The atmosphere in the residence of the Duke was deeply oppressive in the days that followed his sudden flight from the city. The stone walls seemed imbued with the dark mood of their master, and no one within the household could bring themselves to speak above a whisper if they thought they were within hearing range of the Duke. Not since the period of his depression following the death of his adopted son had Lucius been so quick to find fault with his servants, and to rage at the slightest infraction. His staff, even Regulus, felt anxious and on edge for the duration of the week, with few willing to perform even the most straightforward tasks, if they brought them within sight of the master of the house.

Lucius found himself once more brooding in a quiet, dark house, with very little company or distraction. He considered sending for Regulus, to question him as to the punishment he had inflicted on Harry, but knew that regardless of the severity of the punishment, he would feel compelled to criticise Regulus's leniency. Despite his harsh words to his cousin on the night of the return from the city, Lucius nonetheless recognised the effort his cousin had made to locate a suitable heir for his estate. Regulus had had little reason to suspect that the boy would act in such an indecent way, and did not deserve Lucius's overly hard criticism. Although Harry had claimed innocence in the matter, and had maintained that nothing sexually untoward had occurred between himself and the prostitute, Lucius remained unconvinced.

He winced at the memory of the room he had found them in, and the feeling of betrayal that he had felt at seeing Harry in such a state. He remembered the pang of hurt he had felt at the disloyalty to himself – an heir who was worthy of the position of Duke would never tarnish his reputation with such indiscrete behaviour. Lucius could not decide which was worse – playing for small change in an inn like a common travelling musician, or paying a filthy Muggle whore for sex – both for the entire world to see.

Lucius himself was no stranger to prostitutes – the strained situation with his wife was such that there was limited opportunity for legitimate intercourse – but Lucius nonetheless felt he had maintained much more dignity and discretion in his encounters. There were several establishments, in the city and nearby, that were more suited to catering to the sexual needs of pureblood wizards than a street prostitute. The idea of a streetwalker disgusted the Duke, particularly given the recent outbreak of plague within the city – there was no way to tell who the boy had spread his legs for, or what state of health they had been in. Harry would be lucky not to have contracted syphilis from his liaison with him. Lucius miserably wondered whether he should have the boy checked by a physician, but could not bring himself to imagine calling upon the elderly estate doctor to check his heir for a sexual disease. He would simply have to trust to Regulus to see to such things if the need arose.

Lucius found he was unable to distract himself from playing the scene at the inn over and over in his mind. He groaned in frustration as he realised that sleep was beyond him in his current state of agitation. If he were entirely honest with himself, he would have allowed that his anger at Harry's classless behaviour, and his fear of the possibility of the boy introducing sickness into his home, was entirely overshadowed by the twisting he felt in his gut when he thought of Harry giving himself so carelessly to someone so unworthy. Over the weeks he had spent in close proximity to the boy in the city, he had become aware of his attraction to him – Harry was certainly handsome, with his clear, pale skin, golden-brown hair, and intelligent green eyes – and Lucius was not adverse to the idea of taking another man into his bed.

Unbeknownst to Regulus, Lucius had indeed enjoyed more than one night with another man before he was married. He recognised the need for discretion; the death penalty for sodomy was no idle threat, particularly given the King's intense disgust for homosexuals, and finding equal joy in sex with women, Lucius was unwilling to risk his reputation and life for a few moments pleasure. The presence of Harry in his life, however, and the timely absence of his wife, had made him reconsider some of his ideas.

The memory of Harry splayed across the unmade bed in the inn, his face rosy and eyes half-lidded played over in his mind for days, causing him some discomfort. However uncomfortable the realisation made him, he could no longer ignore that he was particularly angry with Harry because of the feelings of arousal he had caused that could not be satisfied. If he had felt no attraction to the man, he would have forgiven him his misadventure much sooner - revolting, dishonourable and dangerous though the particular circumstances were. Lucius gritted his teeth in frustration, and finally gave up. On the third night following his return to the country, he ordered his carriage to prepare for a short trip to the nearby town.

XXXXXX

Lucius sat back into the soft cushioned chair, and swirled the glass of firewhiskey he held in his hands. The soft lighting of the room soothed away something of his anger, and he began again to feel some excitement about his impending encounter. The mistress of the house, who was made aware of Lucius's proclivities, had called for several of the prostitutes to present themselves for his inspection in the parlour. Lucius could hear the muted sounds of laughter emanating from inside the house somewhere, where no doubt another client was being entertained. The soft, feminine laugh that he could hear through the walls was appealing, and he wondered briefly whether he should change his specifications for his partner, but a quick flash of the memory of Harry sprawled across the bed in his sordid room at the inn assured him that he should not seek the comfort of the no doubt beautiful lady in the next room.

