12. Growing Closer

The grey jerked her head, whinnying fretfully, and Hannibal turned to her, breaking the spell.

‘Hush, Firefly,’ he crooned. ‘We are almost home.’

Grateful for the diversion, Will stepped up to the horse and laid a trembling hand on her velvety muzzle. His voice, when again he found it, was mortifyingly shaky.

‘She is beautiful. You – did not ride her all the way from London?’

Hannibal tipped back his head on a husky chuckle. Will tried not to notice the gleaming wetness of the column of his throat. Or the shadow of dark hair beneath the shirt which clung, almost translucent, to the firm contours of his chest. An Alpha in the prime of youthful vigour. An Alpha who had possessed him once; who had taken him and filled him so beautifully that ever since, he had felt empty, hollowed-out. As he did now.

Because it cannot happen again. Because he cannot be yours.

‘I did not. Two days by coach were tiresome enough. She has been stabled at Matlock this last week.’

‘Oh, of course.’

Silence, and Will felt afresh all the agonising impropriety of his being discovered there. After the dreadful manner of their last parting, his presence at Ravenstag must surely be looked on by its master as indelicate at the least. And compounding his torment was Hannibal’s scent, rising earthy fresh and reminding Will powerfully of the first time – the only time – he had been close enough to give in to the temptation to bury his face against that beautiful throat. To beg. Take me.

He fixed his eyes on the mare, stroking her gently, and cleared his throat.

‘Mr Lecter –‘

‘Are we no longer on a first name basis?'

The rough note in Hannibal’s voice brought Will’s eyes flying to his face. Shame and confusion and longing warred within him and he bit his lip, uncertain how to proceed.

‘I did not think that you would wish it. I – I wanted to say that when we applied to see the house, we had no idea of your being in the country. Never would we have presumed –’

‘Please, do not apologise. My arrival today was not planned.’

With a gentle tug at the reins, Hannibal urged the horse forward again, and Will fell into step bedside him.

‘Certainly no one gave any hint of it.’

‘Nor would they have. I have returned a full day early – my housekeeper will not be pleased.’

‘Mrs Marlow did suggest that there was still much to do in preparation for your coming.’

Will permitted himself a brief smile, and felt with a shiver Hannibal’s lingering gaze.

‘Have you been long in Derbyshire?’

He shook his head. ‘We arrived in Bakewell only yesterday.’

‘And where do you stay?’

‘The Rutland Arms. Do you know it?’

Hannibal nodded approvingly. ‘Indeed. You will be well attended. Who accompanies you?’

Heart sinking, Will muttered, ‘My Uncle and Aunt Crawford.’

He glanced sideways, fearful of detecting some sign of distaste for his lowly relations, but Hannibal appeared perfectly tranquil.

‘You should avail yourself of the local walks, if your itinerary allows. If I may take the liberty, I recommend Dovedale – it offers some fine trails.’ And after a pause, ‘I know how fond you are of walking.’

‘I am, yes. Thank you. I shall mention it.’

Still in a daze, mind and heart racing, Will hardly noticed where they were until Hannibal again stopped, at the top of a sloping path which led down to the house. To their right were the stables, arranged in a stone quadrangle with a cobbled courtyard.

‘How is your family?’

Will blinked. ‘My family?’

‘I take it they are still in Hertfordshire. Are they well?’

‘My youngest sister is in Brighton; but yes, they are all well. Thank you.’

‘I am glad.’

Amber eyes were intent on his face, and Will felt with a sharp pang the loss of that warm regard when Hannibal turned to run a gentling hand across the restless mare’s flank.

‘It is too warm for her. I should return her to the stables.’

Will knew that he was staring but he was powerless to stop. Never had he known Hannibal to be so at ease. Never had he been more surprised by anyone.

Perhaps Hannibal misinterpreted his silence – and his stare – for the Alpha’s cheeks were once again tinged with pink as he said a trifle gruffly, ‘And I must apologise for the informality of my attire.’

Will’s lips twitched. ‘You mean to say that you do not have a particular objection to wearing clothes?'

The light-hearted response which Hannibal had been about to make died in his throat as the memory of a flushed, tousled, half-dressed Will sprawled across the lawn at Muskrat Hall was replaced quickly by the memory of a flushed, tousled, half-dressed Will sprawled across his lap in the grotto shelter at Fell Park.

‘Now that,’ he murmured, itching suddenly to reach out and pull the boy into his arms, ‘depends entirely on the circumstances.’

