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Julius regretted it as soon as he rode away. He shouldn’t have spoken so about Harry’s parents, about the man who’d taken him in after they died. Harry could hardly be expected to forget in a fortnight everyone he’d loved in his old life, and it wasn’t Harry’s fault that any discussion of the opinions of the dead left Julius raw and licking his wounds. But it was too late to turn back and apologize, and at least the rush of air in Julius’s face as he urged his horse to a faster gallop was bracing. If he was honest with himself, Julius had to admit that he had been looking for an opportunity to push Harry away.
Because Harry was lovely and charming, bright and quick to learn. He had applied himself wholly to the task of becoming a gentleman, and although he did not entirely refrain from complaints, his obvious good nature made them infrequent and mild. Julius could not quite remember what he had thought would be so awful about this task, why he had tried to refuse. It was hard to remember so many things when he was with Harry: that he was only doing this to repay Richard his favor; that he had no interest in Harry on his own account; that he needed to remain aloof and free of entanglements; and most of all, that he was not allowed to need anyone who wasn’t Marcus.
Marcus had been everything. Every first of Julius’s life had been with Marcus. Their first steps, their first words. They’d never needed friends apart from each other. They’d slept in each other’s beds, they’d cried in each other’s arms, and when they discovered their bodies changing, they’d made those first explorations together, too. Marcus had been Julius’s first kiss and his only love. They knew it was wrong, and they’d done it anyway, because each cared only for his brother out of the whole rest of the world. And now Marcus was dead, and Julius thought the part of himself that could want to touch another human being had died with him. He could hardly touch himself, and he couldn’t look in the mirror, because when he did, it was Marcus’s ghost that looked back at him.
Julius hadn’t wanted anyone since Marcus. He’d tried, a few times, and every encounter had been ghastly. The touch of a hand made his skin crawl, to say nothing of the touch of lips or a prick. He shuddered to even think of it.
And yet—Harry. The way the summer sun lit his brown hair almost golden. His Vane features, lightly reminiscent of Richard, but softer somehow, like a loaf fresh from the oven instead of three days stale. And Harry’s smile. Oh, that smile, the smile that said a thousand words and promised a thousand delights. Julius couldn’t remember the last thing he’d wanted, really wanted, but now he wanted more than anything to make Harry smile. Instead, Julius had lost his temper and stormed off, leaving Harry with that kicked puppy look on his face. Well, that was all to the good, in the end. Harry needed to learn his lessons and do things properly, find a wife and please his grandfather. Harry did not need an entanglement any more than Julius did. They were teacher and pupil, that was all. If Harry did not smile at Julius again, it did not matter. That would make it easier for them both to remember their roles.
Julius reined in his horse to a walk. He stayed out for as long as he could without being late to dress for dinner. When he came in from the stable, Harry was on the stairs. Had he been waiting for Julius? Julius blinked, summoning his protective layer of ice. He knew that he had lost the privilege of Harry’s joy; he expected the hurt and anger his unkind words had earned.
The smile Harry flashed him was tentative, but warm. Julius could feel the honesty and fondness behind it—they radiated off Harry’s body like heat shimmer. Julius couldn’t accept any of those things. He didn’t deserve them, and nothing could replace Marcus. He would only hurt himself more if he tried. That was what Julius told himself, even as he failed to stop himself from returning Harry’s smile, and felt a little more of his ice melting away.