Almost. Luckily, he remembered in time. He also remembered to slide his arms around Arthur’s shoulders and hold him close, pressing down with his fingers so that Arthur would know how much he liked it. Pleasure and desire rushed through him with such force it sucked the breath right out of him. He felt a little dizzy, but deliciously so, when Arthur’s tongue brushed against his. Gray didn’t think it had been an accident.

  He was trying to imagine what might come next, and looking forward to finding out, when a loud thump from upstairs interrupted them.

  Startled, Arthur pulled his head back, breaking the kiss. He held Gray away at arm’s length while he gazed up at the ceiling as though he expected it to slide open and provide him a view of the rooms above them.

  “Is everything all right?” Gray asked, disappointed by the shift in Arthur’s attentions. “That was Veronique, surely?”

  “Er-yes,” Arthur answered, though somehow he didn’t sound convinced. “No doubt she knocked something over with her skirt. She has never cared for the English style of dress for ladies and finds such garments cumbersome. She prefers her native dress.”

  “I suppose that is understandable.”

  Another crash, as though some object had been hurled forcibly to the floor, preceded a burst of Veronique’s foreign chatter. She sounded agitated, perhaps even angry.

  This time Arthur dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back. “You must excuse me for a moment, Gray. Please wait here.”

  “Of course.” Gray hid his disappointment, since it would be impolite to do otherwise. Arthur gave him a grim nod and rushed from the room. Gray heard his boots clattering up the stairs. With nothing better to do, he finished his brandy, wincing as it burned its way down his throat, and then plucked idly at the piano for a few moments. As dreadful as Arthur’s impromptu recital had been, Gray’s attempts proved even worse. But then, he had never taken a single lesson in his life. The vicarage where he’d grown up had favored simple furnishings, which did not include the luxury of musical instruments. Such entertainments were reserved for after-dinner gatherings with his father’s parishioners, and even then the selections tended to be hymns. Gray did not look back on those times with any nostalgia. He was glad to be free. Arthur’s kiss had convinced him his future lay along a different path—one that would require courage and discretion in equal parts, but one he was prepared to blaze. Nothing else would have made him truly happy or been true to himself.

  Another series of thuds issued from upstairs, along with what sounded like Arthur shouting. Was he having some sort of confrontation with Veronique? A more disturbing thought struck Gray—what if they weren’t alone in the house? Could someone had broken in while he and Arthur were dining and attacked the housekeeper? Though Arthur had told him to stay where he was, Gray knew he had to offer his assistance. No doubt Arthur had not grasped the severity of the situation when he had made that request.

  He went to the door and peered out. The sounds from upstairs had stopped, but the house had grown dark. No one had bothered to light the candles in the hallway or turn on the newfangled gas lamps that lined the wall by the staircase. An odd, unnerving feeling stole over Gray and made him shiver. If there had been an intruder, he had either escaped or incapacitated Veronique and Arthur. The possibility that they had come to violent harm made Gray’s stomach tighten. Still, he had an advantage—an intruder would probably have no idea anyone else was in the house.

  Hastily he returned to the parlor and looked around the room for something to use as a weapon, but found nothing suitable. He doubted he could use his fists as effectively as a heavy object, but he realized he had little choice when he heard footsteps starting down the stairs. The sound was slow and plodding, as though someone were walking with a heavy limp.

  For a moment, Gray thought the person would move past the parlor and head straight for the front door, leaving him to check on Arthur and Veronique in safety. To his horror, though, the thumping sounds grew louder as booted feet made a slow but unerring path for the very room he was hiding in. His presence had not gone unremarked at all, it seemed. Close to panic, Gray blew out the two candles atop the piano and crouched in the darkness behind it, prepared to spring out and defend himself if necessary. He thought his heart would burst with fear when a tall shadow loomed up in the threshold and then lurched into the room. The silhouetted figure paused for a moment and then started toward Gray. The shadows had failed to conceal him at all, though he could not imagine how anyone could see so well in the dark. His rapid breathing must have given him away.