And then they were both blushing.

There was so much that Hannibal wished to say – to do – but none of it, he reminded himself bleakly, was his right. He had lost all claim on WIll the day that he had lost the Omega’s regard.

‘I am not going to miss you. I do not want to know where you are or what you do. I do not want to think about you anymore.’

The remembered words, uttered then with such determined disconnection, sent a chill through him now. This meeting was surely the last thing that Will wanted. Stepping back, Hannibal forced a smile and bowed.

‘If you will excuse me.’

Will’s own smile dimmed. ‘Of course.’

It was with a heavy heart that Hannibal strode away towards the stable block, fingers clenched around the reins as he led the exhausted mare. He did not allow himself to look back. To have been once again so close – the boy’s exquisite fragrance just detectable through all those buttoned-up layers – yet to know that he was forbidden to touch, to hold, to taste... was too cruel. Better to stay out of the way until Will and his party had finished their tour. Better to let him go.

Again.

Will stood where Hannibal had left him, watching the broad, retreating back of the master of Ravenstag, and wondered bleakly what he had done to prompt the Alpha’s abrupt departure.

You fool. He is obviously mortified, no matter his polite words. You never should have come!

Will firmed his lips and set off at a quick pace down the dusty path. All explorations must now be at an end – they could not leave quickly enough. At the bottom of the incline, the path curved around to the West Front, where at length Will spied his aunt and uncle at the far side of a long, narrow pond. They were exclaiming over a fountain which gushed, sparkling, several feet into the air from the antlers of two stone stags, reared on their hindquarters, frozen mid-clash.

‘Will, come and look at this! Have ever you seen anything so magnificent?’

He smiled tightly at his aunt, sparing the beautiful sculpture only a cursory glance. ‘No, indeed.’

‘Mr Sutcliffe tells us that a little further on there is a pinetum and a maze,’ she exclaimed. ‘A maze, Will! Would not you like to see it?’

An emphatic negative was perched on the tip of Will’s tongue, but as he registered both his aunt’s enthusiasm and his uncle’s smiling indulgence, he had not the heart to express it. He followed them therefore in silence, only half-listening as they pointed out feature after feature, from striking rock formations to natural waterfalls. All were delightful, charming – and completely lost on Will, whose thoughts dwelt repeatedly and anxiously on one subject.

Where is Hannibal? What is he doing? What must he be thinking?

The maze was situated in a landscaped clearing below the wooded tree line, enclosed within low walls which, according to Mr Crawford’s account from Mr Sutcliffe, had once formed the foundation of a great conservatory. Now, clipped hedges of lush, dark yew rose in a circular formation within a perimeter of red stone.

As they passed a wrought iron bench, Mrs Crawford gave an exclamation of relief and stopped to sit down with a sigh.

‘My apologies, gentlemen; but as you know, I am not a great walker.’

‘Perhaps it is time we left.’ Barely able to hide his eagerness, Will added, ‘I could return to the house and order our carriage.’

‘Nonsense.’ Mrs Crawford clicked her tongue. ‘We are here now. And I would like very much to know what is at the centre of that maze.’ She leaned forward and touched Will’s arm with her gloved hand. ‘You should go in, Will.’

‘Yes, Will,’ prompted Mr Crawford jovially, joining his wife on the bench and removing his hat to fan himself with it. ‘Go in. Best the monster in his lair!’

‘It is a maze, not a labyrinth, Jack!’ But Mrs Crawford was smiling as she scolded.

‘Very well. I shall do my best.’

Admitting defeat, Will turned back towards the maze and trudged inside, allowing it to swallow him whole. A fitting metaphor for his situation, he thought moodily. With little enthusiasm for solving the puzzle, he wandered aimlessly up dead-end after dead-end, lost as much in his ruminations as in the maze itself. He was, therefore, almost startled to find himself finally in the centre, a small space furnished simply with a white bench set beneath a weeping pear tree.

By now the sun was high in a cloudless azure sky, and Will knew that soon his aunt and uncle would wish to return to Bakewell and the inn, for luncheon and a much-desired rest. But the thought of first running the gauntlet of Hannibal’s servants – or, worse, once more encountering Hannibal himself – drew from him a groan of despair. Slumping down onto the bench, he buried his head in his hands.

‘Hello, Will.’

The boy’s shoulders stiffened. With fond regard, Hannibal took a seat beside him, closing his eyes briefly as he caught the sweetness of Will’s scent. Will’s voice, when it came, was muffled.