The door opposite Lucius opened suddenly, and three young men stepped into the room. One, while very pretty, he dismissed immediately as being too reminiscent of his cousin Rodolphus. The second boy in the line-up was a stunning red-haired boy, who piqued his interest, until his eyes passed over to the third boy. While definitely less striking than the redhead, this boy was handsome, with brown hair, and fine features offset by his pale skin. The Duke felt the beginnings of arousal as he dragged his gaze over the body of the young man, who met his eyes with a sultry smirk. Lucius quickly indicated his choice with a nod in the direction of the brunette, and the madam assented. Taking the proffered hand of the boy, Lucius was led through the door, and down a darkened corridor. The laughter and faint sounds of pleasured sighs he could hear behind the doors along the corridor stirred his interest still more, and by the time he had followed the boy into his room, Lucius's trousers were uncomfortably tight.

The boy began to remove his clothing, and by the time he was naked, all thoughts of inheritance, honour and execution were pushed to the back of Lucius' mind. As he bent the boy over the side of the bed, even thoughts of Harry were chased away, replaced by the reality of the pliant, soft body underneath him.

XXXXX

Lucius slept peacefully for the first time since his departure from the capital. The boy next to him tried unsuccessfully to wake him at first light, before giving up and rolling from the bed. Lucius reached out to pull him back toward him, but the boy had already left. Groaning quietly as he became aware of the light shining on him through the delicate curtains, Lucius decided against sleep, and dragged himself out of bed. He summoned a glass of water from a decanter on the table, and tried to ignore the pounding in his head as he pulled his clothes back on. Images of the previous night flitted through his brain, and he found himself half-hard in spite of his hangover. Searching through his dress coat pockets, he found several notes, which he left on the table for the boy, who had pleased him greatly. Walking through the house, he was careful not to make eye contact with anyone – while a certain degree of anonymity was carefully conserved among the clientele of the brothel, Lucius himself was of too high a rank not to be recognised and remembered by other clients who saw him.

With a discrete nod to the madam, who curtsied to him as she opened the door for him, the Duke stepped out into the early morning sunshine. The coachman shook himself awake fully as he saw his master leave the building, and helped him into the carriage. Lucius settled into the back of the coach, shielding his eyes with his arm, and tried to forget the painful throbbing in his skull. He wondered how much he had drunk – he remembered ordering a bottle of brandy to the room after satiating himself with the boy, and cajoling him into finishing the bottle with him. He smiled softly to himself at the memory – he rarely indulged in such perversions, but he felt that it had greatly eased his mind to explore some of the fantasies he had lately been consumed by, even if he could not indulge them with the object of those fantasies. He was also sure that the vivid memories of the young man bent over the bed, legs spread, would satisfy his desire for men for some time, even in the presence of Harry himself.

As the carriage pulled into his own courtyard, Lucius felt greatly recovered, and in a better temper than he had been for several weeks. On opening the door to him, he bid his footman fetch breakfast to his rooms. Lucius was unwilling to face Harry in such a dishevelled state, given the animosity that existed between the pair since he had found Harry in the cheap whorehouse by the docks. He was sure the boy would not understand the difference between Lucius's excursion to the exclusive brothel he had visited, and the incident with the sordid, filthy prostitute Harry had contracted. As he sat down to enjoy his breakfast, he was thankful not to have the company of the young man to distract or annoy him.

Having poured himself a cup of strong tea, the Duke began opening his carefully arranged correspondence with a silver letter-opener. Among the usual obligatory invitations and greetings from those who had heard of his return to the country, was one pristine white envelope of the highest quality. Putting it aside for last, Lucius flicked through each of the unexciting messages from local dignitaries. Leaving these mundane matters aside for Regulus's attention, he finally turned to the white envelope, examining the unfamiliar seal placed on its cover. Slicing through the edge of the envelope, he unfolded the letter, and read the sparse few lines contained within.

My Lord, I implore you to visit the Duchess, your wife, to convey to her the congratulations of her peers in this happy time. Alas, her confinement prevents any well wishers from relaying their messages in person – a well-meaning friend.

Lucius dropped the letter to the table, stunned at what he had read. His mind raced back to his last memory of his wife, the previous spring, when she had briefly met him in his own house. Since then, he had spent little time in the capital, and she had denied him any visits, under various pretexts. While Lucius had long accustomed himself to the coldness and distance within his marriage, he had to admit now that their relationship had deteriorated significantly in the past year. But the very idea of his wife being pregnant was preposterous. That, if anything, had been the main source of contention between them in the early years of their relationship – the desire and pressure to produce an heir had been a constant burden on them both, ever more as it became apparent that an heir would not be conceived.

Lucius grabbed the letter in his hands, turning it around, searching for some identifying marks, but found nothing. The sender, despite sending an insultingly transparent message, had been more subtle in hiding their own identity. Lucius folded the letter into his pocket, and attempted to still his rising temper. The pain in his head, which had receded somewhat after his breakfast, was again bothering him. The anonymity of the letter angered the Duke. While he was reluctant to credit the information in the letter without any further proof, he felt himself grow hot with rage at the idea of another person laughing at him while penning the sarcastic letter. Getting out of his chair with little regard for his injury, the Duke called out for his cousin. Storming from his room, he bellowed for Regulus to attend him instantly, all the while wondering at the identity of the author of the letter. As his men scrambled to find the Duke's cousin, and to avoid drawing his attention to themselves, the Duke mentally began considering the various things he needed to attend to before returning to the capital, and demanding an audience with his wife.