Page 22 of As Many Stars
“It’s not unusual, you know,” Ash went on, quick words like chattering knives, flaying open skin with each syllable, “to have a personal physician—Byron’s done it, other gentlemen’ve done it, and we can tell everyone I’m still ill—”
“You are,” Cam contributed. “Those lungs of yours…”
“Yousaid I’d get better. Gradually, yes, I know. My point is, no one’ll care if Cam moves in, and…”
“And I’d been thinking about London,” Cam took up, “in any case. Bigger clientele. All your lords and ladies. Got recommendations from the Duke of Straithern, and the Duke of Auburndale, haven’t I? Thinking I might set up a practice here.”
Blake just kept nodding, because that made sense, and said, through the continued flaying-alive, “You’ll be an absolute success, especially if you’ve got Ash; he can send you all his Royal Antiquarian associates too.”
“I could!” Ashley practically bounced with glee. “I will.”
The Arctic, Blake thought. America. The frontier. Some wilderness. Where he could bleed to death in silence, hidden away from any view. “Make sure someone’s organizing all your household expenditures and income, then. If you’re…combining households.”
They exchanged glances. “But,” Ash said, “you are, too…aren’t you? That is—I know you don’t like your house, and—and everyone knows you do what you want, you never follow convention…and if I’m assembling an ambitious library, and you’re a writer, it’d make sense that you’d be involved in my project, wouldn’t it?”
“You want to employ me?”
“As a friend, not a secretary—it would be a reason for you to be here. I—we—we thought that it made sense, if we’re living together…” Ash faltered. “Do you…not want that?”
So much. Deeper than every bruise. Every ounce of his being. The sun ducked behind a cloud again. “I’ve got a book to finish.”
“You could do that here.”
“I can always visit.”
“No, but…that’s not…do you think we don’t want you to live with us?”
“If you’re thinking that,” Cam said, “you’d be wrong,” but his hand hadn’t left Ash’s, as they stood in front of Blake, inAsh’s study, in Ash’s house.
“I don’t have any plans yet.” True. Nothing settled. South America, perhaps. Jungles. Rivers. As far from London, libraries, physicians, as he could get.
“But that’s just it! We think you’re going to leave us.” Ash’s voice shook. “And we don’t want you to—we nearly lost you once, we can’t lose you again, we love you. We need you. Please don’t go.”
“But,” Blake said, bewildered. “I’ll stay if you ask. I always do, don’t I?”
“Oh God.” Ash’s whole face crumpled. “You don’t know—how can you not know, what have we done—you think we don’t love you but you’ll still stay with us because I ask…Blake, I’m so sorry…what have we done, to make you think you deserve that?”
“Nothing!” Most of Ash’s declaration made no sense, but his own response was instinctive: Ash was hurt, and Blake would try to fix it. He pushed himself to his feet. Reached out. Took Ash’s free hand. “You’ve done nothing. I promise. I won’t leave. I love you; you know I do. I’ll stay and do all your accounts. You’re dreadful at mathematics and I need to write the next book in any case.”
Ash yanked his hand away. His eyelashes were damp. “Stop. Just—just stop.”
“Er…stop what?” He knew, or he thought he did. Stop trying to help. Stop agreeing. Make the break easier.
“We’re doing this wrong,” Cam said. “Blake. Listen. Answer me. What do you want?”
Blake stared at the rug, felt the command tug at his chest—and, even now, annoyingly, his cock; responding to dominance—and did not know how to answer. He had to, though, so finally he said, “I want you both to be happy.”
“Ah,” Cam said. “But, you see, lad…there’s some of the problem. Because we’re an us, all three of us, and we’re nothappy if you’re not happy.”
“But Iam,”Blake said. “I am.”
Cam sighed, muttered, “I’m decent at healing work, but this’s more like a miracle,” but also put out a hand, took Blake’s chin in that unassailable grip, made him look. “You’re thinking that you’re not good enough for us, am I right? That you’re going to go away and leave us here together, and we’ll not think about you ever again?”
Blake started to answer, flippant: the Earl of Thorns at his best, a last performance. Cam’s hand bit down harder. He shut his eyes against the fire of it: the pleasure, the dominance, his own surrender. “You might think about me. I…I thought you might. Sometimes.”
Ash’s voice brimmed over, silver-gold with tears. “That’s what you think of us?”
“No!” He opened his own eyes in horror. “No, I…I didn’t mean…”