‘Hello, Hannibal.’

A swell of pleasure followed, but he did not comment on the unexpected capitulation.

‘Where are your aunt and uncle? Are you hiding from them?’

Slowly Will uncoiled, sitting upright to cast him an arch look. ‘They are waiting outside. I am surprised you did not see them.’

‘Ah. Then you came in from the other side. There are two entrances to the maze.’

‘Oh.’ Will’s blue gaze was cautiously searching. ‘I can leave if you would prefer to be alone.’

‘I would not.’

This was, of course, an understatement. Precious time had already been wasted changing clothes – still more in hunting down his estate manager. A fruitless search of the pinetum had left the maze as the most likely location of his elusive guest, and Hannibal’s heart thudded still with relief at having found him. Their eyes connected and he could not repress a tender smile.

‘I see that still you are unable to control that mop of yours.’

Dark curls stood in rumpled peaks around a face flushed and, of a sudden, soft. Perhaps Hannibal was not the only one remembering a certain morning in the gardens of Fell Park – gentle touches after exquisite pleasure, when each had sought to prolong their closeness in a show of mutual tidying. I regret nothing. Hannibal clasped his hands tightly together and took a deep breath.

‘It seems that I, too, lack control. I should have let you go but instead I have sought you out.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I find that I am too selfish to allow you to disappear.’

‘I – do not wish to disappear.’ Will’s voice was very small, but his eyes met Hannibal’s in a flash of defiant blue. ‘It was not I who walked away today.’

‘Not today, no.’

‘I do not want to think about you anymore.’

A spike of pain shortened Hannibal’s breath. ‘You wanted to forget me.’

‘I needed to.’ Will’s gaze was unwavering. ‘I had it all worked out, you see – what you were, the qualities you lacked. And then,’ his throat worked, and hungrily Hannibal tracked the movement, ‘you gave me your letter.’

Tension harshened Hannibal’s voice. ‘No doubt you found its contents – and their owner – to be hateful.’

A tiny sigh, almost inaudible, escaped Will’s lips. ‘I do not hate you, Hannibal. I have never hated you.’

Relieved by this admission, Hannibal could not help but press for more.

‘And the letter?’

Will turned fully to face him, all earnestness. ‘Your letter shamed me.’

‘Will –‘

‘Although your confession of interference between Miss Verger and my sister infuriated me.’

Ah, there was the Will he loved. Ever fascinating in the flitting of his moods; always painfully honest, always passionate. Jaw set mutinously now, flames of blue sparking in narrowed eyes.

And he did love the boy.

What I would not give that I could call him mine.

‘There is something that you should know,’ Hannibal said slowly, wary of an unfavourable reception. ‘It is not only my sister who arrives tomorrow. She is accompanied on her travels by the Vergers and the Cordells.’

But other than a brief pursing of lips, Will merely said, ‘I see.’

Rising to his feet, a plan forming in his mind, Hannibal smiled down at the thoughtful Omega.

‘Perhaps, if you are amenable, we could use this opportunity to begin again.’

A cautious yet hopeful light entered Will’s eyes. ‘You would wish to?’

Ah, Will. How could you doubt it? But he kept his voice even, his expression impassive.

‘Now that there are no more secrets between us, I believe that we would get along very well. There are few people in this world whom I truly esteem, Will Graham, and you are one of them.’

Will stood up then, radiating amusement – and something else, something so akin to tenderness it threatened to halt Hannibal’s breathing.

‘Hannibal Lecter, are you proposing that we be friends?’

‘It seems that I am.’ Now is the hardest test. Not allowing fear of rejection to prevent you from acting. ‘And, as a first step, perhaps you would introduce me to your uncle and aunt.’

The look of surprised pleasure on Will’s face, and the deep blush which accompanied it, was reward enough.

‘Of course, if you wish it.’

‘I do.’ Ignoring the leap of his pulse, Hannibal strode briskly to the exit. ‘Shall we?’

‘Oh,’ grinned Will. ‘After you.’

As Hannibal led the way out of the maze, Will could not prevent himself from staring, albeit covertly. What a change was here! So much of the shield – the person suit – with which Hannibal had fortified himself throughout almost the whole of their acquaintance had, in this one day, slipped enough to reveal a man whom Will yearned to know entirely.