  Instinct drove him to jump up and fight for his life. Before he could even close his fists and start swinging, though, powerful hands locked around his throat and dragged him from his hiding place. He couldn’t scream, but he flailed and kicked and twisted his body, desperate to break that killing grip. Nothing seemed to have any effect. Gray realized he was about to die—right there in Arthur’s parlor, in the very spot where they had kissed only minutes before. How had everything gone so wildly wrong so quickly?

  The strength left his body as those strong fingers squeezed the breath from him without the slightest hint of mercy. Just before oblivion washed over him, though, he managed to look up. The room remained dark, but from this close distance he could make out the general shape of his attacker’s face.

  It was one he knew well.

  “Arthur?” he managed to gasp as his throat closed in. “What the devil?”

  Chapter 4

  In his dream, Arthur moved toward him, though this time the room was well-lit and he could see the twisted rage on Arthur’s face. He was in his shirt sleeves again, and his eyes shone glassy and wild. While Gray tried to duck out of the way, Arthur grabbed the candle off the top of the piano, flung it to the floor, and stomped on it. Just before the light went out, Gray thought he heard someone calling the name “Adam.” The voice sounded strangely like Arthur’s. Then darkness veiled the room again and Gray passed out.

  When he opened his eyes, he found himself sprawled on a small sofa in a room he had not seen before. Arthur was pressing a cool wet cloth to the sore spots that ringed his neck. It felt painful to swallow and almost as uncomfortable to speak. Nonetheless, Gray forced himself to do both.

  “Arthur…?” The moment the name escaped his lips, memories came rushing back—the thudding footsteps, the shadowy figure reaching out for him, the terror when those merciless fingers clamped down. Most of all, though, he remembered the face he had glimpsed just before he passed out.

  “Yes, I’m here,” Arthur said in a soothing voice. He placed a firm hand on Gray’s shoulder as Gray struggled to sit up. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. He didn’t seriously hurt you.”

  “He?” Gray spat back the word, not bothering to hide his outrage. “What do you mean, he? It was you, Arthur. You attacked me.”

  Arthur’s hand on his shoulder remained firm. “I assure you I did not. How could you think such a thing? On the contrary, I stopped the attack just in time.”

  “But I saw you, Arthur.” Gray paused to rub at his throat, now bruised and tender. He winced and his eyes filled with tears. “You can into the room and grabbed me. I could have been killed—in fact, I felt sure I would be. Why, Arthur?”

  “I don’t deny that you were attacked. When I came upon you, however, the parlor was dark. Every last candle was out.”

  The calmness with which Arthur referred to the traumatic events baffled Gray. He started to nod, but the discomfort in his neck made him think better of it. He settled for merely agreeing out loud. “Yes—that’s true.”

  “So you can’t possibly know who attacked you in the dark. I don’t deny I came into the room—but I never put my hands on you for any reason other than to halt what was happening, revive you, and deliver you to this room.” Arthur shook his head. “I realize you are confused. You lost consciousness for a few moments. The various sensations you experienced as you began to run out of breath became jumbled. It’s a perfectly common medical condition. In layman’s terms, you are misremembering the events—changing the order around in your mind. I’m not offended. It isn’t your fault.”

  “You stopped him?” Gray scowled, finding Arthur’s interpretation of the incident hard to believe. It seemed a bit self-serving as far as he was concerned. Still he could think of no reason for Arthur to attempt to murder him. In that sense, he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He did, after all, feel extremely confused and disoriented. “Please, tell me everything that happened. Who was this brute? Was it the same fellow I saw on the path the first day we met?”

  Arthur averted his gaze before he replied. A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I suppose we could best describe him as a troubled soul who made a terrible mistake. Fortunately, I intervened before he caused irreparable harm.”

