The first time that Daniel kissed him, Alexander allowed it. It was chaste, tentative, and seemingly spur of the moment. The fear and shame in Daniel's eyes afterwards had moved him, and the Baron had merely stroked his hair and told him that it was alright.
The second time Daniel, encouraged by Alexander's acceptance, had ventured to sweep his tongue across the older man's lips. Alexander returned the kiss somewhat apathetically, but if the Englishman had noticed, he didn't show it.
The third time, Daniel had clutched at the Baron's clothing and pressed his clothed body against him. Alexander had felt the young man's racing heart, and heard the grateful groan that the Englishman gave when Alexander returned the kiss more honestly this time.
And that brought them to the fourth. Daniel, waking from a nightmare, had been soaked with cold sweat, nightgown clinging to his skin in the candle light. With tears in his eyes he begged the Baron for something more. And Alexander gave. When it was all said and done, and the young man lay sleeping dreamlessly on his chest, Alexander stroked his hair and whispered; "I am sorry, my friend."