Christy paced the floor again. Christian was in her arms, his head on her shoulder. He hadn’t been sleeping well with Robert gone at night these last few weeks. She hadn’t told Robert because she didn’t want him to feel any worse about his recent absences. She knew he wasn’t at fault. But Christian was used to Robert playing with him and reading to him before Nanny took him up to bed, and the change in his schedule wasn’t sitting well with him.

In a way, Christy didn’t mind. She wasn’t sleeping well with Robert gone, either, and she appreciated Christian’s company. He was a sweet little boy, chubby with a head of light curls. Christy adored him. He was the first person, the only person, who was really and truly hers. He rarely cried, but he could be stubborn. Christy was relatively sure he got that from her.

He looked like his father, the long gone John Coachman, but she didn’t mind that. When Robert held him, Christy could swear there seemed to be a resemblance between them. Enough so that people wouldn’t question his legitimacy. Robert never brought it up. Of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He loved Christian like he was his own.

Christy hummed as she walked the floor with him. He liked to hold a piece of her hair in his little fist when she held him like this. He’d go to sleep holding her hair like that, and he’d fuss when she’d pull it free. She liked that. Liked that he didn’t want to let her go. Too many people had been too willing to let her go. It was nice to have someone who didn’t want to. He’d be one year old soon, and he’d start walking and then he wouldn’t want her to carry him like this. Just thinking about it made her want to cry.

She heard them come in, and so did Christian. He raised his head from her shoulder and turned toward the door.

“Shall we go and say good evening to Papa?” she said to him quietly. He reached for the door with a wordless baby sound of happiness when he heard Robert’s voice. “All right, then,” she told him.

She found them in the kitchen, of course.

“Christy!” Robert exclaimed in shock. “And Christian.” He put down the bread he was holding and reached for the baby, who was just as eagerly reaching for him. Christy handed him over with a smile. She loved to watch their affectionate greetings. It was clear they adored one another.

“Christian, this is Hastings,” Robert said, pointing to the younger man who sitting at the table eating. Hastings raised a hand in greeting and the baby clapped. “He has atrocious manners. Do not emulate him.”

“I’m starving,” Hastings said in his defense as soon as he swallowed. “I haven’t eaten all day. Don’t listen to your father, Christian. I am a wonderful role model.”

“He is also a liar,” Simon said to Christian, looking very serious as he bent down to look in the baby’s eyes. “If he says the grass is green, don’t believe him.”

Robert laughed. “And you already know Simon,” he told Christian.

“No warnings about me?” Simon asked lightly as he turned away to get something to eat.

“Only that he should get used to your presence,” Robert said, bouncing Christian gently and making a face at him.

“Hmm,” was Simon’s noncommittal response. Christy, on the other hand, had to resist the urge to cover her pounding heart with a shaky hand. She glanced over at Hastings, who was avidly watching the proceedings. Now was clearly not the time to ask Robert what he meant by that.

Christy realized that both Hastings and Simon were eating. “Oh, dear,” she said, taking Christian back. He didn’t fuss too much. “You must be hungry, too, Robert. Get yourself something to eat. I’ll put Christian back to bed.”

As she walked out of the kitchen, she stole a glance at Simon, only to find him watching her. He smiled at her and she could see the exhaustion on his face. She just smiled back. No, tonight nothing would be settled.

With a little encouragement, the baby put his head on her shoulder and took her hair in his little fist, and he was fast asleep before they even made it up the stairs. She put him in his bed and waved to Nanny, who had come in at their arrival, then she left the room quietly, closing the door behind her.

She stood in the hall, debating whether or not to go back down to the kitchen, when footsteps on the stairs froze her in place. She breathed a sigh of relief when Simon appeared and not Hastings. It wasn’t until she’d brought Christian up that she’d realized how inappropriately she was dressed to be entertaining Hastings in the kitchen. She was only wearing her dressing gown and her hair was down, plaited, of course, but not neatly.

