An incessant tapping woke Rosalie from her dream. She was grateful, for the dream had involved a feral Marianne, eyes red like a demon, chasing her through the dark halls of Corbin House.
She sat up with a gasp, Burke’s arm curling tighter around her, ready to soothe her even in his sleep. By the light of the fire, she could just make out the face of the mantle clock. Three in the morning.
And someone had most assuredly just knocked on her door.
She shook Burke by the shoulder, rousing him with a finger to her lips. He blinked awake and she pointed silently at the door. At first, he was bleary eyed and befuddled, but another soft rap at the door had him more alert than a wolf on the hunt.
His entire body tensed as he slipped his bare legs off the side of the bed, reaching for his breeches. Someone was knocking on the door and they both knew it wasn’t Tom. The hospital charity bazar was in the morning and Tom had already traveled on to Greenwich to help Hartington with the setup.
Rosalie put a hand on Burke’s arm. “You must go. Now.”
He stared daggers at her. “Who is knocking on your door, Rosalie?”
“I don’t know,” she mouthed, slipping out the other side of her bed. The floor was freezing on her bare feet. Her chemise slipped off one shoulder as she flicked her long braid over the other, reaching for her robe.
Burke took a step towards her door, his hand outstretched.
She rushed forward, her robe still undone, and grabbed for his arm, giving him a desperate push towards his own room. Useless. The man was a tree.
He glared, curling his arm possessively around her, his intentions clear. No one would be opening that door but him. Before either of them could silently argue, a deep voice murmured through the solid wooden door. “Burke…open the door.”
James.
They both breathed a sigh of relief and Burke crossed to the door. He turned the lock with a click, opening it a crack to let James slip in.
James stood in her room for the first time, his eye glancing to Burke, who was naked but for a pair of breeches slung low on his hips, still undone at the waist. James’ eye trailed over to Rosalie—her hair set in ribbon curlers, her robe open over a chemise all askew, down to her bare toes curling on the cold rug. James was dressed no more formally. He wore a shirt and breeches, velvet tasseled slippers on his feet. His shirt was rolled up to the elbows and open at the neck.
Her mouth quirked into a smile as she remembered he was the first of the three men she saw completely naked. That afternoon with Madeline by the water’s edge, she saw every wet, glistening inch of him. It felt like a lifetime ago instead of only a few weeks.
“What happened?” Burke started buttoning up his breeches. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” James replied, seeming suddenly unsure. “I…this was a mistake.” His eyes darted to Rosalie.
Her smile fell as she really took him in—the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. After everything between them over the past few days, he was still hurting, confused and angry and alone with his lofty principles.
She stepped up to him, cupping his cheek with a gentle hand. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, his dark lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks.
“You look exhausted,” she murmured.
He covered her hand with his own, opening his eyes. “I…can’t sleep,” he admitted.
With a nod, she dropped her hand from his face and stepped back. She didn’t need Tom’s plea sounding in her ears to guide her next steps. She knew what she wanted…what he needed. “Come to bed.”
James glanced from her to Burke, a brow raised in silent question.
Without hesitation, Burke began unfastening his breeches. “I sleep nude.”
“I know.” He followed behind Rosalie to the far side of the bed.
Rosalie slipped off her robe, flashing Burke a little smile as he climbed back into her bed.
He tugged back the coverlet, letting her slip in. “Stoke the fire,” he directed at James. “And close the curtains on your side. It’s colder than a witch’s tit in here.”
James moved silently over to the fireplace, adding a few logs and shifting them with a fire iron. With his back turned to them, Burke took the moment to tip her face towards him and ask his own silent question. She nodded, leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth. Assuaged, he rolled over, tugging the curtains on his side of the bed closed.
James returned, the fire blazing behind him, casting long shadows down the walls. He shrugged off his breeches, leaving on his billowing white shirt. It was long enough to cover him as he sank down onto the bed.
Rosalie could sense his nerves warring with his desperate fatigue. Wasting no time, she pulled him down to her, letting him sink his face onto the pillow and curl around her, his chin tucked against the curve of her breast. His left arm wrapped around her middle and she tangled their bare legs together. With her free hand, she brushed his wavy curls off his brow with slow strokes.
Burke waited for them both to settle before scooting in behind Rosalie. He buried his face in the curve of her neck. She felt him sinking into sleep, totally at peace with James’ presence.
“This pillow smells like Tom,” said James, his breath warm against her shoulder.
“Aye, well that’s Tom’s side of the bed,” Burke mumbled. “You’ll have to fight him for it when he returns.”
“Perhaps they can simply wrestle you to the floor, and their problem will be solved,” Rosalie replied with a sleepy smile.
“Not a fucking chance.” He slid his hand around her stomach to cup her sex, pressing her back against his hips. “You sleep nestled against my cock, or not at all.”
“Learn to share, or I will sleep alone,” she countered.
He grumbled, not loosening his hold on her as he grazed his teeth over her neck, giving her a little nip. He soothed the spot with a lave of his tongue, which sent a shiver down her arms. She was too tired to let herself become aroused. These men were wearing her out, body and soul. She was desperate for sleep.
And yet there was something she did want before she let sleep claim her. She brushed her fingers through James’ hair again. “James…”
He hummed to let her know he was still awake.
“Any man who sleeps in my bed must always kiss me goodnight.”
A sleepy smile tipped his lips as he obliged, lifting his chin to press his mouth to hers. She returned his kiss. Their mouths both opened slightly as she flicked his lips with her tongue. He echoed with his own lick before breaking away, settling himself back at the curve of her breast.
It was the most chaste kiss they’d ever shared, and yet something about it felt earth-shaking. There was a promise in it. That same promise of more that scared her half to death.
Burke was not James. Nor was Tom. They bent to her whims eagerly, joyfully even. She set the rules, and they simply adjusted course. The bastard and the sailor, carefree second sons willing to follow her every lead. But this was James bending. If she forced him to bend much farther, he would break. She knew the truth deep in her heart. She knew it almost from the moment she met him. If Rosalie meant to keep James close, or bring him even closer, the only way would be for her to learn to bend too.