This favourable impression was further cemented when, after the necessary introductions had been made, Hannibal addressed Mr and Mrs Crawford with perfect affability and ease. Their surprise was as apparent to Will as his own, although quickly disguised.

‘This is a beautiful estate, Mr Lecter. Perfectly charming.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Crawford,’ replied Hannibal, eyes warm. ‘I confess that I am very proud of my home. But I hope that seeing it has not tired you too much.’

‘Not at all,’ she smiled.

‘We were just discussing your pinetum.’ Mr Crawford spoke with eager relish. ‘I have heard that it is one of the finest in the country.’

Hands clasped behind his back, Hannibal looked touchingly pleased by the compliment.

‘My father would have been thrilled to hear you say so. Perhaps you would allow me to show it to you? It is just the other side of the maze.’

The Crawfords gladly assented, and without further ado they all set off together. At first, Hannibal led the way with Mr Crawford, Will following close behind with his aunt, but at length Mrs Crawford declared a preference for her husband’s arm. Thus Will found himself taking the vacant space at Hannibal’s side. He could feel his aunt’s gaze on him, gently assessing, and took care to maintain a respectable distance from their host. Yet he could not stop turning the same questions over and over in his mind.

Why is he so altered? Can all of this be for me? What can it mean?

‘How long do you stay in Bakewell?’

Jolted out of his reverie, Will looked at Hannibal and quickly away again. It seemed impossible to meet the Alpha’s gaze without blushing, a mortifying situation which, for the present, he was unable to control. He cleared his throat.

‘Two weeks. My uncle’s business prevents him from taking too long a vacation.’

‘Then perhaps you would allow –’

Hannibal hesitated and Will risked another sidelong glance. Their eyes met and held.

‘I would like very much to introduce my sister to you during your stay.’

‘I would like very much to meet her.’ Despite his best intentions, his voice trembled slightly.

‘Ah, see that tree? It was the first in the pinetum, planted by my great-grandfather.’

Hannibal stopped slightly behind him, body angled as he pointed to a sweeping, majestic conifer in the middle of a clearing. All eyes swung immediately to the left, and Will was taken completely by surprise when he felt Hannibal grasp his hand and squeeze it gently.

‘I have missed you, Will.’ HIs voice was low and urgent.

And I, you.

Despite all his intentions to the contrary, Will had to acknowledge that he had been fighting a lost cause even when there had been no expectation of seeing Hannibal again. And now...

Looking down at their joined hands, he was gripped by a longing so intense, he almost whimpered aloud. Briefly he returned the pressure, before tugging his hand free and rejoining his aunt and uncle. He and Hannibal were to be friends now, no more. It would not do to create the wrong impression.

As they wandered the pinetum, there was much to see and exclaim over, and no more opportunity for furtive touching. Whether Will was more relieved by this or disappointed, he could not decide. Nor were Hannibal’s feelings any easier to decipher. His face retained its usual expression of slightly stern passivity, though in his exchanges with Mr and Mrs Crawford he was undoubtedly more animated than Will had ever seen him.

Not until the party had reached the carriage, which was waiting to deliver them back to Bakewell, did Hannibal speak again directly to Will. After handing Mrs Crawford in and bowing to Mr Crawford as he too ascended the steps, Hannibal, to Will’s perturbation, thrust out his hand. The idea that he could be initiating a handshake between them – an intimate gesture acceptable only between social equals – was beyond astonishing.

‘Well?’

Lips twitching upwards, Hannibal looked pointedly at the arm which still hung loosely at Will’s side.

Gathering his wits as best he could, Will hastily proffered his own hand and found it clasped tightly.

Eyes honey-warm with approval, Hannibal spoke in a soft murmur, head inclined towards his. ‘It would seem that fate and circumstance have brought us back together, Will. And I, for one, am very glad of it.’

‘As am I.’ He almost blurted the words in his eagerness. To show Hannibal that he did not resent the past. To convey his appreciation for the welcome they had received. And for other, more complicated reasons that he did not wish to dwell on. ‘Very glad.’

They stood like that for a few moments more, bodies close, eyes locked. A discreet cough from the interior of the carriage, however, reminded Will of his determination not to rouse Mrs Crawford’s match-making instincts, and reluctantly he withdrew his hand, suppressing a shiver as Hannibal’s fingertips trailed, lingering, across his palm.

