briefly. He shouldn’t even suggest it. He recalled everything that Will would be giving up. In the country he’d only have Martin. And while Will might think now that it was a fair trade, he’d eventually grow tired of having no company but Martin. Martin knew what it was like to be isolated, and he wouldn’t wish it on Will.
“Come here,” he said, tugging Will up from where he was kissing a path across Martin’s collarbone, and gave him a proper kiss. It didn’t have to mean a parting. Will could visit him in the country. That would be better than nothing. It would be enough, more than enough. Martin had never asked for anything like enough, had never expected it.
“Where did you go?” Will asked. “A minute ago you were kissing me, and now you’re away with the fairies.”
“I was just thinking that I’m grateful for every moment we have together. And also that you should stop making me say these embarrassing things.”
That seemed to satisfy Will, who laughed and pulled Martin down to the bed, then rolled them over so Martin was pressed into the mattress by the satisfying weight of Will on top of him. Martin sighed in contentment. It was just kissing, languid, lazy, late afternoon kissing as if they had all the time in the world, until Will whispered, “Do you want to try?” and Martin whispered back, “Yes,” and then Will was showing Martin how to touch him, their breaths coming faster, their hands slippery and searching. Martin wasn’t sure anything in his life had ever been easy or uncomplicated but this came close, Will rising over him and sinking down, letting him in, whispering praise that devolved into nothing more than Martin’s name, repeated and repeated.
“So,” Martin said, as they lay together afterward, “that’s buggery, is it?” and Will had laughed himself silly while Martin stroked his hair and smiled, unaccountably pleased with himself. They fell asleep to the sound of fiddle music coming from downstairs and the steady rhythm of one another’s hearts.
So when Martin woke with a tightness in his chest and the beginnings of a wheeze, his fingertips cold and pale and a trace of blood on his handkerchief, he wasn’t surprised. He had been expecting it for a while now, and he supposed he ought to be grateful he had gotten a few more days. For the first time since he had fallen ill, he felt the unfairness of it, as if he were being shoved into a sickroom and kept away from everything that was good in the world.
He slipped into the sitting room, shutting the bedroom door silently behind him, so he wouldn’t wake Will with any further coughing. But a moment later Will came out and wrapped his arms around Martin’s waist.
“Bad?”
“Not good,” Martin answered.
“Too much smoke and damp?” Will asked after a moment.
“As always.”
“I’m embarrassed that it took me this long to figure it out,” Will said.
“Figure what out?”
“That you first got sick when you were looking after me. The other day you said that smoke and damp don’t agree with your lungs, and that describes pretty much every opium den you fetched me from.”
“Sweetheart.” Martin put his hands over Will’s and leaned back against his chest. He was ready to lie—it would have been the easiest thing in the world to say that he had the first signs of illness before Will even returned from sea. But this morning, this closeness, felt too sacred to defile with lies or evasions. “I think it was the city, not the opium dens,” he said. “And even if it were, neither of us knew so at the time. The first time I got sick was mild and I didn’t pay much attention to it.”
“Because you were too busy worrying about me, probably.”
“Could be. In case it isn’t obvious, I’d do it again.”
“You make terrible choices where I’m concerned. Hauling yourself across London after my incident at the park. Refusing to take the paregoric the doctor prescribed. Harrowing your tenants. What’s next, Martin?”
Martin remained still, hoping Will would change the topic. He could feel Will’s body go rigid when he realized. “Tell me you aren’t planning to marry because you want the money to look after me. Tell me that much.” When Martin said nothing, Will sucked in a breath. “Martin, how could you?”
“I’d do anything to make sure you were safe,” Martin said. He couldn’t tell Will that he no longer meant to marry, because that would