“He was a man of affairs,” Wren said carefully. “Technically more elevated than a butler.”
“But you were on your own,” Aiden insisted. “And thankfully you were taken in to train as an investigator, but we all know you could have been pushed out onto the street for any minor infraction at that point. Your position was precarious—please don’t pretend it wasn’t.”
Wren’s jaw tightened and now he did look up. “Fine.”
“Emilia and I were so proud of you, watching you rise from those beginnings, study to become the fine investigator I know you to be now. Respected, Wren. Sought after. Successful. Would that have happened if Emilia’s father…or more likely her husband’s family, had declared some kind of vendetta against you for trying to interfere with her marriage?”
Wren let out a long sigh. “Of course not. They could have…likely would have…destroyed any chances I had at an occupation, even as a servant, if I failed at my training. It would have ruined me. But I regret it, regardless. Don’t you?”
Aiden tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot and covered it, pulling it slightly away from the fire so it would stay hot but not cook quite so quickly. “I suppose you’re talking about regretting not stepping in more strenuously to keep Emilia from marrying the viscount? Yes, of course I regret it, especially considering what I know now. But we said it then and it’s not less true now, Wren. We had no power. You and I ultimately built that through sweat and hard work and sacrifice. And now that we have it, I think we can use it for her sake. For all our sakes.”
Wren’s brow wrinkled. “What are you suggesting?”
“Wouldn’t you like our life to be like this forever?” Aiden moved toward him, stroked his fingers along Wren’s shoulder, tracing the muscle there and loving the shiver Wren gave in response…the way his blue eyes dilated with emotion and desire in a potent mix. “To be together, all three of us, as we always should have been.”
Wren caught his breath and his voice was wobbly as he said, “That sounds like a dream, not a reality.”
“Because of our pasts?” Aiden pressed. “Because of Society’s views? Because of your own fear?”
Wren shrugged. “All of those things, I suppose. You don’t exactly see many people living that way.” His expression flickered. “Though…”
“Though what?” Aiden asked, meeting his stare. “What are you thinking about?”
“I…it doesn’t matter,” Wren whispered.
“Why?”
“Because Emilia’s husband is hellbent on getting her back and that’s what I must focus on, even if we pretend this cottage is the whole world. I can’t bear to…to hope for something more.”
“Why?” Emilia’s voice asked.
They both turned and found her standing at the entrance to the kitchen, one of their shirts pulled over her shoulders, her hair loosely bound. Aiden could hardly breathe, looking at how beautiful she was.
“Please don’t worry yourself,” Wren said, stepping away from Aiden and toward her.
“I will,” Emilia said. “I’m not a fool, Wren. I hear your pain when you say something like you cannot bear to hope. I see it on your face. We’ve played and loved and pleasured in this wonderful house for days, but the one thing we haven’t done is perhaps what is most painful and most necessary.”
“And what is that?” Aiden asked when it was clear Wren couldn’t make himself.
“Talked about our time apart.”
“We did,” Wren said, sending a side glance toward Aiden, as if he would save him. “We know now what you endured.”
“Not me,” she said softly, and took his hand, then reached for Aiden. “You. Both of you. We’ve avoided this subject, I think because it’s painful and none of us wanted to ruin our wonderful reunion. But if I’ve learned anything over these years, it’s that avoiding the truth will only lead to more sorrow. Please, I’ve been cut away from you both for so long. I want to hear what I missed as you both became the wonderful men you are now.”
Aiden could see that Wren was uncomfortable by the way he shifted, that he wanted to escape this story, which made Aiden as curious as Emilia clearly was. He moved to cover their hands with his.
“I’ll happily tell you about my life in the past years,” he said. “Why don’t we eat while we talk?”
“Yes,” Emilia said, brightening at the thought. “I’d love that. The stew smells divine, Aiden.”
He smiled as he returned to the fire and spooned stew into bowls for each of them and himself. They gathered utensils and moved out into the main room of the cottage to sit at the cozy table together. Aiden took a moment to take in the scene. The woman he loved wrapped in his shirt, the man he loved bare chested and beautiful as he poured wine for them all. There was such comfort in this, despite the years that had separated them. Such rightness.
And whatever Wren feared, whatever Emilia argued, Aiden didn’t want to lose this. He would fight for it.
He lifted his chin. “You already know I started my journey to become a solicitor just after we were parted.”
“Yes. You were apprenticed under Mr. Caldwell,” Emilia said. “After your dear father’s death.”
