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“Persuasion. My favorite.”
Gravity see-sawed through Cameron as Henry grabbed him and threw him over his shoulder.
Cameron laugh-cried. “Cheater. Put me down. ‘Nothing ever fatigues me than doing what I do not like.’”
“Mansfield Park, and you don’t sound fatigued. Where’s your bedroom?”
Bedroom? “What will you do with me?”
Henry patted the back of his thighs. “Undress you, of course.”
“Henry!” Cameron jiggled as Henry raced through the house.
“Ahh, this room looks promising.”
Cameron landed on his bed, feather quilts swallowing him. Henry loomed over him, body caging his, radiating warmth. Every nerve-ending, from his neck to his forearms to his thighs, was alight with anticipation. Henry smirked and slid his hand under the hoodie. “Take this off.”
Cameron’s tongue darted along his bottom lip. “This is moving fast.”
“Yes.” Henry pushed himself up and off the bed. “The ball has started.”
Cameron laughed quietly, sitting strategically to hide his hardening reaction. “How’d you know this was my room?”
“The bedside lamp is on, and you seem to be the only one living here, Mr. Microwave Meal.”
“Those fun detective skills again.”
Henry waggled his brows, and opened his drawers. “Want me to play Poirot in your room?”
“God, no. It was painful enough the first time.”
Henry stopped. “Oops, sorry. You are clearly sexual, though.”
“Oh my God, you didn’t just see my—”
“Quite. I’m afraid you might be disappointed with the real thing.”
“You might as well drag me to your haunted house. Either way, I’m dead.”
“Excellent. Now . . . what to wear.” He flung open the standing wardrobe. Coat hangers scraped along the rail. “This will do perfectly.”
He pulled out the costume Cameron was supposed to have returned to Ask Austen Studios after the launch. “Still have the boots?”
“Under the coats.”
Henry dropped his costume on the bed, boots at the foot.
Cameron folded Henry’s hoodie and passed it to him. “There you go.”
Henry slid the hoodie atop his dresser, then gazed out into the dark garden as Cameron stripped and pulled on his shirt, breeches, half-coat.
“There’s something familiar about this place.”
“It’s one of the prettiest streets in Port Ratapu.”
Henry frowned, struggling to place a key bit of information. He shook out of the thought. “It is a lovely place you have.”
“Lovely, yes. But not mine. I’m just living here for a little while longer.” A week. He had a week from Sunday to move.
He should be asking West and Josh or even Taylor if he could crash with them for a bit. Instead he was being wooed to his potential demise.
Henry’s pensive, intelligent eyes shadowed as he stared out into the garden. A flutter of confusion filled Cameron’s chest, and he zipped up his boots and joined Henry at the window. Henry turned to him, expression shifting. Lips hitched softly as he followed the sleek lines of Cameron’s costume.
Cameron flushed at the quiet appreciation. “I shouldn’t have put my gloves on first. This stupid cravat is giving me grief.”
“Here, let me.”
Henry took over, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin at Cameron’s throat. Cameron’s breath trembled out of him. He wanted to ask what they were. What this was.
“Henry, I . . .”
“Yes?”
“I—I . . . never mind.”
The Tilney manse was as dark as the surrounding woods, a silhouette against the deep purple sky; only the lights from the windows glowed, making them appear to float. The open gates groaned on their hinges against a howling wind. A promising start to the evening.
Especially on the heels of failing to ask Henry what was happening here.
Cameron adjusted his coat.
He wished he could sink into it. Better yet, he wished he could sink into the electrical aura that always leaped to life when he neared Henry.
Even if he was unhappy that Henry had insisted on parking on the street so as not to disturb the Halloween feel of the house.
Their footsteps echoed eerily off the path.
“Tell me. About scaring yourself.”
Henry nodded. “Well, I was nine, and I’d just finished reading The BFG—”
“Nine? Everyone scares themselves at nine. You lured me here under false pretenses.”
Henry bumped his arm against Cameron’s. “I’m happy you came.”
Cameron grumbled. “I want a promise.”
Henry looked intrigued.
“If I see a ghost, if I faint—”
“I’ll perform the kiss of life, yes.” Henry paused at the steps of the house. “Maybe we should take a private tour of the graveyard.”
Cameron rang out a nervous laugh. “I was going to say don’t tease me about it.”
“I like my idea much better.”
The stained-glass door opened and costume-clad guests tumbled out of the house with champagne glasses, laughing. Henry helloed them and led Cameron inside.
Dark wooden paneling, textured red-and-gold floral and Maori spiraled wallpaper, darker tapestries, and tiled floors greeted him.
True to Henry’s word, the grand hall had been decorated to theme: flickering cool light, mannequins wearing torn dresses, ungodly cobwebs, an eerie laugh ringing out of hidden speakers. A baby puppet, crying, hung in a cage surrounded by candy.