Simon stopped at the top of the stairs, one boot on the landing. He simply looked at her for a moment or two, his expression pleasant, warm even, but very, very tired.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” he said quietly. “I know you aren’t doing it on purpose. You haven’t an ounce of artifice in you. And yet you’ve somehow managed to stand in the perfect shaft of moonlight to highlight your dark curls and alabaster skin.”

Christy blushed at his compliments. Simon heaved himself up the last step onto the landing with a great sigh. “But I am so tired, Christy, I can hardly think, much less figure out what to do with you.”

“I don’t believe I asked you to do anything,” she replied a little tartly. She had already decided no one was doing anything with her. This time she was going to figure it out and make sure she got what she wanted out of this mess, and fix everyone else up nice and proper in the process, Simon included.

“No, no, you didn’t,” he said with a laugh that sounded a bit delirious. “That’s always been the problem.”

“I’d argue that when the situation arose I asked plenty,” she said, “but this is no time for arguments. Come on, Simon,” she said, stepping forward and taking his arm. She pulled him toward his room. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Do you know how many times I dreamed of you saying that to me?” he asked, letting her lead him.

She looked at him curiously. “No,” she answered, surprised by the question. She hadn’t imagined Simon dreamed about her at all.

“Well,” he said as they entered his room, “perhaps it wasn’t those exact words. Something more like ‘Let’s go to bed.’ Or my favorite, ‘Take me to bed.’”

“Simon,” she said, a little scandalized, even after what they’d done together. Even knowing his reputation, and hers. “Let me help you get undressed.”

“Why are you forever undressing me?” he asked, but he obediently turned around and let her tug his jacket off.

“Because you are forever injured or tired or heaven knows what else,” Christy replied.

“Ah, Christy, you have no idea,” he said in that smooth, decadent, rapscallion’s voice of his. She wondered if he was even aware that he was trying to seduce her. He spun back around and took the jacket from her hands, tossing it aside.

“I should hang that,” she argued.

“Never mind it,” he murmured, stepping in close to her. “When do I get to undress you?”

He smelled so good, and even though it had been insufferably hot all day, she still wanted to be close to him, to touch the fire of his skin. But he was so tired he was almost punch drunk, and Christy knew that even though Robert had given his tacit approval, he hadn’t meant it. Particularly now that he also had feelings for Simon. Did Simon reciprocate those feelings?

“What about Robert?” she murmured, letting herself put her hand on his chest. She was still separated from his skin by his shirt and waistcoat, after all.

Simon leaned against her hand, cupping her elbows as he leaned down and kissed her neck just above her dressing gown. “Robert?” he murmured against her skin. “He can help undress you. Or me. Or we can undress him.” She felt him smile against her. “That sounds nice.”

Christy was shocked at the decadence of the picture he painted. Although, honestly, it did sound nice. But she couldn’t imagine Robert letting that happen.

“Shirt off,” she said breathlessly, trying to get back to the task at hand. “Do you need me to rub your back tonight?”

Simon took her hands in his and placed her palms on his chest, then he ran them slowly down over his stomach to the top of his trousers and with his hands over hers bunched his shirt in their fists and tugged it out. “Maybe,” he said, placing light kisses on her neck and cheek. “I may need you to rub me.”

“Simon, you’re being very naughty,” she told him, her voice unsteady.

“There was a time you were very naughty with me,” he said. “Take my shirt off.” She hesitated, and Simon pulled back. His gaze on her was no longer sleepy, though his lids were heavy. “My back hurts,” he said.

She wasn’t sure if you was lying or not, but she chose to believe him. She pushed his shirt up slowly, so as not to hurt him, while he held onto her hips. He had to let go so she could pull it off over his head, and she realized that he had taken advantage of her preoccupation to untie her wrapper. It fell open as she pulled his shirt off.