A final exchange of smiles and Will climbed into the carriage. He attempted valiantly to ignore his aunt’s triumphant look and turned instead to look out of the carriage window as they drove off. Hannibal appeared deep in thought, hands clasped behind his back and head bent. He did not look back at the carriage, but walked slowly towards the house. Still, there was nothing in Will’s heart but lightness for the rest of the day.

***

The chimes of All Saints’ Church heralded noon as Hannibal drove the curricle over the humped bridge, gateway to the small market town of Bakewell, and proceeded to navigate with care its narrow, bustling roads. Beside him, his sister adjusted her skirts for what seemed the tenth time, and Hannibal frowned.

‘Mischa, do not fidget. There is no reason for nervousness.’

‘Leave her, Hannibal. Mischa will do very well – it is you who appear nervous.’

Margot leaned forward in her seat and aimed at him a teasing look, which he ignored in favour of reaching to briefly touch his sister’s hand.

‘My apologies. Of course you will do splendidly.’

Mischa. Dear, sweet Mischa. Still a little fragile physically – although designed to seat only two, the curricle easily accommodated all three of them – but strong enough now to leave behind the distractions of London and resume the life and role she had been born to.

With wide, golden eyes she looked up at him now, releasing the material which she had gathered between restless fingers on the short journey from Ravenstag, and smoothed out the fine muslin with a murmur of thanks.

Drawing up outside the inn, Hannibal jumped from the curricle and handed it over to the charge of an ostler before helping down first Mischa and then Margot. But before they could proceed into the inn, Hannibal found himself stayed by Margot’s hand.

‘You and Mischa should go in first.’ She cast an uncertain look upwards at the lead-paned windows. ‘I think it best if you smooth the way. The family might not be eager to see me.' She sighed. ‘We did, after all, leave Hertfordshire rather suddenly.’

‘Nonsense,’ clipped Hannibal, guilt rising at the reminder of all that he had yet to confess to his dearest friend. ‘That is all in the past. Besides, Mr Graham would never cut you. He has not a drop of pettiness within him.’

‘Indeed! You have changed your tune.’

But there was no malice in her tone, only gentle amusement tinged with curiosity.

Once inside, they were shown upstairs to a small but comfortably-appointed visitors’ room, wherein Margot was furnished with a pot of tea. Hannibal gestured for Mischa to go before him, and they were led down a narrow corridor to a solid oak door. A knock, a brief enquiry, and they entered to find within faces betraying varying degrees of surprise, though all unquestionably welcoming.

It was the youngest member, bright blue eyes smiling and cheeks becomingly rosy, to whom Hannibal’s attention was immediately drawn, though he remembered his manners long enough to first greet the Crawfords.

‘It gives me great pleasure to see all of you again, and to have the opportunity to introduce my sister to you. Mischa,’ drawing her forward with a gentle hand, ‘this is Mr and Mrs Crawford, and their nephew, Mr Will Graham.’

Mrs Crawford inclined her head graciously, the gentlemen bowed and Mischa managed a low curtsey with barely a tremble.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Lecter. I hope that you are not too fatigued after your journey.’

Will stepped forward, all gentleness, and Hannibal experienced a deep swell of gratitude as he saw how his sister responded immediately to Will’s projected calm.

‘Not at all. Thank you.’

‘It is good to finally meet you. Your brother speaks very highly of you.’

Hannibal watched, fascinated, as Will’s words and soft tone seemed to draw Mischa to him, her shoulders relaxing, head lifted higher. Soon they were talking and laughing as if old friends. Heartened, Hannibal joined the Crawfords and engaged them in conversation about their plans for the day, every so often shooting curious glances at the two young people by the window. Never had he known his shy little sister to warm to a stranger so readily. Was it their Omegan connection? But as much as he wished to allow them to talk uninterrupted, Margot was still waiting.

‘Mr Graham.’

Privately, Hannibal delighted in the fresh spread of colour across the boy’s cheeks as he turned at the sound of his name and their eyes met.

‘Mischa and I did not come alone. Miss Verger is also here and she is most desirous of seeing you. Should I fetch her?’

‘Of course! I would like very much to see Miss Verger again.’

Detecting nothing but pleasure in Will’s tone, Hannibal had no hesitation in leaving Mischa while he returned to the visitors’ room, where a patient Margot was just finishing her second cup. And when once again face to face, Will and Margot greeted each other with genuine warmth.

‘It has been too long since last we were all together – above eight months,’ sighed Margot. ‘I trust that everyone at home is well.’

‘They are, thank you.’

