“Dear me,” Henry says, head tipped against the stethoscope’s ivory earpiece so that his black curls tickle Goodsir’s bare chest, “This heart of yours beats much too fast, Mr Goodsir, much too fast.”

Harry loves this game, and he tries not to arch his hips as he asks in a whisper, “What would you recommend, Doctor Collins?”

“I’ve yet to reach a diagnosis,” he answers with a lovely grin, hand journeying to the crotch of his patient’s trousers.