The next morning Cam suggested he accompany Ash and Blake to the Assembly Rooms over in George Street that evening, if they wanted some society. Edinburgh was not London or even Bath, but it could dress up and promenade well enough; there’d be some sparkling titles and diamonds and young whips around, and card-parties, and various other entertainments.

Ash set down his teacup, swallowed, blinked owlishly. “Do we need entertainments?”

“We’ve been here nine days, and you’ve seen history and bookshops and my former professors.”

“And it’s been marvelous.” Ash picked up the tea again, as if that settled the question. “I like knowing you, and I’ve got new books.”

Blake put down his fork with a bite of sausage still on it. “Are you concerned that we’re growing bored?”

“No.” Yes. “I only thought you might enjoy it.”

“We’re not bored. But if you’re truly concerned ...” Blake’s grin appeared: a lightning-whip of practiced seduction. “You could come up with inventive explorations for me in the bedroom. Some of those salves, the tingling sort ... heating ... ginger, perhaps ...”

“Maybe later.” Definitely later. He poked his own porridge -- long-standing habit, that: warm and snug -- with a spoon, added honey, added cream. The ribbon of cream pooled and gathered. “You can imagine it, for now. If you did want to attend some of the social whirl ... well, you could think about it then, too. While you’re engaged in polite introductions.”

Blake’s eyes had grown larger and darker at the idea; but he was scrutinizing Cam’s expression. “We can do those explorations here at home. You are worried about it. Us.”

They did not have secrets; Cam gave up. “I was only wondering ... the two of you, your titles and all ... the lives you had, London, all of that ...”

“Our life,” Ash corrected, catching up. “Together. From now on. You said so, aye?”

The echo, his own accent, made him smile: Ashley and languages. “Aye. D’you mind that we’re missing it? The balls, the parties. The Season. Your invitations.”

Ash, clutching the teacup, grew mildly horrified. “I’m a professor -- or I was. I like history. I trip over my own feet when I dance.”

Blake said, “As of yesterday, the Rose is putting on a theatrical adaptation of The Earl of Thorns at the Castle of the Mad Alchemist. I need to be out of London. For this fortnight, or for the next five years, preferably.”

“I might have plans regarding that adaptation,” Ash murmured. “When we get back.”

Blake swung that way. “Oh no --”

“It’s based on your book, and we should know what they’ve done to it, and I like everyone celebrating you!”

“So do I,” Cam interjected, “and yes, we’re going, and you can tell us how they’ve got it wrong, after, but it’s still your story up there, and we’re proud to be here with you, lad.” Blake sighed, but blushed, and nodded, so that was all right. “And you both don’t mind that we’re ... that I’m ...” He borrowed Blake’s flippancy, shoved his spoon into the porridge, disrupted the pool of cream. “I love you both. But I’m not an earl or a duke, I’m not one of you, and I won’t be.”

“You sound even more Scottish,” Ash observed dreamily, “when you’re being blunt, and I love it. Yes, of course we know.”

“We want you.” Blake reached across the breakfast table to set a hand on Cam’s arm. Informal, all of them: Ash was wearing Cam’s dressing gown, thick and quilted, because they’d wanted him to stay warm. Blake had lit the fire, and his hand and forearm were strong, tanned, under a rolled-up sleeve. “I knew I wanted you the night we met. And then again, when you came to help us in London ... the way you feel, the way I feel around you ... it’s right. You and Ash -- you both feel so right. Like I’ve never been so balanced, so secure.”

“We love you,” Ashley agreed. “It confused me, at first -- I knew how I felt about Blake, I always did, but then you were so ... it was like the missing piece of a puzzle. Like a word I’d been struggling with, not knowing, a gap in a line of poetry, and then one morning I woke up and I understood it, how that shape and that sound meant that word, and the line was complete.”

“We’re here for you,” Blake said. “We said so, but I don’t think we realized ... it’s asking a lot of you, isn’t it? Our lives will change, at least in some ways, but not like yours will.”

Ash put his head on one side. “Oh. Is it about your -- your Hugh? Oh, sorry, was that the wrong question? I didn’t mean to just blurt it out.”

“No,” Cam said. Breathing was difficult, not because he didn’t feel loved -- he did, so much --but for precisely that reason. They knew him, both of them; they saw him and touched him, here in this house, in this room, and it’d been so long and it was so clear and so bright. “No, I ... I can talk about him. It’s not ... he’d be happy. I believe that. I’m happy.”

“It’s not guilt,” Blake said. “Then ... it’s just too much? All of it?”

“No. Never. I’m here for you both.” He put his hand atop Blake’s, moved it to encircle Blake’s wrist; glanced at Ashley. “I love you. You know that. I said yes to our plan, moving to London. I want to live with you.”