If there was perhaps more that either party wished to say, both were far too polite to do so in company. Seizing the opportunity that the momentary silence afforded, Hannibal stepped forward to address the Crawfords and Will.

‘My sister and I would be delighted if you would join us for dinner at Ravenstag tonight – if, that is, you have no previous engagement.’

Uncertainty flashed across Will’s features, and although it pained Hannibal to see it, he could well understand the cause. Not for the first time, he wished that he had not invited Mason and the Cordells to spend the summer at the estate. Courtesy may have demanded it – and he could not have foreseen this – but the prospect of Will being subjected to more of their supercilious sneering was distinctly unpalatable.

‘That is very kind of you both, Mr Lecter.’ Mr Crawford looked expectantly at his wife and then at Will. ‘We had planned only to dine here at the inn. I am sure that I speak for all of us when I say that we would be pleased to accept.’

Hannibal half-expected Will to protest. To his relief, however, the boy firmed his lips and nodded.

‘It will be our pleasure.’

***

Pleasure was, perhaps, overstating it. Particularly as Mr Verger’s greeting consisted of a half-raised glass and a lip curl that did not pretend to much in the way of friendliness. Seated beside him on the blood red Chesterfield was his sister, Mrs Cordell, who managed at least a brief nod. Mr Cordell was already asleep, slumped in a corner armchair, an empty glass clutched to his oversized stomach.

Mr and Mrs Crawford, who had always shared Will’s enjoyment of the absurd, thankfully took not the least bit of umbrage. And other than a private exchange of amused looks, they sat down with perfect equanimity.

Hannibal was another matter entirely. He looked, Will considered, like a man ready to upend every stick of furniture and turn out the surly trio upon a word. Standing close together as they happened to be, it felt natural to surreptitiously brush his thumb across the centre of Hannibal’s palm in a gesture of reassurance. Natural, but perhaps ill-advised. For Hannibal turned to him with a look of thunderstruck surprise which caused Will to blush and hastily withdraw his hand. How glad he was when, a moment later, a distraction presented itself in the familiar shape of a large black dog. Ripper came bounding into the saloon and hurtled straight towards him, followed closely by Miss Lecter, who looked more animated than Will had yet seen her, in her laughing pursuit of the animal.

Mrs Cordell tutted, Mr Verger eyed the dog with unconcealed dislike; and Will, to hide his grin, knelt to greet the enthusiastic arrival.

‘Mischa, what are you doing?’ Hannibal’s tone was gently reproving but his eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘You know very well that Ripper should be confined to the stables when we are receiving guests.’

‘You may blame me.’

Miss Verger, looking less than contrite, entered the library with barely a glance at her scowling siblings. She placed a gentle hand on the dog’s head.

‘He has been confined in a carriage for the better part of three days, Hannibal. He needs exercise.’

‘Is that not what grounds are for? I believe there is a sufficiency here,’ huffed Mr Verger.

‘Really, Mason? Are you volunteering to take him?’

The look of incredulous horror on Mr Verger’s face was too much for Will, and he could not suppress a snort of laughter. Immediately, he found himself the glaring focus of the Alpha’s wrath.

‘Pray, Mr Graham,’ he drawled, ‘are not the militia removed from Hertfordshire? They must be a great loss to your family.’

Mortification turned instantly to indignation; and Will started to his feet, fully intending to challenge such blatant rudeness whether or not it was his place to do so. Hannibal also took a step forward, eyes steely and countenance grim. But a small sound of distress alerted Will to the fact that Miss Lecter was by no means unaffected by the oblique reference to Mr Brown.

Anxious to avoid a scene which would inevitably cause a good deal of embarrassment all around, Will grasped Ripper by the collar and said, with a lightness he was far from feeling, ‘It is true that the presence of a militia is most reassuring in a neighbourhood. But a good dog is just as valuable a guardian, would not you say, Miss Lecter?’

‘Oh, yes. In-indeed.’

Grateful liquid golden eyes met his and he smiled gently.

‘Then might you direct me to the stables? I would be happy to return Ripper to his stall. And perhaps we could take him for a turn in the grounds beforehand. With your permission, of course, Mr Lecter.’

At last he forced himself to meet Hannibal’s eyes, and the approval he found therein coiled warm in his belly.

‘Granted gladly, Mr Graham.’

Watching Will and Mischa depart, Ripper padding at their heels, Hannibal wished with all his heart that he could abandon his duties as host and follow them. Without Will’s vibrant presence, the room was somehow colder, colours dulled and lights dimmed. Yet not for the world would Hannibal leave the Crawfords to the tender mercies of Mason and the Cordells.

