"Horses are contradictions, are they not?" Brendan said pensively. "So very strong, but so vulnerable."

"Yes. Still, though their lives are short, they live every moment to the full. There's an honesty to horses—and dogs, too."

"They have what we have lost."

Carlisle turned to look at him; Brendan smiled. "I've not gone maudlin drunk, sir, only reflecting on this evening. So much deceit, so much distress, and all of it caused not by the thing itself, but by the law's condemnation."

Carlisle took a sip of brandy, let it warm him through. He felt as though he should argue the point, but he was forced to agree, in principle. "Such behavior does break the marriage vow," he said.

"If the man is married to begin with, it does," Brendan agreed. "But the wedding vows don't count for much if a gentleman chooses to keep a mistress." He glanced at Carlisle and said quickly, "I apologize, sir; I did not mean to imply you would do such a thing."

"No offense taken. I was never so much as tempted to stray. But I do agree, the law is unreasonably selective. I once heard a parson preach a sermon that claimed the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah was inhospitality and greed, rather than the more usual fault."

"And how did the congregation take it? Tar and feathers, I should think."

"No, he prefaced it with the justification that it was for children's ears, to give them an explanation until they were old enough to understand the whole story. Still, what he said made sense, and since my mother sent me off to war with a Bible and there were times it was the only thing I had to read, I did."

"All of it?" Brendan asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes." He did not think it necessary to explain that he had been searching for a loophole, hoping that his own soul was not damned forever by his warm regard for Captain Lockwood. "And of all the abominations in Leviticus, it does seem peculiar that one act should be so reviled in this modern day. Men shave every morning; we cut our hair, we eat pork and lobster… every bit as bad as sodomy, according to the Bible. And as you say, Leviticus prescribes that a man who commits adultery should be put to death, along with his mistress. We'd see a great many empty seats in Parliament if that part of the law were to be interpreted as literally."

His glass was empty, but it had not been a very large drink. He thought another would not hurt. "What you must consider, though, is not what the Bible says, but how Society interprets what it says. When the great majority eat pork and consort with mistresses, those transgressions will not be punished. When you consort with someone like Mr. Hillyard—"

"Never again!"

"Or anyone not a woman," Carlisle said. "You risk not only reputation, but your very life. If you were my son—"

"I am not," Brendan met his eyes, and Carlisle looked away from the intensity of feeling he saw there. "Please, sir—I admire you more than I can say, but I cannot see you as my father."

"Just as well, since your own should be with you for some time yet," Carlisle said wryly. "Still—I admire you as well, and even if I did not find your companionship agreeable, I should fear for your safety if you continue to seek … affection … in such hazardous company."

Brendan emptied his own glass, and nodded when Carlisle proffered the decanter. He gazed down at the amber liquid, as though seeking an answer in its depths. "You say that as though I have a choice, sir. I do love my sister—she was a jolly playmate in my childhood, and I still enjoy her company. But apart from dancing and conversation, women hold no attraction for me. They are pretty to look upon, as horses are—and in matrimonial terms, they have as much appeal. I wish it were otherwise."

He took a deep drink, and smiled sadly. "I have had enough brandy to say this, and I beg your pardon in advance. If I could find a woman half as beautiful as yourself, sir—I would marry her. But that will never happen."

Carlisle cursed himself for bringing up the subject, and tried not to think about how lovely the boy's speaking eyes were, under those jet-black brows. He felt he should say something, but what words were there to undo those he'd uttered so unwisely?

"I do not think I shall ever marry," Brendan said without waiting for an answer. "Thank God I'm not my father's heir. As for seeking affection…I believe the military term is 'forlorn hope.'"

He shook his head, as though the subject was more than he could stand, and glanced around. "This is a pleasant room. It suits you. And there's a symmetry to ending our business in the room where it began, don't you think?" He set his glass down carefully, and Carlisle judged his condition as slightly in his altitudes but well in control. "Shall we burn this dangerous book, sir, and call our business done?"