path—hell, any other path, but it’s all he wants and every time we discuss the matter, we fight.”
“Why do you want him to consider another path?” Kit asked curiously.
“You may not have noticed,” Henry said shortly, “but life in the military is not exactly safe.”
“Is anything?” Kit asked carefully. “Life is… very unpredictable.”
Henry was quiet a moment, then he said, “My younger brother died in Portugal. My mother never got over his death.”
Kit stared at him a moment, then he reached his hand out and stroked a lock of hair back from Henry's face, his touch unbearably gentle. Henry wanted to press into his hand, like a cat, but somehow managed to hold himself back. They stared at one another.
At last, gently, Kit whispered, “You realise—I know you do—that it’s Freddy’s life. And that means, as difficult as it is for you to accept, it’s his decision to make.”
Henry opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out.
He thought of Freddy in Sharp’s tonight, bruised and dishevelled and absolutely calm. His boy—his energetic, happy, sometimes angry boy—who seemed to find the best part of himself whenever he was tested.
Kit was right. Henry knew he was right—and it made his heart feel like a lead weight.
He closed his eyes.
“Oh, Henry,” Kit said, his voice brimming with sympathy. He inched closer and his fingers stroked through Henry’s hair again. The tenderness of it was almost unbearable. Over the years, Henry had grown so used to being alone—in this way at least—that he had begun to think himself immune to isolation. It was galling to learn that all it took was a few brief gestures of affection to have him so undone.
“I just want to protect him,” he said hoarsely. “For him to be safe.”
“I know,” Kit said. “You’re a good father, Henry. But your boy is a man now, and he seems to me to be an independent one. I wager he’ll go his own way in the end, with or without your consent. Wouldn’t it be better to at least be able to help him, so far as you can?”
Henry shook his head mutely, but when he spoke, it was to agree. “I know you’re right,” he said. “But Kit—I’m afraid. I have lost a child before and it’s a terrible, terrible grief. I don’t think I can—” He broke off, unable to go on, unspeakably grateful when Kit put his arms around his shoulders and pulled him close.
Resting his forehead against Kit’s shoulder, he said in a muffled tone, “I’m supposed to be looking after you, not the other way around.”
“We can look after each other,” Kit said gently.
Henry pulled back a little, enough so he could meet Kit’s eyes again. He whispered, “I would like that more than anything, and not just for tonight, Kit.”
Kit just stared at him, wide-eyed.
Henry had balked at this fence earlier today, but now he gathered all his courage and made himself leap.
“The truth is,” he said shakily, “I still love you, Kit. Despite all the years that have passed.”
“Henry—” Kit shook his head mutely, as though denying Henry’s words.
“I know this is hasty and that it probably feels too soon to you," Henry added urgently, cupping Kit's cheek. “But I also know my own heart, Kit. And I want… I want something with you. A life, Kit. Together.”
Kit’s eyes welled with sudden tears, and he dashed them away with the back of his hand impatiently.
“We’re too old, and too much time has passed,” he muttered. “Our lives are different now. I’m different.”
“If you don’t love me, just—”
“It's not that!” Kit flashed back angrily, and despite his fury, Henry’s heart filled with elation.
“Do you then?” he pressed. “Do you love me, Kit?”
Kit groaned. “Yes, God help me, I do, but I’m”—he broke off and shook his head, frustrated—“I’m not the carefree boy you once knew. I have responsibilities, obligations. And so do you—you have children, Henry.”
“Grown children,” Henry replied. “Grown children who are living their own lives now.”
“But you are still their father. And I have a business—a scandalous business that you cannot afford to be associated with. I have Clara and Peter, and others who rely on me for their livelihoods.”
“You don’t need to worry about any of that,” Henry said gently. “I’m a very wealthy man, Kit. You don’t need—”
“No,” Kit interrupted. “One thing I am very sure of is that I am never going back to that.”
“To what?”
“To being kept.”
“It wouldn’t be like that,” Henry said. “I wouldn’t be keeping