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Summary
Louis's mouth goes dry. "You're very forward."
"Am I?" Lioncourt's eyes glitter. "I suppose I am. I'm very traditional. Old-fashioned, one might say."
"This is old-fashioned?" Louis returns, looking pointedly at the scant distance between them, looking around the empty garden as if looking for a chaperone.
Lioncourt grins, and Louis's heart trembles traitorously. He looks younger smiling like this, more handsome, too. "Eager, then. Is that more believable?"