“The notion…of us…was silly…from the start. You are not…a man of honor…as proven through your actions…with the woman. I am a man…imprisoned…be it of my fragile mind…or for a crime. I will remain…where I am from fear…or because…I deserve such. You…will unfairly remain…betrothed to that pitiful, unknowing socialite, quite worthy of more than your deceit…because it…serves you…somehow.”
“It need not end like this for us.” Ewan’s uncertain hand finally settled on my neck.
I shivered.
“Please,” he said. “I feel it too. Your quivers come not from cold or that fear of which you spoke. They originate at my contact, because you enjoy it.”
“Remind me. What is she…called?”
Ewan looked at the ground. “Fiona.”
“Does it bother you…at least?”
“What?”
“That you lie…with her…and do not love her?” I asked.
“I’m not at all certain I have ever loved anyone I’ve lain with,” Ewan answered.
“Have you ever lain…with anyone you…loved?”