They paused for an instant, taking their bearings. Von Namtzen turned toward the lodge, but Grey stopped him with a hand upon his arm.

“Show me, Stephan,” he said suddenly, surprising them both.

Von Namtzen’s face went blank.

“Deinen Arm,”Grey said, as though this were quite logical.

Stephan looked at him for a moment with no expression whatever, then away. Grey was already berating himself for clumsiness, but then Stephan’s one hand reached for the pin that held the loose sleeve to the breast of his coat.

He shed the coat without difficulty, still not looking at Grey, but then paused, his hand on the white linen of his neckcloth.

“Hilf mir,”he said softly.

Grey stepped close, and reached behind von Namtzen’s head with both his own hands, fumbling a little with the fastening. Stephan’s skin was very warm, the neckcloth damp. It came loose suddenly and he dropped it on the ground.

“I would not make a good valet,” he said, trying to make a joke of it as he bent to pick the cloth up. From the corner of his eye, he saw Stephan’s throat, long and powerful, a reddish mark across it from the cloth. Saw him swallow, and knew quite suddenly what to do.

He took Stephan’s shirt off gently, with no further fumblings. He was ready for the sight of the arm, not shocked, though the thought of the solid forearm, the kind, broad hand now gone, made him sad. The stump was clean, cut just above the elbow; the scars well-knitted, though still an angry red.

Stephan’s muscles tensed instantly when Grey touched him, and Grey whistled softly through his teeth, as though Stephan were a nervous horse, making the German snort a little, the sound not quite a laugh. Grey ran a soothing hand down the slope of von Namtzen’s shoulder, his thumb tracing the groove between the muscles of the upper arm.

Von Namtzen had the most beautiful skin, he thought. No more than a sprinkling of dark gold hairs across his breast. Poreless and smooth, with a dusk that drew both eye and hand.

You are like porcelain,he thought, but didn’t say it. And damned near as breakable, aren’t you?

He lifted the unresisting arm, and lightly kissed the end of the stump.

“Schon gut,”he said.

Saw Stephan’s belly muscles spring out tight against the skin. The evening air was mild, but he could smell von Namtzen’s sudden sweat, salt and musk, and his own body tightened, too, from scalp to knees. But this was not the time or place—nor the man. To allow Stephan to acknowledge his own desire now would destroy him—and to be the agent of such destruction would shatter Grey himself; he had no illusions regarding his own fragility.

There was one thing, perhaps, that he might give Stephan; it might not help—it hadn’t helped Percy—but it was what he had.

“I love you, brother,” he said, straightening and looking Stephan in the eyes. “So you will stop trying to kill yourself, ja?”

He picked up the shirt and rolled it up in his hands, so that it went neatly over von Namtzen’s head. Helped Stephan to slide his arms into the sleeves, and bent for the coat.

“I think…you would be a very good valet.” Von Namtzen blurted it, then blushed so deeply that it was visible, even in the fading light. “ Entschuldigung!I—I do not mean to insult you.”

“I think it a great compliment,” Grey assured him gravely. “I am hungry—shall we go home to dinner now?”

Chapter 27

The Honorable Thing

Grey found himself steadier in mind upon his return from von Namtzen’s lodge, and met all inquiries and expressions of sympathy with a remote, impeccable courtesy that kept the questioners—as well as his own feelings—at a safe remove. This technique, however, was ineffective with Hal.

It was several days after his return before he saw his brother, Hal having been with Duke Ferdinand. Hal came unannounced to his tent in the evening after supper, sitting down without invitation across the table from Grey, who was writing orders.

“Have you got any brandy?” Hal asked without preamble.

Grey reached beneath the table without comment and lifted the jug of very good brandy von Namtzen had sent with him—half empty now, but still plenty left.

Hal nodded thanks, lifted the jug in both hands and drank, then set it down, and shuddered slightly. He leaned his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands, rubbing slowly at the scalp beneath his wig. Finally, he looked up, his eyes bloodshot with travel and lined with a weariness that went far beyond mere bodily fatigue.

“Have you seen Wainwright since you came back?”

Grey shook his head, wordless. He knew where Percy was; a small country gaol in a nearby village. He had made the minimal inquiries necessary to assure that Percy was decently fed, and beyond that, had tried not to think of him. With a marked lack of success, but still, he tried.

“I suppose the news has spread,” he said. His own voice was hoarse with disuse; he hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours, and he cleared his throat. “Does the duke know?”

Hal grimaced, and took another drink. “Everyone knows,though the matter hasn’t been brought up officially as yet.”

“I suppose there will be a court-martial.”

“The general feeling among the high command is that it would be much better if there wasn’t.”

He stared at Hal.

“What the devil do you mean by that?”

Hal rubbed a hand over his face.

“If he were a common soldier, it wouldn’t matter,” he said, voice muffled. Then he took his hand away, shaking his head. “Court-martial him and hang or imprison him and be done with it. But he’s not. He’s a bloody member of the family. It can’t be done discreetly.”

Grey was beginning to have an unpleasant feeling under his breastbone.

“And what do they think canbe done…discreetly? Try him and discharge him for some other reason?”

“No.” Hal’s voice was colorless. “That might be done if no one really knew what had happened. But the circumstances…” He gulped brandy, coughed, and kept coughing, going red in the face.

“‘Unfortunate,’” he said hoarsely. “That’s what Brunswick kept saying, in that precise sort of way he has. ‘Most unfortunate.’”

Ferdinand was more precariously placed than King Friedrich. Friedrich was absolute master of his own army; Ferdinand commanded a number of loosely allied contingents, and was answerable to a number of princes for the troops they had supplied him.

“Some of these princes are strict Lutherans, and inclined to a rather…rigid…view of such matters. Ferdinand feels that he can’t risk alienating them; not for oursake,” he added, rather bitterly.

Grey stared down at the tabletop, rubbing the fingers of one hand lightly back and forth across the grain.

“What does he mean to do?” he asked. “Execute Wainwright outright, without trial?”

“He’d love to,” Hal said, leaning back and sighing. “Save that that would cause still more stir and scandal. And, of course,” he added, reaching for the brandy again, “I informed him that I’d be obliged to pull our own troops out and make an official complaint to the king—or kings; ours andFriedrich—should he try to treat a British soldier in that fashion.”

The knot under Grey’s heart seemed to ease a little. The departure of Hal’s regiment wouldn’t destroy Ferdinand’s army, but it would be a blow—and the resultant uproar might well cause fragmentation among his other allies.

“What do they—or you—propose to do, then?” he asked. “Keep him locked up in hopes that he’ll catch gaol fever and die, thus relieving you of awkwardness?” He’d spoken ironically, but Hal gave him an odd look, and coughed again.