Still, when Will returned, pink-cheeked and tousle-haired, it was difficult to maintain even the appearance of an interest in anything else. Several times during dinner, as Mr Crawford led a lively discussion on Izaac Walton and the merits of being a Compleat Angler, Hannibal’s attention was snared by the vivacious boy seated beside Mischa at the opposite end of the table. Will’s low, musical voice, his graceful gestures and animated expression, held for him a charm that put Hannibal in danger of losing the thread of his companions’ conversation entirely.

And still I can feel the gentleness of your touch.

This put him in mind of an earlier conversation with his sister and Margot.

‘Mischa,’ he prompted, when at length a suitable pause presented itself, ‘have you asked Mr Graham?’

Will looked over at him, brows raised.

‘Not yet,’ replied Mischa, smiling, golden ringlets brushing her cheeks as she tilted her head. ‘Perhaps you would like to.’

‘How very intriguing,’ drawled Mason, cutting into his fillet of pork with unnecessary vigour. ‘Pray do enlighten us!’

All eyes swung to Hannibal, but he was interested only in one pair of quizzical blue. And it was Will whom he now addressed.

‘It has been my family’s custom for many years to give a ball to mark the end of the London Season.’

‘And it is tomorrow night,’ interjected Mischa excitedly, ‘and you are – all of you, that is – invited!’

‘Well!’ Mr Crawford beamed at Mischa – who was blushing a little after her stumbling invitation – and then lifted his glass to Hannibal in salute. ‘That is immensely kind of you both.’

‘Indeed it is, Uncle.’

Hannibal’s eyes flicked immediately back to Will. A soft, almost shy smile played about his lips. Lips that Hannibal had tasted and plundered and had thought never to do so again. But perhaps...

‘There it is, then.’ Mrs Crawford’s light tones brought him back to the present and his sadly neglected duties as host. ‘We would be happy to attend, Mr Lecter.’

Mason huffed; Margot grinned; the Cordells wore identical expressions of pained sufferance. And Hannibal cared not a whit.

***

Their guests did not linger long after dinner.

‘You must have much still to do, and we would not for the world impede you.’

Smiling warmly at Mrs Crawford, Hannibal shook his head. ‘You could not possibly do so, but I greatly appreciate your thoughtfulness.’

With Mr and Mrs Crawford stowed safely within the carriage, he turned to Will. This leave-taking was harder; and, aware of his sister’s presence, Hannibal attempted to check the ardency of his gaze as Will thrust out his hand, lips tilted in a mischievous grin.

‘Thank you for a most entertaining evening.’

Without hesitation, Hannibal returned the offered handshake – although it was, in the event, more a lingering press of palms.

‘Thank you.’

He endeavoured to say with his eyes what he could not speak aloud. For Mischa. For Ripper. For enduring with grace my insufferable acquaintances. Thank you.

The look that Will gave him in return warmed him to his toes.

‘You are very fond of him, are not you?’ Slender arm threaded through his, Mischa leaned against him as they stood at the front door and watched the carriage depart. And when Hannibal gave no reply, ‘You are, I can tell.’

‘Oh yes? And how is that, little one?’ His eyes were still glued to the retreating, rattling vehicle.

‘Well, you watch him a great deal, but you do not say much to him. Almost as if you do not know how. And when other people speak to you, it seems as if you hardly hear them.’

He felt his sister’s small frame shake suddenly with laughter, and looked down at her with haughty enquiry.

‘I am sorry,’ she gasped, ‘but seeing you – you – so inattentive is quite wonderful.’ And she added mischievously, ‘Inattentive to most of us, that is.’

On the point of snapping a denial, it occurred to Hannibal that this was the happiest he had seen his sister in months. Pale cheeks blossoming peach, eyes brimful of mirth.

And all because of Will Graham.

‘You are incorrigible,’ he replied eventually, heart squeezing with relief at the realisation that she was, finally, herself again and whole.

‘Do not worry.’ Mischa patted his arm, wholly unaware of the serious direction which his thoughts had taken. ‘I promise to behave myself tomorrow evening.’

Tomorrow evening. When there would be music. And dancing. And Will...

Hannibal found himself suddenly eager and alert, tiredness slipping from him, nerves thrumming with anticipation. Tomorrow evening could not come quickly enough.