  “Then someone did enter the house!” Again Gray struggled to sit up. This time Arthur let him, though Gray did not get as far as climbing back onto his feet thanks to a rush of dizziness. “Arthur, that is intolerable. Surely the constable should be alerted! This man must be apprehended before he really does kill someone. He’s utterly, dangerously mad!”

  “Please, Gray—let me handle the matter. I assure you no one else is in any danger. I have taken every precaution to prevent a repeat of what happened this evening. You have my sincerest apology.”

  Again Gray marveled at Arthur’s unruffled manner. True, as a physician he was probably trained to remain cool-headed no matter how dire the circumstances. On the other hand, surely any normal man, whatever his profession, would summon the law upon discovering a trespasser attacking one’s dinner guest.

  Just then another, far more disturbing thought stuck Gray. Was Arthur hesitant to involve the constable because he, too, was involved in something not quite legal? Gray had heard harrowing tales of unethical scientists who hired miscreants known as resurrection men to supply them with materials for study—in other words, body snatchers. Could the man who attacked him been one of Arthur’s unsavory associates in such a venture?

  The more he thought about it, the more possible it seemed. The theory would explain his secrecy, his experiments, his odd household. Arthur might even have deliberately chosen a servant whose English was limited and would therefore not betray him.

  This time Gray did manage to slide his feet to the floor. His head felt like it had been halfway twisted off, and he expected to wear high collars for a few days until the bruises subsided. “I think I had better leave.”

  “I understand.” Arthur rose as well, his face troubled. Gray would have given anything to read his thoughts. “Let me alert my stable boy and get my carriage ready. It will take him a short time to hitch it up.”

  “That isn’t necessary. My college is within walking distance.”

  “You are injured. It’s dark. I couldn’t possibly permit that.”

  “My legs are uninjured. Please, Arthur. I need to get back so I don’t rouse the porter’s suspicions. It must be quite late.”

  “You are too stubborn.” Arthur sighed. Gray wondered if he thought someone might still be lurking around the house, ready to do harm to anyone who exited. When he considered that, he became less enthusiastic about charging out into the darkness alone.

  “Very well. I accept your offer of the carriage ride if you insist.”

  “I do.” Arthur went to the door and called to Veronique. When she arrived, he spoke to her in that strange French dialect the two used between themselves. Veronique snorted and marched off, presumably to notify the stable hand.

  Gray saw no further sign of Veronique as he followed Arthur out to the back of the house, where a horse waited beside a small buggy with only two small seats, the kind doctors used to call on patients. The stable hand was a sullen-looking youth who seemed annoyed at being summoned to hitch up the carriage after dark. He had clearly been lying down in the barn, since bits of straw clung to his unruly hair. He handed over the reins without saying anything. For a moment Gray wondered if he, too, were unable to speak—another deliberate attempt by Arthur to keep his activities hidden from society at large, perhaps? The back of his neck prickled with sweat. How did he know Arthur didn’t plan to murder him along the darkened road to keep him quiet?

  Still, he would be safer anywhere than here, he decided. He climbed up into the carriage and watched Arthur settle in beside him. When their eyes met, Gray felt ashamed of his suspicions. This was, after all, the same man he had kissed only a few hours before. He had even imagined some sort of future with him. Now, on the basis of little more than his own wild imaginings, he had assumed the worst about Arthur.

  Perhaps Gray really was confused because of the trauma he had experienced. That had to be it. They rode to the college in silence. Now and then Arthur stole a glance at Gray and seemed on the verge of asking after his well-being. Yet he did not speak.

  At last Arthur pulled up in front of the college gates, though not close enough that anyone from the porter’s lodge or the dormitory windows could have spotted his carriage. “ Gray…I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention this…unfortunate incident. I’m sure I needn’t explain that it could be detrimental to both my reputation and the safety of my patients.”

  Gray narrowed his eyes. “I thought you had no patients.”

  “Not now, I don’t. At least, not in the usual sense. But I am still a physician. I have a professional responsibility to maintain a certain…well, image.”

