“To be fair, he could have disowned me, but he didn’t. But it meant we were never as close as we might have been. And it meant . . . he could never allow me to come home. No one from the family could ever know that the famous womaniser James Drood had sired a bum boy. He had his reputation to think of.”

“He protected you,” I said.

“Yes,” said Harry. “But he never accepted me.”

“Look,” I said. “I don’t give a wet slap whether you’re gay or not. But I have to ask. How can Roger be your . . . partner, when he’s also your stepbrother?”

Harry smiled crookedly. “If his being a hellspawn doesn’t bother me, why should anything else? We knew we were meant for each other, the moment we met in that awful little nightclub in Paris.”

“Even hellspawn have hearts,” said Roger.

“You still stink of the Pit,” I said bluntly. “He’s a demon, Harry. You can’t trust him or anything he says. Demons don’t love anyone. They can’t.”

“I’m only half demon,” said Roger. “I’m half human, and very bothersome that can be, at times. I have all the usual run of human emotions, though I never let them get in the way before. I was there in that nightclub on purpose, sent to seduce Harry as a way of getting at James, and through him the Droods . . . but instead, our eyes met, and that was that. I was in love, much to my alarm. We fell for each other right then and there, and we’ve never been apart since.”

“Are you complaining?” Harry said fondly.

“No,” said Roger. “Never. But it does mean I can never go home again. They’d never understand . . .”

“I know the feeling,” said Harry, and squeezed Roger’s hand.

“You can’t trust him, Harry,” I said, trying my best to get through to him. “He’s a hellspawn! They lie like they breathe; it’s natural to them!”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Harry said flatly. “Not this family, and least of all the man who murdered my father.”

“It wasn’t murder,” I said. “It was a fair fight. Neither of us wanted it, but . . .”

“Yes,” said Harry. “It always comes down to the family, doesn’t it, and the awful things we do because of it. Tell me this much, at least—tell me my father died well.”

“Of course he did,” I said. “He went down fighting to the last.”

Harry looked at me thoughtfully, his head cocked slightly to one side. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Cousin Eddie.”

“There’s a lot of things I’m not telling you,” I said easily. “I keep my secrets to myself. So should you. I won’t tell the family you’re gay . . .”

“How very noble of you,” said Roger.