She sighed, and set the candle down on the desk. “Boys. They’re so much more fragile than girls. Everyone thinks it’s the other way around, but it almost never is. It’s a burden.”

He came over to her. He wanted to reach for her, but stopped short. “Sorry about that.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I attract idiots.” She took his hand. “Thanks for sticking up for me,” she said.

“Any time.” He looked around the room, which dimly shuddered in the candlelight. “I’ve never been in here before.”

“It’s nice.” She moved her thumb in little circles over the back of his hand. “I hide away in here sometimes, when it’s just the two of them and I don’t want to hear them. There’s quite a library.”

She let his hand go and crossed over to the bookcases, and he followed her. They scanned the shelves, leaning against each other. He could just make out the titles. Admiralty and Maritime Law. Black’s Law Dictionary. A lot of history too, ancient Greek and Roman, including Gibbon, in six volumes, leather bound. “Ah, your favorite book,” she said, and from a shelf above them pulled down a copy of Boswell, the title in gilded letters. Henry laughed and told her to put it away, and as she did so, by instinct, as if to support her, he set his hand at the small of her back. She turned to him, his hand sliding around to her hip, and their faces were close. He could smell her breath—it was sweet, a faint note of whiskey. They were near a corner of the room, behind the desk. Her eyes shone.

“Can we hide here the rest of the night?” she asked softly.

“I mean, we can’t go back out there, can we?” he said. “As long as what’s-his-name is around.”

“No.”

Back in the den they were between songs. Someone shouted something, and there was a burst of laughter.

Alma moved her hand over his chest, over the contours of his muscles, up under his jacket to his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of it through his shirt. He was trembling. He was tipsy, maybe drunk, but he was intensely alert, every nerve ending alive. He pulled her by the hips against him, so she would know he was hard, and ran his hands over her behind, felt the soft flesh through the smooth fabric. She lifted her face so their noses touched, and breathed against him, waiting for him to go the last inch, which he did, and their lips met at last. The touch of her tongue against his. Her fingers running up the back of his head, the chills. He gripped her, and began gathering her dress up behind her.