Page 158 of His Grace, the Duke
Tom crossed his arms. “Because you’re a good person and you saw a chance to save a life.”
Burke chuckled, the sound dying in his throat as it jostled his shoulder. “Wrong. I am a terrible person. I’m selfish and lazy. I live off the hard work of others, and I am more than content to lie, cheat, and steal to get what I want. And I have no warrior’s heart. I can’t even bear to be in the stall when they put an injured horse down. So, try again. Why?”
Tom’s eyes flashed over to him, even if he quickly looked away. “Because we are friends—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” he snarled. “What happened to Rosalie the last time she tried to use that word?”Ah, progress. That raised some color in Tom’s cheeks.
“That was a condition for Rosalie,” he muttered.
“It applies to you too,” Burke replied. “Call me that again, and see what happens.”
Tom pursed his lips, looking at him at last. “You’ve just been shot. I’d like to see you try it.”
“Oh, I won’t have to lift a finger,” he countered. “I’ll make you do all the work. Or you could just tell me what I want to hear. Why did I take a bullet for you?”
Tom glanced across him at James and Rosalie, who sat still, watching their contest of wills unfold. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Say it.”
Tom licked his lips, eyes still closed. “Because you love me,” he whispered.
“And?”
“And I’m yours.” Slowly, Tom opened his eyes again, his hand dropping to cover Burke’s resting atop the coverlet.
A warmth that had nothing to do with the fire in his shoulder spread through Burke’s body. Fierce love andprotectiveness rose inside him like a fire-breathing dragon. “And what does that mean, Tom? Look at me and say it.”
Tom swallowed, lifting his eyes to Burke’s face. “No one touches what is yours.”
“Damn right,” he replied. “Is she dead?” Tom shook his head.
“Well, if I ever see her again, she will be. Mark me,” he intoned, feeling the heat of his oath warm his chest. If he ever saw Marianne Young again, it would be she who took a bullet. He didn’t care if the woman was mad. No one was going to threaten his family.
He glanced back at Tom, wiggling the fingers of his weak arm. “I love you, Tom Renley, and you are mine. You’re all mine,” he added, glancing over at James and Rosalie. “I take what I want, and I protect what I take. Let’s not make it a habit of testing my will again, but now you all know. There is no limit to what I would do for you. Any of you.”
Tom fell forward on top of Burke, his face pressed to his stomach as he gripped his hips. “I thought you were dead. OhGod, Burke. You were so still and covered in blood. I thought I lost you right when I’d finally found you, and it was my fault—”
James dropped Burke’s good hand to let Burke brush his fingers through Tom’s curls. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t make her pull the trigger. Tom, kiss me and put it behind you.”
Tom lifted off Burke’s hips and leaned over to kiss him once, twice. Chaste pecks, but Burke would take what he could get.
James put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Tom, you were brilliant. You saved Rosalie, which is what was moreimportant in the moment. If something had happened to her, to any of you...” He glanced at each of them, swallowing his words as fierce love overcame him.
Rosalie scooted closer to Burke, brushing her fingers against his brow.
“In the moment, my focus was on Burke,” James went on, looking again at Tom. “I needed you to be there for her, and you were. We’re all here for each other. We are... trees.” His lips quirked into a reluctant grin.
Tom’s brows lifted. “You really mean it, J?”
James smiled. “If Burke is a tree, and Rosalie is a tree, then I must be a tree as well, eh? Roots entangled, we willalwayssupport each other. Yes?”
Tom nodded as Rosalie glanced curiously from one to the other. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned this tree business. What on earth are you talking of?”
Burke let his eyes close, settling back against the pillows with a contented smile as his three loves spoke softly atop him. He didn’t care what they called each other—lovers, partners, trees, umbrellas. So long as they were together, he’d let them call him whatever the hell they wanted. He sank back into sleep, one hand in Tom’s, one hand in James’, with Rosalie’s fingers smoothing the hair off his brow.
75
Rosalie