  “I suppose you do.” Of course, as Gray well knew, there were other reasons to keep their dinner, and all that had transpired afterward, a secret. Rumors would surely hint at something far more shocking than a thief breaking into a doctor’s home, and they would not be entirely wrong. “Arthur…who is Adam?”

  Arthur’s eyes widened. Gray could see him forcing a look of shock from his features. “Why do you ask? Where did you hear that name?”

  “I’m not quite sure. It seems as though it came to me in a dream.”

  “Ah. There you are, then. Another misperception brought on by your injury. It was a trick of the mind, Gray, nothing more. You must dismiss it from your thoughts.”

  “If you insist.” It would be better if they did not see each other again. Gray wondered if the thought pained Arthur as much as it did him. In some ways, the idea of losing his friendship with Arthur felt far worse than being strangled. It reminded him of having someone stomp repeatedly on his heart.

  “I enjoyed our evening together,” Arthur said. Then his voice trailed off and he lowered his gaze. “If only…”

  “I appreciate your kindness.” Gray slipped out of his seat before anything more could be, or needed to be, said. “Good night to you, doctor.”

  As Gray had expected, a high collar and extra-stiff cravat hid the purple marks on his neck from his dons and fellow students for the next few days, until they and the pain faded. The agony in his heart, however, did not. The worst moment of all came when he had gone into town with some friends, and they had spotted Veronique coming out of the apothecary’s shop holding a wrapped parcel. She paused and looked up at Gray with accusing, beady eyes. Gray’s friends had laughed, but he felt as if every drop of blood in his body had rushed to his face.

  “I think she’s put a curse on you,” his friends teased him as they walked on. Gray forced himself to nod, but he could not share in their merriment. They had no idea who she was, but he knew she was going home to Arthur, probably to give him the contents of the parcel to use in his research. She would see him, talk to him, and listen to him struggle to play the piano. Gray could not.

  Eventually, Lucien noticed that he hadn’t smiled for days. Unsurprisingly, he assumed it was academic stress that made Gray skip lectures and meals and wander about in a distracted daze.

  “What you need is to get away from this place for a bit,” Lucien advised. “Have you worked on your sketches lately?”

  Gray sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. They’re so dreadful…I can’t see the point.”

  “If you don’t work on them, they’ll never get any better.” Lucien winked. “Anything worth having is worth fighting for, you know. That includes artistic success and many other things, as well.”

  Unexpectedly, Gray felt his mood lighten. Lucien was a true friend. He understood so much that others did not. That afternoon, after he had completed his academic work, he picked up his long-neglected sketchbook and walked to the graveyard. He settled himself on the low stone wall and opened up to the sketch he had done of Arthur. There could be no denying it—in spite of everything that had befallen him in Arthur’s company, he missed him. Now Gray would never know what might have come of their acquaintance—or, why not be direct about it, at least to himself? Their attraction. At that point, he didn’t care about risking scandal, or the vengeance of the laws that forbade two males to love one another, or even the threat of disgruntled resurrection men. He cared only about Arthur. And as much as it hurt to stay away from him, no one said Gray couldn’t think about him. There was no way the law could regulate one’s private thoughts.

  Taking out his pencil, he touched up the sketch of Arthur and then finally finished the one that featured the badly weathered gravestone that read only “Thomas.” Suddenly, he felt proud of his work. Something inside him had changed since the last time he had attempted to draw. Gray wondered if the sheltered upbringing he’d experienced was, ironically, responsible for his inability to create art of any substance. Maybe being attacked, and thinking himself only minutes away from death, had helped to inspire him. Or maybe it had just been Arthur’s kiss.

  Soon footsteps crunched on the gravel path outside the cemetery. Gray’s body reacted before his ears even registered the sound. His muscles tensed and a cold sweat rose on the back of his neck. He started to leap to his feet, prepared to defend himself in case another unwelcome visitor loomed up at the gate like the first time he’d been here.