“Simon,” she said firmly as she turned to put his shirt away. He wrapped his arms around her from behind. Her heart sped up because, even though she couldn’t feel it, she knew he was bare-chested now.

“You’re so beautiful, Christy,” he breathed into her thick plait. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

“You very nearly saw me last night,” she said, trying to sound sharp and practical and annoyed with herself when she could only manage breathless and aroused.

“Last night seems like years ago,” he said. “A fever dream. This feels like another fever dream, too. Another dream of holding you in my arms, wanting you, but not able to touch you. Not really.” She clutched his shirt to her chest to prevent herself from grabbing onto his hands and holding them against her.

“When did you dream that?” she whispered.

“A thousand…no, a million times in Africa,” he told earnestly. “Every night, every waking minute. Christy, my Christy. My dream.”

She dropped his shirt and turned in his arms. Wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her hands in his glorious hair and pressing her lips to his seemed like the only thing to do in response to a confession like that.

The kiss was shattering in its intensity. She’d thought the kiss they’d shared the other day had scorched her willpower. This kiss devastated it. Simon held her so tight she could hardly breathe, and he devoured her. She could feel the loneliness he’d endured, the pain and suffering, the ache of missing her. If he hadn’t said so much in words, she would have known from this kiss.

He broke the kiss and panted against her lips. “Christy,” he whispered.

She loved the feel of his breath in her mouth. That’s exactly what she wanted, to breathe him in like air. He kissed his way down her jaw to her neck and then down her chest, and she realized he’d unbuttoned her nightgown. He slid it down off one shoulder, exposing her breast. When the tip of his tongue traced a circle around her nipple, she gasped and her hands clutched his head to her chest. He sucked on her nipple briefly and then pulled away to look at her.

He traced a finger along the side. “Robert?” he asked. Christy didn’t understand what he was asking.

“Yes,” Robert’s voice came from behind her. “That’s my mark.”

Christy gasped and tried to turn, but Simon’s grip on her prevented it. She stood there, shaking, uncertain, her skin only moments ago flushed with arousal now chilled with a rush of emotions too jumbled to name. Simon’s hand slid up her back, and he wrapped it around the back of her neck. Then, to her horror, he bent her slightly back over his arm, exposing her bare breast to Robert.

She fought him briefly, but he was still strong enough to hold on to her, and the truth was she didn’t want to get away enough to hurt him or herself. Simon’s other hand rested between her breasts. She looked over and saw Robert standing in the shadows by the door. There was a sound on the stairs, and he glanced out in the hall in alarm and then stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Hastings?” Simon asked quietly.

“Yes,” Robert said. He was exposed in the moonlight now. Christy was holding her breath. What would happen now? She’d wanted to resolve the situation. It looked like there would be some sort of resolution now.

Simon began to unbutton her nightgown further. He let go of her neck, which had been awkward, and simply supported her back with his arm wrapped around her. She had her arm around his back, and his skin was hot and slick with sweat.

“What are you doing?” Robert asked quietly.

“What we all want,” Simon said. “The tension is killing us all. I can hardly eat, sleep or think wondering what it will be like.”

“What what will be like?” Robert asked. His voice was still pitched very quiet, but it was also that lower timber that made her shiver the other night, the voice of arousal.

“The three of us,” Simon said. He spread her undone nightgown until it fell open, exposing her entire front. “Christy?”

“What?” she asked, surprised by her name.

“I want to do something with you,” Simon whispered. He leaned down and kissed the pulse in her throat. “Do you want to do something with us?” he whispered.

The question hung in the still heat of the room. Christy looked at Robert, who had taken a step closer to them. She wasn’t even sure he was aware of it.

He wanted it. She could see it in his face, even if he didn’t know it yet.

“Yes,” she said, more sure of it than of anything else in their mixed-up life at the moment. Perhaps things weren’t settled between them. No promises had been made, but then none had been demanded. All she knew was that this night was hers if she reached for it. She stretched out her hand to Robert.

He stepped forward and took it.