stay away from me, he agreed without a second thought. So I left."

"I"m sorry," Benedict said.

"Don"t be." Victor"s voice echoed through the room. "I don"t regret it one bit."

They were silent for a few more minutes. Soon, Victor returned with two cups of tea and set them on the coffee table. He sat on the sofa beside Benedict, their thighs and elbows brushing.

Benedict's skin prickled at the contact.

"What"s on the second floor?" he asked quietly.

"The bedroom," Victor almost whispered. "Would you like to see?"

Benedict felt a shiver run down his spine. He nodded. They left the tea forgotten on the table.

Victor took the candlestick and led Benedict towards the stairs and onto the second floor. When they entered the room, Benedict noticed that it was almost empty, save for a couple of travel bags in the corner. Victor had already packed his things for his departure, Benedict realized, and he felt a prick of pain in his chest.

But before Benedict could say anything, Victor blew out the candlestick, dropped it on the floor, and pushed Benedict against the wall. The next second, their lips collided, hard and desperate, and Benedict tasted the already familiar flavors of cherry and peppermint mixed with wine. Tonight, they were impatient, and there was no hesitation in their kissing as their tongues met.

Benedict"s body responded immediately, electrifying, aching with need. Victor"s hands tugged at Benedict"s coat, pushing it off his shoulders, and then went straight for Benedict"s trousers, feeling him through the fabric. Benedict cursed under his breath, desire flooding him. He grabbed Victor"s hips and pushed him, backing him up until Victor's legs hit the bed, and he had no choice but to fall onto the mattress.

Benedict followed, climbing on top of Victor. He kissed and nipped at Victor"s neck as his hands worked on removing Victor"s clothes—undoing his shirt, trousers, and underpants. Soon, Victor was completely naked beneath him, the moonlight illuminating his body.

Benedict took a moment to admire the sight. Victor was stunning, all lean muscle and smooth skin. Benedict"s eyes traveled down Victor"s body, taking in every detail, finally landing on his aroused cock.

The sight made Benedict"s head spin with desire, his own cock straining against his trousers. He couldn"t move, couldn"t breathe until Victor"s voice snapped him out of it.

"It tastes good, too," Victor said with a chuckle, his eyes dark with lust.

Benedict leaned down, his breath ghosting over Victor"s aroused cock. He started with a tentative lick, tasting the saltiness of Victor"s skin. Victor shivered at the contact, his fingers curling into the bedsheets. Encouraged, Benedict licked again, this time swirling his tongue around the head. Victor moaned softly, his hips twitching upward.

Slowly, Benedict took the head into his mouth and sucked, his tongue exploring the smooth texture. Victor"s breathing grew heavier, his hands finding their way into Benedict"s hair and gently urging to take him deeper. Inch by inch, Benedict took more of Victor"s length into his mouth until he had taken him as deep as he could. He held still for a moment, savoring the feeling of Victor heavy on his tongue, before starting a slow, steady rhythm.

Benedict lost himself in the act, savoring the taste and feel of Victor in his mouth, Victor"s moans urging him on.

"Fuck," Victor gasped, his grip tightening in Benedict"s hair, his hips rocking upward to meet Benedict"s mouth.

Benedict slid up and down Victor"s length, finding a steady rhythm, his mouth providing a tight, wet heat.

Victor"s moans grew louder, more urgent. "Fuck, Benedict," he moaned, his body tensing. But just as Victor neared the edge, he pushed Benedict off, panting heavily, his skin flushed and damp with sweat.

Benedict froze, his heart pounding in his ears.

"Did I do something wrong—" he started, but before he could finish, Victor pushed him onto his back, straddling him. Victor"s fingers made quick work of Benedict"s trousers, tugging them open. He leaned down, capturing Benedict"s mouth in a hungry kiss. Benedict shivered as he felt Victor"s cool fingers slip beneath the waistband of his underpants, finally making contact with his heated skin. He couldn"t help but let out a muffled moan against Victor"s lips.

Benedict ached for more, pulling Victor flush against him, and gasped as his hard length brushed against Victor"s backside. Victor moaned at the contact, rolling his hips to slide along Benedict"s cock. Their bodies moved together, building friction. Then Victor reached somewhere into the sheets, pulling out a small vial with a thick, oily liquid. When he handed it to Benedict, it took him a moment to understand what it was for. Benedict opened the vial and poured some liquid onto his fingers, then reached behind Victor, circling his entrance before gently pushing one finger inside. Victor moaned at the intrusion, his hips instantly rocking against Benedict"s finger.

Benedict soon added a second finger, stretching and preparing Victor, as Victor"s movements grew more frantic, soft whimpers escaping his lips.

Finally, Benedict withdrew his fingers, poured some liquid from the vial on himself, and guided his hard length to nudge against Victor"s entrance. The next moment, Victor slowly, tantalizingly, sank down onto him.

They moaned in unison as Victor took Benedict inside, inch by inch until they were fully joined. Their eyes locked, and for a long moment, time seemed to stand still. Then Victor began to move, rising up before sliding back down, the sounds of pleasure spilling from their lips. Victor rocked against Benedict, slowly at first, then faster as the intensity built. Benedict sat up, his arm wrapping around Victor"s waist, pulling him into a kiss.

As Benedict began to thrust up into him, matching Victor"s rhythm, Victor"s moans grew breathier, more desperate. He moved on Benedict almost frantically, chasing his climax. Benedict reveled in the tight heat enveloping his cock, the friction almost unbearable, sending sparks of pleasure through him with each thrust. Benedict"s hand found Victor"s cock, stroking it in time with their movements, pushing Victor closer to the edge.

The pleasure between them reached a fever pitch. Benedict couldn"t hold back. Without breaking their connection, he flipped their positions, pressing Victor into the mattress. He drove into Victor"s pliant body, his thrusts growing erratic. Benedict felt Victor"s muscles clench around him, the sensation overwhelming. A moment later, Victor came undone beneath him, crying out sharply as pleasure overtook him. The pulsing heat around Benedict"s cock, along with the look of pure ecstasy on Victor"s face, sent Benedict over the edge right after him.

As they lay there catching their breath, Benedict nuzzled Victor"s neck, inhaling his scent. He pressed soft kisses to Victor's damp skin, savoring the taste of him. Victor hummed contentedly, his fingers gently running through Benedict"s hair.

In the tranquil quiet of the room, Benedict felt himself slowly drifting off. But then reality came crashing back.

"When do you leave?" he asked abruptly and heard Victor sigh.

"Tomorrow," he replied. "I need to stop by The Shiny Clam in the morning to say goodbye to the girls, and then I'm leaving."

Benedict's heart ached; he wanted to ask Victor to stay. But what could he offer him in return, except for the shame of being drawn into a huge scandal?

Instead, he said, "What will they do now?"

"The same as me," Victor said, his voice slow and heavy with sleep. "They"ll leave to find work somewhere else."

Something shattered in Benedict"s chest, the pain of separation feeling as real as any other pain.

They fell silent. For a long time, Benedict just lay there, listening as Victor"s breathing deepened, and he fell asleep in Benedict's arms.